Speis

The 'What are you thinking question?'

2006-08-08T12:44:00.000+01:00

The 'What are you thinking?' question is a staple of the magazine feature articles. The ones that come under sections called things like 'Life' and 'Relationships' and are full of sober, well-intentioned and (fatally) reasoned accounts of human interaction. It's the reasonable part that dooms the whole exercise. Anyway, one of the handy safe zones for the men and women (mostly women, sorry to generalise like that) is to fall back on the question and pretend that it is a useful way to define men and women and the way they get on. It's an opportunity for women to despair of the male species and guys to make glib and pretend that they are cyborgs who don't feel or think but only drink beer and scratch themselves.

(by the way I was looking for a picture of a brain to go with this and made the mistake of googling images of brains before lunch. Now I'm not hungry)

Now I don't know what other people are thinking but personally my brain is just a sea of constant obscenities with the occasional idea drowning somewhere in the torrent (whoa, I am getting major deja vu right now, what will happen if I keep typing?).

Yeah fucking tool see if i don't give you a good pounding you no good cocksucker motherfucker I'll eat you and your family you dumb little bastard you fat fucker you whore of babylon i'm the daddy and you can just...

And so on. I don't know who it's directed at or where it all comes from but I do notice that it's worst when I walk around Dublin. Maybe I just like the rhythm of the words or it's thoughts that don't require any effort to produce. It's a kind of white noise. (It's weird to think that there are people who don't know what a fuzzy television screen looks like, or remember tvs that took minutes to warm up or can recall having only 4 stations and they all had closing down times where the screen was just blank or showed that little girl with the doll playing noughts and crosses.)

The mind cursing was especially strong today. But I can explain it, I was browsing recruitment websites for temp jobs. It is essentially the same place I was at 15 months ago when I ducked out and applied for my postgrad. So here I am again, cursing.

google jobs dublin who's this bastard i'll just click here you asshole where do i send my bloody cv? oh no you cocks, i have to register first, you jerks i don't want to click through 3 screens outlining my fucking aspirations i just want one of those stupid office drone jobs that i always find when i'm skint and broke like today. no i don't give a shit if you're equal opportunities employer and i don't know what the hell all this white irish european stuff is and what in the name of lucifer is all this Southern Ireland crap you stupid motherfucking Uk site, it's just ireland you dumb bastards...

And that's my morning. Thank god no one reads this.

I have an introductory meeting with a recruitment consultant tomorrow morning. 10.30am is my moment to shine.

Book Hunt

2006-07-03T12:12:00.000+01:00

Had this sudden desire to read Wuthering Heights over the weekend. Needless to say, after much rooting around in my pile of books, I couldn't find my battered old college copy. So I set out this morning to track down a cheap copy.

Went to my usually reliable second hand book shop off Grafton but came out empty-handed. Forced to face the fact that although I always come out of there with a book, it's never the one I went in looking for. Tried the Hodges Figgis bargain basement but they only had every other book written by the Bronte sisters. Upstairs they had loads of copies of Wuthering Heights, bound variously in leather, fancy paper and what could well have been ancient Egyptian papyrus. So, no affordable copies then.

Same story in Waterstones, except they even had a copy that looked like it was directed at the Mills & Boon readers out there. The cover had a pale-skinned lady with a heaving bosom and a winsome expression. Still too expensive.

Surprisingly, it was Eason's that saved me. Picked up a copy for €2.90. So what if the print is tiny? Who cares if the cheap paper will riddle my hands with papercuts? The Classics should be available to all. Now I can go home and wait for my original copy to turn up.

Who stabs a fireman?

2006-06-19T11:45:00.000+01:00

Emergency workers in Ireland are to be issued with stab-proof vests because ambulance workers and firefighters are reguarly being attacked while doing their jobs.

'one Dublin fire-fighter needed 35 stitches in his face after being struck with a bottle'

I wonder about that:

I've just been smashed in the head with a bottle.
Here, let me get you a protective vest.
Didn't you hear me, spanner, it's my head.

But really, what's the mentality behind attacking people who put out fires and transport the seriously ill? How socially retarded do you have to be to see lifesavers as targets?

And why don't the Gardaí need protection? They must get even more hassle.

Saturday Fight Night in Kebab Outback

2006-06-12T18:38:00.000+01:00

I've lived in Dublin over a year now and I'd never seen people fighting outside of homes or concerts. I was going to a comedy show in Vicar Street and my friends hadn't turned up yet. I had 10 minutes to wait but I didn't mind because I had a book. A steady crowd of people were shuffling along the pavement towards the venue. The sun was out and the evening was still and muggy. I was looking for a place to sit down and read without being disturbed. I saw a bus shelter. I walked up to the shelter, thinking how great it is that you can just sit down on the bench and pretend you're waiting for a bus and no one hassles you. It was one of those fancy double shelters, with tv screens that tell you how late your bus is. Though really it's just two normal shelters shoved together. This one was a bit grotty. There were no buses due for 10 minutes. so I figured I'd have some calm while I waited. I took out my book and read. Soon I became aware of someone singing in the other side of the shelter. He (she, whoever it was)roared out the lyrics to some singalong classic that I can't remember, without any embarassment or consideration. I didn't look up, there's no point in encouraging people. Plus, it didn't really bother me. Displays of public singing, nudity or affection don't really bother me. After a minute I realised someone was tapping my foot with their own. (I should probably explain at this point that I'm a really heavy reader, when I get into a book or a paper I go into a kind of trance where I'm not really aware of what's going on around me. One time, in primary school, I came out of a reading daze to see that all my classmates were looking at me with interest while my teacher roared at me to pay attention. Like I said, I a reader.). Someone was trying to get my attention. The other person was still singing. I looked up, first at the singer, who I could see now was a young man, red rings around his eyes, short black hair, tracksuit top. He was with his girlfriend. She was sitting on the bench. He was straddling her, singing and moving back and forth, with the carefree exhuberance of a man who has found something other than his hand to masturbate with. The guy getting my attention was also young, with longer, darker hair and a navy tracksuit top. He might have been holding a can, I'm sketching on this detail for some reason. He was looking at me, smiling craftily and indicating the couple beside us. I wasn't really taking things in at this point but I quickly realised what a volatile situation I was in. Were these guys friends? Was I being invited to laugh along at a shared joke, one bloke cheerily poking fun at his mate and his bird? Or were we all just strangers, each of us a bit out of it on our stimulant of choice, and I was being invited by one, who could have been a psycho, to laugh at another who could have been a nutter. Which, as it happened, he was. I made a half smile, hoping that it would sate the guy in front of me, and not attract the attention of the singer. It didn't work. He was already getting to his feet. He was young and ropy, smaller than the laugher.
"Are you laughing at me?"
This is never a good start to a conversation.
"Do you think I'm funny?"
Oh shit oh shit we're entering Joe Pesci in Goodfellas territory now.
Laugher puts up his hands and drops his smile.
'No no, I wasn't laughing at you.'
Singer turns around, pleased himself and probably keen to get back to his girlfriend. He looks down at me.
"Are you laughin at me?"
I try to empty all emotion from my face and any shred of challenge from my voice.
No.
My voice is surprisingly still. He seems satisfied by this.
Then he comes back to make sure about Laugher, who is backing away against the wall.
'No I didn't mean it, here take all my money just don't hurt me.'
The singer doesn't like this and his hands come up, there's a thump and a splat. I'm not sure what happened, I was staring down at my boots, reading but not taking it in, wondering if I was the subject of some extravagant joke. People don't just smack each other for something this stupid, right?
Laugher is singing to himself, quietly. Singer turns away and Laugher starts up again.
'Oh please don't hurt me, I'll give you all me money-'
He advances on the singer and his girl. I think of Gollum at this moment.
'-I'll even suck your cock.'
Singer comes back at him. He definitely gets him in the dead centre of his face this time. I furiously read my book. Singer sits back down, as if this was all normal. I slip my book into my bag, waiting for my chance.
Laugher is holding a hand to his face and looking at me.
'Why didn't you do anything? You just let him hit me. What's wrong with you?'
I stay silent. Anything to avoid the notice of Rocky over there. And what was I going to do? One bloke mocks another and gets a thump. He shouldn't have piped up and the other guy shouldn't have smacked him.
It's very easy to say that now.
I saw a gap and ducked out the back of the shelter and walked quickly away. It was no more than a minute. My friends arrived soon after. I threw one glance back at the shelter, I couldn't see inside but I thought I saw a flash of white and blue tracksuits at the edges.
But that wouldn't have made any sense.

Overheard in the newsroom

2006-03-24T12:58:00.000Z

A journalist is making a call to a contact:

"Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? ... Yes, we were speaking earlier in the week...Yeah, about the article ... Sorry, it's a bad line ... Are those your children screaming in the background?"

Oh boy, I really hope they weren't someone else's kids.

Funky Chicken Egg Blues

2006-03-14T15:48:00.000Z

I'm having a chicken and egg moment. It's very upsetting. I seem to be hearing great gluts of brilliant music on the radio. There are all these songs out there right now that I'm loving. There's one that Zane Lowe plays on his tv spots called 'Crazy' by Gnarles Barclay and it's got this infectious '"i remember when/ I remember/I remember/ when I lost my mind" thing that makes my head somersault. But it's the tip of the iceberg. New stuff from Snow Patrol and Pearl Jam. The Editors doing a cover of Gorillaz 'Feel Good Inc.' The Flaming Lips with their feelgood song 'Yeah Yeah Yeah'. And the Yeah Yeah Yeahs have their new song called 'Gold Lion' which is that sleazy rock that they do so well. Jack White is sneaking songs out with a band called The Raconteurs. (look at the picture in the band bio, there he is in the back, hiding) Local stuff too. Rodriogo Y Gabriela release an album and it jumps to the top of the Irish album charts. That's all instrumental no vocals Mexican guitar magic and everyone here is humming it. Bell X1 have a song called 'Flame' that's all about marshmallows and has this nifty bit at the end where the music fades out and everyone is singing like they're hanging out around a campfire. The Arctic Monkeys are being hyped to smithereens but 'When the sun goes down' is a fine piece of addictive pop rock. And watching Ray Darcy dancing in his (tiny) back yard has turned me back on to Ok Go.

It's all good and I don't mind if you just skipped that whole paragraph of enthusiasm. That's how damn nifty I feel everytime I switch on the radio. But here's my problem. I've recently started consciously seeking out music on radio. I listen to Zane Lowe when I'm working in college and Ray Darcy and Ian Dempsey play good music in the mornings on Today FM. Late night on 2FM has always been strong, especially Cormac Battle on a Sunday night. Rick O'Shea introduced my ears to lemon demon's 'Ultimate Showdown', which is basically nirvana for any pop culture nerd out there.

So my question is. Have I just happened to tune in at a time when musicians around the world are all hitting the bullseye? Or is it always this good if you take the time to seek it out?

Happy Women's Day Everyone

2006-03-08T14:25:00.000Z

Today, March 8th is International Women's Day, a festival that has been around for over 80 days and its origins lie in the socialist and suffrage movements.

I don't like it.

Don't get me wrong, I think there should be a day dedicated to discussions of equality and fairness for women, I just have a problem with the air of indignant outrage that some of the discussions I've heard today. All day on the radio, back and forth like a tennis ball, men have been asking "When's National Men Day?" and women have been replying "Every day is national men's day".

That's not right.

If you want to talk about equality, then you should apply it to everyone. Equally. Then maybe we could keep moving the discussion forward instead of just flipping it around.

However on the upside I found pictures of the First Albanian Annual National Men's Day 2002. What would men do to celebrate their manliness? Hold meetings, enjoy a good sit and have beards. Delightful.

Means of Expression

2006-02-15T17:25:00.000Z

{Express yourself!} .. from the heart
cause if you wanna start to move
up the chart then expression is a big part of it
You ain't efficient when you flow, you ain't swift
Movin like a tortoise, full of rigor mortis
There's a little bit more to show

That’s Dr. Dre from NWA singing about the importance of finding one’s own voice. As I understand his point, he’s saying that being yourself is the biggest part of having a style. If you’re copying what others have already accomplished and made their own, you’ve got all the grace and verve of a dead turtle.

I got into this journalism course because of the writing. That’s the part I really enjoy, when I have all the information in front of me and it’s time to put it all together and give it that spin that makes it my own, for good or bad. Mostly bad, I have to admit. Anyway, I have this idea that I’d like to write a book someday. What it would be about, I don’t know, but the idea won’t go away. This course seemed like a stepping stone to that goal, a way of scraping a living without having to wow book publishers. Writing things to make money, it always sounded too good to be true. Maybe someday it won’t.

I still write things for my own amusement, this blog, naturally, and other things, when the mood takes me and the words are just ready. When I finished my English degree I couldn’t read a book, any book, for months afterwards. I don’t want that to happen with this course.

If I finished this programme and I was a journalist (whatever that is), but I couldn’t write for pleasure, only profit, then everything I’ve sunk into this course - money, amibition, time and energy – would have been a massive, ironic, waste of it all.

Cause if I strike, it ain't for your good healthBut I won't strike if you just..

{Express yourself!} {Express yourself!}
{Go on and do it..}
{Express yourself!} {Express yourself!}
{Go on and do it..}
{Express yourself!}
{Go on and do it..} {Go on and do it..}
{*music fades*}

-N.W.A. 'Express Yourself'

My Waterloo sits on the Lee

2006-02-13T15:17:00.000Z

It's difficult to come to terms with one's own prejudices. You can pretend you don't have one. Or admit to a minor, inoffensive dislike: "people who talk on mobile phones during dinner", "that charity mugger who once mimed the act of removing my headphones at me", "Gary Glitter". Personally I was hoping I'd get by for another few decades before being forced to admit that I'm a spiteful, nasty, bitter person who would sooner boil his own arms off than pay someone a genuine compliment. Ah, the truth shall set you free. Come and dance around the maypole with the grinning pixies and woodland folk while I whisper secrets in your ear.

I can't stand Cork.

It's the accent. And the city. The ridiculous opera house. Those desperate claims to be the real capital of Ireland. Look at this map

The capital city is marked with a little red star and it sure as hell isn't hovering over the river Lee. And don't get me started on that 'People's Republic of Cork' nonsense. It's not a seperate country - last time I checked Cork city was still hanging off the arse end of Ireland.

I know it doesn't make a lot of sense to hate a city but work with me here, people, there is a point to this. While I was working in Village magazine over Christmas (Jesus, is anyone else completely bored of hearing me say that?) they gave me a travel book to review. Sort of a chirpy local history and landmark guide. Written by a friend of the mag.

'Here Dave, see if you can knock out 400 words on that.'

'My pleasure. What's it about?'

'Uh...oh yeah, Cork city.'

My voice shrivelled like an old piece of bacon.

'Great'.

So maybe now you can appreciate what kind of strain I was under as I tried to write a fair account of 'That's Cork'.

Here's what happened. To be honest, I kinda like it.

'A Corkman says to his mate, 'I was reading in a magazine that they are describing Cork as the Paris of Ireland.' The other replies, 'Why aren't they calling Paris the Cork of France?'"

So it is with Tom Galvin's new book That's Cork, a slim, fact-packed guide to the sights and sounds of 'de real capital'. It's not a tourist guide – more a determined expedition to the heart of the Cork psyche...

2006-02-10T13:15:00.000Z

This is odd. I pop the lid on my blog and monkey around in the undercarraige for a bit and I find out that someone found my blog through Google. What did they type in? 'Irish journalism student'? 'DIT time-waster'? No, they wanted a 'Guide to taking revenge'. Weirder still, the person was searching from the Netherlands on Jan 17 06. So someone in Holland is seeking revenge and found my blog. O-kay.

[Backs away from the computer. Wipes sweat from brow. Spots yesterday's paper. Flicks through it nervously. Gets distracted by an article on South-American basket weaving. Takes a thoughtful sip from a buttle of cranberry juice.]

Making the grade

2006-02-09T11:04:00.000Z

From the teacher comments on a radio project I submitted:

'Your voice at the start was at complete variance with your normal voice throughout the rest of the show. You sound like an American - very Joe Jacksonish.'

What does that have to do with, well, anything?

Introducing...me

2006-02-07T12:44:00.000Z

The Internet is not the wild frontier it once was. Maybe there was a time, before the mainstream caught up, when it was a lawless place where Star Wars enthusiasts could argue about Greebo shooting first and cybersquatters could sit on bradpitt.com, but that was the past.

Nowadays you're more likely to log into amazon.com to pick up the new season of Desperate Housewives, before doing some online banking and checking the Irish Times news site. Things are becoming conservative. Blogging might have been the refuge of wasters and emo kids, but now you're just as likely to be reading the thoughts of a local councillor or late-night DJ. It's nothing new, innovation is always edged by a sticky coating of drab conformism.

The Internet will soon be an extension of our normal lives, if it isn't already. At the moment there's still too much anonymity. Fair enough, one can track IP addresses and find out where a person is browsing from, but it's only a matter of time before we have a single identity online. Like an ID card for surfing or a Netscape Driving Licence or a virtual wallet. Our financial details, medical history, favourite sites, anything that is connected to what we browse will be collected in the same place.

Windows calls the information that individual websites collect about our preferences 'cookies'. Well this would be the ultimate cookie, with all the chocolate chips blobs and hazelnut shards you could handle. It would be our passport to the web but also the security bond that would keep us out of trouble, tracking herds of internet users by location, job, income bracket, sex and age. It's already started, if you use gmail or MSN or Yahoo you're already pumping all your information into your account, whether you're aware of it or not.

In other words, I've been playing with the Yahoo Avatar facility.

This is me.

At least, it's an airbrushed, reconfigured and idealised snapshot

of a combination of physical features that I found attractive

when I clicked through the menus.

It's my 'avatar'.

The point is that no matter how regulated the Internet becomes, when you're given the option to post your picture, you're more likely to throw up an icon of a donut or a picture of your dog than you are to use a passport photo.

As the Internet continues to encroach on all aspects of our lives, I think we'll see our identity stretching between who we appear to be on the outside and how we see ourselves on the inside. There has always been a gulf between the public and personal, but never before have so many been given the opportunity to realise their 'true' selves in such detail.

If you like, you can even choose what brandnames your avatar wears.

Fcuk? Yeah.

Why people look away when they're lying

2006-02-06T13:48:00.000Z

I was watching this BBC documentary about how the brain works. They were explaining a thing called 'gaze aversion'. We find it hard to think when we're looking at someone's face because we're too distracted to think straight. We're conditioned to examine faces for clues about what the other person is thinking. Now because the human face is one of the most complex reads, looking at one blanks out most of our other thought processes.

Try it out, ask someone a hard question, and watch them look away. It explains why people can't meet your eyes when they're lying to you, because they're thinking of a quick lie. The truth doesn't need think time.

I've beem experiencing a lot of gaze aversion recently. Pretty much every time I mention my dissertation topic to people. We may all be beatufiul and unique flowers but mention the idea of basing a college dissertation on computer game journalism and just about everyone's eyeballs glaze over in the same way. Maybe it needs a snappier title?

Wicked and Lazy

2006-02-01T17:19:00.000Z

Haven't updated properly in a while. Here is some filler before I find the will to somethingsomething

I did some work experience in Village magazine over the Christmas break. They printed a few pieces for me and helpfully posted them on their websitemedoodle for immortal posterity. Here I talk about the Gruadian and here I review a pedantic tome.

I am lazy [cut and paste to infinity] I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy I am lazy going home

'Which came first, the music or the misery?'

2006-01-29T15:22:00.000Z

Playing around with Media Player 10: browsing the web, listening to a random selection of songs and using the 'rating' feature. I have just given out my first 5-star rating, for 'Graceland' by Paul Simon.

For some reason, this feels /awesome/.

Oh look, the Kinks are playing 'Waterloo Sunset'. Here lads, have a gold star.

Where to begin?

2005-12-30T14:09:00.000Z

I don't know where to start.

This is my lunch. There's too much in it, but I'm not complaining about that. There should always be too much in a sandwich. Nothing worse than lifting a pallid slice of bread to see a few lone strips of ham and a glob of mustard.

The problem with the roll is that you have to overfill it. You're cutting down the middle of a cylinder, right, and you're opening it out to fill with delicious ingredients. Now, I'm no scientician, but there's no way to seal that cylinder up again without spilling the filling all over your desk. Call it the 'end of holiday suitcase effect'. So you clamp it shut and lunge it at your open mouth.

But that doesn't work because the best way to approach it would be with the open side on top, to prevent the whole thing sliding out the side as you crunch onwards. But few people have a mouth that wide. So you nibble at the side like a mouse tackling a piece of corn.

And you can't stop. Because the filling is always on the verge of flying in all directions. Every time you increase or reduce the pressure on the roll, bits dribble out. Hold it up to grab a mouthful of coke and everything drops onto your lap.

It's a very silly way of eating lunch.

I could go on.

I think I will.

There are the days when you decide you want sauce or dressing and you end up wearing sweet chilli sauce on your hands and mouth for the rest of the day. Or it's late in the afternoon and the roll isn't soft and springy but hard and jagged and you can feel your gums bleed every time your teeth clamped into this toughened yeast treat.

Don't get me started on the difficulties of eating a breakfast roll, with sausage, bacon, fried egg and ketchup all quivering precariously on a mound of hardened lard, as the people around you try to remember what CPR stands for.

I suppose you could ask the deli lady to cut your roll in half but frankly that makes you a bit of a sissy in my book.

Kong-queror

2005-12-22T10:12:00.000Z

Saw King Kong last night. I enjoyed it a lot but the story seemed very familiar. Let me see: headstrong woman goes to exotic locale to meet mythic Lord of the Jungle, finds him and befriends him after some humourous misunderstandings, before she takes him back to New York City where he flounders in his new, strange environment.

Come on, Peter Jackson, I think we've all seen Crocodile Dundee.

Regardless of influences, I was impressed by the way Jackson has stuck to his b-movie roots - Kong might have cost 300 squillion dollars but it's still just a big sack of cheesy thrills, high-concepts and broad acting. More power to it. It's hard to make a 3hour+ period film that doesn't drag but Kong has enough happening on screen to keep its audience engaged.

Ordinary Hero

2005-12-14T12:00:00.000Z

Schoolgirl, mother killed in two road accidents

Supt John Roche from Gorey Garda station said Ms McGlynn appeared to have fallen under the rear of a 40-foot articulated lorry.

Ms McGlynn, who is believed to have come originally from Bray, Co Wicklow, managed to push a pram containing her three-month-old son out of the way before she was killed.

She did that and in a couple of days she'll just be another Irish road-death statistic.

Philip Roth Interview

2005-12-14T11:30:00.000Z

Philip Roth grants a rare interview to a Dutch journalist, Martin Krasnik, about his new book The Plot Against America. I won't waste your time picking out snappy soundbites but I think you should all read it.

Tracking Your Readers

2005-12-13T13:41:00.000Z

Attention MAJers:

Some of you have been wondering if it's possible to track visitors to your blogs. You'll be delighted to hear that it's wonderfully simple. Scroll down the side menu on this site, past the cute little bear, don't dawdle on the link to your own blog, there, right at the bottom, is a little black globe. That is a tracker. And so, because I love you all (as well as being on a serious work-dodging streak) here is my simple Guide to Taking Revenge on People Who Think They Can Just Visit Your Site and not be Used to Fuel Your Titanic Ego:

Step 1: go to the Extreme Tracking site.
Step 2: click on Get Your Free Tracker.
Step 3: Fill in the name of your site (anything you like), URL (exactly as it appears), your timezone (whatever feels right) and then think of a login and password (you'll need this to make any changes in the future).
Step 4: Click on Get Your Tracker Code. You should see a couple of html code lines. Copy it.
Step 5: Go to Blogger and open the settings for your blog. Go to your site template. Scroll down to the bottom and paste the code in. I put mine right at the end before the line, but it might depend on your the template you're using.
Step 6: Save the changes, Republish your blog and have a look.

Happy stalking.

Hangover Detective

2005-12-10T13:44:00.000Z

I wake up and Gerry Ryan's talking shite. I kick the quilt away and stagger into the kitchen.

Inventory:

Wallet (empty, as usual)
Phone (battery empty)
Keys
Small Change (€1.44)
Voucher - '2 kebabs for the price of 1'
Bottle caps for a Polish beer
A bottle of M&S Red Wine (2004)
Box of Chocolates, also M&S
Half a packet of Marlboro (I don't smoke)
Tall glass, inscription reads "United States Marine Guard

Birthday Celebration

1775-1997"

What
The
Fuck?

Indoor Air Castles

2005-12-09T15:22:00.000Z

Indoor Air Castles
Originally uploaded by aciddave.

Went to my weekly Capoeira class but there'd been a double booking and the room was full of bouncy castles.

I didn't mind.

Personal Jesus

2005-12-09T12:21:00.000Z

This kid is my God.

Or maybe this old woman.

Damn, I sense a schism coming on.

Backstreat Boys Reunion

2005-12-08T16:18:00.000Z

People with broadband, do you like lip-synching? Do you have 3 and half minutes to spare? I have just the thing for you.

It's the incidental details that make it great, like the cast on the guy's arm and the kid in the back ignoring everything. I got it off Joshua Bearman's blog, who writes for McSweeney's, among other things.

Actually this google video site is a weird development. It seems like they've figured out another way to invade people's privacy. You can check it out yourselves if you get time but I would recommend these two of the bat. The first one's just old people having fun but the second is one of those times when it looks like they've recorded a ghost or some kind of spooky apparition on camera. You can get it here but make sure you read the description first and raise the volume on your speakers so you can catch the cameraman (or someone?) making a comment at the end.

Taking Stock of Press Power

2005-12-07T18:08:00.000Z

Fellow Journalism students, are you worried that the media has no real power over events? Then take heart at the actions of James Hipwell, a former Daily Mirror journalist, who used his City Slickers column to manipulate the stock market. After buying shares in a company, he would reccomend it to his readers, wait for them to trudge out and buy up the stock, then simply sell his shares for a tidy profit and go streaking through hospital wards.

Overall, he made £41,000 from this practice, tax-free and on top of his salary. Not bad for a little dishonesty on the side, eh?

bla bla bla found guilty doo doo dee faces a maximum sentence of seven years in prison tum tee tum £41,000?!

Bear Necessities

2005-12-07T12:21:00.000Z

Bear Necessities
Originally uploaded by aciddave.

What would you like for Christmas, Bob?

I think I'd go for seperation.

Oh? I was thinking socks.

Thinking about the future

2005-12-07T10:23:00.000Z

Uh, no, I'm not daydreaming about The Trilogy this time.

It seems that a lot of people in the class are thinking hard about what a career in journalism really means. It's hard to avoid it when all of the facts are floating around this classroom.

Anyway, I was talking to a college friend yesterday. He casually told me that he's sending a programme proposal into a local radio station.

I had to do a double take.
I had to do a double take.

Had we just switched bodies? Surely I'm the one who's pursuing a media career? He's never expressed any interest in radio before (besides his near psychotic devotion to Terry Wogan. I like the guy too, but getting down on my hands and knees to painstakingly tune in BBC Radio 2 every morning is a little excessive.), so why does he need an hour of weekly airtime?

Obviously I wish him the best (is he reading this? Dunno, better play it safe.), but it makes me wonder why I'm spending this extra year in college.

Dodging Work

2005-12-06T17:36:00.000Z

It's the last week before my class has a rake of deadlines to meet and assessments to hand up. We were all deeply entrenched in desperate time-wasting. We had finished today's crossword and put up our Christmas lights, it was brave stuff but it wasn't enough. Most of us were resigned to the fact that we might actually have to do something constructive. Then a lone voice sang out across the room:

Lads, do you remember when you were a kid, ye know, paint?

A moment of silence, heads are cocked thoughtfully on one side.

Then a flurry of activity. Procarastination lives for another day. Thanks to Ms Paint and one wise man.

Blog Party

2005-12-05T16:48:00.000Z

News reaches me of a Blog conference in Paris called Les Blogs, which is splendid. Though I have this feeling that they've slightly missed the point of blogging.

Anyway, those of you with super-eyeballs will be able to read this pie chart and see which degree of deliciousness belongs to the brave Irish bloggers.

2005-12-02T14:10:00.000Z

I woke up this morning feeling great. Setting your alarm for 9am on a weekday pretty much guarantees that. I sang along with the radio while I buttered my toast, I performed complicated acrobatics putting on my t-shirt, I put a big double knot in my laces. Birds flying high, you know how I feel, sun in the sky you know how I feel, and I'm feeling goo-

Oh wait, it's lashing rain. Arse.

I hopped on the bus and had all sorts of uncomfortable bodily collisions with wet and grumpy strangers. I pushed the bell, leapt out of the double doors and inhaled a great gust of fresh air. It was still raining, with that slow, deliberate determination that Irish raindrops have.
"Complain all ye loike, bud, we can keep this up all bleedin day." Irish rain has the same work ethic as those council workers you see leaning on their spades, harassing pigeons.

I spent the morning in the National Library, cricking my neck and taking notes on a newspaper from a million years ago. (Declan was there. I urged him to keep the faith while jumping out the exit.)

I needed food. No simple sandwich or cheerful chips would satisfy this gasping hunger, I needed pancakes. No, more, I needed a crepe. I headed for Lemon on Dawson, wondering just how much bacon one stomach could digest before dissolving. I bumped into the queue while I was still on the opposite side of the street.

New plan, genius.

I crossed Grafton Street and plunged into the dark maze of streets that cling to Dublin's main shopping thoroughfare like feeder fish on great whites. It was here, nestled in the foul bosom, that I found the original Lemon Crepe shop.

Q?

There was none. I muttered a prayer, hit send and watched it soar skyward. I ordered the Tuna Fest, thinking that the fish would get my brain working. The cashier took my order. I wasn't paying attention, I was looking at a guy standing by the till in a bandana. Someone had written in biro upside down on his forehead. It was peaking out from his headwear shyly.

He caught my eye? 'Anything else?'
No thanks. (and by the way, who scribbled on your face?)

He walked right up to me and looked me in the eye. (he was tall).

'You don't recognise me, do you David?'

It's my oldest friend in the world. I haven't seen him in 6 years. His massive grin reflects mine.

I love this wet city.

Journalism Ethical Dilemma #1

2005-12-01T10:38:00.000Z

Today in class, we play Devil's Advocate.

A celebrity has died. Your editor wants you to go to the parents' house and cover the story. The family has been repeatedly quoted in the news asking the media to leave them alone while they deal with their loss. What do you do?

At first people were adamant that they wouldn't go, they would have too much respect for the relatives to go bothering them. Particularly when they said they wanted to be left alone.

Good answer. You're fired.

Realisation dawned for me. I had just gotten a taste of what reporting news might actually be like. Sitting outside someone's house on a grey morning for six hours when no one wants you there. You don't even want to be there yourself. I definitely wouldn't. I've grieved for people. I know that I wouldn't feel capable of talking to the press.

But.

When I've experienced a death I've always wanted to talk about it. I want to remember that person that mattered to me. I want to push their every last word, gesture and facet deep down inside so that I never lose it. I want to see that this person mattered to others. I want them to be remembered.

So if someone came to my door and said:

I don't want to bother you.

I appreciate what a difficult time this is for you and your family.

But if it's not too much trouble, I would like to hear you talk about this person.

If they said that to me I would welcome them into my home.

Letting it all hang out

2005-11-29T15:34:00.000Z

I eat the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so. - Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2

Vincent Browne vomiting his bile all over our deputy editor was both depressing and disgusting. - Gwen Halley, Sunday Independent.

Yesterday as a class we looked at an opinion piece by Gwen Halley from the Sunday Independent. I’ll be honest, I’ve never heard of this person before but her article certainly got me thinking. It was riddled with innuendo, misdirection and crafty omissions. A couple of things I noticed about her attack on Vincent Browne:

Two-faced too, because the attack revealed him as an avid reader of the Sunday Independent. This is the same huffer who told my media law class in Griffith College three years ago that he doesn't read the Sunday Independent.

There’s a difference between reading a newspaper and following a newspaper.

Actually you could say he is addicted to attacking Independent News & Media. In the past few weeks, he has attacked our group in every single organ he owns or works for - in Village, the Irish Times, the Sunday Business Post and RTE.

Notice that she doesn’t go on to say that his attacks have been inaccurate.

Suppose I said that his daughter Emma Browne, a reporter with Village - who sometimes shares a byline with him - is ideologically influenced by her father?

This line casually insults Emma Browne. by saying that Vincent doesn’t like working with strong women, it immediately implies that Emma is weak.

Actually I would never assume she shared her father's primitive prejudices. But she should have protested at the blatant sexism of her father's fulminations. And why the silence from all the feminist firebrands in Women's Studies, who would be quick to defend a similar sexist attack on Mary Lou McDonald? And why no sound from Seamus Dooley of the NUJ who is normally so fast on his feet to slate real or imagined crimes against political correctness?

Maybe it’s because they don’t see anything wrong with his actions. Maybe this whole conspiracy is in your head, Halley.

But I still thought that he might help one of his own former students in her first job. In the summer of 2003, the Sunday Independent commissioned me to ask a few personalities about their best and worst summers. As a former student of his, I felt sure Browne would give me a good quote. Instead, he launched into a tirade against the Sunday Independent which he said was (a) disgusting and (b) had not been nice to him. I repeated my request for help but he snorted hard and said no.

This is half a page after Halley told us that Browne doesn’t like the Sunday Independent, the newspaper that fired him. You’re not the only person that can hold a grudge, Halley.

But he has never been happy working with women who stand up to him.

Vincent Browne doesn’t like strong women.
Vincent Browne doesn’t like Gwen Halley.
Gwen Halley must be a strong woman.

I take my hat off to her. She churned out over 1,000 words for a major Irish broadsheet and I’ll bet it didn’t take her longer than 45 minutes.

It reminded me of a student journalism conference I was at last Friday. There was a workshop about balance in reporting. I came away thinking that there should be as few restrictions on newspaper writing as possible. Bar protecting a person’s name from wilfully being trashed by a news report or opinion piece, I think that any honestly-held belief should be fair game for printing. As long as it’s readable and articulate I think everyone deserves their time on the soapbox.

People were saying that balance should be reflected in a single article, by showing each side of a conflict as fairly and accurately as possible. Definitely, but that shouldn’t be the only answer to the problem of balance. There should be a space for violently opposed opinions too. Abortion. Unionisation. Sport. Religion. Alcohol abuse. Government. It’s not like there’s a shortage of topics that drive Irish people crazy.

We talked about Kevin Myers and the controversy that erupted over his ‘single mothers produce bastards’ piece. Apparently it caused the Times to nip other potentially incendiary pieces in the bud, because they might be considered offensive. Which is completely wrong. Obviously a contentious article will upset people, but if it expresses a genuine opinion it shouldn’t be suppressed. If a paper is not upsetting people or challenging their beliefs, then it really is just about hawking ads for crisps and corn flakes.

Who decides what’s offensive anyway? The editor? The writer? The public? The publisher? Or no one? If you’re expressing your opinion you should be allowed to do it without shackles or controls. If you’re writing out of spite and without checking your facts, then you shouldn’t be in the paper. Otherwise it should be open season.

Let’s call it, I don’t know, freedom of speech.

When science goes right

2005-11-29T09:10:00.000Z

Class competition anyone?

Journalism Students Take Fright

2005-11-23T12:48:00.000Z

A class of journalism students have been alarmed to hear that they could be sued for information on their blogs. Following a lecture on Media Law the students were surprised to hear that there was no precedent for cyber defamation. The lecturer went on to casually say that a paper once paid out £60,000 in damages for ill-considered use of the word 'suspect'.

The students have responded by wording water-tight disclaimers.

Yellow Fever

2005-11-21T13:07:00.000Z

I've been watching the progress of Nizlopi and their JCB Song ever since Marty Whelan got into the habit of waking me up with the bloody thing every morning. If you've missed this pop culture snowball so far it's a tuneful acoustic ballad about a kid driving in his Dad's digger, layered over with references to Bruce Lee and Transformers. It bullseyes the childhood nostalgia nerve and is catchy as a fresh does of bird flu.

It could well be the Christmas No. 1. (Paddy Power is giving it good odds, put a bet on before they shrink), despite having no famous names attached, no marketing budget and no seasonal relevance.

It's been interesting to watch. Marty takes a shine to the song and starts playing it every morning. It gets into people's heads and it starts to become an event. "Dear Marty, why haven't you played the JCB Song yet this morning?" "Marty you old sod, how about dedicating today's JCB Song to my niece for her birthday?" etc.

Public interest grows. Marty invites the band on to his morning show. They play a great version of the song, then they play another song and the switchboard lights up. People start whispering 'No1 for Christmas'. It gets picked up in the Guardian. All of a sudden, it's more than a possibility, it's become a foregone conclusion.

The website is the pivot, guaranteeing that a fleeting amusement will tip over and become a cultural phenomenon. The site is charmingly childish and fun, pasted with pictures of Mr. T and hand drawn JCBs. You can read the story behind the song, how it was based on true events, how lead singer Luke was bullied for his dyslexia by pupils and teachers alike. Though the best bit is the site's digital pencil that lets you doodle on the copybook.

All in all, it's the best way of saying 'Fuck Westlife'. Apart from just saying 'Fuck Westlife'. So, fuck Westlife.

An uneventful day

2005-11-19T13:15:00.000Z

I woke up an hour before my alarm. The sun was coming through the a gap in the curtains. 15 minutes later my flatmate's alarm went off. It sounds like a military bugle. He went into the bathroom. I heard the air circulator click on. The lightswitch for the sitting room flicked and the fridge door opened. The milk carton swished. He blew his nose loudly. His keys rattled against the door and I heard footsteps clomping on the steps above my head.

I left the house an hour later. I crossed the bridge and went into the newsagent to get the paper. I like the chunky weekend supplements. There must have been a frost last night, the cars still had shiny bits of ice on their boots. The sky was clear and blue, it was cold but I warmed up quickly.

Too much.

I had to stop at Christchurch and take off my jacket. My headphone cable wrapped itself around my neck. I fumbled with the change in my pocket and a tissue. I walked on. A man with black hair and a red streak through the middle said "Aren't you cold?" I didn't hear him the first time. I took one earphone out. "Aren't you cold?" he repeated. By now we had passed each other. I turned and said "walking is warm". He shook his head.

I walked by the canal and looked down at the water. It was perfectly still and clear. The bridge up ahead was reflected perfectly, like the architect a 100 years ago had planned it all.

I went to see a film. I was surprised at how many other people were at the 1030 showing with me. The film was good.

I walked up Henry Street, smiling at all the people wrapped up in their scarves, gloves and coats. I went into Eason's on O' Connell St, looking for some cards. My friend graduated today. It's my Gran's birthday tomorrow. Both cards happened to be purple.

I walked down Abbey Street and turned onto Liffey Street to buy a bag of chips for lunch. The two people ahead of me were buskers I had seen a few times on Grafton Street. The guy had a guitar case balanced on his shoulder. There was a pink keyring dangling off it, in the shape of a lipstick tube. He made a face at the girl, who had pink hair.

I walked up George's Street, noticing all the people who were dressed up in suit jackets and heels. People are graduating in college today. Some huddle outside the entrance, smoking and fiddling with digital cameras. It's noisy inside. People are calling to each other and waving. Girls are stepping carefully and holding onto their hats. A cheer goes up from the central square. A man walks out of the bathroom, adjusting his cuffs.

All of this happened today, but none of it is news.

Starbucks be Damned!

2005-11-18T14:07:00.000Z

How does the news Starbucks flagship on Dame Street honestly hope to compete with the Java City Cup O' Cheer? Go home now, multination conglomerate, your steamed milk and roasted beans are no match for festive cardboard.

(Thanks to Alys for spreading the word.)

I want a sub machinegun (yes, awful pun)

2005-11-18T13:21:00.000Z

I just got a copy of the college paper, quickly skipped to my page and started foaming at the mouth. They cut one of my stories. Now I know that space is at a premium but I told the editor that I was writing 400 words on this story, which he agreed to. I did some fresh research - emailed some colleges and interviewed the CEO of the Postgraduates Application Centre, fer chrisake. I wouldn't have bothered with any of that, I would have just rephrased the story if I'd known he was going to slash it to 150 words.

The story appeared under the headline 'No Teachers!' (which, for the record, is stupid):

The government plans to put a quota on business graduates qualifying as secondary-school teachers in time for 2006-2007 academic year.
The scheme will reduce the number of graduates from business backgrounds qualifying for higher diploma in education courses at National University of Ireland (NUI) colleges. The H. Dip is required to teach at secondary-school level.
In the past two years as many as two thirds of graduates from the H. Dip have been from a business background. This number could be reduced to as little as a quarter from the next academic year.
This will be the first quota since the current application system was introduced in 1999. Every year, around 3500 applications compete for 800 places on offer. The quota is not designed to hamper business graduates as it applies to all third-level business courses Â including areas like accounting and commerce.
It is hoped that it will encourage more applicants from non-business backgrounds.
Fine. But here's all I wrote:
The Government plans to implement a “quota” on business graduates qualifying as secondary-school teachers. The scheme will reduce the number of graduates from business backgrounds qualifying for National University of Ireland (NUI) Higher Diploma in Education courses. The qualification that is required to teach at secondary-school level.

In 2004-2006 as many as two thirds of graduates from this course have been from a business background. This number could be reduced to as little as a quarter from the next academic year 2006-2007, according to the Irish Times. It would result in more places for graduates from different backgrounds, including science and maths. Every year around 3500 applicants compete for 800 places.

Dr Séamus Mac an Rí, CEO at the Postgraduate Applications Centre in Galway, says this will be the first quota since the current application system was introduced in 1999. He does not think the quota will reduce demand for the course. There may be a “slight dip” or a “slight rise” as some students are discouraged from applying. He was keen to stress that this is not just for business studies it affects all business graduates, including areas like accounting and commerce. The quota is not designed to obstruct business graduates, rather it is intended to encourage applicants from non-business backgrounds.

The possibility of quotas is one that the PAC has been “looking at for a number of years”. However it is the Department of Education and Science that is implementing the scheme. In the future Dr Mac an Rí expects other subjects will be examined with a view to introducing further quotas. Despite these restriction he expects the course’s “high standards” to remain in place on a fiercely-contested course where the “only guarantee of a place is a First”.

The PAC is currently spearheading a website that offers online postgraduate applications through their website at www.pac.ie . The system allows graduates to apply for courses entirely online, electronically, without paper. It allows the PAC to perform “the work of 9 months in 9 days”. DCU was the first to join the scheme with the pilot last year. UCC is joining in Dec 1st. The DIT Registry office says that the “institute is currently investigating the development of an on-line system”. The service could be available from September 2006.
Now I have to go and clean all this foam off.

The (not so) Big Match

2005-11-18T10:57:00.000Z

My sister picked up tickets on Ebay for Ireland -V- Romania next weekend. I just hope they're not for the North Stand.

Bargain Warriors tool up for Black Friday

2005-11-18T10:25:00.000Z

This is the first I've heard about an American phenomenon called Black Friday, the day when shops slash their prices and shoppers pile into the retail orgy. I suppose it's like the Sales in January for Irish people.

Interesting in that New York Times story to hear how shoppers see themselves:

For the discount warriors who run these sites, Black Friday is the best chance to share their techniques, not to mention their zeal, with the masses who pay full price. "It's the day that even the average Joe becomes a professional bargain hunter."

It's a religious battle where the temple is the discount store, the holy texts are shopping leaflets and the almighty Dollar reigns supreme as its loyal followers writhe and butt each other in glorious, purging celebration.

Thanks to Larry for the link. Michael Brim's blog lives here.

Now, let's try that again. Who did you say you're voting for?

2005-11-18T10:17:00.000Z

Willie O' Dea, Minister for Defence, practices his re-election pitch.

Santa's days are numbered

2005-11-15T16:24:00.000Z

I remember visiting Santa every Christmas when I was a kid. Stepping into his cave or cottage or workshop, waving at the elves, looking at the robotic snowmen. It was pretty magic for a 5-year old and it was always one of the highlights of December for me. Right up there with posting my present list up the chimney and leaving out carrots on Christmas Eve for the Rudoplh and the other reindeer.

Well now it seems that Switzerland are cracking down on their shopping centre Santa Claus. The union of Swiss Father Christmas impersonators has advised its members not to let kids sit on their laps. They’re doing this because they don’t want their members to be accused of child abuse. Parents are more protective of their kids these days.

But let's not stop there. Let's take this all the way. We should test all the Santas for sexual diseases. Make sure their woolen costumes are allergy-safe. And I wouldn’t trust those candy canes their elves are giving out. They could have razor blades in them. All that red could be upsetting for children, it might make them think of blood and death.

Just to be safe we’d better put Santa in a grey suit, then he can shake hands politely with the child’s parents before they hand over their Christmas list. Although if it’s in an envelope there’s the danger of anthrax and paper cuts. We’d better just scrap Santa altogether. For the children.

(The original story is on the Indo website here. You'll need a login.)

Appeasement

2005-11-14T15:03:00.000Z

I think people prefer images to words, something about how quickly information can be taken in. Personally I resent the way people don't don't pay attention anymore, they just look for something funky that catches their eye or a snappy soundbite that stops them from having to think about things in any kind of deep or involved manner.

Having said that I still want people to read this so here's a picture of my doggy.

Drugs in Hospitals? Well, duh.

2005-11-14T14:04:00.000Z

There are calls for increased Garda presence in hospitals, following reports of drug dealing in a number of Dublin wards. Dealers are supplying heroin, cocaine and amphetamines to addicts who are taken in as patients. In a statement, St James Hospital said it's taking the problem very seriously and is working closely with Gardai. Labour's health spokesperson Liz McManus says undercover operations would help tackle the problem.

(Newstalk website)

Is it just me or have Bumper Stickers turned Nasty?

2005-11-11T14:39:00.000Z

And don't you forget it.

Trying to get jiggy with Tubridy

2005-11-11T14:31:00.000Z

There's a weekly competition to come up with straw poll topics and answers for Tubridy Tonight. I had a go at one of the questions, though I'm not sure what they want exactly. I'm not a big fan of his show. I used to like him when he did the morning slot on 2FM but he's starting morphing into Pat Kenny. No good will come of this, especially if one day Pat meets Tubridy in the hallway but it's too late, Tubridy has already become more Kenny than Kenny and when they shake hands the entire RTE building collapses into an abyss of infinite chaos.

Don't make that face, it could happen.

Q. This week Cliff Richard has said he will stop recording new songs. What else would you like to see 'stopped'?
A. Bono wearing sunglasses indoors.
A. Pete Doherty from entering a recording studio.
A. Gerry Ryan's name-dropping.
A. People who say 'wicked'.
A. Channel 4's compilation shows.
A. George W Bush. Full stop.

To be honest, I feel like I was holding back.

Transparent Phones

2005-11-10T18:58:00.000Z

Hands up who knew we had a telephone communications watchdog? Me neither but I think it's something we need. I'm sure other countries don't have to pay this much for calls. Why is it, when there are three competing mobile phone operators, that we still pay high prices? Anyway, ComReg have a Mobile Use Calculator that might even the playing fields a little. It comes with the Eddie Hobbs Guarantee of Excellence after all.

30 months has finally paid off...

2005-11-10T12:07:00.000Z

I started blogging back in April 2003. My first site was setup through Blogger and it was the usual collection of late-teenage whingeing and pop culture references and ranting. I got tired of shouting into thin air so I moved to Blurty and then on to Livejournal (links on the sidebar). They helped to create a sense of community but after a while I remembered how much I dislike keeping in touch with people and, y'know, social interaction and all that stuff so I stopped blogging completely.

It might have had something to do with losing my college internet connection, I think in retrospect.

Today in Class:

"Write a 2,000 word New Journalism feature or start a blog."

Buddy, I am way ahead of you.

Where's the Community Spirit?

2005-11-10T11:53:00.000Z

From today's Independent:

CCTV footage may help to catch city bus sex attacker

DUBLIN Bus has passed on digital CCTV footage of a sex assault on a young woman. The attack happened as she travelled home on a bus from the city centre on Tuesday evening. Gardai at Store Street will today review the footage after Dublin Bus identified the correct discs containing evidence of the 20-year-old's ordeal.
The woman, who does not want to be identified, told of her terrifying experience after she boarded the 39 bus on D'Olier Street at 4.30pm to make her way home to Castleknock.
She found herself pinned against the window of the bus by a man whom she believed to be in his 30s or 40s and who was touching her while at the same time touching himself beneath a coat.
"The way it happened, I was too scared to say anything. I was crying.
"He pinned me up against the window and squashed me," the young woman said.
She texted her mother while she was on the bus to tell her what was happening and, even though she was visibly upset, nobody on the bus moved to intervene or to see what was going on.
"It was horrific. I didn't know what to do. People were looking at me and staring. I was crying - I didn't known what he was doing and I couldn't move," she said.
While the man continued to fondle himself, he pretended he was falling asleep and the ordeal went on for about 25 minutes before she got off the bus, she said.
She said she would definitely press charges if the man could be identified.
Teams of Dublin Bus personnel spent yesterday reviewing digital footage in a bid to identify the correct CCTV footage from the bus.
A spokeswoman for Dublin Bus said it had helped that the young woman had kept her ticket and they could ascertain which bus and what time she had got on.
The company yesterday identified the CCTV disc in question and have passed it on to gardai at Store Street.
It is understood that the young woman and her mother, who raised the incident initially in a bid to stop the same thing from happening to other young women or girls, will view the tape with investigators from Store Street garda station today.
Dublin Bus will also take the step of going through the footage to see if images of the man can be distributed to depots in an effort to identify him.
Last January the Department of Transport provided €2.8m to Dublin Bus to upgrade its CCTV systems.

Muddy feet, bloody feet

2005-11-04T13:27:00.000Z

This day is not going well. No one will call be back about my story. The birthday present I ordered is trapped in the depot. Someone might have already done my dissertation idea. Oh, and my feet are bleeding.

On the upside I sent off my entry to a magazine writing competition. It's me complaining about Halloween. It's moderately researched and plainly presented but I'm hoping to score points on style.

Fuck it, bring on this weekend.

Hundred Blinks

2005-11-04T09:43:00.000Z

Interior, Coffee Shop, Day

BILL MURRAY is sitting at the counter. He takes a sip of coffee and stares blankly ahead.

A WOMAN enters. She is wearing a CHICKEN SUIT.

Woman - Sir, can you help me please? I've been wired withexplosives by my ex-boyfriend and he says he'll blow me up if I don't get seven ethnically diverse people to do the HOKEY COKEY with me.

BILL MURRAY stares blankly ahead.

Woman - Sir?

A fly lands on BILL MURRAY's forehead and wanders down his crooked nose and along his craggy lips.

Woman (backing away) - I'll come back another time.

The fly waves goodbye. BILL MURRAY stares blankly ahead.

Grappling with the Gatekeeper

2005-11-03T17:18:00.000Z

Try and research the mildest story and no matter who you talk to you'll quickly find yourself redirected to their press representative, someone schooled in evasion and spewing press releases. No one wants to talk to journalists (or even student journalists). It's frustrating that every nugget of information has to be shredded, reconstituted and coated in crispy-fried lies.

I'm trying to cover a local story for an assignment. Nothing major, just a 1,000 words on a local interest story. It's quickly turning into a game of smoke and mirrors. The people who want to talk to me are gagged and the people who can help me are aloof. The story is turning into the fight to cover the story. Why are they so cagey? Don't they know that saying things like "this is not public knowledge at the moment" will set every curious nerve ending in my body quivering like a giant tuning fork? Can I still write this story without their permission? I think I will. I think I have to. I don't have any other ideas and it's due in a week. What's the harm? It's only for class. No one's gonna know.

Research

2005-10-13T10:48:00.000+01:00

http://www.eamonn.com/
http://sluggerotoole.com
http://www.dervala.net/
http://planetpotato.blogs.com/
http://twentymajor.blogspot.com/
http://backseatdrivers.blogspot.com/
http://www.gavinsblog.com/

How Rock is Halloween? Very.

2005-10-12T17:03:00.000+01:00

There are a lot of people out there who think that Christmas is a better festival than Halloween. How wrong they are. As if dressing up like the lesbian Powerpuff Girl and pinching men in the testicles somehow constitutes a waste of time.

But I say to these unbelievers, look closer and reflect on the good work that this Hollow Eve performs. Walk the streets of Dublin and its suburbs. Where are the rubber tyres, blood-stained baseball bats, old cars and tramps that usually clog our noble streets? Why, helpful street urchins have dragged them all back to their estates.

The bonfire is as much a part of the autumn cycle as falling leaves and old people freezing to death in rest homes. Think of the gleam of childish wonder in their eyes as they set fire to the 17 foot inferno they have so diligently constructed. Marvel at the simple innocence of the scene as cans of petrol arc through the air, before bursting apart in a disarming twinkle of blinding shrapnel. Hooded elves go from house to house, stuffing gifts through letterboxes, sometimes literally showering the houses of the elderly in an orgy of mirth and celebration.

These big-hearted lugs often involve household pets in the festivities, and there can hardly be a more cheering seasonal scent than a hearty lungful of scorched cat anus. Watch the little darlings dance a jig on the roof of your car as you huddle in the corner of your bedroom, wondering why ringing 999 only gets you a deafening blast of incredulous laughter.

Yes, this is the true season for being jolly.

After a 3-hour Sub-Editing Class

2005-10-12T16:57:00.000+01:00

Gutting articles is wicked.

Enter, stage left, Chicken

2005-10-12T16:49:00.000+01:00

Just sent off a piece to one of the college mags. It was a theatre review of an all-male production of Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale. I had already agreed to write the piece when I realised that I had no interest or aptitude for drama critiques. I was about five minutes away from sending this as my review when I decided I'd better not scare off the editor with my first piece.

One for posterity:

Overheard in the Abbey Theatre, 9/10/05:

1. What’s this one about?

2. Says here it’s called The Winter’s Tale. It’s about some king who lets jealousy over his wife tear his-

1. -quiet, it’s starting!

2. Suit yourself.

1. It’s a bit dark, isn’t it?

2. Must be one of them tragedies.

1. I like the costumes. Oh, who’s that woman? She looks like a man.

2. Em, it is a man. It’s an all-male production.

1. That’s a funny idea.

2. Well, that’s how they were originally performed in Shakespeare’s day.

1. I’ll say this for him, he’s not half-bad in those heels. Why’s that fella in his pyjamas playing with a doll?

2. That’s the king’s son. I think the puppets represent how the characters are at the whims of the gods.

1. That was good, wasn’t it? Very grim. Pretty short too, eh? Let’s go and have a choc ice.

2. Hang on, I don’t think it’s finished. Nobody’s leaving.

1. That’s strange. What else can they do? They’ve already killed half the cast.

2. Come on, the lights are going down. Let’s see what happens.

1. This is like a different play. It’s more like a comedy now. That man’s not wearing any clothes. And look at that one, he’s got leather trousers. Who are all these new characters?

2. Must have been drafted in to replace the dead ones.

1. Look, we’re back in that spooky castle again.

2. That’s better.

1. Wait, that bit didn’t make a lot of sense.

2. Well, to be honest, neither did the wild bear attack.

1. Oh, is it over this time?

2. Yeah, definitely. The lights are coming up.

1. Did you like it?

2. I did. You?

1. Yes, I thought the director used the atmospherics and symbolism of the first half to enhance the sense of impending doom, while giving the actors full freedom to inhabit their roles, in turn setting up the alteration in mood to the light pastoral comedy, which acted as a counterpoint to the gloom and tragedy of the first half, before neatly joining both moods to supply the audience with an upbeat ending, which in turn is undercut by the director to give an ambivalence to the characters’ happiness.

2. I liked the dancing. Come on, let’s get that choc ice.

I was really tempted. Next time, he says wistfully.

'Bring Back Lethal Injection!'

2005-10-06T11:54:00.000+01:00

One of our classes sent us out onto the street to get the temperature of the public mood. People are surprisingly eager to talk about their lives. It all depends on how you approach them. People at bus stops, working in shops, eating, minding their kids are all good targets because they can't run away. Also, if you say you want to ask them about the Government they'll usually get bored and wander off. However, if you can get them to talk about the issues that affect them, I think you'll get a better response.

Anyway, here's what I got:

Dáil Vox Pops

The more things change, the more they change the same. That was the message on Dublin’s streets this afternoon. Healthcare, education, crime and the cost of the living were the main gripes for citizens in the capital city of Europe’s second richest economy.

I stopped by a local chip shop and spoke to the owner while he served a steady stream of lunchtime customers.

He has worked on the same street for 25 years. It is “getting harder to run a business,” he said, adding “that’s only in the last year.”

Crime is a major concern. “The minister for justice has a lot to answer for”, he said. He believes the police force is doing a good job but “they arrest someone and they’re out the next day.” He suggested following the US’s example and introducing the “3-strike rule” or “lethal injection”.

He complained that the government “won’t pay the money for [crime prevention]” and that the worst social problems are located “between the courthouses and the hospitals.”

A customer eating some fried haddock chipped in. He recently attended Tallaght Hospital and was struck by the overcrowding. He complained that if you don’t have a medical card or health insurance you have to join a queue and “by the time you get to the top of the queue you’re dead”.

He works in retail, employing 400 people. He said that many of them are in their mid 20s and work night jobs in pubs and takeaway. “They don’t have lives”. Irish labour costs are high compared to the US and he feels that the gap between rich and poor is widening.

He referred to the ‘rip-off economy’, saying that people “don’t have the money” to spend, when the majority of their income is going on household bills which have “rocketed.”

This matches the latest IIB/ESRI Consumer Sentiment Index, which shows that customer confidence in Ireland has dropped to its lowest level since December 2003.

Childcare is a worry for parents. He explained that he was paying €6,000 a year for each of his children at a local Montessori. “That’s the going rate”, he concluded. The retail manager assured me that if the current government put money into childcare “they would clean up”.

His final analysis of the Government? “They’re the best of a bad lot. No one else to put in.”

As I was leaving I asked the chip shop owner what he liked about the government. His answer was blunt. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

I caught up with an office worker on Fade Street as he ate his lunch. He complained about the short breaks that employees are pressured into taking. Workers are legally entitled to an hour but often take far less. He also mentioned overtime, how he sometimes works for 12 hours in a day, only to be paid for 8.

He felt that the work environment was ‘taking after the US’, with people being treated as numbers rather than individuals. He said that prices were a rip off compared to other countries and that the Government should do more about health, taxes and inflation.

Robert Putnam of Harvard University was recently invited to speak at a Fianna Fáil parliamentary party meeting in Cavan. The professor warned that Ireland was already on the same road as the US and was in danger of losing what he termed its ‘social capital’, the benefits to individuals of strong community links.

I spoke to a businessman outside a boutique on Drury Street. He had a brighter outlook, saying that the government was doing a “good job”. He cited the economy and road network – the Motorway, the Western Route Way, Dublin Port Tunnel – as examples of improvements that the government has made.

However, in relation to education he questioned the relevancy of many third level qualifications, claiming that it produced old graduates who were in their mid-twenties by the time they entered the job market. In his business he saw many graduates who had higher diplomas, degrees and certificates but lacked experience of the real working world.

His wife added that the Leaving Certificate placed too much pressure on pupils. She felt that a system of continuous assessment coupled with interviews would be a better way of deciding college places. It would also help if class sizes were reduced in primary and secondary education.

In a recent poll of Irish voters only 35% felt that the quality of life improved in the past five years, against 41% who thought it stayed the same or got worse (25%).

People are angry but they don't don't want to do anything about it. Apathy and misplaced energy seem to be the biggest barriers.

Puff Puff Glug

2005-10-03T10:36:00.000+01:00

Hats off to whoever came up with this idea. Mixing alcohol and nicotine is so blatantly irresponsible I'm surprised no one came up with it sooner. It's called Nicoshot and it's coming to Ireland. I'm sure it'll be a big hit, though personally I'll stick to flossing with barbed wire. I dunno, it just seems safer.

For later reading

2005-09-28T13:59:00.000+01:00

A fellow pedant. Must remember to read this later.

Legends

2005-09-27T16:27:00.000+01:00

Stayed in to watch the Bob Dylan documentary on good ol' BBC 2 last night. Dylan is a pretty enigmatic figure and I doubt he gives a lot of interviews - if you have that much money, why bother? - but when Martin Scorsese is at your door, I imagine one feels a little honoured.

Interesting stuff, with early footage of Dylan performing spliced with a recent interview of the much older, wiser, crinklier folk rocker saying how he wasn't really that political and cutting to shots of him playing a civil rights concert. Saying that he didn't know that Blowin' in the Wind was a great song when he wrote it, though he knew it felt good at the time.

If he can write that song and not be immediately knocked out by it, I think that shows that it's okay to question anything. Nothing is obvious. Anyway, he didn't see it as a political song, I suppose he thinks about things in a broader way.

A radio interviewer asked him if 'Hard Rain' was about atomic rain and he just laughed and said he had never thought of it that way. Under the surface you could see that he had a clear idea of who he wanted to be and where he wanted to go. He tracked down the people he wanted to talk to and grabbed the records he wanted to listen to.

He took his dungaree-wearing country boy accent off to New York city because he knew that it was the place where it was all happening. Now that he's famous he can relax and disappear back into the fog of celebrity, but at the time he was really chasing it. It wasn't an accident, he didn't just blow in on the breeze. He payed his dues along the way, he worked the support slots in shitty clubs and coffee houses. He had guys telling him to get lost and he just kept coming back.

Part 2's tonight.

A Different View

2005-09-27T16:01:00.000+01:00

When you go to see a play and the queue for spare tickets is reaching up the stairs from the box office, you know you're on to a good thing. When this particular showing is a matinee, you're dealing with a minor phenomenon. That's what it was like at A View from the Bridge in the Gate this weekend. The play itself was excellent, it's a really intense family drama. The actors all stand together in terms of excellence, though for pure brooding magnetism everyone's eyes were on Christopher Meloni who plays Eddie Carbone. It reminded me of watching Marlon Brando in the film adaptation of A Streetcar Named Desire. He's a big guy but he seems to be trapped in his surroundings, in his relationship with his family and inside his own head. He's a mass of contradictions and uncertainties, turned in against his own loved ones. It's genuinely stunning to watch him, whether he's peeling an apple or threatening someone with a bottle of scotch.

But I'm clearly gushing now so I'll just end by saying, Best Play in Yonks!

Impartial? Peace of Cake.

2005-09-23T13:58:00.000+01:00

The class had a big discussion yesterday about whether any news is truly impartial. It was all getting a little philosophical with half a dozen people claiming that they personally didn't think they could write an unbiased report. I think they're overthinking this thing. Impartial simply means showing both sides of the story. It isn't that hard to do. Talk to the people involved, get your facts straight and avoid emotive language. Naturally, welve all encountered examples of severely biased journalists, stories and newspapers, but most of the news we read is pretty fair.

Who's gonna take an extreme angle when they're asked to cover a fireman rescuing a woman?

{Edit: Yeah, I spotted the typo in the subject too but I kinda like it.}

Sixty Second Bible

2005-09-23T13:22:00.000+01:00

The Guardian reported on the recently-published 100 minute Bible and invited readers to submit a 100-word edition of God's word. Here goes:

First there was God. He was great. Adam was less successful and with Eve caused some trouble. Their offspring flourished until God gave them a fatal watering and started again. Battles followed and things got a little hairy. Moses provided discipline until God sent his son down. An angel impregnated Mary and she gave birth in a surprisingly well-attended stable. Jesus roamed the provinces before recruiting his roadies, working some miracles in catering and hitting the big time. Jealousy led to his death, but Jesus made a comeback before heading for the big soundstage in the sky.

Amen.

Important to be Truthful

2005-09-23T12:53:00.000+01:00

I was at The Importance of Being Earnest the other night in the Abbey. Judging by the number of people there, it's exactly the kind of frothy hit the Theatre needed, at a time when its accounting practices, production choices and relevance are being questioned, as well as providing good promotion for the forthcoming Dublin Theatre Festival. It's a well-deserved success too, as the play I saw last night was well-acted, beautifully staged and highly amusing. The all-male cast, who seem to be having a wonderful time in their sumptuous dresses, could only upset the most narrow-minded of prudes. In fact, for me at least it's the additions to Oscar Wilde's play that are more controversial.

Director Conall Morrisson has added a Prologue where the elderly Wilde relives past glories in a Parisian bar. As an escape from his poverty and loneliness he begins to act out the lines from one of his plays, as the stage comes to life. It proves to be an effective dramatic technique, neatly reminding the audience of Wilde's banishment, explaining why the cast is made up entirely of men and adding a layer of sorrow that the original play was entirely lacking.

It is the third point that I take exception to. Firstly, I think that a play belongs to the author and should not be tampered with, except perhaps to abridge the work due to time constraints or to excise a phrase, word or theme that is repugnant to modern audiences. It is the director's duty to bring his interpretation of the play to the stage, not to insert himself into the work. Morrisson's additions, particularly his attempts in the prologue to ape Wilde's own flippant epigrams, jar with the rest of the play, somewhat inevitably, as they are not Wilde's work.

Secondly, they are unnecessary. Most people are familiar with the details of Oscar Wilde's life; the poet was no shrinking violet. His end was a tragic and a premature one, but it has little to do with the events of this play - a witty and satiric social comedy. There is no sorrow or tragedy in the lives of Earnest and Algernon, inserting it is a nuisance. If there had been some illuminating parallels to be drawn between their humorous scrapes and Wilde's own life, then there would have been a point for tampering.

As it is, Morrisson's additions smack of pride and egotism. Two characteristics, conversely, that Wilde himself would probably applaud.

This is free (minues course fees)

2005-09-20T17:13:00.000+01:00

After a year in the stereotypical wilderness, I'm back in college and I have free web access again. Cue montage of small children rushing through a sweet factory/dams bursting and drenching valleys/fireworks going off/a man running around a telephone booth, riding an invisible motorbike/Morris dancers drinking cups of tea.

I am pleased.