Dear Blog

You have been ignored for far too long, yet again.

I will write in you soon, I promise.

Ignorance is bliss... or is it?

The series of events which occurred today in Norway was truly harrowing. However, the series of reports which spread across the international media in the aftermath of the bombing and shooting was far more disturbing.

Hvil i fred

At no juncture did any evidence which could link Islamic extremists to the attacks emerge, yet every single newscaster talked of NOTHING but Islamic links. It proved nothing short of LAZY journalism.

The world has hit an all-time low. I remember once being told that World War Three would have some link to the 'sword of Allah'. As far as I'm concerned we've already launched a world war on innocent Muslims, charging them with all the wrongs of the world and jumping to conclusions about them with little care for the consequences of our actions.

Ignorance is bliss? Ignorance is dangerous more like it.

Your Masters Choice

I'm currently debating whether or not to start reading for my MA in Journalism.

I'm not sure that there really is much that I CAN read for it at the moment but I've found myself browsing through the old curriculum and checking book deals on Amazon. I have a feeling that despite my best intentions I will fail to engage in anything mildly academic any time soon.

Falling asleep on the sofa has become my forté, a fact which indicates that perhaps now is not the best time to be getting into any serious reading. I am absolutely living for this weekend and my trip to Galway to sleep, enjoy some free time and just relax in a totally different atmosphere! I want to forget the world, forget the drama and just enjoy the summer.

I've bought The Princess Bride, the original book which inspired the film and I can't wait to start reading it. I think it may be my companion for the train journey as doubtless my lovely fellow traveller will find it easy to drift off into the land of nod.

Yum. Westley.

My name is Inigo Montoya You kill my father.. prepare to die :P

Then again, maybe I should read a book for my Masters?

Decisions, decisions.

Eternal monotony of the lethargic mind

It's yet again been a while since I wrote. 40 hour working weeks seem to work wonders as regards sapping the life / energy out of you.

We're already half way through the summer and I've done relatively little but I guess it isn't too late to make the most of things. Our flight tickets for Majorca arrived today, reminding me that yes, I will get to lie in the sun at least once this year. With a masters fast approaching this is very very very welcome news.

Kudos to my ever narrowing vocabulary for that one. It's clearly a sign that I need to start reading and writing again.

With an eye to reasserting my intellectual ability I've purchased four books this week - fair enough, the Ross O'Carroll-Kelly one doesn't really count but hey, I wanted a cheap laugh. I'm starting to miss academia in a way which is oddly disturbing.

I'm facing a little challenge at the moment - having to justify why I should be selected for something based on why I think I'm good enough for it. I despise these forms, ones where you have to really sell yourself in a sense. I know I'm good at my job, as good as many of the other people I work with and indeed better at it than some. Still, it's never nice having to scrawl 'love me' across a page, regardless of whether or not you happen to be an attention-seeking miscreant like myself.

Hoping to book a nice weekend away this afternoon - I have five days off and really want to make the most of them. I also have a lovely new suitcase to bring with me, albeit one that's a little imperfect so I will be hopefully trading it for a newer model in work tomorrow.

I have the same suitcase as a four year old. Love it.

I also spotted this on-line and have since fallen in love with it. Sad, I know. However I think it's incredibly cute.

awesome

Anyway, life calls.

General Election 2011

Tonight I should really be doing an Irish history essay, yet I find myself distracted by the General Election turnout. Yes, it would seem that somewhere between first and final year I actually developed a fascination with voter turnout, a subject which left me dozing in my seat or playing Tetris during the lectures devoted to it in first year.

I'm not going to lie, I don't see this election as particularly significant. It is an election like any other, a 'drastic' change form Fianna Fáil to Fine Gael and Labour, echoing the election of 1992. Of course I was only three years old in 1992 so I wouldn't be able to remember much. What I do remember however, is an odd sense of unease about John Bruton and I can vividly remember the Rainbow Coalition that wasn't.

This was the first General Election I was ever able to vote in, but I wasn't a first time voter. Yes, I actually bothered to vote in the European Elections in 2009. I think Model European Parliament instilled in me a belief that the person who represented me in Europe was as important as the person who represented me at home.

But then that's what elections are supposed to be about isn't it? About what you WANT, about who you WANT to represent you? Is this year's election about that? For some, yes, it would seem so. However for others it seems rather unlikely. For many, #GE11 is more about what they don't want.

I just hope that they don't live to regret seeking revenge on those they didn't want without considering who they were handing power to.

Wish List 2011 - #1

Love this Oscar de la Renta dress Rihanna wore to the Brits.
I'd probably resemble death in it, but still.
Pretty.

До свиданья dinosaur

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

It was good enough for Romeo, so why not for my dinosaur?
My dear old laptop is starting to give up on itself.
The lovely compact 14" laptop looks set to be replaced by the relatively inconvenient 15.2" laptop.
However with no sound and a dodgy shut down sequence it would seem I have no option.

I will miss my beloved dinosaur.

late night essay #1 2011

Finishing that first essay of the semester is always one of those moments I cherish. It seems as though some degree of metaphorical weight has been lifted from my shoulders. No, it isn't perfect. Yes, I will re-draft it before handing it in on Thursday but all the heavy work is done. The worst of the reading has been relegated to my distant memory, never again to resurface until some time around week 12 when the prospect of exams send me into a proverbial tizzy. (Note to self: look up proverbial and make sure you are using the term properly).

So, it is done. I'm a week behind schedule but it is done a week before it's due.
Success.

I have to be up for work in five and a half hours.
Fail.

I always come back to your bloggy love

I've decided that it is indeed high time that I returned to blogging.

Watch this space.

3 AM

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.