In my day, the parents of your children’s children were your parents’ children — A Youngish Person’s View

November 15, 2010

I’m young, right? Ish, anyway. 23 years of age at last count, but I’m not counting, you are. I’m part of this generation you see, what you could call ‘The parents of your children’s children’.

And a few things annoy me. Well, many things, but they’ve all been said. Many, many times over. Read a paper if you enjoy a milder form of self harm. They’re cheaper then razor blades anyway (and they still haven’t gone down in price since the recession — Movemeber is just a ploy to get people shaving, it’s nothing about prostates).

You see, in my day (which is now) the country went to complete shit because the higher ups (who grew up alongside you in your day) spent most of their time wandering around long halls, employing people to do stuff for them that either didn’t need doing, should have been done by someone else, or needed redoing because the previously employed person in that job (who has since been promoted into a new job, with much the same criteria as his/her last job) didn’t do that job right — for example, were I to hire someone to make sense of that last sentence for you, because it is overly long with too many words, commas, bracketed asides (which can quickly become confusing), will probably need to be reread to be understood fully and perhaps just the simple fact that the first full stop in this whole paragraph, which is roughly 150 words long, has only just come along now.
That’s something I should do myself. But I won’t. Put it down to being set a bad example.

So, imagine that incompetence, and multiply it by 40 billion and few barrels of red paint and eggs — that’s the kind of mess we’re in. But we know that. RTE tells us this, the helpful souls that they are, in all our days.

But what I worry about in my day (now) is that in your day (then), were the same arguments for sucking up the pain used by people who had different days (way back then). And will I be using the same argument for when the world gets screwed over again in my children’s day (which is way over there)?

Isn’t the point that we should be progressing as a human race? That the sacrifices that our parents made and their parents made are appreciated, but should never had have to be made again? Many people died before medicine began to save lives. A lot of people died before we realised that pyramids aren’t perhaps the most efficient way to honour the dead. A whole season of Joey had to be persevered before we decided that it was inhumane to humour Matt LeBlanc any further.

The point is, shouldn’t we be trying to further ourselves as a human race here? Why should we have to suffer old problems just because our parents did? We’re adults now, give us the opportunity to suffer new problems, to make new mistakes, to throw our country into a new well of shit so our own children can dig us out of a new mess — a shitty mess indeed, but a mess that has a least progressed from the mess past generations had to suffer.

These are old problems, that have their roots in obvious moral, ethical and incompetent incompetence — that’s what pisses me off. And the danger is the whole country will be on the backfoot because of them. These are old problems, that have already been suffered (and we appreciate that, we honestly do), but we shouldn’t have to suffer them again.  There are a lot of things that we should put up with and shut up with, but not this retarded mess —it would be irresponsible of us as a generation to just ‘put up’ with this mess.

So, can we, at the very least, retire this flawed argument and move on here? No more crap about it on Midday, The Frontline, or any more damn newsprint? Bill Cullen may well be a long way from penny apples, but so is everyone.


Paul Galvin: Entertainment’s Saviour

July 18, 2010

Potential, my friends. Potential. That hidden quality. That quality which to the wrong eyes is insignificant but to the right ones is unquantifiably vast — It’s finally been realised in Ireland’s most unquantifiable of sons. After years spent wasting his talents on fish hooking and student abuse, Paul Galvin may soon work on Ireland’s entertainment powerhouse, its quirkily spelt Xtraganaza: Xposé

If this is just a rumour, then it’s the strangest rumour I have ever heard on a reputable Irish news website. But if it’s true? I for one am delighted.

First up: I think that Paul Galvin is a thug who shouldn’t be let near a football pitch, never mind a classroom. Justifying anything he’s done as ‘passion’ belittles every other passionate player who happily go through a whole season without being suspended. And if what he does is ‘passion’ then maybe if he played slightly less passionately, we’d all talk a lot more about his obvious skill and talents rather than his rampant stupidity.
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Paul Galvin Fishhook

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But Xposé? Now that’s something he could sink his teeth into. Literally, maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him. Interview through blood-letting and pant-wetting. He might become one of the most feared and respected entertainment journalists of our time. A Dennis Pennis character, only very much real, very much abusive, very much a man who would rob your gates and sell them back to you.

He has the characterized dishevelment of journalists of old – rumpled suit, shaggy face growth. He’d slot right in — the perfect ointment for the arse piles that is E!, TMZ and the rest of the star-lit studio perfection that’s rammed down our throats everyday. This is a man that could get the real story from Mel Gibson, by sitting him down and going on a two week bender with him, hiding the bodies of hookers in bags of cocaine and chalk dust. An entertainment journalist in the vein of Hunter S. Thompson and the Gonzo Journalists of old. Fear and Loathing in the Dingle Peninsula: A Savage Journey into the Heart of Irish Gombeenism.
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Paul Galvin_Dennis Pennis

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Paul Galvin and his harem of Xposé totty — them travelling the globe to feed us with the banal, Galvin travelling the globe, sending in disconnected streams of prose and video reports, half remembered journal entries and envelopes full of celebrity blood and hair. And we will love every second of it. The realism, the truth, none of the airbrushed, breast-tweaked lies that are intravenously given to us through billboards and Sky News. Interviews and photos where black stars are still black.

Galvin could then becomes a celebrity himself — an Irish poet, a recluse who yet gets the story everytime. One who punches first and asks for a quote later, one who’s never afraid to fish hook his way out of situation. Paul Galvin: The Man Who Knocked Obama’s Dossier Out of His Hands.
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paul galvin and his harem

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I still won’t watch Xposé though. I’ll wait for the Paul Galvin spinoff.


Youth Media Over, Report Done, Fullstopped by Ranting

March 11, 2010

So, that Youth Media lark has ended and now there’s this report about it, that can be downloaded here.

Go on, give it a download. It’s actually quite an easy read, not the crappy kinda report you’re picturing in your head, with Times New Roman slowly burrowing into your brain and the inevitable tumour that arises as a result of it.

Anyway, for the sake of completion, here’s the final piece I did for it when asked. As far as I remember I was asked for a 1000 word piece of so on how I got into the thing, some experiences on campaign trail and thoughts and things on the articles I did.

Instead I did this:

___________

In general (and let’s speak in broad generalities here to avoid appendices) we don’t care. Us ‘yoofs’, we don’t care about the nitty-gritty of ‘politics’. We don’t care about how Europe is functioning or malfunctioning. We see things happening, we understand stuff is going on, and stuff, but we don’t care.

Why don’t we care? Why don’t we care that it’s gotten to the stage that even though the proverbial waste hit the fan, such a issue is moot when you have 56 billion kilos of waste; whether a desk fan was involved won’t make much difference to the overall state of the room.

So, we have this metaphorical room that is absolutely caked with waste. And why don’t we care? Why should we? All anyone is harping on about is how are we gonna dig the bloody fan out. Giant sluices are, as we speak (in my brain), bringing in cascades of more filth, debris and newspaper political columns into the room but that’s not what anyone is really talking about. We have to dig this fan out, a “hard decision”, yes, but “one that had to be made.” Meanwhile, another group is saying no, we shouldn’t waste time on the fan; it’s the lamp that will prove vital to our economic future. Not only should we not be wasting time on the fan, there’s strong talk that, perhaps, it was the desk fan that got us into this mess.

Politicians saying little to nothing about not a whole lot and then we are informed by radio, TV, Internet and bumper stickers that we should care. Constant news coverage on the inconsequential sandwiched between another person’s opinion on it.

What does it all mean you ask? Nothing. It means nothing. It’s all talk. It’s all, “you say left so I’ll say right”. It’s all an over complicated metaphor violently rammed into this article to explain a ridiculous topic that people don’t even care about. Filler. That’s all this is, more filler. Filler for the paper, filler for the 24-hour news reports, filler for the next hack to sell the next book. We ask for something, we get nothing, and we gleefully write about it, salivating over the next morsel of nothing to write about. And every few weeks we complain that we have nothing to write about. And then we write about that.

We have all this space to fill, so let’s fill it by repeating ourselves. Let’s make it glossy and shiny. You, over there, make that graph more 7 dimensional and spruce up that colour pullout supplement while you’re at it. I want that 3000 word piece on NAMA to jump out from the page and strangle anyone who only skims over it. Which 3000 word piece? The 14th of course, that one in the middle pages! The one that’s after the 13th and before the 15th.

Rolling news coverage? YES, PLEASE. I think I missed the bit where Willie O’ Dea said some words that meant nothing the last time and I definitely want to see the bit that everyone is talking about everywhere. You know, the bit where Brian Lenihan said something about something else, and then someone else said something about that. AND DEAR GOD! Do it so I can read in on my iPad while watching it on my iTelevision and listening to the iRadio. And can I have eight other versions of it blended and poured directly into my ear canal good sir?

And while we sit there, staring listlessly at something that we should care about but for some reason aren’t, the sheer volume of crap helps us forget that maybe there’s something I should be doing about this.

Just space to fill. Stuff to sell, painted up as news and shoved pointlessly in our face. Repeated over and over because as a human race, that’s the only way we’ve learned how to get a message across. And it’s become meaningless. Like advertising and Only Fools and Horses. Regurgitated for our viewing pleasure, repeated ad nauseam before someone starts to actually care about what’s happening. Yes, advertising works and helps sell products, whether we admit it or not. Yes, Only Fools and Horses does have some funny moments. Do I actually care about either? Not a chance.

Why don’t we care? Do we care about insurance comparison websites?

I could sum all this up simply with the universally applied ‘less is more’ argument. Disclose my belief that us ‘youth’ are so swamped with news that mostly just repeats that the rubbish that was happening is still happening and that there will be an inquiry about it; where rubbish is sure to continue. I could point out my understanding that even people, young and old, who say they care, really don’t care it that much at all in the grand scheme of things. Conclude that, perhaps, the best way to get us to care would be to take the backspace key to a large volume of all media.

I could of done so from the off. Succinctly sum up what I learned over the year in about 100 words.

But then I’d have all this empty space that would need to be filled, wouldn’t I?

Paul Kennedy, South Constituency.

February 1st, 2010

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Don’t worry, the hypocrisy of it all was noted.


George Lee teaches us something that we had assumed he knew

February 8, 2010

So George. Eight months eh? That difficult third trimester just proved too much, did it? “…virtually no influence or input into shaping Fine Gael’s economic policies” was it? What did you think would happen? That you’d swan in on the shoulders of Dublin South, profit and loss accounts in one hand and the other hand firmly grasping the loins of the nation’s respect as you planned to economically squeeze every cent wasted by Fianna Fail and then throw these cents to us peasants.

I suppose you thought that your good friend Enda Kenny would grab Richard Bruton (Current Deputy Leader of Fine Gael, spokesperson on Finance and a TD since 1982) by his finely tailored lapels and toss him out, maybe doing a few circumferences of the Dail first like something out of a Carry On Hammer Throwing film. It could of been done during the budget speeches; as ol’ Dicky spirals towards the press box, screams of malice in his mouth yet to even form, you’d spring out like a grouch in a can and start to soak the Dail in one cent coins with your heavily modified Super-Soaker. Enda could press the release for the multitude of fivers to gently rain down from above. And it could all be done to the tune of Money for Nothing by Dire Straits.

And yes, rightly so! That could have been organized in the 6 months or so between your election and the Budget. Actually, if you were given the resources of Fine Gael and the attitude of a real go-getter politician you might of got it done in less: say about 5 months, 27 days or so. Hell, it would take that long to organize some sort of golden handshake for Dicky Bruton.
The money wouldn’t even have been a problem. I’m sure a quick whip round the office could have provided you with 500 to 1000 fivers you’d need. If not, stick it on expenses. Not so sure on the music, you might have to pay for broadcast rights if you want it to make the news.

Honestly though, eight months, and no giant fanfare? No screaming babies to kiss, no Aras to call your own, no topless Cowan to wave palm fronds at you as your decrees are listened to with open awe and tears of joy from the population, as we whisper to each other, “Yes, this is the Golden Child. This is the One we have been waiting for. This is our Saviour.”

But at least you tried. You did indeed “get off the fence and try to make matters better”. Eight months off the fence is a long time, it’s a damn comfy fence after all; an almost inviting fence it must be said. Better then the cold brown leather of the Front Bench. And there is that old adage, that oft quoted proverb: “If something takes longer then eight months to do, then it’s time to get back on the fence old friend.” I think saw that on the back of a packet of Cara matches. Or maybe it was a Penguin Bar.

Sixteen percent (ish) into your term is definitely a good time to try a change of tact. And assuming you where not lying about your “great deal of reflection” over the matter (which I’m assuming must of eaten into that sixteen percent), then at least it can’t be said that you ever made an important decision in haste. It can never be said that you quit when quitting was easy, or that you didn’t give it your best shot over a sustained period of time.

And at least we know now that, surprise surprise, it may take longer then eight months for shit to not remain the same.

Gob Bluth?
But where did the lighter fluid come from?


Youth Media Plug

October 7, 2009

Right, one last (?) Youth Media thing to throw up:

Tedious to do and would of liked to put more time into the actual jokes as opposed to fighting iMovie (I am at the cutting edge), but bleh.

Also, ‘bleh’ is not a valid reason for anything and the cutting edge bit is a nerd joke.

More inside the usual ‘Insert The Potato Here’-shaped box forthcoming.


RTE have done it again: Awesome.

August 10, 2009

YESSSSS!!!!! FUCK. YES!

UGGGGG, YEAH, FUCKING-A!!!!

RTE, charity, reality, FUCKING FAMOUS PEOPLE!!!! YES!!!!

OUH! BABY!

I am honestly excited. Why? Because, my sources (Me and Ryan still keep in touch), and some elbow grease on my part (Mooney loved every second of it) and I have managed to watch the first episode of the new RTE Reality Show that-is-also-some-charity-thing, Lords of the Ring1.

Which entails: guess what? It actually gets 10 people that we know (and love!) and puts them in a boxing ring.

And holy shit,… I don’t want to give anything away. But…

Holy shit, Joe O’Shea actually kills a dude.

Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t of told you that. But my God. He actually punches a guy so hard, his ribs collapse and he’s like, shitting blood on the mat. It’s disgusting, but probably the most metal thing I have ever seen. And then he grabs the camera, and says, “RTE, this is what you get for replacing me with some chick’s fucking sister.”

HELL YES! He actually just tosses the F-bomb out like that, and just walks off, like he didn’t just punch a guy so hard his legs snapped off. He then drink drives his way home.

Honestly, the legs are still there, standing on the mat. Steaming.

But that’s not the best part.

The best part, the really best part, is that Lee Sharpe is in it.

MASTER!

The Football Master!

TITMUSS!

The Invisible Man!

ILLNESS!

Loves Meningitis!

Fuck. Yes.

1 This also involved a small amount of time travel


BBC starts blowing out its own ass.

July 20, 2009

Addicted to heroin, then VIOLENCE.

Or something like that, I was too busy laughing to jot the quote down. It’s from BBC News today, in relation to that guy who was found making home made explosives and dangerously (terror!!!) wandering around a shopping centre with a phone (evil!!!!!). We are then subjected to constant replaying of some shitty You-Tube (sodomy!!!!) footage of how he was testing out some of his home-made concoctions.

Master of terrorist secrecy (rape!!!!) aside, and I am pretty sure that if this guy hadn’t been caught, he could of at least blown his own foot (medical bills!!!!) off, do we really need this constant barrage of overblown words and adjectives out of Edgar Allen Poe’s thesaurus? You’re the God damn BBC; there’s hacks like me out there for over the shit, blown out your nostrils, entrails spewn nonsensical list of fantastical language (twin towers!!!!!) that loses all focus mid sentence so you to reread what you just read to make sure Paul still has some shred of sanity left knocking about in that head.
And I don’t. You, Mr/Mrs BBC, on the other hand, do. 24 hours of recycling the same 3 stories. Every damn day. And it all has to be book-ended by bullshit overblown language and grainy ‘let’s hear your point of (child interference!!!!) view’–footage of people recycling the shite they heard from you yesterday. We have the pub for that kind of crap and we have Sky News to blow it out of proportion. We don’t need more of it.

How long before RTE follows suit and we have Anne Doyle using phrases ‘apocalyptic (bestiality!!!!) terror mongering’?

TERROR

What the hell was this about originally?