Please don’t say you drive a Morris Minor
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On census day PLEASE don’t say you drive a Morris Minor unless you really do. Because then you’re forcing the rest of us into Morris Minors whether we like it or not. And a lot of us really don’t want to be forced into buying a Morris Minor just because most of the country SAY that’s what they drive. In reality most of them don’t drive at all any more, and really only take the odd lift in a Morris Minor at weddings, and funerals.
“On the question of religion the enumerators have been instructed to guide people to fill in the form to reflect their background rather than their current position. How does this help us plan for Ireland’s future?”
“I’ll use an analogy: imagine a survey on car ownership. The question “Do you have a car?” is not asked; the survey goes straight to “What type of car do you have?” And then, someone who has no car is encouraged to say they have a Morris Minor because, way back, it was the traditional family car. What use would this information be?”
BRIAN WHITESIDE – Think carefully before answering census question on religion
Inception
Tell me it’s not just me. Are your dreams just a grey hazy fog of blurry sensation lacking in clarity and continuity? Or are they perfectly clear full-colour glossy images full of detail, like say… Inception. I need to watch that movie again. I just don’t get it. I had the exact same experience with Dark Knight. Found them both to be completely over-hyped action movies with people speaking about them as if they were so much more.
Indeed Inception is an extremely well made, much-better-than-your-average action movie but still. It wasn’t the only thing that jarred with but the dream thing often annoys me. Why don’t they ever make an effort to make dreams even slightly dreamlike? Yes I know in nearly every single movie you’re not supposed to know what’s a dream and what isn’t – but what a fucking cop out. It’s like shooting in the daytime and calling it night. It’s like setting a Vietnam movie in New York. It’s like casting Leonardo Di Caprio as a grown man…. oh, right. Point is: showing someone waking up in a sweat does not turn the previous scene into a dream.
Mark Kermode put Inception at number one in his top five of the year. But if you listen to his reasons they’re more political. It’s because it’s a big blockbuster that isn’t stupid or completely dumbed down. Like say any Michael Bay movie. And indeed those really dumb movies need to be discouraged but that doesn’t make Inception the best movie of the year.
I didn’t hate it – but definitely didn’t love it. Maybe it’s Decaprio. I just never buy the baby face in an adult role. The quality of the plot is debatable. But I think it’s more the setting and mood. It just feels like any other action packed blockbuster.
And I don’t just hate action packed blockbusters. Some of my best friends are black:
Alien or Bladerunner. They’re not particularly intelligent (Kermode’s defining factor for Inception) but they’re toned, dark, moody. Aesthetic masterpieces. Inception and Dark Knight just lacked that final sheen for me. They still spoke the same Hollywood accent as every other action block buster. Astounding special effects. But special isn’t beautiful. And and an intelligent plot isn’t enough. Not for film of the year.
Social media is such a crap name
Social media is such a crap name.
I’ve been dossing on the Internet since I first heard about it. Mailing lists, discussion groups, forums, usenet, whatever. Discussing common interests. Sharing links. Talking shite. Forming relationships. Meeting new friends online and off. And fueling my social life. Hear that? Not substituting my social life with a synthetic one – fueling my real one.
The tools have changed in the last few years now and they have an unfortunate collective title. Social Media. So now every day I have to listen to some expert tit on the radio, or read a quote from some other gobhole who really has no idea what they’re talking about. They see a title ‘social media’, assume the rest, and make total tits of themselves. It’s getting more boring by the day. And the flocks of tits are getting bigger.
It’s exactly like the IDM (Intelligent Dance Music) débâcle years ago. Brilliant music but scoffed at by many because it garnered an unfortunate name that stuck.
Bah, here’s some classic IDM presented to you by the magical tools of social media;
Begrudgery
Ever see a stereotype played out to such perfection, that it’s almost comical? Almost. Take this display of begrudgery for instance.
Loud drunk asshole in Chipper:
“So I’ve taken up acting, yes I’m very grand indeed”.
Guy from Fair City, also doing a great job in The Shawshank play;
[Solemly waits for his chips].
Loud drunk asshole in Chipper:
“I’ve started working in the Gaeity recently, I am so much better than all of you”.
Guy from Fair City, also doing a great job in The Shawshank play;
[Solemnly waits for his chips].
Loud drunk asshole in Chipper:
“Oh I love the sound of my own voice, love to shout it from a stage”. (The irony is completely lost on him)
Guy from Fair City, also doing a great job in The Shawshank play;
[Gets his chips, pays politely and leaves quietly]
Loud drunk asshole in Chipper:
[Shouts some direct insults at the guy]
Nope, no begrudgery in ireland, don’t know what you’re talking about, stop that stereotyping.
A hero speaks
I can’t believe this only has 1000 or so views on youtube. Everyone should see this. Michael O’Brien unleashes a heartfelt anger on questions and answers expressing the rage that the nation are feeling. I don’t think I could do this issue justice without resorting to spitting, fuming and cursing. I am absolutely outraged at every aspect of this. How does one organise a nationwide march? How the goverment and The Catholic Church in Ireland are dealing this will place them in history alongside the Holocaust.
Watch, vent, cry, pass on.
Wash and go
I’ve officially given up shampoo. It’s a load of nonsense, the short n’ curlies have been doing just fine with shower gel for all this time and they’re in much better condition than my head. So that’s it; sayonara shampoo.
I don’t know why we need so many different cleaning products. Scam central. We should just have one big bottle of stuff for cleaning us and one big tub of chemicals for cleaning the house. Ok maybe something a bit milder for wood surfaces – but do we really need a different spray for the kitchen and the jacks!? Of course not it’s a scam. Do you need one bottle of stuff for the sink and another for the shower? No you fucking don’t! So I put it to you; unless you have long flowing golden locks, do you really need shampoo? I don’t. I just wash, and go!
I know what you’re thinking; I should join Beat.ie with this wealth of knowledge. Maybe if they ask nicely.
And another thing. D’you know cat litter isn’t just grit? It contains compounds like Calcium bentonite specifically designed to soak up urine and then go hard.Yet one of the most popular brands, Thomas, doesn’t seem to do this at all, it just seems like a bag of gravel to me! And that’s the brand that’s in every single shop. That’s marketing for you. Get the really cheap stuff in the like of Lidl, it’s the proper stuff.
UI design disaster
The worst piece of user interface design that I struggle with on a daily basis; the NTL remote.
It has nine number buttons, so you should be able to press one of them to see one of the first 9 channels, no argument. But no - you have to hit 1-0-1 to get to the first channel.
Why do the numbers on the decoder have to start with 101!? Why can't they start with 1? And if they have to start with 101 why doesn't the remote start with 101!? Surely this is the most basic of common sense?
And why can't I just hold the plus and minus buttons to go up and down? Why do have to press them 50 fucking times to go through 50 fucking channels of shit?
Piece of shit.
Piece of RSI-enducing shit.
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Global E-Commerce fail
Rant, rave, fume, spit. I am so sick of web sites who say they deliver to Ireland, then don’t let you proceed without a valid UK postcode. This is 2008. Sort it out! Don’t make me fill out a big bloody form if it is not possible for me to proceed!
While I’m feeling ranty, I’m also sick of the number of things you just can’t seem to buy in this country. I seem to spend so much time looking for things that you can buy in any other country. If you have a valid postal code!
Screw you uk.insight.com you’re first on the list. Yes I just might make a list.
Son of a preacher man
What a plank. I’m going to arm myself with one hundred quid and go looking for him. As soon as he starts I’m going to stand up and say “I’ll give 100 euro to anyone who can prove they are a bad person by chucking this prick through a window.” I really hate these fuckers. Why do they think they have the right to invade our space with their self-righteous and wacky beliefs. They’re so fucking arrogant to assume they’ve found the only true path and have to push it on the rest of us. You can do whatever you want in your own church but keep away from me.
And here’s another thing, I often hear people saying that they don’t like Richard Dawkins because he’s just as preachy as the rest of them. Too fucking right I say. Give these planks a taste of their own medicine.
via ricochet
Tricks of the mind
TV. I spend a lot of time giving out about it. That soul-eating suckbox sitting in the corner, dominating all your senses. Slowly eating your life. Hours where you could be making, creating, living, loving. Or even depleting the long list of depressing chores, to live a more clutter-free life. Not just ridding the pile of unironed clothes but the cobwebs in your head. A night on the sofa, wasted life-hours, ending with a fat gut, laden with guilt, like the soiled sock hidden under the bed of a teenage boy.
Woah. I’d just intended to post that I read Derren Brown’s book recently and I’m looking foward to his Trick or Treat show again tonight and all that bile just spilled out. What I’d intended to say is that while I do loath the tellybox at times and would love to see it in the bin, I do love good TV, rarity that it is. I’ve a few heroes I love to watch on the box; David Attenborough, Roy Mears, Richard Dawkins, Armandi Ianucci, Charlie Brooker, Stephen Fry. And I love a good film, or a good quiz (not to be confused with a gameshow).
I just hate when we end up sitting in front of the stupid thing watching crap as if its some kind of domestically social event. And I hate that late night plastic soap plaguing the screens; neither serious nor funny. Desperate Housewives, Ugly Betty, Plastic Polly, Fucking Funty. They’re all the same shallow numbeties. And I despise the kind of TV programming designed to reel you in and suck on your very soul, either for the rest of the night (Top 100s) or the rest of your robotic life week after week (soaps). And Fridays are the worst, just when you’re too tired to do anything else, they lay on the thickest excrement from the bottom of the barrel.
Woah. Let’s try again. Derren Brown’s Trick or Treat is on tonight. I like Derren Brown and I find his work intriguing. He could so easily be dismissed as an annoying magician, and he often is. But he doesn’t do magic. Psychological tricks, amazing memory feats, and general head fucking but no magic. And he’ll be the first to admit, nay shout from the rooftops, that anyone who claims to read your mind or predict the future is nothing but a shyster.
I read his book, Tricks of the Mind recently and it’s highly entertaining. Actually it starts off a little bit puerile, with the kind of bad jokes and puns, that people new to writing haven’t learned to resist yet. Like people dabbling with electronic music using too much reverb, or budding design enthusiasts using too much drop-shadow. Resist! But the silly puns are gone by the end, as are the silly tricks, from the start of the book. There are fascinating insights into lie detection, cold reading, hypnosis, NLP and memory. Not that showing you the tricks of his trade makes it easy, or possible, to do likewise. Could you fly a plane after reading the manual? The second half of the book is a scathing attack on all forms of mumbo jumbo, from fortune tellers and psychics to healers and religion, which puts him into hero ranks for me.
I’m suddenly reminded of an otherwise clever young guy who constantly regurgitates a line that I reckon some lecturer told him and he thought it was clever. He reckons that Irish Atheist are just rebelling against the Irish Church and it doesn’t reach any further than that, which is the biggest load of cock I’ve ever heard repeated. Like most Atheists, I despise all forms of superstition: fortune tellers, mind readers, lucky black cats, unlucky magpies, psychics, mediums, the number 13, prayer, heaven, hell, god, afterlife, auras, amber beads, luck, souls, ghosts. It’s all the same mumbo jumbo to me. Catholic or Muslim, Jew or Gentile.
Woah. Let’s try again. Derren Brown’s Trick or Treat is on tonight. It’s an entertaining little show. Last week was a ‘Treat’, a guy was shown how to add facts from hundreds of books to his short-term memory and kicked ass in one of the biggest pub quizzes in the UK. In tonight’s episode, a girl picks the ‘Trick’ card and has to wrestle with her conscience over the torture of a cat. I’m guessing that it’s Brown’s version of that famous obedience to authority experiment carried out by psychologist Stanley Milgram.
Trick or Treat
10.00pm. Channel 4.
Then turn it off and play some scrabble, or bake a cake, or see what fun you can have with some facepaint and a sleeping child. Or… maybe… just watch Peep show on straight after Derren Brown. Then if you’ve had a few cans, Balls of Steel might seem like a good idea. And then before you know it, it’s 2AM and you’re woken by the stale beer spilling onto your lap in a cloud of self-loathing on another wasted night.
Noisey f*ckers
I don’t usually blog about me or my general day-to-day stuff but I need to let off some steam. I can’t sleep now, again, because I’m still trembling with hostility. I’ve just gone in next door barefoot in the rain and nearly broke the door down with my fist. A crowd of people spilled out from the packed hallway confused and gurning to see me shouting at them to shut the fuck up. I usually wouldn’t say boo to a duck, but press the right buttons at the right time and I go off like a fucking rocket.
I don’t mind the odd party but you should hear these funts*. Three or four nights a week sometimes. Saturdays, Sunday’s Wednesdays, any days. They don’t care. They don’t care that this is a residential road. They don’t care that we have a kid or are just about to have another. They don’t care that we’ve banged on that door thirty times already. Thing is they can’t just listen to music; they have to whoop and holler all the time, and play bongos, badly.
The missus has tried talking to them during the day when they’re not chewing their own faces off and this week she gave them one more chance before we take legal action, and they were very apologetic. So you’d think they’d pipe down this weekend. But nope. They’ve fired the bongo player but they’ve hired more whoopers. And there’s not much you can do these days. The cops don’t care. And the legal route doesn’t look worthwhile. Me? I’m finding it very hard to resist fucking with them in my special own way. I could get very creative with the clothes on their washing line. Or you can have all kinds of fun with ketchup and letterboxes. Some nights I have to try very hard not to carry out some of the shit that goes through my head when I’m lying there listening to their fucking whooping. Inconsiderate wankbags.
*If anything good has come out of this night it’s the creation of the word funt.
You scumbag, you maggot!
Time is rife for something that’s been rambling around my head for a very long time. I don’t really do topical posts – but I do like a good rant and this one happens to be topical. So here it is; I’ve had a problem with the word scumbag for quite a while. To me a scumbag is the lowest of the low, scum of the earth, like someone who’d stab someone in the head with a screwdriver! But in the last few years people all around me have been using scumbag for anyone with a thick Dublin accent or who dresses in a certain way.
Ever since I stopped working in factories, got myself a (very late) third level education and a decent job I’ve felt like some kind of spy. I’m constantly shocked by people around me referring to people they know nothing about as scumbags or knackers. “Did they they really just say that in front of me!? they must think I’m one of them! I’m not! I’ve been in groups of people, smugly referring to some group of scumbags and I’m there thinking “I know lots of the people you’re talking about and they’re more honest, clever, and witty than you’ll ever be“.
Quite often people who I really wouldn’t expect it from really surprise me with the stuff they come out with. “I wouldn’t go near that shop/pub/park/beach. Full of scumbags!” You mean people who weren’t as privileged to get as good an education as you? You snobby fuck?! I once heard a friend of a friend of a friend telling some story in a pub which was interjected with “Who’s that knacker comedian again? Brendan O’Carroll! Yeah that’s him….” No one batted an eye lid. I winced.
And let’s be clear here. I do despise actual scum. I’ve absolutely no time for hard men, or people smoking on buses, or bullying, or vandalism, or violence, or racism or anything like that. But I’ve also little time for people who judge people they know nothing about other than their accent or clothes.
And another thing – I’ve often found when I’m in trouble and relying on the kindness of strangers, these are the folk that couldn’t be more helpful. Like the time I broke down at traffic lights. While several respectable members of society sat there beeping at me, it was a gang of lads in tracksuits that suggested pushing me across the road out of the way, and then did so.
There. Done. Said. Chest cleared. Ignore at will. Normal service resumed. I guess this post will be just as popular as that time I mentioned being thouroughly bored by the constant anti-englishness over here. But that was a public forum, so I suppose I was being a bit preachy. At least this is my own soapbox, which I’ll now get down from.
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