Who in God’s name decided Miriam O’Callaghan was capable of conducting an interview outside the rarified realm of politics? I’d like, if I may, to share a couple of tips gleaned from recent interviews particularly the one last Saturday morning with the Boormans.
Don’t go “Wow that was a great story” when your guest has just finished delivering a mildly interesting anecdote. Don’t go “Oh that’s really sweet actually” when your guest has just told you how much he loves his wife. It’s the actually here that’s the killer. You might just have gotten away with “Oh that’s really sweet”. Just. But the “actually” tagged onto the end makes it unforgiveable.
Don’t even get me started on the snooze fest of a few weeks ago when she managed to fit jumbo ego to the power of two, Lee agus Bird into the same studio to deliver the most turgid, self congratulatory hour of broadcasting in living memory.
And when are the powers that be going to give young Christopher McKevitt a proper forum on which to showcase his obvious talents? The slick, merciless way he tackles some of these blowhard corporate types on the morning business slots bodes well for the future. When he will be properly unleashed unfortunately is down to the vagaries of RTE management, the same management which decided that anyone with a shred of mental competence would be entertained listening to Miriam cheerlead George and Charlie performing their renowned mutual jerk off routine a few weeks ago.
If I bothered buying a license I’d be even more upset.
Friday, February 26, 2010
What Goes Round..........
Last weekend in the Sunday Independent Niamh Horan wrote a piece detailing the financial troubles of one Adele King, aka national treasure and beloved entertainer Twink.
In the article Horan carried a quote from a member of what she described as Twink’s “inner circle” to bear out the story. Essentially Twink has a fairly decent house in Knocklyon and she is having trouble meeting the mortgage payments. I know a plumber who has a fairly decent house in Rathgar and he is having trouble meeting the mortgage payments. I know a supermarket manager who has a fairly decent house in Ballinteer and he is having trouble meeting the mortgage payments. This must mean that I am a member of these people’s “inner circle”. Seemingly not knowing that one even exists should be no impediment to entering an individual's "inner circle". I did not know this.
When you are having trouble paying your household bills, you must forsake your right to have an “inner circle”. This is one of the rules that you must accept when you acquire your “inner circle” in the first place. The “inner circle” disappears when the car is towed from the driveway by the finance company.
Michael O’Leary, Michael Smurfit, Tony O’Reilly, John Magnier, Dermot Desmond, Denis O’Brien and Sean Quinn have “inner circles”.
Twink, like a van driver or a quantity surveyor, has friends.
In the article Horan carried a quote from a member of what she described as Twink’s “inner circle” to bear out the story. Essentially Twink has a fairly decent house in Knocklyon and she is having trouble meeting the mortgage payments. I know a plumber who has a fairly decent house in Rathgar and he is having trouble meeting the mortgage payments. I know a supermarket manager who has a fairly decent house in Ballinteer and he is having trouble meeting the mortgage payments. This must mean that I am a member of these people’s “inner circle”. Seemingly not knowing that one even exists should be no impediment to entering an individual's "inner circle". I did not know this.
When you are having trouble paying your household bills, you must forsake your right to have an “inner circle”. This is one of the rules that you must accept when you acquire your “inner circle” in the first place. The “inner circle” disappears when the car is towed from the driveway by the finance company.
Michael O’Leary, Michael Smurfit, Tony O’Reilly, John Magnier, Dermot Desmond, Denis O’Brien and Sean Quinn have “inner circles”.
Twink, like a van driver or a quantity surveyor, has friends.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Spinning Kenny
Enda Kenny has gone on record to rule out any idea of a coalition involving his party and Sinn Fein. So repulsed is Enda by Grizzly and the lads that he would not contemplate making a deal with them to form a government. Even if it jeopardized his ultimate goal of becoming Taoiseach of a government in which Fine Gael would be the majority party.
So it was a measure of the moral fabric of the man to see him last week coming to the aid of Sinn Fein who had been so viciously and maliciously slighted by Willie O’ Dea. What selflessness he showed in putting aside his obvious revulsion to come to their aid and make a stand for better standards in public office. What mental turmoil he must have endured in wrestling with his conscience, what steel and fortitude he displayed in being able to park the ideological chasm which exists between the parties in order to make the case for Ministerial accountability.
Oh Enda what a beacon of hope you are for our Parliamentary system. For Democracy itself. For if not Enda, who will fight the good fight, who will drag us out of this unethical quagmire? You see Enda is guided by a moral compass us mere mortals do not possess, a compass that led him through the dark night of the soul and into bed with Sinn Fein.
In the public interest, don’t you know.
For everyone's sake let’s hope he used a condom. Who put the bag over whose head is not clear at this point.
So it was a measure of the moral fabric of the man to see him last week coming to the aid of Sinn Fein who had been so viciously and maliciously slighted by Willie O’ Dea. What selflessness he showed in putting aside his obvious revulsion to come to their aid and make a stand for better standards in public office. What mental turmoil he must have endured in wrestling with his conscience, what steel and fortitude he displayed in being able to park the ideological chasm which exists between the parties in order to make the case for Ministerial accountability.
Oh Enda what a beacon of hope you are for our Parliamentary system. For Democracy itself. For if not Enda, who will fight the good fight, who will drag us out of this unethical quagmire? You see Enda is guided by a moral compass us mere mortals do not possess, a compass that led him through the dark night of the soul and into bed with Sinn Fein.
In the public interest, don’t you know.
For everyone's sake let’s hope he used a condom. Who put the bag over whose head is not clear at this point.
Sinn a Willie
Willie O’ Dea has defended the allegations that he accused a Sinn Fein election candidate of owning a brothel by saying that the candidate in question accused him of using incorrectly headed notepaper in his constituency office and that he was simply ”responding in kind”.
Followers of Willie’s junior hurling career will be familiar with this tendency and recall an incident in a championship match in the late sixties when Willie was on the receiving end of a robust shoulder from a Bruff player. He “responded in kind” by having a load of seasoned turkey manure tipped in the player’s driveway and poisoning his pet pony, Bullseye.
The scale of Willie’s achievement here surely needs to be acknowledged in that he is the first person in history to participate in a stationery disagreement during which the moral high ground was ceded to Sinn Fein. No stationery related skirmish on record has resulted in a surge in credibility for Grizzly and the lads. Until now. Willie's pivotal contribution to this milestone, this watershed moment in Irish politics is duly noted.
Quite an accomplishment. Possibly the only one of any note. Apart from the 'tache obviously. The 'tache transcends party politics. No one of sound mind would question the 'tache. And rightly so.
Followers of Willie’s junior hurling career will be familiar with this tendency and recall an incident in a championship match in the late sixties when Willie was on the receiving end of a robust shoulder from a Bruff player. He “responded in kind” by having a load of seasoned turkey manure tipped in the player’s driveway and poisoning his pet pony, Bullseye.
The scale of Willie’s achievement here surely needs to be acknowledged in that he is the first person in history to participate in a stationery disagreement during which the moral high ground was ceded to Sinn Fein. No stationery related skirmish on record has resulted in a surge in credibility for Grizzly and the lads. Until now. Willie's pivotal contribution to this milestone, this watershed moment in Irish politics is duly noted.
Quite an accomplishment. Possibly the only one of any note. Apart from the 'tache obviously. The 'tache transcends party politics. No one of sound mind would question the 'tache. And rightly so.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis
A Tom Waits love song for Valentines Day. With Silent Night intro & ending.
hey Charley I'm pregnant
and living on 9th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off Euclid Avenue
and I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track.
and he says that he loves me
even though it's not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin'
every Saturday nite.
and hey Charley I think about you
everytime I pass a fillin' station
on account of all the grease
you used to wear in your hair
and I still have that record
of little anthony & the imperials
but someone stole my record player
how do you like that?
hey Charley I almost went crazy
after Mario got busted
so I went back to Omaha to
live with my folks
but everyone I used to know
was either dead or in prison
so I came back to Minneapolis
this time I think I'm gonna stay.
hey Charley I think I'm happy
for the first time since my accident
and I wish I had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
I'd buy me a used car lot
and I wouldn't sell any of 'em
I'd just drive a different car
every day dependin' on how I feel.
hey Charley for chrissakes
do you want to know the truth of it?
I don't have a husband
he don't play the trombone
and I need to borrow money
to pay this lawyer and Charley, hey
I'll be eligible for parole
come Valentines Day.
hey Charley I'm pregnant
and living on 9th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off Euclid Avenue
and I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track.
and he says that he loves me
even though it's not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin'
every Saturday nite.
and hey Charley I think about you
everytime I pass a fillin' station
on account of all the grease
you used to wear in your hair
and I still have that record
of little anthony & the imperials
but someone stole my record player
how do you like that?
hey Charley I almost went crazy
after Mario got busted
so I went back to Omaha to
live with my folks
but everyone I used to know
was either dead or in prison
so I came back to Minneapolis
this time I think I'm gonna stay.
hey Charley I think I'm happy
for the first time since my accident
and I wish I had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
I'd buy me a used car lot
and I wouldn't sell any of 'em
I'd just drive a different car
every day dependin' on how I feel.
hey Charley for chrissakes
do you want to know the truth of it?
I don't have a husband
he don't play the trombone
and I need to borrow money
to pay this lawyer and Charley, hey
I'll be eligible for parole
come Valentines Day.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
I'll Get Back To Ya
Hard to know what to make of the resignation of the former RTE Economics Correspondent from the Fine Gael parliamentary party.
Has he done the honourable thing or made, as they'd say in Foxrock, a Leorge Gee of himself?
Has he done the honourable thing or made, as they'd say in Foxrock, a Leorge Gee of himself?
Tip of The Week
I have it on good authority that if you go into Burdocks in Christchurch and order a battered sausage they will throw in a bag of chips for free.
It sounds like commercial suicide but if it's true it has to be the greatest customer inducement in retail history, easily trumping any miserable scrappage scheme or seven year unlimited warranty you care to mention.
I don't live in Dublin so can someone drop in there and let me know if it's true. bburke1971@gmail.com
I will construct a family day out around it.
It sounds like commercial suicide but if it's true it has to be the greatest customer inducement in retail history, easily trumping any miserable scrappage scheme or seven year unlimited warranty you care to mention.
I don't live in Dublin so can someone drop in there and let me know if it's true. bburke1971@gmail.com
I will construct a family day out around it.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Light, Air, Satisfaction
It’s interesting that we now have to be able to speak to people in other rooms while we chop vegetables. Prep, by the way is what it’s called.
There was a dark period in our recent history during which in order to speak to someone who happened to be in your house you were required to relocate to whatever room that person was in. This was inevitably a conversation which needed to take place while you were chopping vegetables (or prep) and they were having a nice glass of wine. Thankfully we have discarded this grim ritual and consigned it to the polished stainless steel trash can of spatial dynamics history.
I, as head vegetable chopper, need to be involved, capable of seeing and speaking to people who happen to be in my house albeit another location in my house, a location which is remote from where the pivotal task of vegetable chopping is being carried out.
Not only does the space have to capable of accommodating such interfacing but it must also be light and airy. We must all commune in light, airy spaces. This is the most fundamental prerequisite of modern living. This and a shared hatred of china figurines and woodchip wallpaper. You must insist upon lightness and airiness as a minimum, a threshold level of sensibility.
It is up to yourself at this point if you want to go on to develop an appreciation for feature walls, textured wall coverings, exposed beams or polished concrete floors. These are optional extras for the particularly discerning.
Not being versed in these areas will not preclude you from getting into the party in the first place but be warned that your ignorance of them will certainly lead to a few awkward silences while you’re there. No, the host will only seek to validate your light and airy credentials on the way in but do yourself a favour and avoid a minefield of potential faux pas by at least learning a few salient points about radiant heating beforehand.
It is also important to understand the concept of flow and how one space relates to another space. You may be likely to overhear something like “there is a very pure, organic relationship between these two spaces which is important in preserving the flow and allowing you to sit and have a nice glass of wine and read a book while having a conversation with whoever is in the kitchen and enjoy uninterrupted views to the garden. In fact the glazing along this wall has the effect of bringing the outside in. Don’t you think?”
There can be no doubt upon hearing something like this that you are in the presence of people whose virtues are beyond reproach. They want to involve whoever is doing the donkey work in the kitchen and not make them feel isolated. This means they are caring, considerate and compassionate. They are quaffing fine wine while reading a book. This means they are educated, urbane, sophisticated and intelligent. They want to gaze upon the garden, they love nature and appreciate the great outdoors. This means they are gentle, conscientious and contemplative.
And you look around and acknowledge the ease with which the space is accommodating the sixty people who have been invited for the grand unveiling. Sixty people who will never again find themselves in the same parish, never mind the same room.
And as you fondle the velvet curtains or snort a scented candle you begin to tabulate in your head all the ways your life sucks. How these paragons of virtue and incontrovertible taste have brought your inadequacies into focus. Your naked bayonet light bulbs, oil fired radiators, formica worktop, laminate flooring, carpet, eight foot ceilings, under counter fridge, super ser. A super ser for fuck’s sake.
You quietly put down your glass on the soapstone mantle piece, retrieve your coat, slip unnoticed out the front door and stumble sobbing towards the bus stop.
There was a dark period in our recent history during which in order to speak to someone who happened to be in your house you were required to relocate to whatever room that person was in. This was inevitably a conversation which needed to take place while you were chopping vegetables (or prep) and they were having a nice glass of wine. Thankfully we have discarded this grim ritual and consigned it to the polished stainless steel trash can of spatial dynamics history.
I, as head vegetable chopper, need to be involved, capable of seeing and speaking to people who happen to be in my house albeit another location in my house, a location which is remote from where the pivotal task of vegetable chopping is being carried out.
Not only does the space have to capable of accommodating such interfacing but it must also be light and airy. We must all commune in light, airy spaces. This is the most fundamental prerequisite of modern living. This and a shared hatred of china figurines and woodchip wallpaper. You must insist upon lightness and airiness as a minimum, a threshold level of sensibility.
It is up to yourself at this point if you want to go on to develop an appreciation for feature walls, textured wall coverings, exposed beams or polished concrete floors. These are optional extras for the particularly discerning.
Not being versed in these areas will not preclude you from getting into the party in the first place but be warned that your ignorance of them will certainly lead to a few awkward silences while you’re there. No, the host will only seek to validate your light and airy credentials on the way in but do yourself a favour and avoid a minefield of potential faux pas by at least learning a few salient points about radiant heating beforehand.
It is also important to understand the concept of flow and how one space relates to another space. You may be likely to overhear something like “there is a very pure, organic relationship between these two spaces which is important in preserving the flow and allowing you to sit and have a nice glass of wine and read a book while having a conversation with whoever is in the kitchen and enjoy uninterrupted views to the garden. In fact the glazing along this wall has the effect of bringing the outside in. Don’t you think?”
There can be no doubt upon hearing something like this that you are in the presence of people whose virtues are beyond reproach. They want to involve whoever is doing the donkey work in the kitchen and not make them feel isolated. This means they are caring, considerate and compassionate. They are quaffing fine wine while reading a book. This means they are educated, urbane, sophisticated and intelligent. They want to gaze upon the garden, they love nature and appreciate the great outdoors. This means they are gentle, conscientious and contemplative.
And you look around and acknowledge the ease with which the space is accommodating the sixty people who have been invited for the grand unveiling. Sixty people who will never again find themselves in the same parish, never mind the same room.
And as you fondle the velvet curtains or snort a scented candle you begin to tabulate in your head all the ways your life sucks. How these paragons of virtue and incontrovertible taste have brought your inadequacies into focus. Your naked bayonet light bulbs, oil fired radiators, formica worktop, laminate flooring, carpet, eight foot ceilings, under counter fridge, super ser. A super ser for fuck’s sake.
You quietly put down your glass on the soapstone mantle piece, retrieve your coat, slip unnoticed out the front door and stumble sobbing towards the bus stop.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Dying For a Bit of News
I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who was doing a rough mental calculation in my head every time I was faced with the sight of some carefully unkempt TV reporter standing at the edge of a scene of desolation in Haiti.
That calculation went something like this – there are probably fifty crews there from the US alone, about twenty from South America, four from Canada, five from Britain, one from Ireland, twenty from the rest of Europe and let’s say conservatively another twenty from the remainder of the world. That’s a total of one hundred and twenty camera crews. I imagine each crew would consist of a cameraman, driver, sound man and of course the individual on the other side of the lens. That’s four hundred and eighty people with all the associated vehicles and equipment. There was no problem getting all that stuff onto the island though, was there? The logistics of distributing food, water and humanitarian supplies seemed to be insurmountable while there was a fairly obvious open door policy on morons in khaki pants with cameras.
And I was not alone in thinking as I looked at the tragic events unfold that four hundred and eighty pairs of hands could move a lot of rubble, could search a lot of collapsed houses, could carry a lot of water, could change a lot of bandages. If those pairs of hands were so inclined.
I’d like to think that I speak for the majority when I say that I would have happily foregone the grave, quasi profound commentary of any of these Pulitzer chasing fools, I would happily have forsaken hearing one of your sickeningly contrived “ Perhaps the sun will never rise over Haiti again. This is Simon Jones BBC News at the collapsed UN headquarters in Port au Prince, Haiti” type sign offs if I thought you were doing something to help. I would have been glad to have the anchor in London tell me that Simon Jones will not be filing a report today as he is busy digging graves to bury some of the dead.
I mean you’re right there for Christ’s sake, you’ve done the hard part, now drop the bloody mike and do something useful.
That calculation went something like this – there are probably fifty crews there from the US alone, about twenty from South America, four from Canada, five from Britain, one from Ireland, twenty from the rest of Europe and let’s say conservatively another twenty from the remainder of the world. That’s a total of one hundred and twenty camera crews. I imagine each crew would consist of a cameraman, driver, sound man and of course the individual on the other side of the lens. That’s four hundred and eighty people with all the associated vehicles and equipment. There was no problem getting all that stuff onto the island though, was there? The logistics of distributing food, water and humanitarian supplies seemed to be insurmountable while there was a fairly obvious open door policy on morons in khaki pants with cameras.
And I was not alone in thinking as I looked at the tragic events unfold that four hundred and eighty pairs of hands could move a lot of rubble, could search a lot of collapsed houses, could carry a lot of water, could change a lot of bandages. If those pairs of hands were so inclined.
I’d like to think that I speak for the majority when I say that I would have happily foregone the grave, quasi profound commentary of any of these Pulitzer chasing fools, I would happily have forsaken hearing one of your sickeningly contrived “ Perhaps the sun will never rise over Haiti again. This is Simon Jones BBC News at the collapsed UN headquarters in Port au Prince, Haiti” type sign offs if I thought you were doing something to help. I would have been glad to have the anchor in London tell me that Simon Jones will not be filing a report today as he is busy digging graves to bury some of the dead.
I mean you’re right there for Christ’s sake, you’ve done the hard part, now drop the bloody mike and do something useful.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Too Legit' To Omit
I read with interest today that the civil service is on a go slow, working to rule. What I did not read was how this development has brought about a marked improvement in services. Disappointingly, it wasn't mentioned in any of the papers.
It's Official - The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back
Rody, Rody, Rody. We were just over the revelations of wholesale waste and squandering of resources that you presided over in FAS. We had all but come to terms with the obscenely inflated pay off you got to go quietly after making an abject balls of your job for a number of years.
We have to draw the line somewhere though and the news of taxpayer money being used to buy tickets for Bonjovi, Westlife and Billy Joel concerts is the proverbial bridge too far in this squalid litany of mismanagement. I don’t believe the citizenry of any country could put up with such a collection of affronts to good taste and decency. Bonjovi and Westlife and, god help us, Billy Joel. Any one of these musical aberrations taken in isolation could be put down to a mistake, an error of judgement. But the three together indicates a lack of morality far more serious than any penchant for the odd first class airline seat for yourself and the missus.
There surely exists now ample ammunition and evidence to go above and beyond the root and branch investigation which has been called for and demand the immediate dismantling of FAS altogether.
Bonjovi, Westlife and Billy fuckin’ Joel. You need to get a bit of religion back into your life Rody because that’s an Unholy Trinity if ever I saw one.
We have to draw the line somewhere though and the news of taxpayer money being used to buy tickets for Bonjovi, Westlife and Billy Joel concerts is the proverbial bridge too far in this squalid litany of mismanagement. I don’t believe the citizenry of any country could put up with such a collection of affronts to good taste and decency. Bonjovi and Westlife and, god help us, Billy Joel. Any one of these musical aberrations taken in isolation could be put down to a mistake, an error of judgement. But the three together indicates a lack of morality far more serious than any penchant for the odd first class airline seat for yourself and the missus.
There surely exists now ample ammunition and evidence to go above and beyond the root and branch investigation which has been called for and demand the immediate dismantling of FAS altogether.
Bonjovi, Westlife and Billy fuckin’ Joel. You need to get a bit of religion back into your life Rody because that’s an Unholy Trinity if ever I saw one.
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