Friday, December 30, 2011
December 30th
Context is everything. A couple of weeks ago the eight year old was messing about on the roof of my car. I was standing right there, overseeing every move. He’s not doing any harm, he’s not liable to break anything or injure himself; he’s just hanging out on the roof of the car. Yet the overriding compulsion is not to leave him at it; something about a kid on the roof of a car does not fit and the impulse is to move to correct it, to make him come down. The situation is perfectly reasonable and controlled, yet it does not appear that way when you are parked outside the school waiting to pick up the older kids. If we were on holiday parked at a beach it would look more rational and normal, it would acquire an appropriate level of frivolity from its setting. The child wearing only a swimming shorts would take it to another level of whimsy, would reinforce its harmlessness. What’s harmless at a beach is anarchy outside a school.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
December 29th
Ar a leath uair tar éis a cuig tá sé in ám don Nuacht a léamh anocht ag Samuel L. Jackson.
There are grants available from the Department of Health for setting up support groups. I’m on the lookout for an appropriate trauma and qualified candidates; on average per week how many hours do you spend putting together IKEA furniture?
What's the collective noun for rakes? What ever happened the butter mountain and the wine lake? The Greeks must have got their hands on the latter, that would explain a few things. What the fuck is propane?
Twenty eleven, two thousand and eleven, two eleven. Twelve years in and no closer to a consensus. No wonder we're all fucked.
6% of ants are actually lazy bastards.
Do not enter. Scientists only.
There are grants available from the Department of Health for setting up support groups. I’m on the lookout for an appropriate trauma and qualified candidates; on average per week how many hours do you spend putting together IKEA furniture?
What's the collective noun for rakes? What ever happened the butter mountain and the wine lake? The Greeks must have got their hands on the latter, that would explain a few things. What the fuck is propane?
Twenty eleven, two thousand and eleven, two eleven. Twelve years in and no closer to a consensus. No wonder we're all fucked.
6% of ants are actually lazy bastards.
Do not enter. Scientists only.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Grow Your Own Way
Growth is the mantra. Growth we are told is the key to everything. When economies stop growing through consecutive quarters we get recession and all the attendant shrinkage and hardship. Growth they say will make everything good again.
There are now seven billion people on the planet, unchecked growth can no longer be sustained. Growth implies spiraling demand for everything. For food, for consumer goods, for machinery, for housing, for infrastructure and the impact of all of that on the finite resources of the planet is not pretty. You can fill all the green bins in the world with cornflake boxes but deep down we all know, whether we acknowledge it or not, that this cannot possibly end well. With all the emerging territories the growth we can expect henceforth isn’t like the gentle, polite arc we have become used to in the western world. When the Chinese really get going they’re going to rage, consuming everything in their path. And they are not the only ones just getting started.
Then there’s the micro level, the human cost of insurmountable debt and misery that seems to be the only tangible legacy of the last growth spurt. What did this country really come away from the party with; a few new stretches of tarmac, a tram in Dublin, countless monuments to bad architecture and a million tales of overwhelming debt and desperation.
Essentially we are mired in a mindset whereby a person’s worth or usefulness is measured by how much shit they consume. A mindset which has been successfully created by latter day Don Drapers cheerled by politicians and big business. How often have you heard it said “we need to get people back into the shops and spending, that’s the only route to recovery” For who? As long as we collectively have a perception of each other as being inadequate if we don’t spend money we don’t have on crap we don’t need then this cycle never changes.
So how do we reconcile these two apparently opposing realities? We need growth to live comfortably but the same growth will kill us all quicker. It’s all a bit rock n’ roll really.
Growth is the only way forward. Spot on. Winter cabbage; below ground baby, below ground.
There are now seven billion people on the planet, unchecked growth can no longer be sustained. Growth implies spiraling demand for everything. For food, for consumer goods, for machinery, for housing, for infrastructure and the impact of all of that on the finite resources of the planet is not pretty. You can fill all the green bins in the world with cornflake boxes but deep down we all know, whether we acknowledge it or not, that this cannot possibly end well. With all the emerging territories the growth we can expect henceforth isn’t like the gentle, polite arc we have become used to in the western world. When the Chinese really get going they’re going to rage, consuming everything in their path. And they are not the only ones just getting started.
Then there’s the micro level, the human cost of insurmountable debt and misery that seems to be the only tangible legacy of the last growth spurt. What did this country really come away from the party with; a few new stretches of tarmac, a tram in Dublin, countless monuments to bad architecture and a million tales of overwhelming debt and desperation.
Essentially we are mired in a mindset whereby a person’s worth or usefulness is measured by how much shit they consume. A mindset which has been successfully created by latter day Don Drapers cheerled by politicians and big business. How often have you heard it said “we need to get people back into the shops and spending, that’s the only route to recovery” For who? As long as we collectively have a perception of each other as being inadequate if we don’t spend money we don’t have on crap we don’t need then this cycle never changes.
So how do we reconcile these two apparently opposing realities? We need growth to live comfortably but the same growth will kill us all quicker. It’s all a bit rock n’ roll really.
Growth is the only way forward. Spot on. Winter cabbage; below ground baby, below ground.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
U Turn Is The New Forward
While they've been around the reduced motor tax rates for cars with low emissions have encouraged people to buy new cars. This is a fact because the annual savings in many cases are substantial.
So how green is the actual manufacture of the car, how many fewer green cars would have had to be built if this incentive to purchase them had not been created? Think about the fabrication emissions that this skewing of market conditions and the building of these cars in the first place created.
If we're serious about being green why not incentivize people to maintain their perfectly fine older cars and keep them on the road longer, why not try to avoid having to build any more of the bloody things than absolutely necessary? That’s green. A solid first step here would be to scrap the ridiculous registration system that displays the year of the car and creates pressure on the more insecure amongst us to keep changing, regardless of need. That would be green. Crushing older cars, shoving them into landfills then squandering finite resources and filling the skies with toxic shite building replacements, with the blessing of state sponsored incentives and under coercion from the big hitters in the motor industry lobby, definitely isn't.
The current shower will probably change the whole racket because, ironically and confusingly, they're even more misguided than the previous lot. Go figure.
So how green is the actual manufacture of the car, how many fewer green cars would have had to be built if this incentive to purchase them had not been created? Think about the fabrication emissions that this skewing of market conditions and the building of these cars in the first place created.
If we're serious about being green why not incentivize people to maintain their perfectly fine older cars and keep them on the road longer, why not try to avoid having to build any more of the bloody things than absolutely necessary? That’s green. A solid first step here would be to scrap the ridiculous registration system that displays the year of the car and creates pressure on the more insecure amongst us to keep changing, regardless of need. That would be green. Crushing older cars, shoving them into landfills then squandering finite resources and filling the skies with toxic shite building replacements, with the blessing of state sponsored incentives and under coercion from the big hitters in the motor industry lobby, definitely isn't.
The current shower will probably change the whole racket because, ironically and confusingly, they're even more misguided than the previous lot. Go figure.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Contextual Healing
And we can see them clearly in our mind’s eye – the historians toiling to construct the appropriate narrative for the past fifteen years of the island story. Fifteen years into which so much has been packed. Fifteen years that, if dramatized, could easily be called The Rise and Fall of Paddy.
But the historians, the academics or the professors would not dare be so flippant when grappling with such weighty matters as sovereignty and self determination. No these lads will labour fruitlessly to formulate suitably leaden and impenetrable language for what has befallen the Republic.
And what I am proposing here is to save everyone a boat load of bother. I propose to be pithy and precise with regard to the lessons thrown up by the contortions of our recent history.
Shout it from the rooftops, teach it in the classrooms, put it on the Twitter - don’t give Paddy any money of his own or create conditions whereby he has access to anyone else’s. And that will be a mighty fine start going forward.
But the historians, the academics or the professors would not dare be so flippant when grappling with such weighty matters as sovereignty and self determination. No these lads will labour fruitlessly to formulate suitably leaden and impenetrable language for what has befallen the Republic.
And what I am proposing here is to save everyone a boat load of bother. I propose to be pithy and precise with regard to the lessons thrown up by the contortions of our recent history.
Shout it from the rooftops, teach it in the classrooms, put it on the Twitter - don’t give Paddy any money of his own or create conditions whereby he has access to anyone else’s. And that will be a mighty fine start going forward.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Panic On The Streets Of Portarlington
There was a time I thought I was going to read all the books that interest me. It recently dawned that I read, at best, fifteen in a year. So I’m not going to read all the books that interest me, I’m going to read, at best, about six hundred of them. I will spend the rest of my life reading the books that were published this morning. There are a lot of films I always assumed I would get round to watching. It's always been a given that I would at some point apportion an entire night to Mulholland Drive. Now ten years later it’s touch and go if it will happen at all. And things aren’t looking great for the This Is England box set. I mean when’s that going to happen, I won't have a minute for the next forty years. Jaysus.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Keep The Faithful
What a pitiful sight it is; the party worker, the party supporter hoisting the newly elected TD on his shoulder in the count centre when the results have just been announced. The volunteer party worker elated on behalf of someone else’s entry into the racket. Elation on behalf of someone else’s entry to the promised land of a hundred grand basic plus the same again in allowances for a hundred and fifty half days a year. The poor misguided volunteer soul and his emotional investment in the party man who is going to do the divil and all when he gets to Leinster House. He’s a breath of fresh air, he’ll shake up the old order. Four new wrought iron benches in the local park later and then; flatline. Until the count centre at the next election where the same red faced bottom feeding gombeen does the needful again.
The vicarious glee, post coital reverie; our new TD. Say nothing but there’s half a dozen brand new stainless steel bins heading your way shortly lads. Don’t mention it.
The vicarious glee, post coital reverie; our new TD. Say nothing but there’s half a dozen brand new stainless steel bins heading your way shortly lads. Don’t mention it.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Letting The Side Down
Today throws up another great example. Mick Wallace wants those involved in the politicking racket up there in Dublin 2 to agree to a rearrangement of their six week summer holiday to take in the group stages of Euro 2012. Mick has been vilified from all quarters. The last thing those involved in the racket want is someone breaking ranks, letting the cat out of the sack.
Mick has been there less than a year and in that spell has quite rightly established that it does not matter a damn who turns up and when. And it won't matter next May, June , July or August just like any other May, June, July or August. Mick has recently migrated from the world of contracting where there is a strong tradition of the individual being expected to do something useful in return for being paid. So from where Mick is standing it must have seemed perfectly reasonable to ask for a bit of choreography in this regard.
But what Mick, in his naiveté, is forgetting about is optics. One look at Mick would confirm that he might not be a great lad for the optics. But the shower he’s surrounded by now love the optics, they live for the optics. So Mick was greeted with disdain in his perfectly reasonable request that proper status be afforded to the most important couple of weeks in our modern history.
Mick has been condemned by the commentariat who still have the horn for the daily ritualized bullshit that goes on up there. He has been roundly condemned by his colleagues in the racket who are collectively hell bent on never giving the slightest hint that what they are involved in is essentially grand larceny.
Mick oh Mick, call yourself a parliamentarian? Play the game mate.
Mick has been there less than a year and in that spell has quite rightly established that it does not matter a damn who turns up and when. And it won't matter next May, June , July or August just like any other May, June, July or August. Mick has recently migrated from the world of contracting where there is a strong tradition of the individual being expected to do something useful in return for being paid. So from where Mick is standing it must have seemed perfectly reasonable to ask for a bit of choreography in this regard.
But what Mick, in his naiveté, is forgetting about is optics. One look at Mick would confirm that he might not be a great lad for the optics. But the shower he’s surrounded by now love the optics, they live for the optics. So Mick was greeted with disdain in his perfectly reasonable request that proper status be afforded to the most important couple of weeks in our modern history.
Mick has been condemned by the commentariat who still have the horn for the daily ritualized bullshit that goes on up there. He has been roundly condemned by his colleagues in the racket who are collectively hell bent on never giving the slightest hint that what they are involved in is essentially grand larceny.
Mick oh Mick, call yourself a parliamentarian? Play the game mate.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Proleland Ukraine
And of course prejudice is everywhere, be it overt or subliminal. Over the last couple of days I haven’t heard a media type speculate on the numbers that will travel to Euro 2012 next summer without hearing the words credit, union and loan shoehorned into the report somewhere. Three words which, by the way, were conspicuously absent a few months ago when the same hacks were pondering the numbers that might make the trip to New Zealand to follow the rugby team.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Surabaya To Iron City Twenty Seven Years Ago
We found Tweedy and headed out to the car. There was a traffic jam on the outskirts of the city and we had to sit on a road outside an abandoned foundry. A thousand broken windows, street lights broken, darkness settling in. Bee sat in the middle of the rear seat in the lotus position. She seemed remarkably well rested after a journey that had spanned time zones, land masses, vast oceanic distances, days and nights, on large and small planes, in summer and winter, from Surabaya to Iron City. Now we sat waiting in the dark for a car to get towed or a drawbridge to close. Bee didn’t think this familiar irony of modern travel was worth a comment. She just sat there listening to Tweedy explain to me why parents needn’t worry about children taking such trips alone. Planes and terminals are the safest of places for the very young and very old. They are looked after, smiled upon, admired for their resourcefulness and pluck. People ask friendly questions, offer them blankets and sweets.
“Every child ought to have the opportunity to travel thousands of miles alone,” Tweedy said, “for the sake of her self-esteem and independence of mind, with clothes and toiletries of her own choosing. The sooner we get them in the air, the better. Like swimming or ice skating. You have to start them young. It’s one of the things I’m proudest to have accomplished with Bee. I sent her to Boston on Eastern when she was nine. I told Granny Browner not to meet her plane. Getting out of airports is every bit as important as the actual flight. Too many parents ignore this phase of a child’s development. Bee is thoroughly bicoastal now. She flew her first jumbo at ten, changed planes at O’Hare, had a near miss in Los Angeles. Two weeks later she took the Concorde to London. Malcolm was waiting with a split of champagne.”
Up ahead the taillights danced, the line began to move.
Barring mechanical failures, turbulent weather and terrorist acts, Tweedy said, an aircraft travelling at the speed of sound may be the last refuge of gracious living and civilized manners known to man.
-Don Delillo
White Noise
1984
“Every child ought to have the opportunity to travel thousands of miles alone,” Tweedy said, “for the sake of her self-esteem and independence of mind, with clothes and toiletries of her own choosing. The sooner we get them in the air, the better. Like swimming or ice skating. You have to start them young. It’s one of the things I’m proudest to have accomplished with Bee. I sent her to Boston on Eastern when she was nine. I told Granny Browner not to meet her plane. Getting out of airports is every bit as important as the actual flight. Too many parents ignore this phase of a child’s development. Bee is thoroughly bicoastal now. She flew her first jumbo at ten, changed planes at O’Hare, had a near miss in Los Angeles. Two weeks later she took the Concorde to London. Malcolm was waiting with a split of champagne.”
Up ahead the taillights danced, the line began to move.
Barring mechanical failures, turbulent weather and terrorist acts, Tweedy said, an aircraft travelling at the speed of sound may be the last refuge of gracious living and civilized manners known to man.
-Don Delillo
White Noise
1984
Scary
RTE, if reports are to be believed, is poised to cut the salaries of its top stars by up to 30% sparking “fear” of a mass exodus to rival networks. I repeat: fear. Now sit down for a moment and try to cajole your imagination into conjuring up a world wherein Marion Finucane, Pat Kenny, George Lee, Ryan Tubridy, Joe Duffy, Sean O’ Rourke, Charlie Bird and Marty Whelan are the hottest tickets in town. It is in this self same fantastical realm that the “rival networks” (i.e. TV3) are battering down the door to get their hands on Kathryn Thomas and Baz Ashmawy. Fear indeed.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Dial M For Malignant
And last week I was praying silently that Seán Gallagher became President. He was, all of a sudden, recommended highly to me on the television on Monday night by Martin McGuinness. I had been apathetic, I hadn’t paid too much attention but all that changed when the bould Martin tried to guillotine Seán live on air. And in an instant he became the only one for me. You see I bided my time, I was patient, I let the bould Martin do the vetting and research for me. To my mind there is no higher form of recommendation for any position than to have Martin McGuinness trying to deprive you of it. For whomever Martin stored up his vitriol and unleashed it at the eleventh hour decided where my vote went. So thanks Martin for doing the legwork and saving me all that pesky thought and contemplation.
Fianna Fáil; who cares, brown envelopes; who cares, dodgy dealings; who fuckin' cares? He may have been shite at the job, he may have been totally unsuitable, I don’t know and I don’t give a fuck. McGuiness and his ilk tried to derail him and that’s good enough for me. That’s the only endorsement I needed. Hard luck Seánie boy.
Fianna Fáil; who cares, brown envelopes; who cares, dodgy dealings; who fuckin' cares? He may have been shite at the job, he may have been totally unsuitable, I don’t know and I don’t give a fuck. McGuiness and his ilk tried to derail him and that’s good enough for me. That’s the only endorsement I needed. Hard luck Seánie boy.
Bill The Fascist
The Apprentice is an instrument of the far right. So far on this series we have seen a black woman, an oriental woman and a transvestite sacked and an Indian fella systematically tormented to the point that he had to withdraw from the process. And what’s more, there appears to be little effort being made to disguise this policy. It’s flippin’ brazen and blatant. Wait till you see the redhead disappear next week on some bullshit I need a warrior type pretext. The Nordy after that, then the skanger, then the Culchies followed by the lad with the beard.
The pickings will be quare slim then Bill, in every sense.
The pickings will be quare slim then Bill, in every sense.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
An Bhfuil Cead Agam Puke?
Michael D Higgins is expected to win the TG4 debate because he has the best command of the Irish language. Therefore it is not a debate. If candidates are already filtered by means of their proficiency in the prescribed means of communication it is not a debate. It is a ball of shite. Who would win a debate conducted in semaphore, or smoke signals or Morse code? Who's to say that these are things we won't also need to know, in due course?
Who out there I wonder will read anything into the results of this debate. “You know I wasn’t sure but when I saw Sean Gallagher using chúaigh when he obviously meant tháinig that sealed it for me. We can’t have a lad that clueless with his verbs in the Park. He won't know whether he's coming or going.“
If it’s a test of Irishness you’re after why not have televised contests to establish who can eat the most macaroon bars in one sitting or a currach making challenge. I fancy Gallagher in both by the way. But I can’t be sure. And I need to be sure.
Who out there I wonder will read anything into the results of this debate. “You know I wasn’t sure but when I saw Sean Gallagher using chúaigh when he obviously meant tháinig that sealed it for me. We can’t have a lad that clueless with his verbs in the Park. He won't know whether he's coming or going.“
If it’s a test of Irishness you’re after why not have televised contests to establish who can eat the most macaroon bars in one sitting or a currach making challenge. I fancy Gallagher in both by the way. But I can’t be sure. And I need to be sure.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Sorry, I Think You've Confused Me With Someone Who Gives a Fuck
Is the Presidential election the most important thing to you right now? The second, third, fourth or fifth? No. Well to pick up a newspaper or turn on a TV or radio you’d be convinced it was top of everyone’s list. It’s top of the media’s list. That’s because the media is full of people who have the horn for the Red C poll. They love being on an election footing, in election mode.
Imagine for a moment that you are energised by speculation over where Michael D Higgins’ transfers will go. Imagine that you are prepared to discuss this for hours on end and seemingly never get tired of it. Imagine that you are prepared to speculate at length why Gay Mitchell has not gained any traction with the voters. Imagine that you want to talk about the minutiae of language that Sean Gallagher used in answer to a question about Fianna Fáil when they were in power. Imagine that you are willing and able to do these things, all day every day.
If you were this type of person do you think it’s fair that you should be setting the tone for national discourse, do you think it’s fair that you bring everyone into it by leading every bulletin or headlining every newspaper with the latest meltdown from Dana’s granny's brother in law? Do you not think you might have picked up a shred of self awareness at some point on your journey through life and thought “you know what, the report on proposals to prevent banks from repossessing homes is probably the most important thing in the news this week. I better make sure it doesn’t get buried underneath an analysis of David Norris's body language”
These people fetishise opinion polls, Prime Time debates and “policy” analysis. Which would be fine if they didn’t continually assume we all want to play.
At the time the date was set for the last general election, the normally reliable Newstalk guillotined their Saturday afternoon sports show to bring us “analysis” of the political developments by the likes of Irish Independent journalist Fionnan Sheehan. It was hosted by Ger Gilroy, the same lad who normally hosts the sports show in that slot. At one stage Gilroy made an announcement for those who have just joined us that the regular show had been shelved in favour of coverage of the political situation. At this point Sheehan interjected and assured listeners that this was the equivalent of the Champions League Final, the FA Cup Final and All Ireland Final all rolled into one. Oh how they laughed, Sheehan and his buddies. But Gilroy didn’t laugh. Gilroy knew that he and the rest of us were being deprived of something of actual significance; Fulham v Arsenal.
Surrounded by loolahs, Ger could not go there.
Imagine for a moment that you are energised by speculation over where Michael D Higgins’ transfers will go. Imagine that you are prepared to discuss this for hours on end and seemingly never get tired of it. Imagine that you are prepared to speculate at length why Gay Mitchell has not gained any traction with the voters. Imagine that you want to talk about the minutiae of language that Sean Gallagher used in answer to a question about Fianna Fáil when they were in power. Imagine that you are willing and able to do these things, all day every day.
If you were this type of person do you think it’s fair that you should be setting the tone for national discourse, do you think it’s fair that you bring everyone into it by leading every bulletin or headlining every newspaper with the latest meltdown from Dana’s granny's brother in law? Do you not think you might have picked up a shred of self awareness at some point on your journey through life and thought “you know what, the report on proposals to prevent banks from repossessing homes is probably the most important thing in the news this week. I better make sure it doesn’t get buried underneath an analysis of David Norris's body language”
These people fetishise opinion polls, Prime Time debates and “policy” analysis. Which would be fine if they didn’t continually assume we all want to play.
At the time the date was set for the last general election, the normally reliable Newstalk guillotined their Saturday afternoon sports show to bring us “analysis” of the political developments by the likes of Irish Independent journalist Fionnan Sheehan. It was hosted by Ger Gilroy, the same lad who normally hosts the sports show in that slot. At one stage Gilroy made an announcement for those who have just joined us that the regular show had been shelved in favour of coverage of the political situation. At this point Sheehan interjected and assured listeners that this was the equivalent of the Champions League Final, the FA Cup Final and All Ireland Final all rolled into one. Oh how they laughed, Sheehan and his buddies. But Gilroy didn’t laugh. Gilroy knew that he and the rest of us were being deprived of something of actual significance; Fulham v Arsenal.
Surrounded by loolahs, Ger could not go there.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
If You Builder They Will Come
Sean Gallagher is optimistic about the impact his election will have on tourism.
A Kitchen Somewhere in Ohio , October 28th 2011
Todd: Ya know Cindy things are tight I think we need to put that trip to Ireland we were talking about on the long finger
Cindy: Are you fuckin’ kidding me baby, did you not hear? A bald builder from Cavan has just become President over there, we leave tomorrow. Conversation over.
Todd : Ok baby , I guess you know best
Cindy: Damn straight
A Kitchen Somewhere in Ohio , October 28th 2011
Todd: Ya know Cindy things are tight I think we need to put that trip to Ireland we were talking about on the long finger
Cindy: Are you fuckin’ kidding me baby, did you not hear? A bald builder from Cavan has just become President over there, we leave tomorrow. Conversation over.
Todd : Ok baby , I guess you know best
Cindy: Damn straight
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Past Bedtime
Of course nobody stores stuff under the bed anymore. It used to be a permanent repository, items would disappear and childhoods would come and go before they would re emerge. We don’t do that anymore. In 2011 if you were to compile a list of domestic no go areas the chassis of your bed would be right up there with the inside of your septic tank. This once celebrated pastime is now part of an affliction known as clutter. We throw stuff out. Nobody threw anything out back then, it was all too hard to come by in the first place, no matter how superfluous it became it was morally unacceptable to throw away a perfectly good anything, regardless of uselessness. If we need to store something now the undercarriage of the bed is inevitably the last place to be suggested as a suitable location. You would hire a lockable unit miles away before you’d be seen on your hands and knees in your own bedroom (in the name of storage at any rate).
That’s where we’re at. You can ask how we got here and while you’re at it you might as well ask how society functioned before the baby wipe was devised. I do not know. Nobody does.
That’s where we’re at. You can ask how we got here and while you’re at it you might as well ask how society functioned before the baby wipe was devised. I do not know. Nobody does.
Choose Sides
And you draw an imaginary line through time which separates those who share your frame of reference from those who don’t. As far as you’re concerned anyone who doesn’t remember Stretch Armstrong can fuck off.
Are You Really Calling The Shots?
We think we make decisions but we don’t. Things happen to us. We passively allow events to take place and then set about retrospectively constructing the rationale which, in an ideal world, would have initiated the event in the first place. But it’s too late; it’s not a decision any more. It’s a retroactive justification we concoct to placate and delude ourselves into thinking we’re in control. The world hurls garbage of one kind or another at us in the creation of most of which we have been utterly complicit and as a consequence are powerless to influence or abate in any meaningful way.
People allow all manner of stuff to happen that if properly analysed they would not. We are essentially lazy, we don’t want to expend too much mental effort figuring out if things are right or appropriate for us so we allow events to unfold unfettered. We permit our lives to string out into a sequence of uncontrolled incidents. This is probably why there is so much unhappiness around. People get married who shouldn’t, people have children who shouldn’t, people move to the country who shouldn’t, people get credit cards who shouldn't, people buy ponies who shouldn't. These revelations arrive too late, with the insight which the experience itself provides.
It seems that if people were more reflective and contemplative we would all find ourselves better off. If everyone used and honed their capacity for analysis and premeditation a lot of unhappy outcomes could be avoided. Is this it, is this the summation of all our problems - we are too lazy and shallow. Could it possibly be that simple?
And of course we all know those who have managed to suit themselves and wonder where the savvy comes from. The answer, of course, can be found within the concept of reincarnation. On the evidence that I have seen it seems it may take a couple of attempts to become good at life. So as you look at the beautiful ones, the ones who have managed to manipulate all the forces around them to their own ends console yourself with the knowledge that they are probably on their second or third circuit. Buried deep within their subconscious are all the lessons of previous human lives lived unsatisfactorily, notes to self.
Most of us used to be badgers or llamas or iguanas, that’s why we still don’t get it. Maybe next time round.
People allow all manner of stuff to happen that if properly analysed they would not. We are essentially lazy, we don’t want to expend too much mental effort figuring out if things are right or appropriate for us so we allow events to unfold unfettered. We permit our lives to string out into a sequence of uncontrolled incidents. This is probably why there is so much unhappiness around. People get married who shouldn’t, people have children who shouldn’t, people move to the country who shouldn’t, people get credit cards who shouldn't, people buy ponies who shouldn't. These revelations arrive too late, with the insight which the experience itself provides.
It seems that if people were more reflective and contemplative we would all find ourselves better off. If everyone used and honed their capacity for analysis and premeditation a lot of unhappy outcomes could be avoided. Is this it, is this the summation of all our problems - we are too lazy and shallow. Could it possibly be that simple?
And of course we all know those who have managed to suit themselves and wonder where the savvy comes from. The answer, of course, can be found within the concept of reincarnation. On the evidence that I have seen it seems it may take a couple of attempts to become good at life. So as you look at the beautiful ones, the ones who have managed to manipulate all the forces around them to their own ends console yourself with the knowledge that they are probably on their second or third circuit. Buried deep within their subconscious are all the lessons of previous human lives lived unsatisfactorily, notes to self.
Most of us used to be badgers or llamas or iguanas, that’s why we still don’t get it. Maybe next time round.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Credibility Benefit
So it appears Norris is even more qualified for the job than we thought. He’s been looting two and a half grand a month on the back of some disability yarn for the past seventeen years. Incredibly, the voters view this as a bad thing and he has plummeted in the opinion polls. I seem to be in the minority in thinking that these revelations enhance his credentials. He’s an old hand at this crack. A master of the fine art of collecting vast quantities of money for no apparent reason; this is what they call having a proven track record. If it's relevant experience you want then look no further. You can have your Sean Gallaghers of this world with their enterprise, acumen, drive and resourcefulness all day long. But it counts for very little when you stack it up against the savvy of a Daithí Norris. Daithí has taken us for half a mill while no one was looking; he’s already in Presidential mode.
Let’s just get the formalities over with and get him in there. Gallagher will you just run along there now and create a few jobs, like a good lad. Leave the heavy lifting to disability Daithí.
Nothing to see here.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Cut Your Cloth
You know the recession is biting hard when you find yourself researching a coursing rather than skiing trip. I have to be honest, the aprés is going to take a bit of getting used to.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Radio Norwich
And of course you’d have to wonder what has happened to news reportage in general but on the radio in particular.
Two days ago I heard a newsreader say this; “three men have been arrested in connection with distant republican activity”. Last week I heard the Italian Prime Minister being called Silvio Berluscoli. Also last week, on three separate bulletins, I hear that Barack Obama’s jobs program was worth $447 million.
Factual errors are unforgivable but equally as offensive is the unchanging upbeat delivery. With this approach there is no alteration of tone, pitch or gravity regardless of the story at hand. So the famine, genocide, earthquake, kidnap, road accident or brutal daylight assault gets the same treatment as the new baby panda at Dublin Zoo.
I’d say Steve Coogan would be shocked to learn that in Ireland Alan Partridge turned out to be an inspirational figure.
Two days ago I heard a newsreader say this; “three men have been arrested in connection with distant republican activity”. Last week I heard the Italian Prime Minister being called Silvio Berluscoli. Also last week, on three separate bulletins, I hear that Barack Obama’s jobs program was worth $447 million.
Factual errors are unforgivable but equally as offensive is the unchanging upbeat delivery. With this approach there is no alteration of tone, pitch or gravity regardless of the story at hand. So the famine, genocide, earthquake, kidnap, road accident or brutal daylight assault gets the same treatment as the new baby panda at Dublin Zoo.
I’d say Steve Coogan would be shocked to learn that in Ireland Alan Partridge turned out to be an inspirational figure.
Swag
So the Bosnian family managed to loot ninety grand for themselves in a year. Not bad. But not great either when you consider that there’s a good few involved; the couple themselves, a few kids, a couple of grannies and other miscellaneous family members. In isolation it’s not bad going but when you stack it up alongside some more experienced looters and break it down to a per capita figure, it’s not all that impressive.
But let’s give them some credit; at least they’re having a go. And when immigrants show a willingness to immerse themselves in our culture they should be encouraged. So if they’re serious about developing their Irishness and genuinely want to improve I would suggest they drop by the Seanad some day and take a few notes or give George Lee or Marion Finucane or Mary McAleese or Padraig McManus or Frank Daly or John Bruton or (insert top level public servant of your choice here) a call.
Because, contrary to that convoluted old saying, it turns out that in Ireland you only need to fool a couple of the people once.
But let’s give them some credit; at least they’re having a go. And when immigrants show a willingness to immerse themselves in our culture they should be encouraged. So if they’re serious about developing their Irishness and genuinely want to improve I would suggest they drop by the Seanad some day and take a few notes or give George Lee or Marion Finucane or Mary McAleese or Padraig McManus or Frank Daly or John Bruton or (insert top level public servant of your choice here) a call.
Because, contrary to that convoluted old saying, it turns out that in Ireland you only need to fool a couple of the people once.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Lark in the Park
David Norris may be the best man for the job. He may not. I have no idea. Plenty out there however are sure that Norris is the best man for the job; in poll after poll he leads the way.
Norris is gay and sounds English. We want Norris because it will make us look cool and enlightened. We are right on and ready to reconcile ourselves with our tragic history. These are the boxes the Norris candidacy ticks for us right now. And these are important boxes on the road to calling ourselves all grown up.
There’s a Mary in the race but we’ve had a couple of Marys so that box has been ticked. There’s an entrepreneur in the race but we hate all those business types now so he offers nothing. There’s an eminently qualified career politician who would be competent but would provide very little in the way of reflected glory. So he’s not a runner. There's a pair from up North, a Jesus freak and a terrorist but they're so nineteen seventies it's not even funny. There’s a fella whose name is Gay but that won’t cut it, we’re ready for the real deal.
We have preserved the presidency as our sole means of showcasing how progressive we all are, so Norris it is.
The only question is where to go from here. In seven years time what sort of candidate will be required to revalidate our right on credentials. A disability of some kind might be just the ticket; visually impaired, wheelchair user, amputee? What about a traveller or a transvestite?
All eyes on us lads, we’re just getting started.
Norris is gay and sounds English. We want Norris because it will make us look cool and enlightened. We are right on and ready to reconcile ourselves with our tragic history. These are the boxes the Norris candidacy ticks for us right now. And these are important boxes on the road to calling ourselves all grown up.
There’s a Mary in the race but we’ve had a couple of Marys so that box has been ticked. There’s an entrepreneur in the race but we hate all those business types now so he offers nothing. There’s an eminently qualified career politician who would be competent but would provide very little in the way of reflected glory. So he’s not a runner. There's a pair from up North, a Jesus freak and a terrorist but they're so nineteen seventies it's not even funny. There’s a fella whose name is Gay but that won’t cut it, we’re ready for the real deal.
We have preserved the presidency as our sole means of showcasing how progressive we all are, so Norris it is.
The only question is where to go from here. In seven years time what sort of candidate will be required to revalidate our right on credentials. A disability of some kind might be just the ticket; visually impaired, wheelchair user, amputee? What about a traveller or a transvestite?
All eyes on us lads, we’re just getting started.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
What's Need Got To Do With It?
So London is on fire and the reasons can be summarized in one simple question; where’s my share? This is what is pulsing through the head of Wayne and Darren as they and their comrades maraud rabidly down a High Street near you. I need my share, where’s my share? Because Wayne and Darren spend most of their day allowing themselves to be ridiculed by marketing executives in buildings on the other side of the world. You need a 4D, HD ready, surround sound 82” television Wayne; you are not complete without it. What sort of a man are you for fuck’s sake? I’m serious Wayne, you should make this your top priority; the first chance you get I want you to get out there and get your fucken hands on one, OK? Everyone has one. Your life will be transformed. Cheryl Cole has three of them in her walk in wardrobe alone. Frank Lampard has had one fitted to the dashboard of his Lamborghini.
Religion is gone. Bling and celebrity are the new opiate. Instant gratification and entitlement the basis of its practice. I want to be the next big thing, now. I want it all without the pesky work and waiting around. Society is gone. I am the new society. Listen to trade unionists on the radio seek to justify paying teachers extra to the tune of forty seven Euros an hour for yard supervision at eleven and one o’ clock breaks, during the course of their fucken work day. The same trade unionist who hits the airwaves for a day a year to go apeshit over some perfectly reasonable initiative, thereby providing the appropriate amount of conspicuous posturing and representation for his members, then disappears to leafy suburbia to gorge on his bloated salary and allowances. Listen to senators seek to justify claiming six figure annual expenses on multiple homes without being able to point to one worthwhile achievement in a lifetime on Kildare Street. Look at the bankers who orchestrated the biggest heist in history high on the hog up in Premium Level at the Celine Dion concert.
Looting eh? Our hooded friends across the water can point to some tasty role models of their own in this area. It’s not something you just pick up you know, there’s an apprenticeship to be served, observing the old pros. Not bad for a first attempt lads, however you made one fatal error. You got caught on camera. In this business the best work is done behind closed doors.
Did you hear what Wayne said to Darren one summer’s night in London in the early twenty first century? Society is gone. I am the new society.
Religion is gone. Bling and celebrity are the new opiate. Instant gratification and entitlement the basis of its practice. I want to be the next big thing, now. I want it all without the pesky work and waiting around. Society is gone. I am the new society. Listen to trade unionists on the radio seek to justify paying teachers extra to the tune of forty seven Euros an hour for yard supervision at eleven and one o’ clock breaks, during the course of their fucken work day. The same trade unionist who hits the airwaves for a day a year to go apeshit over some perfectly reasonable initiative, thereby providing the appropriate amount of conspicuous posturing and representation for his members, then disappears to leafy suburbia to gorge on his bloated salary and allowances. Listen to senators seek to justify claiming six figure annual expenses on multiple homes without being able to point to one worthwhile achievement in a lifetime on Kildare Street. Look at the bankers who orchestrated the biggest heist in history high on the hog up in Premium Level at the Celine Dion concert.
Looting eh? Our hooded friends across the water can point to some tasty role models of their own in this area. It’s not something you just pick up you know, there’s an apprenticeship to be served, observing the old pros. Not bad for a first attempt lads, however you made one fatal error. You got caught on camera. In this business the best work is done behind closed doors.
Did you hear what Wayne said to Darren one summer’s night in London in the early twenty first century? Society is gone. I am the new society.
Police Brutality
The Guard is, at best, an average movie. The fawning of the critics is explained by the presence in the film of that most sacred of sacred Irish cows, Brendan Gleeson. It is unacceptable to criticize Brendan Gleeson. The film received four stars from a few normally reliable journalists. If the producers had managed to shoehorn Miriam O’ Callaghan into the cast somewhere I’m sure that four would have been a five.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Power Cuts
We recently built an extension onto our house and paid the ESB to come and re route the wire coming into the building. Yesterday was the day. The extent of the work was to push a wire through a pre laid twenty five foot long duct and attach it to a pole, screw a new meter onto a prepared panel in a prepared meter box and unscrew the old meter. Those of us who are used to earning a living would rightly estimate that this amounts to a half hour’s work for one lad in a small white van. What arrived were three lads in two trucks that looked like they should be hauling redwoods across Alaska. Despite ours being their first, and probably only, assignment of the day the boys arrived at five to eleven and managed to elongate the task till ten past three. Replicate this carry on across every semi state, every government department, every instrument of the state for every task on every day of every week of every year and you quickly develop a keen understanding of where we're at. Enter the household charge.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Fever
Lat night I watched three hours live coverage of the Isle of Wight music festival. I consumed three bottles of Lidl's finest German pilsner and it was actually Sunday morning when I went to bed.
I believe that this was an appropriate level of enjoyment for a Saturday night.
I believe that this was an appropriate level of enjoyment for a Saturday night.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Moderation
Tonight I watched a ninety minute programme on The White Stripes Canadian tour of a few years ago. By the end of it I feared that I was enjoying myself a lttle too much for a Tuesday night. So I high tailed it to bed.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Radio Gaga
A texter to the child psychologist on the Sean Moncrief show today revealed that her eleven month old is petrified of the sound of the hoover and the hairdryer and wondered whether the little fella would ever grow out of it.
Now the answer that our friend the child psychologist should have given is that no, your son will not grow out of it and will unfailingly go apeshit at the sound of hoovers and hairdryers for the remainder of his life. But he didn’t.
That the question was composed and sent in the first place, that the host of the show read it out and that the expert constructed an earnest answer is the most succinct yet also the most comprehensive description I have come across of the real crisis that faces the country.
I wonder will Enda and Eamonn include anything in the Programme For Government to eradicate such eejitry.
Now the answer that our friend the child psychologist should have given is that no, your son will not grow out of it and will unfailingly go apeshit at the sound of hoovers and hairdryers for the remainder of his life. But he didn’t.
That the question was composed and sent in the first place, that the host of the show read it out and that the expert constructed an earnest answer is the most succinct yet also the most comprehensive description I have come across of the real crisis that faces the country.
I wonder will Enda and Eamonn include anything in the Programme For Government to eradicate such eejitry.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Enough Said
There was a discussion of wedding gifts and wedding gift etiquette on a radio show hosted by Fiona Looney a few days ago. Looney asked a caller if she would be insulted to receive a wedding present of €50. Her reply was “well it’s ten of one half dozen of the other to me to be honest”.
And the thought occurred to me that here we had the perfect “stepping off point” for this whole concept of participatory radio. The optimum moment to lift the siege; to return the medium to its founding premise; entertainment.
I thought that subsequent to the ten of one half dozen the other comment that we would hear a solemn voiceover (James Earl Jones or Morgan Freeman perhaps) saying something to the effect of “ This is a public service announcement; in the interests of decency all the phone lines are now closed. Until further notice”.
Such an announcement never came. On goes the torment.
If ten of one half dozen of the other can't put it to bed then for the love of God what will?
And the thought occurred to me that here we had the perfect “stepping off point” for this whole concept of participatory radio. The optimum moment to lift the siege; to return the medium to its founding premise; entertainment.
I thought that subsequent to the ten of one half dozen the other comment that we would hear a solemn voiceover (James Earl Jones or Morgan Freeman perhaps) saying something to the effect of “ This is a public service announcement; in the interests of decency all the phone lines are now closed. Until further notice”.
Such an announcement never came. On goes the torment.
If ten of one half dozen of the other can't put it to bed then for the love of God what will?
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Calling All Randoms
So I'm looking through our fairly extensive library of family photographs and begin to notice the number of randoms dotted throughout the collection. Randoms of course being innocent bystanders, entirely unconnected strangers who just happened to be in the shot, in the background mostly, unwittingly captured in the crosshairs.
And you would have to wonder if the randoms know the pivotal role they occupy in the compendium of our collective memory. Because some of these are nice shots, ones you go back to again and again; and with each visit there is the random commanding an ever increasing slice of the spotlight.
In particularly wistful moments you might wonder about their name, where they live, how many kids they might have, what line of work they might be in. Think how nice it would be to let them know how important they have become over the years, how they've soldered themselves to your collective identity, become subsumed within the family mythology, how you've warmed to them indeed look forward to their unchanging, reassuring image.
There is a lot you can deduce from the photo but wouldn’t it be great to get an update. I mean, Jesus what are they doing right now, where are they doing it, what if they’re dead? Not so much closure as full disclosure. Spill, who the hell are you?
It’s a dilemma I have recently begun putting my mind to solving and the result is randomsreunited.com. The owner of the shot posts it and visitors have the opportunity to identify themselves thereby ending years of conjecture and speculation.
The site operates on the same principle as lost dog or cat websites. Post the photo with a few details surrounding the circumstances of the shot and wait for the randoms to come to you. Let’s face it these people are already part of the family so why not bring them in from the cold?
Who knows the possibilities once the ice is broken, you might have more in common than you imagine, after all there’s probably a good reason you were only a few feet away from each other for that landmark moment all those years ago. You probably share the same values and outlook on life.
“Seamus I’d like you to meet Gunther. He got caught in the background of a snap we took in the Louvre one summer and has been staring down at us from the mantelpiece for over ten years now till eventually I said to Dympna; feck this I need to know. Turns out he’s even more passionate about preserving the otter’s natural habitat than I am, if that's possible.”
Give it a go, I mean what can possibly go wrong?
And you would have to wonder if the randoms know the pivotal role they occupy in the compendium of our collective memory. Because some of these are nice shots, ones you go back to again and again; and with each visit there is the random commanding an ever increasing slice of the spotlight.
In particularly wistful moments you might wonder about their name, where they live, how many kids they might have, what line of work they might be in. Think how nice it would be to let them know how important they have become over the years, how they've soldered themselves to your collective identity, become subsumed within the family mythology, how you've warmed to them indeed look forward to their unchanging, reassuring image.
There is a lot you can deduce from the photo but wouldn’t it be great to get an update. I mean, Jesus what are they doing right now, where are they doing it, what if they’re dead? Not so much closure as full disclosure. Spill, who the hell are you?
It’s a dilemma I have recently begun putting my mind to solving and the result is randomsreunited.com. The owner of the shot posts it and visitors have the opportunity to identify themselves thereby ending years of conjecture and speculation.
The site operates on the same principle as lost dog or cat websites. Post the photo with a few details surrounding the circumstances of the shot and wait for the randoms to come to you. Let’s face it these people are already part of the family so why not bring them in from the cold?
Who knows the possibilities once the ice is broken, you might have more in common than you imagine, after all there’s probably a good reason you were only a few feet away from each other for that landmark moment all those years ago. You probably share the same values and outlook on life.
“Seamus I’d like you to meet Gunther. He got caught in the background of a snap we took in the Louvre one summer and has been staring down at us from the mantelpiece for over ten years now till eventually I said to Dympna; feck this I need to know. Turns out he’s even more passionate about preserving the otter’s natural habitat than I am, if that's possible.”
Give it a go, I mean what can possibly go wrong?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
They're All In Bed, Quick, Stick On The Good Stuff
So here I am on a Wednesday night trying to stay awake for Other Voices, the only decent programme RTE have managed to produce since the Cuban missile crisis.
And just in case too many people might get to bear witness to this fine show they have decided to air it at quarter to midnight on a Wednesday night. Which sounds like the work of some demented fucker until you consider that this is a marked improvement on last year when it was aired simultaneously on a Friday night with Later with Jools Holland on BBC1.
So let's be thankful for that particular small mercy. Baby steps out there in Montrose, don't do anything too rash. You want to drip feed those improvements, the last thing we want is to be swamped with enhancements to our standard of living, snowed under, buried beneath an avalanche of common sense, not knowing which way is up. Spoilt rotten. That would never work.
Of course I soldier on trying to ignore the obvious implication of this scheduling decision; that anyone with a mild interest in live music of any quality is a student, an alcoholic, unemployed, a drug addict or some combination thereof who couldn't possibly need to be out of bed at any point before noon of a Thursday.
Or maybe that's it; an elaborate conspiracy to keep the dissidents exactly where they want them; in the scratcher out of harm's way while they run Celebrity Come Dine With Me, Operation Transformation and Killinafuckinskully on a loop in prime time and I not noticing a thing over in the corner getting myself jacked up on speed to be able to stay up and watch Mad Men. Bastards.
And just in case too many people might get to bear witness to this fine show they have decided to air it at quarter to midnight on a Wednesday night. Which sounds like the work of some demented fucker until you consider that this is a marked improvement on last year when it was aired simultaneously on a Friday night with Later with Jools Holland on BBC1.
So let's be thankful for that particular small mercy. Baby steps out there in Montrose, don't do anything too rash. You want to drip feed those improvements, the last thing we want is to be swamped with enhancements to our standard of living, snowed under, buried beneath an avalanche of common sense, not knowing which way is up. Spoilt rotten. That would never work.
Of course I soldier on trying to ignore the obvious implication of this scheduling decision; that anyone with a mild interest in live music of any quality is a student, an alcoholic, unemployed, a drug addict or some combination thereof who couldn't possibly need to be out of bed at any point before noon of a Thursday.
Or maybe that's it; an elaborate conspiracy to keep the dissidents exactly where they want them; in the scratcher out of harm's way while they run Celebrity Come Dine With Me, Operation Transformation and Killinafuckinskully on a loop in prime time and I not noticing a thing over in the corner getting myself jacked up on speed to be able to stay up and watch Mad Men. Bastards.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Something About Mary
Mary Kennedy was on RTE 2FM the other morning outlining her stance on the Irish language.
She stated that “there is great love and affection for the language amongst the general population”. Eleven seconds later she said that “if it wasn’t compulsory in schools it would die”.
The sound that was clearly discernible at that point was that of Ryan Tubridy steadying himself against some furniture in the studio.
Tubridy, a man who has been up close and personal with some astonishing levels of bullshit in his time needed a moment to steady the ship in the wake of such a declaration.
And I hoped that once he regained his composure that Tubridy was going to reel Mary in on this. But alas it did not happen; evidently Tubridy declared inwardly that, on this Wednesday when I am in good form and enjoying my life, I will not even go there.
“There is great love and affection for the language amongst the general population….. If it wasn’t compulsory in schools it would die”.
Which all begs the question; with advocates like this who needs opponents?
She stated that “there is great love and affection for the language amongst the general population”. Eleven seconds later she said that “if it wasn’t compulsory in schools it would die”.
The sound that was clearly discernible at that point was that of Ryan Tubridy steadying himself against some furniture in the studio.
Tubridy, a man who has been up close and personal with some astonishing levels of bullshit in his time needed a moment to steady the ship in the wake of such a declaration.
And I hoped that once he regained his composure that Tubridy was going to reel Mary in on this. But alas it did not happen; evidently Tubridy declared inwardly that, on this Wednesday when I am in good form and enjoying my life, I will not even go there.
“There is great love and affection for the language amongst the general population….. If it wasn’t compulsory in schools it would die”.
Which all begs the question; with advocates like this who needs opponents?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Jack Of All Tirades
In the same interview Jack went on to state that a Fine Gael government would be "a recipe for disaster" presumably for the "working people" or "members" he represents.
For no worker in this country who is not "represented" (or whipped up into a periodic paranoid frenzy) by the omnipotent Jack can lay claim to the title "working person".
The "working people" are Jack's people. Or Jack's peeps as they might say in certain circles.
No Jack, thank YOU.
For no worker in this country who is not "represented" (or whipped up into a periodic paranoid frenzy) by the omnipotent Jack can lay claim to the title "working person".
The "working people" are Jack's people. Or Jack's peeps as they might say in certain circles.
No Jack, thank YOU.
Ah Jack, We've Been Expecting You
Today on the radio just before he told his members to vote for Labour Jack O'Connor announced that he would not dream of telling his members who to vote for. Good man Jack.
I wonder would he dream of telling his members in the primary school up the road here how to make up the additional three weeks holidays they got there before Christmas when it turned a bit Wintry. Strangely Jack was nowhere to be found in December.
Good man Jack, off the radar for a while there but always worth waiting for.
I wonder would he dream of telling his members in the primary school up the road here how to make up the additional three weeks holidays they got there before Christmas when it turned a bit Wintry. Strangely Jack was nowhere to be found in December.
Good man Jack, off the radar for a while there but always worth waiting for.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Conventional Wisdom or Phrases You Must Utter On a Regular Basis In Ireland 2011 To Be Considered a Serious Minded Individual
The banks are not lending, it’s as simple as that.
It’s worse than the eighties because everywhere is fecked; I mean where do you go?
The unemployment figures are only going down because of emigration.
We need to halve the number of TDs and double their salary to attract quality people.
I couldn’t live in Canada though; sure it never gets above freezing over there.
We need to eradicate this parish pump political system. I mean it shouldn’t be a TD’s responsibility to fix someone’s heating. That’s what local government is for.
But you can’t lay off any of the public service because it will decimate aggregate consumer demand. We need people with paycheques to spend in the real economy, no matter what it costs us.
I mean people just aren’t spending. There’s no confidence out there. Aggregate consumer demand is on the floor.
I know of a fella that went to Australia and had to come back after a month, he could find nothing.
I heard of a lad making twenty five grand a week driving a dumper in a mine in Perth.
One in two Australians get skin cancer, did you know that?
Vancouver is consistently voted into the top ten of best places in the world to live.
But you can’t lay off any of the public service without affecting the level of front line services.
I’m not talking about nurses, guards or firemen. I’m talking about the layers of clipes in public buildings all over the country who don’t even know what the feck it is they’re meant to be doing.
Whatever you do don’t bury your head in the sand, stay in touch with your lender.
Sure we lost the run of ourselves. It’s only natural; sure we’d never been through an economic cycle before like in America or England. I mean they’re old hands at this boom and bust carry on.
We learned a few harsh lessons though. We did surely.
Chalk it up to experience, we’ve a great little country and if we all pull together we’ll get through this.
We’ve pulled through dark days before, this won’t be any different.
It’s time to stop playing the blame game, to leave the doom and gloom behind us and look forward.
I mean someone will have to knock a few heads together over in Frankfurt and negotiate a better deal for us on that bailout.
Otherwise you needn’t bother ordering any bunting for your Easter Rising Centenary lads ‘cause there’ll be nothing only fuckin’ tumbleweeds on O’Connell Street that day.
And don't even think of trying to find God again. That horse has bolted.
Something tells me we're gonna start taking the Eurovision seriously again.
It’s worse than the eighties because everywhere is fecked; I mean where do you go?
The unemployment figures are only going down because of emigration.
We need to halve the number of TDs and double their salary to attract quality people.
I couldn’t live in Canada though; sure it never gets above freezing over there.
We need to eradicate this parish pump political system. I mean it shouldn’t be a TD’s responsibility to fix someone’s heating. That’s what local government is for.
But you can’t lay off any of the public service because it will decimate aggregate consumer demand. We need people with paycheques to spend in the real economy, no matter what it costs us.
I mean people just aren’t spending. There’s no confidence out there. Aggregate consumer demand is on the floor.
I know of a fella that went to Australia and had to come back after a month, he could find nothing.
I heard of a lad making twenty five grand a week driving a dumper in a mine in Perth.
One in two Australians get skin cancer, did you know that?
Vancouver is consistently voted into the top ten of best places in the world to live.
But you can’t lay off any of the public service without affecting the level of front line services.
I’m not talking about nurses, guards or firemen. I’m talking about the layers of clipes in public buildings all over the country who don’t even know what the feck it is they’re meant to be doing.
Whatever you do don’t bury your head in the sand, stay in touch with your lender.
Sure we lost the run of ourselves. It’s only natural; sure we’d never been through an economic cycle before like in America or England. I mean they’re old hands at this boom and bust carry on.
We learned a few harsh lessons though. We did surely.
Chalk it up to experience, we’ve a great little country and if we all pull together we’ll get through this.
We’ve pulled through dark days before, this won’t be any different.
It’s time to stop playing the blame game, to leave the doom and gloom behind us and look forward.
I mean someone will have to knock a few heads together over in Frankfurt and negotiate a better deal for us on that bailout.
Otherwise you needn’t bother ordering any bunting for your Easter Rising Centenary lads ‘cause there’ll be nothing only fuckin’ tumbleweeds on O’Connell Street that day.
And don't even think of trying to find God again. That horse has bolted.
Something tells me we're gonna start taking the Eurovision seriously again.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Oh We Of Little Faith
I see our friends in Fianna Fail have unleashed the latest strand of their manifesto the central pillar of which is a pledge to create fifteen thousand jobs in tourism alone over the next five years.
The document goes on to detail other significant undertakings of which I feel it appropriate to make you aware;
1. The translocation via nanotechnolgy of Connaught, the six counties and Louth to the surface of Venus by 2012.
2. Putting a Ghost Estate on the Moon by 2020.
3. Paving of the Castelbar by-pass using magma piped directly from the Earth's core by 2013.
4. Devising a magnet capable of disrupting the Lunar cycle to create gnarly surf off the West coast thereby consolidating Ireland's position as the global leader in renewable wave energy.
5. The creation of a hundred thousand public service jobs translating the internet into Irish.
And there was I thinking that all this talk of a smart economy was pie in the sky. Sorry lads.
The document goes on to detail other significant undertakings of which I feel it appropriate to make you aware;
1. The translocation via nanotechnolgy of Connaught, the six counties and Louth to the surface of Venus by 2012.
2. Putting a Ghost Estate on the Moon by 2020.
3. Paving of the Castelbar by-pass using magma piped directly from the Earth's core by 2013.
4. Devising a magnet capable of disrupting the Lunar cycle to create gnarly surf off the West coast thereby consolidating Ireland's position as the global leader in renewable wave energy.
5. The creation of a hundred thousand public service jobs translating the internet into Irish.
And there was I thinking that all this talk of a smart economy was pie in the sky. Sorry lads.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Make Your Own Luck
“If you’re lucky enough to still have a job". If you are in the habit of listening to talk radio how many times, today alone, have you heard that phrase? From personal finance gurus, economists, priests, union officials, politicians, taxi drivers, journalists and assorted miscellaneous hacks and “commentators”.
Being lucky would by my estimation imply that you are somehow bucking a trend, fortuitously avoiding a fate being meted out to a downtrodden majority. But then a quick glance at the unemployment statistics triggers a bit of head scratching. The current rate of unemployment is 13%.
So if you want to be accurate in your deployment and application of the concept of luck as a phenomenon which is reserved for the chosen few who defy the odds, contravene all probability, trends, logic, pattern, reason or statistical analysis but rather have cajoled the magic to alight randomly on their blessed shoulders should that introductory catchphrase not read “If you’re lucky enough to be unemployed”.
I’m just saying.
Being lucky would by my estimation imply that you are somehow bucking a trend, fortuitously avoiding a fate being meted out to a downtrodden majority. But then a quick glance at the unemployment statistics triggers a bit of head scratching. The current rate of unemployment is 13%.
So if you want to be accurate in your deployment and application of the concept of luck as a phenomenon which is reserved for the chosen few who defy the odds, contravene all probability, trends, logic, pattern, reason or statistical analysis but rather have cajoled the magic to alight randomly on their blessed shoulders should that introductory catchphrase not read “If you’re lucky enough to be unemployed”.
I’m just saying.
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