Thursday 30 August 2007

The Electric Picnic Cinema. Etc.

A final tip before we all depart for the refined debauchery of Stradbally... Well worth checking out is Daft Punk's Electroma in the Picnic Cinema. It shall screen Sunday at 10.45am (according to Nialler).

Personally, I simply cannot understand how this movie is not shown every year. Genius:

"We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I will spend the rest of our lives!"

The wisest of mantras. And so we part for the weekend. The rest of our lives? It commences at the Picnic my friends. The prospects? Aware or not, you shall probably witness my descent over the weekend... Nonchalant vacancy, bemused grin, aural splendour... All heroically fuelled by transient camaraderie and a tankard of Wild Bucky... Indeed.

Working 9-5, what a way to make a living... Fuck off Parton. This is going to be fun.

An Informative Post? Here?

There is a young chap who works in a well known hotel restaurant in Ennis. I want to print out the following picture and staple it to his forehead. I shall use his enormous front teeth as staples.

Look, I do not seek the service of an abnormally skilled coffee ninja. Merely somebody with a grasp of the basics will suffice. Need more hints on the composition of your coffee? Link. (Via Boing Boing)

Wednesday 29 August 2007

Polar Vampires & Awful Sequels

A triumvirate of trailers for you folks. All are fairly gore-ridden. Horror, innit.

First up is the Sam Raimi produced and David Slade directed 30 Days Of Nights. Starring Josh Hartnett, the premise is gloriously simple (and based on a graphic novel). A gang of vampires descends upon a town in Alaska. During the winter. Where there is no daylight for a month... Exactly.

Which all looks very similar to Frostbiten, a Swedish vampire movie from 2006. Polar winter, a month without the sun, town and cops against vampires. Differences include genetic experiments gone wrong (but of course) and no dreamboat Josh. Official Website.

Last and most certainly least is what could potentially be the worst movie of all time: Alien Vs Predator: Requiem. Words fail me. This is... I mean... Just watch the trailer.


Tuesday 28 August 2007

Amazing Album Covers

I noticed these on the Bebo profile of a friend. Honestly, I have never felt a stronger compulsion to share anything:


Monday 27 August 2007

The Fantasy of Owen Pallett

Four days until the Picnic. I really want to see Final Fantasy (aka Owen Pallett). I really want to see him do this:

Mercurial Mariah Carey cover buzz. Perfect festival fare... Also worth checking out is the newest podcast of Nialler. An Electric Picnic special, it features a lovely Pallett track called "This is the Dream of Win and Regine".

I'm getting giddy now.

Dave The Creationist From Birmingham

I find a seat. I am diabolically hungover. The sweats refuse to relent as I patiently await the departure of the 20.05 bus from Galway to Ennis. The bus fills quickly and a jovial looking stranger takes the seat beside me. The callous bastard. A forced smile. He introduces himself...

His name is Dave. He is from Birmingham. He is very pleased to meet me. He wants to ask me a personal question... He wants to know if I believe in evolution. The reason he wants to ask me such a thing? Dave is a creationist. Dave is trying to help spread the wisdom of creationism throughout Ireland. A pamphlet comes out of his auburn satchel. The title of which is Genesis - The FACTS. He pops a Belgian breath mint. I know it is a Belgian mint because he tells me that it is a Belgian mint. It reeks.

The bus has not even left the station yet. I fear the worst.

From Galway to Gort this damaged Brummie pontificates about creationism and the follies of modern materialism. He quotes the Bible. He produces other leaflets. Gripped by The (Mild But Rapidly Worsening) Fear, I can do nothing but sit there and offer feeble and sporadic incoherences...

"Scientific evidence... mumble, mumble... dinosaur fossils... mumble, mumble... each to their own... mumble, mumble... don't care really... mumble, mumble... dinosaur fossils... mumble, mumble... I really hate Fionn Regan... mumble, mumble... Jack Daniels & Red Bull... mumble, mumble... inflatable armbands... mumble, mumble... Ghanaian snails... mumble, mumble... shovels and crockery... mumble, mumble... dinosaur fossils."

However, nothing will stop him. Nothing except our arrival in Gort, his stop. He leaves with a cheery goodbye and a rustle of my hair... The horrible, horrible fuck.

Dave, my tardy and vicarious riposte:

Everyone, I am never drinking again.

Thursday 23 August 2007

Lars and The Real Girl

This looks very interesting. An awkward date movie, but very interesting.

The Fear Of God

The Rugby World Cup 2007 is almost upon us and I cannot wait for it to begin. An Irish sporting team with a realistic chance of worthwhile achievement on an international stage? These truly are times to savour.

This is why I have joined the team over at The Fear Of God. The brainchild of Gerry of UnLaoised, The Fear Of God is a collaborative Irish blog concerned with Ireland's prospects in the tournament and the World Cup in general. It will hopefully be a fun and interesting forum for all those passionate about rugby.

The blog gets its name from the RTE documentary “Reaching For Glory”. Remember that team talk? The one during which Ireland’s Paul O’Connell demands of his team-mates that they put the fear of God in their opposition.

He did (see above).

Paddy Irishman & The Garda Turban Debacle

A few words on the matter.

To the Politically Correct Brigade:

Disallowing a Garda from incorporating a turban as part of his uniform is not "racist". Sikhism is not a race. It is a religion. Therefore the word you are looking for is "bigoted." It must be said that I am inclined to share your annoyance on this matter. However, I am a pedantic sod and I would like if you would argue coherently.

To the Armchair Republican Brigade:

If a man wants to join the Garda Reserve and be of service to the community, then by all means allow him. Through his actions he has shown more desire to improve this country than most of you self-righteous 'patriots'... It must be said that this nation's penchant for culturally inbred colloquialism does grow exceedingly tiresome. Do you even know why you're objecting? Really?

The lad could wear a flowery pink stetson and a Rangers jersey for all I care.

There, I've said my piece.

Wednesday 22 August 2007

The Super Extra Bonus Party Buzz

Pic via Nialler. The gig is Super Extra Bonus Party @ Róisín Dubh, Galway, 16th August 2007. Last week in fact. This is a somewhat tardy review.

Practically empty. It is Róisíns. The tardiness of the Galwegian aesthete should never be underestimated. We should have known. Upstairs. Two drinks, one chat. Relaxed buzz... The girls arrive. Giddiness, frolics, the unnecessary malevolence of alcopops. Yet good times prevail. Downstairs. Dancing?

The crowd is dispersed. Amiable tourists talk amongst themselves, unsure yet optimistic. The hostel-dorm door is locked, and the gig is free. Indie types cling to walls and seats. The proper pose must be struck. Don't you roll your own cigarettes? The Image is all encompassing. Fuck that. We stride towards centre ground. Proximity to the stage is our poison. This Newbridge posse is our dealer... The old man is getting warmed up. Limber dementia. This is his turf. Show some respect... Or take pictures with your camera phone.

The band are onstage. The Super Extra Bonus Party is upon us, yet many in the crowd still refuses to accept the revelry that is about to ensue. One wonders how the gig will go down in this haven of the aloof... The music starts up... We are told that the party shall be most super... SEBP fans present are only too aware... One guitarist leap off stage later, the others start to believe... Slowly the dancing begins in earnest... Slowly the punters move closer... Rodrigo makes his way to the mic... The rhymes start to flow... The place starts to bounce... "Spanik Sabotage" drives the punters apeshit... Energetic vibrations...

Time for a Super Extra Bonus Prize. A French-sounding young man wins a Charles Bronson video, I think. Late converts with rollies tucked behind their ears start to join in the fun. Those already wise await the next onslaught of tunes... Their patience is rewarded. A friend arrives late and stares at me in euphoric disbelief during that sample. Instantly it becomes one of the collective's "Favourite Things". Unbridled dancing refuses the pleading of aching limbs.

Respite from the groove would eventually come, and it happens like so: "Drone Rock"... The band leaves to considerable cheering... The encore brings with it a favourite of mine; "Erosion"... The gig is over. Audience and band seem well and truly spent. Smiles abound. A most worthwhile buzz. Soon afterwards, the medals are handed out. Miraculous. Pints must be quaffed. Deserved.

Yet before we all settle in to our respective debaucheries, I have a brief chat with Nialler. Sound bloke. We discuss blogs, BATS, the Picnic and Beastie Boys. I feel I am rambling. I probably am. I usually do.

We part. My friends and I drink and dance like fools until Róisín's climax. The house lights are up, the exodus begins. The gum of the Rizla is undone by the moisture of exertion, bemoans Johnny Swashbuckle. I laugh. We all head back to my mate's house. We drink red wine, and drunkenly attempt to outdo each other by finding the funniest youtube clip. I win. Sleep beckons.

Super Extra Bonus Party. Because you're worth it.

Derek Whelan Is NOT The Bogeyman

It is indeed a rare occurrence that will make The New(ish) Journalism feel sympathy for a bank. This story just happens to be such a rarity:

Bank of Ireland has been forced to rethink its latest big budget ad campaign after inadvertently upsetting a customer, it emerged today.

A new 30 second television ad for mortgage advice originally showed a hairy bogeyman called Derek Whelan hiding under a child’s bed in dire need of a bigger place to live. But the real Mr Whelan, a long term business customer of the bank, contacted staff concerned about being associated with the grisly looking character.

The ad was changed and the mythical monster now has the more harmless name ’Dave the Bogeyman’. A BoI spokesman said the change was made as soon as the customer contacted them.

“We had a contact from somebody of the name Derek Whelan who asked us not to use his name. He had a concern with his name being used and in deference with his sensitivities we had no difficulty in making the change,” the spokesman said.

I can see it now...


"Certainly sir. I will pass on your message to Chip Lazarus, hotshot Wall Street banker. He loves massive business deals... And augmentation... So, if I could just get your name?"

"No problem at all. My name is Derek Whelan."

There is an audible gasp over the phone.

"You're... Derek... Whelan."


"But, you're the..."

Suddenly, the receptionist screams loudly. We hear the sound of a phone bouncing off a desk. The screaming continues as we hear a cacophony of high heels hurriedly banging across a cavernous room... A window smashes... The scream slowly fades away, the gentle tingling of glass fragments on the office floor creating a haunting cadence... A shattering bang.



He gently closes the front door behind him, ignoring the caustic July chill. He shivers. Before him stand his wife and son. They look agitated.

"Honey, is everything alright?"

His wife stares at him, shaking. Without warning she lunges at Derek. She empties a can of mace into his face. She then viciously and repeatedly kicks him in the testicles. Agony.

"Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck away from our child! You MONSTER!"

Jesus H Christ! With such a complaint, one can only assume that Mr. Derek Whelan assumed that people might have jumped to the following conclusion had they watched this ad in its original form: He (Derek Whelan) is actually the bogeyman.

The sheer terrifying Stupidity! Never mind the possibility of people thinking about another Derek Whelan eh? Yours is such an exotic and distinctive name after all.

Words fail me. Except this one: Gobshite.

Tuesday 21 August 2007

Eagle Vs Shark - A Review

The cult of Dynamite. Obtuse narrative at the cost of Empathy? A hero? Forced indie rhetoric.

Lazy and obvious comparisons. Lazy and obvious US critics.

Eagle Vs Shark. Charming, whimsical, the milieu of the true Nerd. Intelligence and pathos. Rich characters, born of truth. Politely visceral. Consistently hilarious.

Perfectly pitched ending. A meandering arc. Hopeful and inspiring.

Go see this:

By means of addition. Killer soundtrack. Beautiful animation.

Pre-Order Booze... For Electric Picnic

The Electric Picnic on-site off-license. Huzzah to thee!

Thanks to some uniquely Irish initiative from those organising folks in Stradbally, at this year's Picnic the epic festival slab-haul becomes a thing of the past. 48 cans of Dutch Mould no longer need to be dragged from transport depot to jaded tent erection (tee hee). How is this possible? There is now the facility to pre-order your booze online from the on-site off-license. You then simply collect the chilled booze at your own leisurely, possibly medicated pace. The blinding Wisdom of it all!

That said, I'm a mean bastard and will probably just endure the hardship to save a few dollars... Only to blow those pinched pennies on an inflatable armchair or the memoirs of an ancient hippy masseuse written in ochre on the base of a lentil... Or something. Prudence be damned.

Details of this off-license ordering business:

Oh... the full line-up is up as well. But you already know that you clever people.

Monday 20 August 2007

"Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, Dan Deacon is coming back..."

I fucking missed him (in Galway). Dan Deacon came, saw and by all accounts melted minds... And I missed him. Alas, it could not be helped - such is the frivolous hindrance of Work and Responsibility - but the annoyance will not relent. The glowing reviews of Nialler and Aoife offer little solace. You guys!

Now there is little for me to do but wait for his return to our shores in November or December. Cheers for the heads up Master Nialler. The lyrics to "Wham City" are already firmly ingrained in my feeble brain, however I shall follow your lead and share them with the blogsfolk:

“There is a mountain of snow / Up past the big glen / We have a castle enclosed / There is a fountain / Out of the fountain flows gold / Into a huge hand / That hand’s a held by a bear / Who had a sick band / Of ghosts and cats and pigs and bats / With brooms and bats and wings and rats / And play big dogs like queens and kings / And everyone plays drums and sings / ‘Bout big sharks / Sharp swords / Beast bees / Bead lords / Sweet cakes / Mace lakes / O MA MA MA MA MA MA MA MA!!!”

I'm totally gay for that song. Until the (calendar) winter Dan! You wonderful freak!

Saturday 18 August 2007

The New(ish) Journalism's Saturday Nite Take-Away

The Picnic is looming. The funds are low. The couch is the place for me. A boxset shall be my poison. Yet before I depart for cushioned oblivion, I shall leave thee with these ramblings:

First, that new Kate Modern shite on Bebo makes my blood boil. A rant in the idiom of Roy should be forthcoming but I just do not have the energy right now. Damn you Kate! Damn you and the marketing executive's jizz you slid in on!

The new Interpol album is woeful shite. A plodding, derivative imitation of former adequacies and the lyrics are laughable. A sample: "You wear those shoes like a dove." What?

Steven Seagal has accused the FBI of intentionally sabotaging his career. He demands an apology. Really. Read the entire story

Finally, the conventional wisdom would decree that child abuse is not funny. That said, I dare you not to laugh:

Via Why That's Delightful!

David Beckham Playing Soccer

I do wonder what Roy Keane would make of this... David Beckham, on his MLS debut in the "uniform" of Los Angeles Galaxy TM, scores with a "patented bending ball into the far left side netting."

Prostrate thyself before the saviour of soccer!

Thursday 16 August 2007

Get Smart

More Evan Almighty than The 40 Year Old Virgin? Hope not.

Wednesday 15 August 2007

A Bicycle Vending Machine

A company in Amsterdam. Obviously.

Keano Vs The WAG

Welcome back Roy. I, for one, missed you. The new, sensitive Manager Roy was getting boring... Roy's comments on the influence of the WAG:

“If a player doesn’t want to come to Sunderland then all well and good,” said the former Manchester United captain and Ireland midfielder. “But if he decides he doesn’t want to come because his wife wants to go shopping in London, then it’s a sad state of affairs. It’s not a football move, it’s a lifestyle move. It tells me the player is weak and his wife runs his life."

“The idea of women running the show concerns me and worries me, but the players we’re talking about are soft. Priorities have changed in footballers and they are being dictated to by their wives.”

He then references his own playing career, ending on a philosophical note:

“A couple of years ago I nearly went to Juve. People spoke to me about Turin, and said it is this and it is that, but Milan would be nice. I said ‘I’m not going for the bloody shops; I’m going because it’s Juventus.’ You have to sign for footballing reasons. If you retire at 35 you can bloody well live wherever you want to then."

“Your football has to be your priority and you don’t have to live in London or Monaco to be happy. You don’t need to be surrounded by expensive shops or fancy cafes.”


Obviously Roy is being a tad sexist here. Hardly the most considered argument ever. Indeed, if a feminist backlash is immiment, the man hardly has grounds to complain. However, considering he is talking about the WAG phenomenon, moderate slack should be cut.

In relation to said phenomenon, the man has a woefully disguised point. Where would a twit like Coleen McLoughlin be without the footballing prowess of Wayne Rooney? I imagine fitness videos would be difficult to shoot whilst working a double shift in a chipper in Toxteth. This girl and her ilk display no shame in bleeding their vicarious infamy dry in the pursuit of column inches in The Sun, Hello and so on... Throwing a hissy fit then when asked to move away from the shops is somewhat ridiculous and selfish. Especially when it is (largely) your partner's money you are spending.

However, Roy, you must remember that many wives and partners (as opposed to the W or G) have their own careers. Careers that they have worked long and hard for. Therefore, if they do not wish to move from London (or wherever), then surely their footballing husband must be considerate. Also, Roy, you're a family man. What if they have kids settled in schools etc? Not so simple then is it?

Finally Roy, and perhaps most fundamentally, you seem to forget the incredibly vapid and vacuous nature of the modern Premiership footballer. In the case of preening tossers like Fat Lampard and Freddie Ljungberg, it has nothing to do with female influence. These men are simply that vain and superficial. Christ Roy, the average IQ of the Premiership is so low that the knackerish ramblings of Joey Barton are oft considered witty. Joey Barton! The man is a fuckwit!

Face it Roy. Times have changed. The Premiership is now the poisoned milieu of Iberian agents, the overrating of John Terry, rampant metrosexuality and highly irrelevant contracts... And "models" getting spit-roasted by Keiron Dyer & Friends.

Sigh. Perhaps it is jealousy Roy. Diadora sponsorship was as flash as it got for you...

Tuesday 14 August 2007

Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip Newsflash: Electric Picnic & New Single.

Regular readers should already be aware of The New(ish) Journalism's keen admiration for the hip-hop nous of Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip... Therefore, lascivious hyperbole shall be kept to a minimum... Instead, a small bit of jolly good news. The duo shall be performing at Electric Picnic. Sunday at 20:00 hours. A most hearty Huzzah!

Furthermore, their new single is ab fab. It is called "The Beat That My Heart Skipped":

The single will be released 10th September. That relentless bouncing rhythm shall do its prospects no harm at all.

Where news of their impending Picnic appearance was found:

Best Journey Cover... In A While!

She was just a small town girl. She lived in a lonely world. One night, she boarded the midnight train. It went anywhere (metaphorically, of course).

The ultimate guilty pleasure as rendered by Petra Haden. The cheerfully odd video is directed by Kerri-Ann Doherty:

Via Pitchfork.

Super Extra Bonus Party @ Róisín Dubh

Reasons to be in the Róisín Dubh this Thursday, August 16th, at 21:00:
  1. Super Extra Bonus Party are a very impressive live proposition.
  2. Nialler9 shall be presenting visuals most debonairly spot on.
  3. The band's self-titled LP is the only essential Irish release of the year. Hyperbole? Truth.
  4. It is a free gig.

What more do you want people?

Gymnast orangutans with a penchant for Scrabble? Well, that would be cool.

Monday 13 August 2007

An Afternoon To Remember

Whilst on the topic of transport - and heeding the advice of The Swearing Lady - I have decided to share with you a short tale. A tale of a train trip. A train trip that occurred yesterday:

At 15:46 I took my seat aboard the 16:00 train from Dublin to Ennis. At 17:20 we eventually left Heuston; the delay caused by "something that happened somewhere along the line". An exact quote from our conductor. Reassuring.

At 16:25ish, a young couple sat across from me with their cute, relatively newborn baby. At 16:45ish the baby shat itself. At 16:47ish the young couple realised they were out of nappies. Sooo... the baby wailed like an autistic banshee from Heuston to Thurles. Without a single moment's respite. The stench was even more endearing. Such parenting.

Eventually we arrived at Limerick for our transfer to Ennis to find that there was no train awaiting. Instead, Iarnród Eireann had decided to ship every valued customer to Ennis in taxis... Shared taxis, of course.

With some trepidation and a chronic headache I sat into the back of my cab. Soon after another young couple decided to join me in the back seat... In the midst of a blazing row... That continued to escalate all the way to Ennis. Apparently, she is a "dirty cheating cunt". He is "hung like a shit midget". (Brilliant.)

Thankfully neither shat themselves. Every cloud, wha?

Aer Lingus. Whinge. Etc.

Granted, a lot of people opposed the privatisation of Aer Lingus. However, it happened. It was done and the Irish need to understand that the famous shamrock logo is no longer ours. Aer Lingus is just another commercial operation with planes that transport consumers from Location A to Location B.

Obviously the loss of these routes to Heathrow is quite bad for Shannon airport and the region. The damage could be even more considerable when you consider the Open Skies Agreement that comes into practice in March 2008 - thereby ending the obligatory Shannon stopover, which required US airlines flying over Ireland to touch down at least some of their flights in Shannon... Sinister vibrations abound.

However, lest we forget, this is a free market economy folks. How can we be so quick to deride such market forces whilst we are so simultaneously keen to exploit them via Ryanair et al? "A return parachuting to the outskirts of Budapest for €6 and a packet of Walkers? Sweet deal."

People of Ireland, you simply can not have your cake and eat it too. Especially when the cake fucks off to Belfast.

Saturday 11 August 2007

Dan Deacon Is Coming To Ireland

Dan Deacon is a Baltimore, Maryland-based absurdist electronic music composer/performer. Dan Deacon is coming to Ireland next week. Dan Deacon's is perhaps the most apeshit live performance that will be seen on our fair isle this year. The man is mental: Instead of playing on stage - as traditionalists might - Dan prefers to perch his equipment atop a table and wheel it through the crowd. The songs are mental: Just give his latest album Spiderman Of The Rings a listen. A night out with Dan Deacon is most certainly an interesting one:

Analog insanity in a digital scenester world... Or something. Uplifting buzz.

August 17th - Dublin @ Crawdaddy.
August 18th - Cork @ Liquid Lounge.
August 19th - Galway @ Róisín Dubh.

EDIT - A new video embedded above. Better quality than the initial one.

Friday 10 August 2007

Be Kind, Rewind

Michel Gondry is a genius. Simple as.

Arcade Fire Sell Out. Whinge. Whinge.

Breaking News: Tickets for a concert by a very popular band sell out quickly.

The texts... The emails... The righteous indignation... The injustice of it all...

Jesus Christ people, gain some perspective. It is only a fucking concert. In a tent. In a big field in Dublin. In the middle of winter.

So quit your whinging now you cash happy and ever so trendy Micks. These ever so trendy Cannucks shall do just fine without your easily squandered squids. Take heed! Nothing shall come of your inability to attend this concert. Get off eBay! Get back to work! Your HR department needs you!

By the way:

I'm such a tease.

Thursday 9 August 2007

"I just want to finish my song!"

Antoria Gillon, a heavily pregnant woman - due to go into labour in three days - queued from 2.30am on Monday morning for 16 hours to audition for American Idol. As she walked into her audition, she "felt something" all over her body. She "knew right away what it was", yet she continued her audition. As she said to the evidently concerned judges, "I just want to finish my song."

Enduring intense contractions, she finished singing, received her golden ticket to Hollywood and only then climbed into the waiting ambulance.

That is fucking mental.

Charity You're A Star, you missed a trick... Twink or Brunker could have...

Wednesday 8 August 2007

Christopher Walken for President

If you're hoping for a new leader with confidence, intelligence, and diverse experience, here he is...

Christopher Walken wants to be the President of the United States of America. Seriously.

zZz is playing: Grip

Grip is a music video for the band zZz. It is a one take, top shot video clip with trampoline gymnasts simulating typical video effects. It was filmed live in front of a curious audience. No option to edit, no chance to re-shoot... No pressure then:

The video is part of the Nederclip exhibition here:

Tuesday 7 August 2007


Today over at Why That's Delightful!, Graham Linehan makes reference to Rian Johnson's Brick: an indie-noir set in a modern American high school. A work of mild genius, yet not very accessible. The heavily stylised idiom of Chandler, Hammett et al can leave modern viewers somewhat perplexed. Even bored. Which is a pity.

No respite for thee then as the following short film is even more willfully obscure. Entitled Escargots, it is the work of Brick director Rian Johnson and star Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Decidedly art-house in persuasion, but quite interesting nonetheless:

Monday 6 August 2007

Beer & Clothing In Ennis

... The Star Wars quotes continue unabated... The smoke is passed around, forced joviality with a subtle hint of paranoia... A polite refusal, a total indifference... The lukewarm Guinness offers no solace... The smoking area, damp and cold, a mirror to his soul...

A different pub now. A chance encounter with a friend on his way home. A quick discussion. But sure why wouldn't he? It is a bank holiday after all. He should have known better. He did know better. A momentary weakness, a painful penance...

... "That t-shirt is awful gay young fella!", spews a woman as she clings desperately to the right side of thirty-five. A dribble of gin here, flecks of dried-in vomit there... She later lunges at our hero's crotch, misses and smacks her head off a wall... A pool of gin. An instant volley of insults. A hasty retreat... A wise move...

... In the chipper now. The rain outside is biblical. This momentary respite is most appreciated. He politely awaits his regular chip, Fujiya & Miyagi pumping into his ears via his beloved Creative Zen. Suddenly he is viciously smacked across the face. He wheels around in amazement. Two girls stand side by side. "What the fuck are you doing listening to our conversation?", screams the drunker one. Our hero stands aghast. He briefly tries to explain himself, but to no avail. Their ignorance is boundless, their stupor most drunken. He quickly collects his chips and says his goodbyes... The words "stupid" and "cunts" may have been used... With no regret...

The battery dies. No Zen. No taxi. His chips flounder inedible in a sea of rotten vinegar and raindrops. No dustbin. With every passing squelch he is closer to home, constantly reassured by the fact that the night can not get any worse...

A girl pukes on his shoes at the 24-hour. They don't have Hula Hoops.

Friday 3 August 2007

Fight Like Apes @ Electric Picnic

As if it being the Friday of a bank holiday weekend was not good enough, it turns out Fight Like Apes shall be playing Electric Picnic. They will be on stage Sunday at 12.30... I fear the monstrous hangover but I shall certainly relish the cleansing melodies of "Lend Me Your Face":

By the way, if you happen to be around Galway this evening, you should probably head towards the Róisín Dubh. At 19.00 hours the Strange Brew Summer Shindig 3 kicks off. Fight Like Apes shall be there, along with Delorentos, Giveamanakick, Mirakil Whip, So Cow, The Burno Chairs and Disconnect 4. Tickets are still on sale and are only €10 (€5 members). Decidedly sweet deal.

Thursday 2 August 2007

Effin Eddie Of Aherlow

Located on the blog of Gingerpixel, quite possibly the greatest Irish contribution to youtube thus far: Effin Eddie at The County Final by Ian Benny Kenny.

The man commentating with such boundless enthusiasm is Eddie Moroney, a lorry driver for the Tipperary Co-Op creamery in Tipperary town. The match he is commentating on is the 1994 Tipperary U-21 Football County Final between Aherlow and Éire Óg, Nenagh. Aherlow won that day. My dad is from the area. That is why there is a dusty old VHS of this game sitting on a shelf at home. With this commentary.

A commentary that utterly transcends cliché, GAA or otherwise. Hilarious.

Super Nintendo & Paul Rudd

I was more of a Sega Mega Drive man myself...

US Loses 190,000 Weapons In Iraq

"So if you guys don't have them..."

The US government cannot account for 190,000 weapons issued to Iraqi security forces in 2004 and 2005, according to an investigation carried out by the Government Accountability Office. According to the July 31 report, the military "cannot fully account for about 110,000 AK-47 assault rifles, 80,000 pistols, 135,000 items of body armor and 115,000 helmets reported as issued to Iraqi forces."

Since 2004 the military "has not consistently collected supporting records confirming the dates the equipment was received, the quantities of equipment delivered, or the Iraqi units receiving the items," the report said.

Sarcasm fails me. This is just too stupid.

"The usual (shite) please..."

I am not long in from the pub. Just after enjoying a few pints of the black stuff with me ould man. Whimsies were spun, slashes were enjoyed, and a general malaise suffocated each customer. As only it can it the true 'local' of the aged. This being Clare and these being locals, hurling inevitably dominated conversational proceedings towards the night's end... Considine should leave... Limerick shouldn't be underestimated... Cork are a class act all the same...

I am, at best, a fair weather Clare GAA supporter. Yet I decided I would fully engage these jovial souses on the topic. After all, I played much Gaelic football and hurling as a wee lad...

I lasted a mere five minutes before the boredom crippled me. In such conversation, cliché is to be expected. It is even to be enjoyed. Even more so in this case, seeing as the GAA has spawned its own intricate crop of benevolent lies. But something snapped inside of me tonight. The clichés had to be challenged.

Of course, it was a fool's errand. Immediately doomed to failure. But here are some valiant soundbites (as best as I can remember them):

"Ah, a seven point lead is nothing in hurling young lad."

"No. It's a seven point lead."

"What do you mean?"


"When I see those lads out on the pitch, giving their absolute all for our entertainment, and not a lad among them getting paid for a single minute of it..."

"Well, it's an amateur sport. They know they're not getting paid. It's a conscious decision like."

"... And you see those assholes over in England, messing around in the Premiership. Boring us to tears, and they're getting €200,000 a week for the privilege. Makes me sick."

"Well, they're professionals. And you don't have to watch soccer if it bores you. Also a conscious decision."


"Croke Park is by far the most impressive stadium in Europe. Nothing comes close."

"Really? Have you been in the Nou Camp?"



"Did you see The Sunday Game last week?"

"No, I was reading actually."

"Reading eh? And what were you reading?"

"Well, George Orwell's 1984. For some reason the mindless chatter of the proles comes to mind..."


Ok. I made that last one up.

Now, some amongst you may feel compelled to defend the grace and honour of the GAA cliché and of Hurling - The Greatest Field Game On Earth (According To The Irish, Who Inhabit The Only Country In Which The Game Is Played) TM... And please do so... But I ask of you only this: Be articulate.

Leave your clichés and porter bellies at the door.

Wednesday 1 August 2007

Keef - The Autobiography

$7m deal for Keith Richards autobiography - RTÉ

A memoir that Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards has been working on was the subject of a multi-million dollar bidding war this week... And apparently Richards has signed a deal worth over $7m with New York-based publisher Little, Brown and Co partnered with Britain's Weidenfeld & Nicolson.

The memoirs of Keef should certainly be a very interesting read. To paraphrase the late Bill Hicks, if there was a nuclear holocaust only two things would survive; cockroaches and Keith Richards... Although I do wonder what Bill would have made of that woeful Pirates cameo.

On the subject of Pirates, Jack Sparrow is a wonderful character. No question. However, for me, there has always been only one true fictional Keef. Furthermore, if this book contains but a fraction of the pathos contained hereafter then we are in for quite a read:

As an added bonus... The real Keith being interviewed by Hunter S Thompson. Earnest. Meandering.