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.
Friday, August 6, 2010
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.
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