It is quite literally three in the morning and I've just finished an essay so I figured it was time for the standard yearly X Factor commentary blog. Considering I haven't kept a blog in about four years it's hardly an annual occurrence, but I thought I'd give it some legitimacy by making assertions. It's going to be a long winter, so I'll curling up on the couch in pyjamas and immersing myself in the mindless madness in the run up to that date in December that I refused to acknowledge as early as so many commerical outlets.
I managed to escape from work 25 minutes early this evening thanks to a rather customer free final hour. This ensured that I was home with plenty of time to tune in to the first live X Factor show of the season. What a strange experience it was. X Factor has always been known for being something of a 'freak show', but this year actually takes the biscuit (gold grain if you're offering!). Diva Fever had me in stitches and I was quite surprised by the strong vocal from the guy in the pink spandex shorts. Cheryl's Mr. Motivator reference actually stirred a fond feeling toward her in me - this will not be occurring again any time soon so it is probably necessary to document it. Wagner... well I'll just say nothing on that one. Nice velour jacket though.
Storm Lee gave a surprisingly strong performance: the gimmicks were a little tasteless and unnecessary as he has a very strong voice. Mary Byrne stole the show for many it seems, her vocal was fantastic and she owned the stage, doubtless. Belle Amie left me wanting, I wasn't particularly fond of their song or performance; this was disappointing considering I loved their Boot Camp performance. 1 Direction really surprised me - they tugged at my boy band loving heartstrings, I felt like a cradle snatcher but something about them inspired a 10 second long return to my teeny-bopper days. They really messed up somewhere in the middle but Liam, eager to be Simon's golden boy once more, stepped in and saved the day. The Irish lad seems to be some craic too! It is nice to see some talented Irish people on the show for once.
Treyc Cohen definitely proved her worth on the show, blowing waily Katy Waissal out of the water; you could tell she wasn't playing that piano. Danii's wild card choice was spot on - Paije was fantastic. Then again you can't go wrong with the Fugees. Nicolo's Gaga wasn't the best, but it wasn't bad either. He needs to find a niche in the competition and then he'll sail through for a few weeks at least.
Cher Lloyd was rather underwhelming in my opinion. I'm probably biased because I can't help but want to scrape the make-up off her face. Behind that hair and plaster is most likely an incredibly pretty 16 year old girl. I wish she'd let it show instead of hiding behind the foundation. Nevertheless her style of performance just really doesn't appeal to me. FYD were slightly forgettable, doubtless a consequence of performing first on the night: they also took on hot new Glee boy's version of Billionaire... it's not use unless it's sung by new blond Glee boy guys, sorry. I really hope John Adeleye gets through, his vocal was spot on, his song choice wasn't.
Rebecca's vocals and style were spot on but her stage presence was non existent. Matt & Aiden were awesome - I'd love to see a guy win it again this year.
Performance of Week 1: Aiden, Matt & Mary
Easily Forgotten: FYD
Who should go? Katy, Wagner.
Who do I want to go? Katy, Cher.
Who will go? You decide.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Not so Magic Bus
Public transport is generally my best friend. This is not surprising considering the amount of time we've spent together over the years. However, I've developed an issue with the bus of late, or rather every other person who takes it.
Firstly there's the issue of merely getting on the bus in the fist place.
I have a bus ticket, the staple of a student who takes 3/4 buses a day.
This ticket should mean easy access to the bus through the ticket queue. Generally it does, provided there isn't a crowd getting on the bus. For some reason people paying with coin think it's perfectly reasonable to stand in the way of those who are trying to pay with tickets. They'll wait for a good five minutes to attempt to squeeze their way into the queue for coin - unfortunately they'll chose to wait in the doorway, ensuring that nobody who has a ticket and a very heavy bag can get on board. If you're paying with coin stay to the left. I didn't pay €78 for a monthly bus ticket to face a barricade of imbeciles with shopping bags.
Then there's seating.
For some reason certain individuals have a seat they seem to prefer on the bus. There's nothing quite like flopping down into your seat on the bus after a long day, heavy bag in hand and headache to boot. The higlight of a day such as this has to be the 'get up' look you receive from the lady who seems to think you're in her seat. No madame, I will not get up, nor will you guilt me to by staring at me indignantly. There are clearly other seats on the bus, move along and wipe that dour look from your face because I am not interested.
Alteratively there's that situation where someone chooses to sit next to you despite the fact that there are various empty seats on the bus. WHY I ask you, WHY? I quite liked not having to carry my bag on my lap.
Of course if you're sitting upstairs you have another issue - someone who goes upstairs ahead of you and decides half way to come back down because she wants two seats together and that's just not on offer. What a waste of time.
And finally come the children. Now I have no problem with kids, but I do have a problem with BOLD children and parents who ignore them. "Sih dowin Ryan" the mother moans as the child stands on the seat. But does she get up to get him? No. Does she make him sit down? No. She just disinterestedly drones "sih dowin Ryan" every five minutes, not even bothering to glance at the petulant child. My mother would have yanked me down on to that seat.
Firstly there's the issue of merely getting on the bus in the fist place.
I have a bus ticket, the staple of a student who takes 3/4 buses a day.
This ticket should mean easy access to the bus through the ticket queue. Generally it does, provided there isn't a crowd getting on the bus. For some reason people paying with coin think it's perfectly reasonable to stand in the way of those who are trying to pay with tickets. They'll wait for a good five minutes to attempt to squeeze their way into the queue for coin - unfortunately they'll chose to wait in the doorway, ensuring that nobody who has a ticket and a very heavy bag can get on board. If you're paying with coin stay to the left. I didn't pay €78 for a monthly bus ticket to face a barricade of imbeciles with shopping bags.
Then there's seating.
For some reason certain individuals have a seat they seem to prefer on the bus. There's nothing quite like flopping down into your seat on the bus after a long day, heavy bag in hand and headache to boot. The higlight of a day such as this has to be the 'get up' look you receive from the lady who seems to think you're in her seat. No madame, I will not get up, nor will you guilt me to by staring at me indignantly. There are clearly other seats on the bus, move along and wipe that dour look from your face because I am not interested.
Alteratively there's that situation where someone chooses to sit next to you despite the fact that there are various empty seats on the bus. WHY I ask you, WHY? I quite liked not having to carry my bag on my lap.
Of course if you're sitting upstairs you have another issue - someone who goes upstairs ahead of you and decides half way to come back down because she wants two seats together and that's just not on offer. What a waste of time.
And finally come the children. Now I have no problem with kids, but I do have a problem with BOLD children and parents who ignore them. "Sih dowin Ryan" the mother moans as the child stands on the seat. But does she get up to get him? No. Does she make him sit down? No. She just disinterestedly drones "sih dowin Ryan" every five minutes, not even bothering to glance at the petulant child. My mother would have yanked me down on to that seat.
Monday, September 27, 2010
absence makes the heart grow fonder
Dear beloved Blog,
I apologise for the neglect I have inflicted upon you in the past few months.
Now that the Inbetweeners and Glee have returned to my television screen, I am sure that I will find more time to vegitate on my sofa, absent mindedly typing to you.
All my love,
Sarah
I apologise for the neglect I have inflicted upon you in the past few months.
Now that the Inbetweeners and Glee have returned to my television screen, I am sure that I will find more time to vegitate on my sofa, absent mindedly typing to you.
All my love,
Sarah
Friday, August 6, 2010
Block Party
I have developed a bit of a writing block.
If only the mind were like tetris and I could manouvre shapes around in my head to clear it.
Oh joy.
If only the mind were like tetris and I could manouvre shapes around in my head to clear it.
Oh joy.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
CAPSLOCK DOES NOT FULLY EXPRESS MY FANGIRLY JOY.
The concept of the fangirl/ groupie /teeniebopper is one which extends back into the mid 20th century. Yet the hopeless devotion has not ebbed over the decades. From the Beatles to the Bee Gees, the Jackson 5 to the Jonas Brothers, musical act after musical act has been followed by screaming, crying fans. They bring a whole new meaning to 'crazy in love'.
You only have to take a loot at Twitter, Facebook and MySpace to realise the degree to which the infatuation has deepened; the desire for a personal connection with an idol has increased. Fans scream with delight (in capitals) because their idol has tweeted them. Thousands upon thousands of comments are left on pages and under pictures as fans cling to the hope that their star will realise they exist.
The wrath of the fan is vicious; don't dare insult their idol for fear of a severe blasting online. One need only take for example the comments made by fans with regard to the latest change of sound by pop foursome McFly. Fans lashed out at their idols for changing the sound that has been the 'soundtrack to my life' whilst others accused these unhappy fans of being 'false supporters'. Civil war seemed to be the order of business amongst the self labelled 'galaxy defenders' and 'party girls'.
Of course the reason I know this is that I was once indeed one of those fans. Between the ages of 12 and 16 I was hopelessly devoted to both Busted and McFly. They provided me with an escape from an adolescence that I was struggling through. However my obsession died down as my self-confidence rose; I stopped following them deliriously when I got a life so to speak. It's actually terrifying to read the comments of people who never grew out of it, or a new generation who are falling into the same habits. Most of the girls I met during this period of my life have moved on as I have. We have fond memories, but we're slightly embarrassed at the degree to which we were engrossed in the phenomenon.
However there is one degree to which we never did take our obsession; we didn't create fan groups for the relatives and girlfriends of our idols. Thousands of fans flock to the twitter and facebook accounts of their idols' siblings and other halves in the hope that by connecting with someone close to their idol, they can be one step closer to their ultimate goal. It's frightening stuff really; I often wonder what it must be like for those who find their accounts and in boxes flooded with messages from strangers, based merely on the fact that they have a connection to a certain individual.
I may have been obsessed, but at least I never felt my life would suck without them.
You only have to take a loot at Twitter, Facebook and MySpace to realise the degree to which the infatuation has deepened; the desire for a personal connection with an idol has increased. Fans scream with delight (in capitals) because their idol has tweeted them. Thousands upon thousands of comments are left on pages and under pictures as fans cling to the hope that their star will realise they exist.
The wrath of the fan is vicious; don't dare insult their idol for fear of a severe blasting online. One need only take for example the comments made by fans with regard to the latest change of sound by pop foursome McFly. Fans lashed out at their idols for changing the sound that has been the 'soundtrack to my life' whilst others accused these unhappy fans of being 'false supporters'. Civil war seemed to be the order of business amongst the self labelled 'galaxy defenders' and 'party girls'.
Of course the reason I know this is that I was once indeed one of those fans. Between the ages of 12 and 16 I was hopelessly devoted to both Busted and McFly. They provided me with an escape from an adolescence that I was struggling through. However my obsession died down as my self-confidence rose; I stopped following them deliriously when I got a life so to speak. It's actually terrifying to read the comments of people who never grew out of it, or a new generation who are falling into the same habits. Most of the girls I met during this period of my life have moved on as I have. We have fond memories, but we're slightly embarrassed at the degree to which we were engrossed in the phenomenon.
However there is one degree to which we never did take our obsession; we didn't create fan groups for the relatives and girlfriends of our idols. Thousands of fans flock to the twitter and facebook accounts of their idols' siblings and other halves in the hope that by connecting with someone close to their idol, they can be one step closer to their ultimate goal. It's frightening stuff really; I often wonder what it must be like for those who find their accounts and in boxes flooded with messages from strangers, based merely on the fact that they have a connection to a certain individual.
I may have been obsessed, but at least I never felt my life would suck without them.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
ooh emm jee.
There is always that one girl you know, who on a night out who will plant herself beside you and comment upon you how 'like totally amazing' you look. Then she'll divulge how 'amazing' it is that she hasn't seen you in 'like, forever'. The realisation that she's either never been introduced to the one that's one too many, or pilled off her head, will eventually hit home. She'll then become distracted by one of your male friends who she knows she can convince to buy her a drink; she may take the easy route and just convince him to give her his. Then an item of his clothing (generally the scarf or hat, particularly in the winter months) will become her new plaything for the night. She'll throw on this new accessory, blag a cigarette from another of the lads in the group and convince one of the girls to come to the bathroom with her.
Her night out is paid for by everyone but herself.
The sad thing is that each and every one of us can probably think of one girl we went to school with who has become that girl. Either that or one of us is that girl.
Sad really.
Her night out is paid for by everyone but herself.
The sad thing is that each and every one of us can probably think of one girl we went to school with who has become that girl. Either that or one of us is that girl.
Sad really.
Monday, August 2, 2010
'So's yer FACE'
I recently landed myself a spiffing little job in Fat Face. This feat has proven both beneficial and amusing. You see the thing is nobody really knows a thing about Fat Face.
'I don't mean to sound stupid... but is it a shop for... larger people?' queried more than one friend. Had I answered 'yes' I'm sure at least one of them would have quipped 'well then your fat face should be the face of the company!'. Hence I feel a strange need to explain what Fat Face is. Considering I'm going to have to educate customers on it's origins I'm almost killing two birds* with one stone.
Fat Face was founded in 1988 by Jules Leaver and Tim Slade. The concept was born in Méribel, a ski resort in the French Alps. Leaver and Slade were skiers, but had run out of money. They sold belongings, including a Volkswagen camper van, and purchased plain t-shirts with the proceeds on which to print logos. The idea of "better a bad day on the water than a good day in the office" came from this, and with growing interest and rapport with British tourists, they decided to do business in the UK. Between 1992 and 1993, the Fulham store was opened. Apparently the new Henry Street store is like store 180-something. Oh and the name 'Fat Face' was inspired by Le Face, an Olympic black run in Val d’Isere. Thank you Wikipedia.
SO basically, the brand is really well known in the UK, but virtually invisible in Ireland. Henry Street, here we come.
*No birds were killed in the blogging of this post.
'I don't mean to sound stupid... but is it a shop for... larger people?' queried more than one friend. Had I answered 'yes' I'm sure at least one of them would have quipped 'well then your fat face should be the face of the company!'. Hence I feel a strange need to explain what Fat Face is. Considering I'm going to have to educate customers on it's origins I'm almost killing two birds* with one stone.
Fat Face was founded in 1988 by Jules Leaver and Tim Slade. The concept was born in Méribel, a ski resort in the French Alps. Leaver and Slade were skiers, but had run out of money. They sold belongings, including a Volkswagen camper van, and purchased plain t-shirts with the proceeds on which to print logos. The idea of "better a bad day on the water than a good day in the office" came from this, and with growing interest and rapport with British tourists, they decided to do business in the UK. Between 1992 and 1993, the Fulham store was opened. Apparently the new Henry Street store is like store 180-something. Oh and the name 'Fat Face' was inspired by Le Face, an Olympic black run in Val d’Isere. Thank you Wikipedia.
SO basically, the brand is really well known in the UK, but virtually invisible in Ireland. Henry Street, here we come.
*No birds were killed in the blogging of this post.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Wants of the Week
I've decided to chronicle my obsessive need for things which I probably do not need at all. Generally these are items related to my propensity toward devotion to nostalgic childhood memories. Or 80's cartoons. The 1980's were the best 60 days of my life after all.
1. Sailor Moon
To be honest, I'm not even sure I watched all of this as a kid but I vividly remember Sailor Moon. Gotta laugh at the dodgy transformations too; the amount of upskirt puts sex and the shitty to shame. Sailor Jupiter was the shizzzzz.
2. Deutschland Deutschland uber alles.
I'm obsessed with this country for some reason. I also like the fact that it includes lots about imperialism.
3. Napoleon
The man, not the fine Animal Farm creature. The man and his wars specifically. I know nothing about him save what Abba have told me.
4. 101 purebred Oz wannabes
Probably one of my ultimate childhood memories and most likely the film that inspired my love of all things canine. The fact that my dog's mum was a dalmatian and consequentially he looks like a dalmatian on the legs of a corgi may also have something to do with it.
5. The first film I ever saw in the cinema
I was about three/four and eating a green apple when mum came in twenty minutes after the film had started. Gotta love Bageera. Terrified the life out of me, precisely why it's a classic kids movie.
6. Ridiculously expensive item no.1 or . even more ridiculously expensive item no.2
My Tiffany & Co. charm is seriously lonely.
7. Speaks for itself..
8. I've heard this book is awesome
I really need to stop with the books.
9. But evidently I won't
This is supposed to be really good too!
10. A nice lie in.
Dad's woken me up at nine every morning this week.
1. Sailor Moon
To be honest, I'm not even sure I watched all of this as a kid but I vividly remember Sailor Moon. Gotta laugh at the dodgy transformations too; the amount of upskirt puts sex and the shitty to shame. Sailor Jupiter was the shizzzzz.
2. Deutschland Deutschland uber alles.
I'm obsessed with this country for some reason. I also like the fact that it includes lots about imperialism.
3. Napoleon
The man, not the fine Animal Farm creature. The man and his wars specifically. I know nothing about him save what Abba have told me.
4. 101 purebred Oz wannabes
Probably one of my ultimate childhood memories and most likely the film that inspired my love of all things canine. The fact that my dog's mum was a dalmatian and consequentially he looks like a dalmatian on the legs of a corgi may also have something to do with it.
5. The first film I ever saw in the cinema
I was about three/four and eating a green apple when mum came in twenty minutes after the film had started. Gotta love Bageera. Terrified the life out of me, precisely why it's a classic kids movie.
6. Ridiculously expensive item no.1 or . even more ridiculously expensive item no.2
My Tiffany & Co. charm is seriously lonely.
7. Speaks for itself..
8. I've heard this book is awesome
I really need to stop with the books.
9. But evidently I won't
This is supposed to be really good too!
10. A nice lie in.
Dad's woken me up at nine every morning this week.
The most annoying Disney tune proves ridiculously true.
When Facebook ran a 'six degrees of separation' experiment a while back, I pretty much brushed it aside. I highly doubted that by clicking through six profiles I could come to someone I knew. How wrong I was.
Take going to college for example. When I first set foot in UCD in 2008, little did I realise that practically every friend I would make would be somehow connected to me through someone else. Then I got a job in River Island back in 2009 and found I had connections through friends in common to about 75% of the staff there. Second year in UCD resulted in another new wave of friendships which oddly enough, were yet again somehow linked to previous ones.
Now I'm starting work in a new job and yes, indeed, I've already met members of staff who have connections to old friends of mine. A girl I grew up with but rarely saw past the age of 12, works for the company I'm going to be working for. It's really rather amusing that based on a college course, home town or secondary school you can merely ask someone 'do you know...?' and about 7 times out of 10 you'll get a positive result.
It pains me to say I'll be stuck with this damn song in my head all night, but it really is a small world after all.
Take going to college for example. When I first set foot in UCD in 2008, little did I realise that practically every friend I would make would be somehow connected to me through someone else. Then I got a job in River Island back in 2009 and found I had connections through friends in common to about 75% of the staff there. Second year in UCD resulted in another new wave of friendships which oddly enough, were yet again somehow linked to previous ones.
Now I'm starting work in a new job and yes, indeed, I've already met members of staff who have connections to old friends of mine. A girl I grew up with but rarely saw past the age of 12, works for the company I'm going to be working for. It's really rather amusing that based on a college course, home town or secondary school you can merely ask someone 'do you know...?' and about 7 times out of 10 you'll get a positive result.
It pains me to say I'll be stuck with this damn song in my head all night, but it really is a small world after all.
I have many leather bound books.
It seems I've developed a bit of an obsession of late. I spent around €75 of 'daddy's money' on books from Amazon. I kinda assured myself that the fact that I qualified for 'super saver' free shipping with an order like that justified my purchase of 7 books I'll probably never get past the intention of reading.
Since I came back from Stockholm and the jaunt to Berlin and Milan which occurred therein, I've been slightly obsessed with pre-Nazi Germany and World War II. This is definitely my inner HisPol geek re-emerging. It's been what? Two months since I last found myself safe in the arms of academia? I just can't cope without books and grades it seems. The fact that I really want to do a module on Nazi Germany for history next year might have also proven influential. However it fails to explain why I bought books regarding the age of Empire and the ideological origins of the United Nations. I swear to God, if I don't end up in journalism I'm going to seriously piss people off around the water cooler in an office.
I've accumulated so many books that one obsession has started to fuel another. My Ikea shopping sprees have continued and now include the purchase of not one, but two new bookcases for my bedroom. I justified these purchases by reminding myself that one was only a half bookcase and the other a narrower tall one. In other words, I told myself whatever would help me sleep at night. I seriously pity my parents; they got an academically competent kid at the expense of copious amounts of storage. I'd wager I'll be taking the books with me when I move out. If that ever happens; having someone else to pay the mortgage and the bills is kind of a joy.
Now that I have a job I have another excuse to bring a book with me in a bag; I'll most likely never read that book, there will ALWAYS be someone to talk to in the staff canteen. I'm starting next week in Fat Face and I'm quite excited. The co-workers I've met so far seem dead sound. I've a feeling we'll be having the craic. 8 hour contract is pretty sweet too; it means I'll be able to keep the job once college starts back up. I'd guess I've spent my first pay packet on books and a suitcase at this point.
Then again, I am going to Norfolk for 4 days in September, so I had to get some sort of bag to bring with me. Oh Ryanair, how I love you and your deleriously small blue metal cages that tell me my bag isn't the right dimensions for carrying on board. I love their strategy; the bars are rounded, shaves a few centimeters off the space the bag has to fit into. Clever Micky O'Leary.
Knowing payday is about 3-4 days before I leave is a joy.
But this time, I really can't spend it on books.
Since I came back from Stockholm and the jaunt to Berlin and Milan which occurred therein, I've been slightly obsessed with pre-Nazi Germany and World War II. This is definitely my inner HisPol geek re-emerging. It's been what? Two months since I last found myself safe in the arms of academia? I just can't cope without books and grades it seems. The fact that I really want to do a module on Nazi Germany for history next year might have also proven influential. However it fails to explain why I bought books regarding the age of Empire and the ideological origins of the United Nations. I swear to God, if I don't end up in journalism I'm going to seriously piss people off around the water cooler in an office.
I've accumulated so many books that one obsession has started to fuel another. My Ikea shopping sprees have continued and now include the purchase of not one, but two new bookcases for my bedroom. I justified these purchases by reminding myself that one was only a half bookcase and the other a narrower tall one. In other words, I told myself whatever would help me sleep at night. I seriously pity my parents; they got an academically competent kid at the expense of copious amounts of storage. I'd wager I'll be taking the books with me when I move out. If that ever happens; having someone else to pay the mortgage and the bills is kind of a joy.
Now that I have a job I have another excuse to bring a book with me in a bag; I'll most likely never read that book, there will ALWAYS be someone to talk to in the staff canteen. I'm starting next week in Fat Face and I'm quite excited. The co-workers I've met so far seem dead sound. I've a feeling we'll be having the craic. 8 hour contract is pretty sweet too; it means I'll be able to keep the job once college starts back up. I'd guess I've spent my first pay packet on books and a suitcase at this point.
Then again, I am going to Norfolk for 4 days in September, so I had to get some sort of bag to bring with me. Oh Ryanair, how I love you and your deleriously small blue metal cages that tell me my bag isn't the right dimensions for carrying on board. I love their strategy; the bars are rounded, shaves a few centimeters off the space the bag has to fit into. Clever Micky O'Leary.
Knowing payday is about 3-4 days before I leave is a joy.
But this time, I really can't spend it on books.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Verbs are the action words.
One thing that has managed to ceaselessly preturb me is the rather widespread use of the verb 'rape' on Facebook of late. I frequently log in to my live feed to find a friend boasting about 'raping' an exam or 'raping' an assignment. Of course there are also many signs of 'Frape' or Facebook Rape. What I'd love to know is when rape became a term that is used so flippanty?
For me, rape has always meant something horrific. It disturbs me that anyone would so easily make use of a term that is generally associated with unlawful sexual assault. Yes, rape also refers to a kind of seed, but I seriously doubt any of the people who claim to have 'raped' their exams are attempting to infer that they gave it a good seeding.
Rape can also refer to certain atrocities in military history such as The Rape of Athens or The Rape of Belgium in 1914. However, I highly doubt that anyone using the phrase is referring to this kind of action either; unless you study history or have a keen interest in it, the chances of these incidents being in your sphere of general knowledge is slim.
Now I'm no conservative and I'm certainly not a prude. I'm well able to have a laugh when I don't find the joke unsettling. There's just something about joking about rape that doesn't sit well with me. Even thinking of such an act makes me recoil in horror. You only need to listen to the men and women who have suffered through such an horrific experience, hear the stories of those who were too scared to come forward, to realise that this is no mere action. It's pure violation. So talk about making an exam your 'bitch' or something equally representative of the fact that you pretty much aced it, but don't suggest you're a rapist with respect to it. Just don't joke about rape at all.
For me, rape has always meant something horrific. It disturbs me that anyone would so easily make use of a term that is generally associated with unlawful sexual assault. Yes, rape also refers to a kind of seed, but I seriously doubt any of the people who claim to have 'raped' their exams are attempting to infer that they gave it a good seeding.
Rape can also refer to certain atrocities in military history such as The Rape of Athens or The Rape of Belgium in 1914. However, I highly doubt that anyone using the phrase is referring to this kind of action either; unless you study history or have a keen interest in it, the chances of these incidents being in your sphere of general knowledge is slim.
Now I'm no conservative and I'm certainly not a prude. I'm well able to have a laugh when I don't find the joke unsettling. There's just something about joking about rape that doesn't sit well with me. Even thinking of such an act makes me recoil in horror. You only need to listen to the men and women who have suffered through such an horrific experience, hear the stories of those who were too scared to come forward, to realise that this is no mere action. It's pure violation. So talk about making an exam your 'bitch' or something equally representative of the fact that you pretty much aced it, but don't suggest you're a rapist with respect to it. Just don't joke about rape at all.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Remorse is the echo of a lost virtue.
Breaking a confidence is perhaps one of the easiest things to do; it's horrible, but true. There may be nobility, malice or sheer stupidity in breaking a confidence. Nevertheless, the consequences remain the same. Someone trusted you to keep your mouth shut and you didn't; they'll either forgive and forget or hold it against you.
There's nothing worse than being known as the 'nice one' that lovely person who wouldn't hurt a fly. Especially when you feel as though you have a skeleton in your closet, a shadow looming over you that though not on you conscience daily, raises it's head whenever a name is mentioned. I find myself in that situation because of a stupid, frivolous mistake I made at 16. I spectacularly let someone down. I won't go into it because they deserve more than that. All that matters is that they never forgave me; I'll probably never forgive myself.
What is guilt? Why do we feel guilty when we make mistakes and someone suffers as a result? Is it because we genuinely feel remorse for what we have done? Or are we just trying to convince ourselves we do? For instance, in my situation I regularly convince myself that I have no excuses for what I did, that it was just wrong and idiotic and that I should never have done it and that's it. Yet I can also find exceptions when I look further into it; I didn't tell everyone, I told three/four people and told them not to tell anyone else. Sadly one of those people didn't manage to grasp the concept of keeping their mouth shut. But how can I be mad at them when I failed to do that myself? If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.
Then comes the question 'what if I'd never been caught?'. What if someone hadn't told someone else? What if the person who suffered had never gone through any of it? I'd still have broken a confidence, but would I feel guilty then? Chances are it would never have even entered into my head. Would I still be friends with the people I felt to ashamed to see? Would I have left the place I left? I left something I loved behind because I felt someone I'd let down deserved it more than I did. Am I really sorry or did I do it all to make a martyr of myself? Shame and guilt are funny things.
I did apologise, probably too late because I was too scared to face what I'd done. But I console myself with the fact that I did say sorry. I say I don't care if that person ever forgives me, that I don't deserve to be forgiven, but I'm not sure I really mean that. As life moves on and I meet an increasing number of people who connect us in some fashion, my fear that they'll realise what I'm capable of grows. The fact that so many have reacted with indifference to my confession has been both a comfort and a nightmare.
I'm sorry, truly sorry and I will always regret breaking that confidence.
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
There's nothing worse than being known as the 'nice one' that lovely person who wouldn't hurt a fly. Especially when you feel as though you have a skeleton in your closet, a shadow looming over you that though not on you conscience daily, raises it's head whenever a name is mentioned. I find myself in that situation because of a stupid, frivolous mistake I made at 16. I spectacularly let someone down. I won't go into it because they deserve more than that. All that matters is that they never forgave me; I'll probably never forgive myself.
What is guilt? Why do we feel guilty when we make mistakes and someone suffers as a result? Is it because we genuinely feel remorse for what we have done? Or are we just trying to convince ourselves we do? For instance, in my situation I regularly convince myself that I have no excuses for what I did, that it was just wrong and idiotic and that I should never have done it and that's it. Yet I can also find exceptions when I look further into it; I didn't tell everyone, I told three/four people and told them not to tell anyone else. Sadly one of those people didn't manage to grasp the concept of keeping their mouth shut. But how can I be mad at them when I failed to do that myself? If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.
Then comes the question 'what if I'd never been caught?'. What if someone hadn't told someone else? What if the person who suffered had never gone through any of it? I'd still have broken a confidence, but would I feel guilty then? Chances are it would never have even entered into my head. Would I still be friends with the people I felt to ashamed to see? Would I have left the place I left? I left something I loved behind because I felt someone I'd let down deserved it more than I did. Am I really sorry or did I do it all to make a martyr of myself? Shame and guilt are funny things.
I did apologise, probably too late because I was too scared to face what I'd done. But I console myself with the fact that I did say sorry. I say I don't care if that person ever forgives me, that I don't deserve to be forgiven, but I'm not sure I really mean that. As life moves on and I meet an increasing number of people who connect us in some fashion, my fear that they'll realise what I'm capable of grows. The fact that so many have reacted with indifference to my confession has been both a comfort and a nightmare.
I'm sorry, truly sorry and I will always regret breaking that confidence.
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Everybody knows the end; don't wanna get there wishing that you'd given more
Losing my little dog to cancer has proven something of a turning point in life.
Those who have loved and lost a dog will understand; for those who have never gone through it, my thoughts and feelings on the issue may be difficult to comprehend.
It's amazing how a dog becomes such an enormous part of your life and a member of your family. Our boys have always been particularly spoiled; they have their own armchairs in the kitchen, the by-product of a recent enough house renovation. Oz, my dalmatian cross (who possesses the body of a dalmatian on the legs of a corgi), now sits alone in his armchair whilst Archer's remains empty. My heart feels somewhat empty without my clever little monster. The house is not our home; it will be in time, but not now, not without Archer.
Archer's death has achieved one victory; it has steeled my determination to live my life to the full. In his 8 years on the planet Archer survived death at 6 months old shortly after being abandoned by his owners, lived in an animal rescue for almost a year, survived being hit by a car, survived a fall into a canal which a fire brigade refused to rescue him from, lost a piece of his ear, escaped about 17 times and so on. I could go on. Genetic misfortune, which landed him in that 5-7% of dogs who would contract a particularly vicious form of canine cancer, was the only thing that stopped my little beagle.
My outlook on life has changed somewhat; I've never been more sure of what I want to do when I finish college for one. I also finally managed to find myself a job. I guess it takes a shock to the system to clear your head. Life's too short to waste it worrying about ifs and buts. Life is out there to be lived. My little beagle lived, now I'm going to follow that same philosophy.
Those who have loved and lost a dog will understand; for those who have never gone through it, my thoughts and feelings on the issue may be difficult to comprehend.
It's amazing how a dog becomes such an enormous part of your life and a member of your family. Our boys have always been particularly spoiled; they have their own armchairs in the kitchen, the by-product of a recent enough house renovation. Oz, my dalmatian cross (who possesses the body of a dalmatian on the legs of a corgi), now sits alone in his armchair whilst Archer's remains empty. My heart feels somewhat empty without my clever little monster. The house is not our home; it will be in time, but not now, not without Archer.
Archer's death has achieved one victory; it has steeled my determination to live my life to the full. In his 8 years on the planet Archer survived death at 6 months old shortly after being abandoned by his owners, lived in an animal rescue for almost a year, survived being hit by a car, survived a fall into a canal which a fire brigade refused to rescue him from, lost a piece of his ear, escaped about 17 times and so on. I could go on. Genetic misfortune, which landed him in that 5-7% of dogs who would contract a particularly vicious form of canine cancer, was the only thing that stopped my little beagle.
My outlook on life has changed somewhat; I've never been more sure of what I want to do when I finish college for one. I also finally managed to find myself a job. I guess it takes a shock to the system to clear your head. Life's too short to waste it worrying about ifs and buts. Life is out there to be lived. My little beagle lived, now I'm going to follow that same philosophy.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Admiral Archer
To the best little beagle in the whole wide world, I love you dearly and I hope you'll be finally able to rest easy this way. I'll never forget you, your floppy ears and your big dark eyes, the way you'd stand on the dresser or the way you'd steal Oz's food. I'm sorry I can't save you. x
Friday, July 2, 2010
The J Team
For an astronomical list of reasons I have avoided writing about Twilight.
However, I fear the time has come to bite the bullet.
To set the record straight let me first state that yes, I have read Twilight and all of it's sequels. In fact I read them before they had even been released in Europe. I have had a long standing tradition of taking a hoard of books on holiday with me, and so a trip to Tunisia way back when proved no different. In the weeks before the trip I searched Google for the best recommended reads I could find. The New York Times Bestsellers List lead me to a curious little book about vampires called 'Twilight'. An avid Buffy fan in my earlier youth, Twilight seemed fair game for a read on a sun-lounger. Let's face it, it was chick-lit wrapped in a fantasy fiction; I just wanted a cheap read. Whilst I was at it, I figured paying a little more and getting its two sequels would do no harm; I'm pastier than any vampire, tanning was going to be a time consuming process which would inevitably result in skin that would burn more quickly than Dracula's at high-noon. A generous mother's credit card, a decent deal on Amazon and 2 weeks later and I had three big books to take on holiday.
I read Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse in the space of three days. I didn't find them particularly appalling, yet I didn't find them particularly enthralling either. I bought Breaking Dawn, curious as to how Meyer planned to end her 'saga' and found it dull; the book was too long for the story it was trying to tell. She could have saved a section of the rain forest by simply telling the story. Don't even get me started on the child's name.
Now I'm not one to 'hate' on those who like the books. As I've said, they were good for a read when I needed a book, I just didn't find myself pulled in. However, I do have an issue with the hysteria this saga has produced. Three movies have been rolled out in less than two years, billions of dollars have been spent at box offices around the globe and teenage girls everywhere have learned that the only man for them is the one who'll hopelessly devote his (eternal) life to them. Mammies are even joining in; Twihards, along with their Twimoms, have devoted themselves to a new 'Twiligion'. 'Cullenism' is the key it seems. Yet when you think about it really is quite tragic. Despite the fact that he's probably making millions, Robert Pattinson will never be able to live a normal life again after taking on the role of Edward Cullen. Twilight has become to Pattison as Avada Kedavra was to his Cedric Diggory, an Unforgivable Curse.
Legions of fans adore and worship Pattinson, unable to visualise the line between the man and the myth. A recent episode of Glee drew attention to the hilarity of the fanaticism, a devoted 'Twihard' character descending upon a fellow student in a vampiric fashion claiming 'this will DEFINITELY get Robert Pattinson's attention!'. Hilarity in satire, horror in the reality it's based upon. Devoted to Pattinson, these Twihards will do anything to protect and defend their Rob... I mean Edward, Edward, of course he's Edward. Even if it means taking on their most hated crack unit - The J Team. Are you Team Jacob or Team Edward? Answer carefully for your future hangs in the balance! Emma Roberts, niece of Julia and star of Nickelodeon's 'Unfabulous' and teen movies 'Aquamarine' and 'Wild Child' can undoubtedly testify to that.
The New York Daily News reported July 17th that Roberts had been forced to close her Twitter account due to backlash from angry Rob.. I mean, Edward fans. She appeared alongside Pattinson on Jay Leno and openly expressed that sadly, she was not Team Ed. Yes, Roberts is one of The J Team. Whilst Pattinson laughed it off and quipped that Roberts had 'no taste', Twihards took Twitter by storm, flooding Roberts page with their disapproval of her choice. Twihards were also quick to attack the NY Daily News Article, claiming it wasn't Roberts' choice of 'Team' that infuriated them so, but 'her snarky and hateful tweet about Rob that she posted after the show!'. This particular Twihard continued ' Frankly, I'm GLAD she's not Team Edward...there's not enough room for all of us and her BIG EGO, too!'.
Emma's 'tweet' read "Rob Pattinson is so nice! I was slightly disappointed his skin wasn't glittering & the song 'Wild Thing' didn't start when he shook my hand." Read into that what you will, I personally found it witty and I'm sure Pattinson would too.
I'll never pretend to understand 'Twihards'. I was engrossed in Potter from a young age, the books, not the films, but never to the point at which I believed he was going to fall down my chimney thanks to a frog in his throat and some dodgy floo powder. My irrational fear that good old Voldy would appear outside my door can be put down to an over-active childhood imagination, at least that's what I tell myself; whatever helps me sleep at night. I won't begrudge anyone a love of a book, I know plenty of sane people who rather enjoy Twilight; it just seems that there are a rather large amount of people who love it a bit too much for comfort... check out http://www.mylifeistwilight.com if you dare.
As for me, Team Edward or Team Jacob? I've read the books, seen the movies and still have come to the conclusion that I'll have neither thanks. I prefer a bumbling idiot of a man who is perfectly adorable in his geekiness and complete and utter lack of tact. At least he'll make you laugh, whether it's with him or at him. You'd seriously want to smile in a town like 'Forks', what with all the dead bodies and the less than perfect weather. So when it comes to the ultimate 'fictional' heart-throb(particularly because the glow from his ginger hair would 'eclipse' any vampire's sparkly skin), as 'Gryffindors all sing' Ronald Weasley is and forever shall be my king.
However, I fear the time has come to bite the bullet.
To set the record straight let me first state that yes, I have read Twilight and all of it's sequels. In fact I read them before they had even been released in Europe. I have had a long standing tradition of taking a hoard of books on holiday with me, and so a trip to Tunisia way back when proved no different. In the weeks before the trip I searched Google for the best recommended reads I could find. The New York Times Bestsellers List lead me to a curious little book about vampires called 'Twilight'. An avid Buffy fan in my earlier youth, Twilight seemed fair game for a read on a sun-lounger. Let's face it, it was chick-lit wrapped in a fantasy fiction; I just wanted a cheap read. Whilst I was at it, I figured paying a little more and getting its two sequels would do no harm; I'm pastier than any vampire, tanning was going to be a time consuming process which would inevitably result in skin that would burn more quickly than Dracula's at high-noon. A generous mother's credit card, a decent deal on Amazon and 2 weeks later and I had three big books to take on holiday.
I read Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse in the space of three days. I didn't find them particularly appalling, yet I didn't find them particularly enthralling either. I bought Breaking Dawn, curious as to how Meyer planned to end her 'saga' and found it dull; the book was too long for the story it was trying to tell. She could have saved a section of the rain forest by simply telling the story. Don't even get me started on the child's name.
Now I'm not one to 'hate' on those who like the books. As I've said, they were good for a read when I needed a book, I just didn't find myself pulled in. However, I do have an issue with the hysteria this saga has produced. Three movies have been rolled out in less than two years, billions of dollars have been spent at box offices around the globe and teenage girls everywhere have learned that the only man for them is the one who'll hopelessly devote his (eternal) life to them. Mammies are even joining in; Twihards, along with their Twimoms, have devoted themselves to a new 'Twiligion'. 'Cullenism' is the key it seems. Yet when you think about it really is quite tragic. Despite the fact that he's probably making millions, Robert Pattinson will never be able to live a normal life again after taking on the role of Edward Cullen. Twilight has become to Pattison as Avada Kedavra was to his Cedric Diggory, an Unforgivable Curse.
Legions of fans adore and worship Pattinson, unable to visualise the line between the man and the myth. A recent episode of Glee drew attention to the hilarity of the fanaticism, a devoted 'Twihard' character descending upon a fellow student in a vampiric fashion claiming 'this will DEFINITELY get Robert Pattinson's attention!'. Hilarity in satire, horror in the reality it's based upon. Devoted to Pattinson, these Twihards will do anything to protect and defend their Rob... I mean Edward, Edward, of course he's Edward. Even if it means taking on their most hated crack unit - The J Team. Are you Team Jacob or Team Edward? Answer carefully for your future hangs in the balance! Emma Roberts, niece of Julia and star of Nickelodeon's 'Unfabulous' and teen movies 'Aquamarine' and 'Wild Child' can undoubtedly testify to that.
The New York Daily News reported July 17th that Roberts had been forced to close her Twitter account due to backlash from angry Rob.. I mean, Edward fans. She appeared alongside Pattinson on Jay Leno and openly expressed that sadly, she was not Team Ed. Yes, Roberts is one of The J Team. Whilst Pattinson laughed it off and quipped that Roberts had 'no taste', Twihards took Twitter by storm, flooding Roberts page with their disapproval of her choice. Twihards were also quick to attack the NY Daily News Article, claiming it wasn't Roberts' choice of 'Team' that infuriated them so, but 'her snarky and hateful tweet about Rob that she posted after the show!'. This particular Twihard continued ' Frankly, I'm GLAD she's not Team Edward...there's not enough room for all of us and her BIG EGO, too!'.
Emma's 'tweet' read "Rob Pattinson is so nice! I was slightly disappointed his skin wasn't glittering & the song 'Wild Thing' didn't start when he shook my hand." Read into that what you will, I personally found it witty and I'm sure Pattinson would too.
I'll never pretend to understand 'Twihards'. I was engrossed in Potter from a young age, the books, not the films, but never to the point at which I believed he was going to fall down my chimney thanks to a frog in his throat and some dodgy floo powder. My irrational fear that good old Voldy would appear outside my door can be put down to an over-active childhood imagination, at least that's what I tell myself; whatever helps me sleep at night. I won't begrudge anyone a love of a book, I know plenty of sane people who rather enjoy Twilight; it just seems that there are a rather large amount of people who love it a bit too much for comfort... check out http://www.mylifeistwilight.com if you dare.
As for me, Team Edward or Team Jacob? I've read the books, seen the movies and still have come to the conclusion that I'll have neither thanks. I prefer a bumbling idiot of a man who is perfectly adorable in his geekiness and complete and utter lack of tact. At least he'll make you laugh, whether it's with him or at him. You'd seriously want to smile in a town like 'Forks', what with all the dead bodies and the less than perfect weather. So when it comes to the ultimate 'fictional' heart-throb(particularly because the glow from his ginger hair would 'eclipse' any vampire's sparkly skin), as 'Gryffindors all sing' Ronald Weasley is and forever shall be my king.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
we're following the leader
Watching the live Leaders' Debates over the past fornight has proven a truly insightful experience, though not only an insight into British politics. The one thing that has stood out, in my opinion anyway, is the manner in which British MP's conduct themselves in debates.
Brown, Cameron and Clegg may squabble slightly, but they do something that no Irish Politician has done in a very long time - they speak with confidence. Cowan, Kenny and Gilmore regularly put me to sleep; they lack charisma, confidence and most importantly, they lack leadership qualities. Most politicians in Dáil Éireann could do with a course of Public Speaking classes. I learned more about speaking confidently and clearly locked away in a demonstration room every lunch time for two years than most Irish politicians seem to have learned in the terms in government.
Another thing which has caught my attention is the differential ideological approaches of the respective candidates and their parties. Divisions are clear - their policy outlines are precise and we can see where Labour, Lib. Dem and Conservatives differ; in Ireland it seems to come down to a treaty from 1922. That's the sad fact, our country is still overshadowed by a division that is at this point, in my opinion, irrelevant, in the political spectrum at least. I'll probably be shot for saying that, but I honestly believe it. Gilmore's left wing party fails to provide the alternative that the country needs; our choices are limitied to two centre-right wing parties and trade unionists of the left. There is no real choice.
Furthermore these three parties search for no solutions, they are far too content to spend the majority of their time arguing. Ireland has spent enough time locked in internal squabbles; parties are all too happy to pick holes in each others' policies. Having a snipe has taken precedence above finding a solution. We need leaders at a time of economic crisis; we need people we can believe in. Not a single Irish politician has instilled in me the belief that they are fit to be in government or in opposition. Watching those who sit in Dáil Éireann squabble sickens me to the core. Ireland has become a sadistic, cynical, self obsessed country in the absence of the Celtic Tiger - we care only about how to get ourselves back into a position in which we can buy whatever we want; nobody cares about the wealth of the nation. We don't have the kind of leaders we need; ones who will knock our heads together and tell the people of this country to 'wise up'. Squabbling is not the way forward, co-operation is. We're in the red, we won't get out of that without making some cuts. Those in opposition would have to do the same thing were they in government. In-fighting simply won't do at this stage. I'd rather not vote than involve myself in another pointless General Election. Bringing Fine Gael or Labour into power won't change it either.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we should adopt the British system; First Past The Post is a ludicrous electoral system. Neither am I saying we should follow England's example. What I am saying though is that it's such a pity that we have no figures with the charisma and confidence of Brown, Cameron and Clegg, no leaders who can clearly stand up and simply give a speech in the style of Barack Obama. Mary Robinson and Mary McAleese have had no problem doing so, so why can't our politicians? Why can our politicians not foster a desire to get involved in people my own age? I study politics and the majority of those I study it with would rather not vote than pick one of the current choices we have. It's time that both the politicians and people of Ireland, for want of a better phrase, 'got with the programme'.
Brown, Cameron and Clegg may squabble slightly, but they do something that no Irish Politician has done in a very long time - they speak with confidence. Cowan, Kenny and Gilmore regularly put me to sleep; they lack charisma, confidence and most importantly, they lack leadership qualities. Most politicians in Dáil Éireann could do with a course of Public Speaking classes. I learned more about speaking confidently and clearly locked away in a demonstration room every lunch time for two years than most Irish politicians seem to have learned in the terms in government.
Another thing which has caught my attention is the differential ideological approaches of the respective candidates and their parties. Divisions are clear - their policy outlines are precise and we can see where Labour, Lib. Dem and Conservatives differ; in Ireland it seems to come down to a treaty from 1922. That's the sad fact, our country is still overshadowed by a division that is at this point, in my opinion, irrelevant, in the political spectrum at least. I'll probably be shot for saying that, but I honestly believe it. Gilmore's left wing party fails to provide the alternative that the country needs; our choices are limitied to two centre-right wing parties and trade unionists of the left. There is no real choice.
Furthermore these three parties search for no solutions, they are far too content to spend the majority of their time arguing. Ireland has spent enough time locked in internal squabbles; parties are all too happy to pick holes in each others' policies. Having a snipe has taken precedence above finding a solution. We need leaders at a time of economic crisis; we need people we can believe in. Not a single Irish politician has instilled in me the belief that they are fit to be in government or in opposition. Watching those who sit in Dáil Éireann squabble sickens me to the core. Ireland has become a sadistic, cynical, self obsessed country in the absence of the Celtic Tiger - we care only about how to get ourselves back into a position in which we can buy whatever we want; nobody cares about the wealth of the nation. We don't have the kind of leaders we need; ones who will knock our heads together and tell the people of this country to 'wise up'. Squabbling is not the way forward, co-operation is. We're in the red, we won't get out of that without making some cuts. Those in opposition would have to do the same thing were they in government. In-fighting simply won't do at this stage. I'd rather not vote than involve myself in another pointless General Election. Bringing Fine Gael or Labour into power won't change it either.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we should adopt the British system; First Past The Post is a ludicrous electoral system. Neither am I saying we should follow England's example. What I am saying though is that it's such a pity that we have no figures with the charisma and confidence of Brown, Cameron and Clegg, no leaders who can clearly stand up and simply give a speech in the style of Barack Obama. Mary Robinson and Mary McAleese have had no problem doing so, so why can't our politicians? Why can our politicians not foster a desire to get involved in people my own age? I study politics and the majority of those I study it with would rather not vote than pick one of the current choices we have. It's time that both the politicians and people of Ireland, for want of a better phrase, 'got with the programme'.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
sex and the shitty
Something has been annoying me for the guts of god knows how long. That would be the preconception that as I am female it must automatically follow that I love Sex and the City.
I don't.
At all.
My mother wasn't one for shielding me from the world as a child and so from a tender age I was exposed to Graham Norton and Sex and the City. To be honest, Graham was far more entertaining.
Sex and the City seems to be some attempt to empower women. To be honest, I find it vapid at best. Whilst attempting to take some modern angle on feminism the show does little but foster an image of women as sex starved male obsessed maniacs, who constantly feel the need to be with their 'girlfriends' whilst HE is the enemy. Men are objectified. Wow. That REALLY does so much for the women's' movement doesn't it? We do to them what we complained about them doing to us, that solves EVERYTHING!
Carrie's soliloquys sicken me. I'd rather pull my hair out than listen to the monosyllabic drawl of a catty self-pitying thirty-something who could do with eating something. Samantha entertained me for a while, she is amusing, but there's having a joke about someone being obsessed with sex and there's Samantha. I'm not a prude, but I don't need to see that much thanks, if I wanted to watch soft porn I'd google it. Charlotte is painful and Miranda is just plain neurotic. Some women talk about the characters as though they're role models - I'd love to be able to fathom why.
The majority of my friends love this show for some reason. Don't get me wrong, I know for some it's light entertainment, but for me it's just mind-numbing. I don't understand how these women have no male friends, no guys who they have the banter with! Every woman just has gay designer friends that they talk shoes, scarves, bags and boys with! Soooo sooo true, like OH EMM GEE, it's like, MY life! When I go to NYC I HAVE to parade abotu like Carrie and the 'gals'.
It pains me that being female is associated with loving Sex and the City.
But I mean you know, I sit at my laptop typing out an article that I'm thinking out in my head. Evidently I'm SUCH a Carrie.
Carrie on love, as far away from me as possible please.
I don't.
At all.
My mother wasn't one for shielding me from the world as a child and so from a tender age I was exposed to Graham Norton and Sex and the City. To be honest, Graham was far more entertaining.
Sex and the City seems to be some attempt to empower women. To be honest, I find it vapid at best. Whilst attempting to take some modern angle on feminism the show does little but foster an image of women as sex starved male obsessed maniacs, who constantly feel the need to be with their 'girlfriends' whilst HE is the enemy. Men are objectified. Wow. That REALLY does so much for the women's' movement doesn't it? We do to them what we complained about them doing to us, that solves EVERYTHING!
Carrie's soliloquys sicken me. I'd rather pull my hair out than listen to the monosyllabic drawl of a catty self-pitying thirty-something who could do with eating something. Samantha entertained me for a while, she is amusing, but there's having a joke about someone being obsessed with sex and there's Samantha. I'm not a prude, but I don't need to see that much thanks, if I wanted to watch soft porn I'd google it. Charlotte is painful and Miranda is just plain neurotic. Some women talk about the characters as though they're role models - I'd love to be able to fathom why.
The majority of my friends love this show for some reason. Don't get me wrong, I know for some it's light entertainment, but for me it's just mind-numbing. I don't understand how these women have no male friends, no guys who they have the banter with! Every woman just has gay designer friends that they talk shoes, scarves, bags and boys with! Soooo sooo true, like OH EMM GEE, it's like, MY life! When I go to NYC I HAVE to parade abotu like Carrie and the 'gals'.
It pains me that being female is associated with loving Sex and the City.
But I mean you know, I sit at my laptop typing out an article that I'm thinking out in my head. Evidently I'm SUCH a Carrie.
Carrie on love, as far away from me as possible please.
ashes to ashes
I find it hilarious that people are complaining about the fact that airlines were banned from flying through the ash cloud. Across Europe business are shouting the odds about the ineffective governments whose attempts to deal with the ash cloud were a 'shambles'. Surely commerce would have faced far worse a disaster were planes to fall from the sky?
A pilot who flew through an ash cloud and lived to tell the tale was on sky news about 20 minutes ago. He boasted that airline pilots regularly flew through the remnants of ash clouds when flying over Java. Hmm, seems to be a valid enough point doesn't it? This pilot decreased altitude and managed to re-start his engines and safely land the aircraft. But what if he hadn't? Now I'm no Nostradamus, doomsday isn't my speciality, but just because he managed to re-start his engines doesn't mean every pilot who wandered into an ash cloud would be so lucky.
Don't get me wrong, I can't even begin to understand the frustrations of being stuck abroad for days on end with no idea as to when I'd get home. I'd be devastated were it to happen and most likely feel the frustration. However, I'd rather be safe and frustrated and eventually make it home than risk my neck flying through a cloud of molten rock particles. Pyroclastic clouds and Pompeii, Pinatubo and plummeting temperatures evidently mean little to the masses. Get me what I want, even if it might kill me.
For the first time in my life I find myself AGREEING with Michael O'Leary. It's blasphemous I know, but I have to say, the man has a point. Now I know Ryanair is a bit of a pain at times, but all they're there to do is fly you to your destination. It's the public transport of the airline world if you will. You pay about €30 for a flight, or occasionally for a return (thank you Europe), you break the bank on the hotel and then a tongue-twister of a volcano in Iceland goes boom. Should O'Leary cover your hotel costs? No. Not in my opinion anyway.
Fair enough if he cancelled your flight for no reason, or Ryanair was just being the proverbial pain the backside that it generally is, but for God's sake, you get what you paid for. You book a budget flight because you know it's not first class service, it's just supposed to get you there. O'Leary is not a God (he and I may differ on this point), he cannot stop the volcano (a clever soul on Facebook advocated the most attractive means of doing so - chucking Justin 'it's past my bedtime' Bieber as a sacrifice. roflcopter). If he's refunding your flight be happy. It's more than he'd usually do.
A pilot who flew through an ash cloud and lived to tell the tale was on sky news about 20 minutes ago. He boasted that airline pilots regularly flew through the remnants of ash clouds when flying over Java. Hmm, seems to be a valid enough point doesn't it? This pilot decreased altitude and managed to re-start his engines and safely land the aircraft. But what if he hadn't? Now I'm no Nostradamus, doomsday isn't my speciality, but just because he managed to re-start his engines doesn't mean every pilot who wandered into an ash cloud would be so lucky.
Don't get me wrong, I can't even begin to understand the frustrations of being stuck abroad for days on end with no idea as to when I'd get home. I'd be devastated were it to happen and most likely feel the frustration. However, I'd rather be safe and frustrated and eventually make it home than risk my neck flying through a cloud of molten rock particles. Pyroclastic clouds and Pompeii, Pinatubo and plummeting temperatures evidently mean little to the masses. Get me what I want, even if it might kill me.
For the first time in my life I find myself AGREEING with Michael O'Leary. It's blasphemous I know, but I have to say, the man has a point. Now I know Ryanair is a bit of a pain at times, but all they're there to do is fly you to your destination. It's the public transport of the airline world if you will. You pay about €30 for a flight, or occasionally for a return (thank you Europe), you break the bank on the hotel and then a tongue-twister of a volcano in Iceland goes boom. Should O'Leary cover your hotel costs? No. Not in my opinion anyway.
Fair enough if he cancelled your flight for no reason, or Ryanair was just being the proverbial pain the backside that it generally is, but for God's sake, you get what you paid for. You book a budget flight because you know it's not first class service, it's just supposed to get you there. O'Leary is not a God (he and I may differ on this point), he cannot stop the volcano (a clever soul on Facebook advocated the most attractive means of doing so - chucking Justin 'it's past my bedtime' Bieber as a sacrifice. roflcopter). If he's refunding your flight be happy. It's more than he'd usually do.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
schneider's bakery - exceedingly bad kids tv
Mr. Motivator had a massive impact on my childhood. Mostly because I'd spend my Saturday mornings wishing he'd disappear off the screen because he was regularly followed by the Power Rangers or the lesser known Super-Human-Samurai Cyber Squad (a tv show which my memory of is not shared by many of my friends). Biker Mice from Mars, Gigantor, Sweet Valley High, Sister-Sister, California Dreams, Rugrats, Sailor Moon, Pokémon, Rainbow Bright, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Saved By The Bell, Tucker, Hey Arnold!, Doug, Pepper Anne, Recess, Two of a Kind, Raising Dad (a personal favourite, cancelled far too early), Sonic The Hedgehog, Dinobabies, Tiny Toons, Animaniacs, Are You Afraid of the Dark? (didn't have the guts to watch it), Goosebumps (yet another tv show I was too timid to sit through), Clarissa Explains It All, Sabrina the Teenage Witch... the list of shows I grew to love is endless. Yet something about them strikes me - they were, for the majority, clever. Their humor was witty and dry. They challenged kids to think and to form opinions, they threw concepts out there and didn't try and shield kids from what was happening, from life itself. This honesty, wit and insight is something which, in my opinion anyway, modern children's television fails to offer.
Kids tv today really grinds my gears to be perfectly honest, especially the productions of one man; Dan Schneider. I'm probably going to hang myself out to dry here, but what he attempts to sell as 'comedy', is downright insulting to the intellectual capabilities of kids in my opinion. I failed to be enchanted by Kenan and Kel, The Amanda Show lead to my regular avoidance of Nickelodeon at certain times of the evening, and then came Drake and Josh. The name Dan Schneider became synonymous with my discontent. Zoey 101, iCarly and the latest abomination Victorious! have done little to raise Schneider's credibility in my eyes. Schneider's Bakery (as he has dubbed his production company) produced every single one of these shows, along with so-called comedy sketch show All That.
The scripts are poor and the humor is idiotic - screaming the word 'ointment' or having a 'nasty rash' seem to be entertaining all of a sudden. Inanimate objects have apparently become a source of great humor. Now don't get me wrong, I love lamp as much as Bric does, but there's a way to do that kind of comedy, and Schneider's production fall short of the mark. Ron Burgundy's leather bound books and scent of rich mahogany made me laugh as much as the next person, but Kenan and Kel's 'tuna' failed to reel me in. Drake and Josh initially seemed to have potential - two very different brothers with a scheming sister, a plot line that could easily have been used to create a pretty decent comedy. Sadly, no, it also went down the 'ointment, rash, foot fungus' route. I'm not even going to comment on Zoey 101, it shames me to have even watched enough of it to have been able to formulate an opinion in the first place. Schneider's Baker's dozen is infested with mould.
What annoys me most about these shows is their presumptions about the things kids can comprehend. Suddenly the world is only about boys, girls, ointment, foot fungus and delusional parents. Entertainment seems to have been replaced with the need to create the next big thing, the next Hannah Montana or High School Musical (Disney's just as bad as Nickelodeon). Back in the day, kids weren't treated like idiots. TV networks seemed to value their intelligence, their imagination and their ability to process things.
If we're not careful we're going to start breeding a generation of overprotected, unimaginative morons.
Kids tv today really grinds my gears to be perfectly honest, especially the productions of one man; Dan Schneider. I'm probably going to hang myself out to dry here, but what he attempts to sell as 'comedy', is downright insulting to the intellectual capabilities of kids in my opinion. I failed to be enchanted by Kenan and Kel, The Amanda Show lead to my regular avoidance of Nickelodeon at certain times of the evening, and then came Drake and Josh. The name Dan Schneider became synonymous with my discontent. Zoey 101, iCarly and the latest abomination Victorious! have done little to raise Schneider's credibility in my eyes. Schneider's Bakery (as he has dubbed his production company) produced every single one of these shows, along with so-called comedy sketch show All That.
The scripts are poor and the humor is idiotic - screaming the word 'ointment' or having a 'nasty rash' seem to be entertaining all of a sudden. Inanimate objects have apparently become a source of great humor. Now don't get me wrong, I love lamp as much as Bric does, but there's a way to do that kind of comedy, and Schneider's production fall short of the mark. Ron Burgundy's leather bound books and scent of rich mahogany made me laugh as much as the next person, but Kenan and Kel's 'tuna' failed to reel me in. Drake and Josh initially seemed to have potential - two very different brothers with a scheming sister, a plot line that could easily have been used to create a pretty decent comedy. Sadly, no, it also went down the 'ointment, rash, foot fungus' route. I'm not even going to comment on Zoey 101, it shames me to have even watched enough of it to have been able to formulate an opinion in the first place. Schneider's Baker's dozen is infested with mould.
What annoys me most about these shows is their presumptions about the things kids can comprehend. Suddenly the world is only about boys, girls, ointment, foot fungus and delusional parents. Entertainment seems to have been replaced with the need to create the next big thing, the next Hannah Montana or High School Musical (Disney's just as bad as Nickelodeon). Back in the day, kids weren't treated like idiots. TV networks seemed to value their intelligence, their imagination and their ability to process things.
If we're not careful we're going to start breeding a generation of overprotected, unimaginative morons.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
thesaurus
I find it truly amazing that I can be easily captivated by an item of clothing. The cleverer the design or premise, the more captivated I become. Or perhaps it's not about it being clever or appealing, but merely about the ease with which nostalgia and quirkiness seem to capture my attention.
I'm not exactly into high fashion. I don't see the point in wearing something 'chic' for the sake of it - I'd much rather lounge about in something comfortable. Though to be perfectly honest, I have submerged myself in the nautical theme that seems to be in fashion this season. After all, how can you look good if you don't feel like you do? It's all about the confidence - dear God I'm quoting Gok Wan. Can somebody save me from pop culture please?
Today I found a gem, a truly amusing t-shirt.
It says thesaurus.
It's a dinosaur.
It's a dinosaur in glasses.
Moreover it's a dinosaur in glasses sitting on a pile of books reading a book.
I'd wager that that book is a thesaurus.
I don't know why, but the imagination behind the t-shirt truly struck me. I stood back and thought 'wow - there's someone somewhere who has the exact same frame of mind as I do, who enjoys the intellectual banter, who is revelling in intellectual promiscuity! In my opinion there's a lot to be said for clever use of language, for imagination and for dinosaurs. Particularly dinosaurs depicted sitting on piles of books in glasses reading thesauruses.
I'm not exactly into high fashion. I don't see the point in wearing something 'chic' for the sake of it - I'd much rather lounge about in something comfortable. Though to be perfectly honest, I have submerged myself in the nautical theme that seems to be in fashion this season. After all, how can you look good if you don't feel like you do? It's all about the confidence - dear God I'm quoting Gok Wan. Can somebody save me from pop culture please?
Today I found a gem, a truly amusing t-shirt.
It says thesaurus.
It's a dinosaur.
It's a dinosaur in glasses.
Moreover it's a dinosaur in glasses sitting on a pile of books reading a book.
I'd wager that that book is a thesaurus.
I don't know why, but the imagination behind the t-shirt truly struck me. I stood back and thought 'wow - there's someone somewhere who has the exact same frame of mind as I do, who enjoys the intellectual banter, who is revelling in intellectual promiscuity! In my opinion there's a lot to be said for clever use of language, for imagination and for dinosaurs. Particularly dinosaurs depicted sitting on piles of books in glasses reading thesauruses.
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