Virgin Mobile have balls, yo

Fantastic video, eh? Of course, their claim of 'a holiday for all of us' is a bit tardy, as for years now the human race has been aware of the Festivus for the rest of us!

Mark my words, anybody who plans on putting up with me for the foreseeable future - if you want me in your life, you'll have to make room for Festivus.

Journalist suffers PMS, writes stupid shit

On the front page of Digg just now there was a story called "Mother Told She Doesn't Have Real Job By Phone Company" - which seemed dumb enough to warrant a click.

The story tells the plight of a stay-at-home mother who tried to buy a Smart phone from Vodafone, only to be rejected on the grounds that she didn't have a "real" job. What's noteworthy about this story is that it was penned by a woman. Quite a stupid woman, I'd wager - one who can't be bothered to appear impartial.

Ewww - they should've sprung for a hand model

If you'd indulge me for a moment, I'm going to pick holes in this story for the purpose of asserting intellectual superiority over a paid-journalist, and balancing some transparently feminist-fuelled moral-outrage with some good old fashioned rationality.

Lyndal Fair, 36, a mother of three, said she was shocked and embarrassed when staff at a Vodafone store told her they didn't sell phones to full-time mums.

Didn't sell "phones" to full-time mums? Not quite. Didn't sell a particular phone to full-time Mums - the BlackBerry Storm - which is a business phone, and only available to customers on certain (business, possibly) plans.

Staff instead suggested she ask her husband to buy the phone for her under his own name

...[Because he has a sodding business!]

"I really felt like a second-class citizen for the first time since becoming a mum," Ms Fair said. "I couldn't believe it. It was like being back in the '50s.

Oh boy - they're playing that card. Never mind the fact that there weren't commercially-available mobile-telecommunications devices back in the 50s, let's just focus on the logical fallacy of framing an inconvenience (having to upgrade your plan) as proof that sexual discrimination hasn't changed in almost sixty years! But the outrage doesn't end there - let's drag in the reluctant husband who has to overcompensate for his lack of giving a shite with some overly-dramatic effusions:

"Being a mum is a full-time job and it's a very hard job - the hardest job you can have - because if you get it wrong, the ramifications for everyone are enormous," Ms Fair said.

'Ramifications for everyone'? Sweet Christ. It's all gone a bit The Day After Tomorrow, hasn't it?

"It's just terrible. You cop it as a mum if you work because you're not at home with your children, and if you do stay home you get hit with nonsense like this."

Poooooooooooooooor women. Will they ever escape this catch-22? Normally I'd muster up a bit of sympathy for such predicaments, but the following splutterance from the author of this piece demands that I ramp up the misogyny for a bit:

Vodafone spokesman Greg Spears yesterday confirmed the no-housewives rule and said getting a man to buy the phone instead was the quickest fix.

BULLSHIT!

Ahem... Now that I’ve got that out of my system, might I propose what the author meant to say?

Vodafone spokesman Greg Spears yesterday confirmed that the handset is only available to customers on certain Vodafone plans and said that getting a family member who was currently employed and on one of these plans to buy the phone instead was the quickest way around it.

"No-housewives rule"? "A man"? The woman who wrote this needs to step away from the keyboard for a bit, lest they underscore any more innocuous tales with egregious shades of sexual-discrimination. To further drive home the utter disregard for any illusion of balanced reporting, the final word is given to “Eva Cox, of the Women's Electoral Lobby”.

What’s that? She wasn’t impressed? Big surprise. What else? Crikey:

She called on women to boycott Vodafone until it changed the policy.

"SECKSIZM!"

Seriously now? I’m sure that I’ve established that women are not being ‘slighted’ here, stay-at-home-mothers are. Wouldn’t a much more effective tactic be to ask all stay-at-home-mothers-and-fathers to petition Vodafone to lower the lofty bar for entry to the exclusive club of BlackBerry Storm owners? Asking ‘all women’ is dumb – as it is based on the assumption that all women would be upset by an unemployed (albeit hardworking) woman being denied a phone, which I doubt many would be. (Manipulating the facts to create controversy where there is none might gain sympathy for the cause, however).

Okay, I haven’t been entirely fair here – I should let this bastion of moral guidance continue with what she was saying, please Ms Cox[hater], continue!

"They need to be careful that Vodafone don't get a black ban after this, or a pink ban, if you want to call it that," Ms Cox said.

"... OH - I GEDDIT!! WIMMINZ LIKE THE COLLAR PINK!!!"

Christ.

Dear reader, please forgive this rather scattered entry, as every time I gather my thoughts, they force their way out in a rather undignified Tourettic flurry of capslock and swearing. I’m probably ripping on a publication that’s not exactly high-brow, but the waves of disgust I felt from seeing it second from the top on Digg has carried me thus far, so why turn back now?

Sexism isn’t cool. But claiming sexism when there is none is less cool, and really only serves the cause of the sexists. So you feminists need to shut the fuck up.

Heil Herr Finlay!

Here's a disturbing one for you, kids.

It seems that Fin, He of fin.ie fame, is using His totalitarian rule of Fin Blog to quash any dissenting views, brutally silencing any comments that aimed only to inform and educate, without a word of acknowledgement.

Dear readers, know that Finlay's seeming infallibility is merely the result of having the power to annul the words of dissenters from the very annals of history! Just last week, my illuminating remarks spent a period of three days in purgatory, before being cast to the deep dank dungeon of cyberspace, never to surface again.

I hope that Finlay will see the light, and instead of continuing to use subterfuge in fixing grammatical faux-pas and any commentary of their past existence, he embraces a more laissez-faire style of blog comment.

Dear reader, I am counting on you to show Finlay how much fun an unfettered comments section can be. That is why I sincerely ask that you take a moment to leave a comment, and say the most reprehensible thing about me (and my blog, if you can manage) that comes to mind.

I'm counting on you.



We're counting on you.

Hump-day Video-dump

Not sure if I ought to make a regular habit of dumping videos on here like this, so be sure to comment and let me know if this was worth your while in any way.

First on the list is a video from my friends' band that I've been intending on giving a shout out to in some form or another for some time now, so now that they've put together a music video from the footage they took of their recent LA tour, I figured I'd share! Please to enjoy:'Little Black Marble' by Fox Jaw Bounty Hunters. The split screen format means that you have a perfectly good reason for listening to the song four times in a row!




Next on the list, we have a video shamelessly nicked from that other blog that I'm writing for (even if I haven't had time to post anything remotely intelligent in about a month now). One of the authors went to the trouble of recording a version of the Monty Python's LumberJack song that somebody (a chap called FXE, seemingly) on an atheist forum went to the trouble of rewriting. This song is pretty clever, but it's especially noteworthy for me as it somehow came up on the radar of popular blogger PZ Myers, who I've made gushing reference to in the past, providing me with yet another opportunity to reflect on how freakin' awesome the internet is.



And finally, more as a bonus than anything else, I'm attaching another video from the multi-talented Mr Shane Serrano, (the geezer responsible for the first video posted above, as well as [crude] magazine, which I warbled about last week). When he was short on integrity-impaired students willing to sell their souls for a UL promotional video a summer or two ago, I decided to help him out by spouting confused mumblings from my fat head that he captured on tape to somehow convince people that UL is great - other than those eight seconds or so, it's pretty decent! As far as promo videos go, anyhow.

Pourin' out a li'l liquor...

You think blogging is easy? You think I should ask more of myself than five posts a month? You've probably not tried it for yourself - unless you're going to throw up absolutely every random thing you do over the course of a day, or you've found yourself a rich area to specialise in, it's difficult to find the time, or the right topic to post about (I try to keep this blog general for people who don't know me but enjoy random nonsense, only occasionally indulging overly-personal posts - let me know if I'm succeeding on that by the by).

If you don't believe me, let's take a look at the list of dead blogs started by those within my various spheres of influence. The common thread linking them all? They all came up with better titles than mine.

Diarmuidos
Born: 19th January 2008 Died: 25th April 2008 Posts: 20

A blog started by my older brother to serve the internet with download recommendations while also offering a platform for him to discuss his various programming endeavours in college. He probably got distracted by finishing up his final year projects. And organising his wedding. And having a wife and stuff.

Notable post: Probably his first, in which he proudly announced that he had officially become a 'blogster'. Bless his little heart, he tried.

Ireland's Eoghan
Born: 5th November 2007 Died: 8th December 2008 Posts: 16 (Might be a bit premature to declare this one deceased - he Lazarused on us before after 4 months of lying cold)

After taking umbrage to a remark I made on this blog in reference to some Gott-lieben graffiti, my recently-acquired friend from college took to the internet to grant his riposte a bit more gravitas. After getting that off his chest he set about chiding people who deposit bodily effluvia in his bed without his consent. It's possible that the sudden drying up of such incidents is what caused the fatal posting-drought. It's possible that this post will temporarily alleviate that, with a post entitled "News of my blog's death has been greatly exaggerated"

Notable post: Off the top of my head, the most enjoyable post to come to mind is his reaction to the Transformers film, featuring a try-not-to-spit on your monitor surprise ending (sorta).

Ocean of Noise
Born: 15th September 2008 Died: 15th September 2008 Posts: 1

A stillborn. After a triumphant 'hello world!', and the tease of "New Mixes coming", DJ Rob dropped off the radar.

Notable post: The comments for his first entry. After some slight goading for the radio silence by yours truly, Rob replied explaining that "the day I went to record the first mix the fucking power supply on my desktop blew up and I can't afford a new one at the moment :-(." At least there's hope for the future. Once Rob unbrokes himself, of course.

Gather Around Children... It's Storytime
Born: 7th September 2007 Died: 10th December 2007 Posts: 10

As part of a class requirement for a media module she was taking, my favourite Pittsburgh-resident with the initials CK posted ten entries up over the course of a semester. Despite my repeated urges to keep up the good blogging, she hit her minimum requirement and quit posting, teaching me that the promise of a link from my blog isn't as effective a motivational ploy as I believed it to be. The blog itself is a delight to read, as Cait has a way of packaging the banal in a riveting fashion.

Notable post: Christ. Where to begin? There's the time she accidentally tried to smuggle a rusty screwdriver onto a plane, as well as the entry in which she somehow makes an irrational panicking fit seem like the only logical course of action. With a gun to my head, I'll have to say my favourite was the time she embarrassed herself in front of a pro footballer in a spectacular fashion - even when rereading it just now I had a chuckle.


In case you didn't notice, I'm particularly disappointed about the demise of 'Gather Around Children... It's Story Time' - I tried to convince Cait to keep it going, but once the class ended, so did the willingness to blog. Rather than admit to myself that I'm utterly ineffectual, I've convinced myself that it was the url that killed the site. Think about it for a second - can you imagine trying to tell people the address for your blog? "It's doubleyou doubleyou doubleyou dot gather around children it's story time dot blogspot dot com." Or how about typing that addressbarfull every time you wanted to visit the site? It can't be done in one sitting - I've tried. One way or another, the unwiedily named blog is no more, and the blogosphere is poorer as a result.

But hang on a tick - Cait's just after getting back on the blogging horse! As if to commemorate the one year death anniversary of her first effort, Cait has ventured into this digital graveyard of blogging talent and planted a poorly-conceptualised-metaphor of a rose to keep us optimistic despite the bleakness of the present.

While I do indeed begrudge her foresight in coming up with a clever name (albeit one based borrowed from another author) and her disciplined prolific posting schedule, it is my pleasure to be able to recommend Cait's newest blogging endeavour, Thoughts are King, which will now be added to my meagre Links panel as the old ones are retired.

Just give me a while with the old ones, okay? It'll take a while to let them go...

Coming soon to a newsstand near you*

*=If you live in Limerick.

I really should have mentioned this a good bit earlier, so I'll cue the obligatory excuse about being busy to absolve my shoddy posting schedule as of late. Still with me? Great.

Two months ago I learned that a talented friend of mine was launching a Limerick-based magazine. Eager to feel as though I'm making some efforts towards fooling someone into letting me write in exchange for money, I offered him my services. Since my abilities to feign interest in what's going on in my locality have waned as of late, I ended up submitting a video-game review for an Xbox 360 game I was enjoying.

After warbling on for some 1,200 words (and not even finishing up), I realised that I had written something more suitable for a specialist magazine, so I quickly wrote up an 800 word piece (Next time I'll aim for 500).

Anyhow, now that I've laid a fine foundation for my excuse as to why my submission sucks ("I didn't know what audience I was writing for, and besides - I dashed it off in five minutes"), I'll give you some more information on what the hell I'm talking about:


Crude Magazine, Limerick's Alternative Culture and Lifestyle Magazine (but not necessarily that Alternative Lifestyle, BDSM-phobes!) hits shelves this weekend. I think. And it'll cost €5, I think €4. Okay - so I'm sketchy on the details, but for some reason I do know that copies will be available for €6 with a free gig at the launch party at Baker Place at 9pm on Saturday the 6th of December!

See you there?

Update 07/12/08: Found out the actual price of the magazine and fixed it above.

A sceptic's atonement

A label I have no objections to being slapped with is that of 'sceptic'. To be sceptical of outlandish claims is a trait that no person could ever be ashamed of, and more sceptics are needed in society to act as firewalls for bad information. The following story is about my spectacular failure to provide this service.

Last month sometime, after a trip to the cinema, I was in the car with Mega. We were having another one of those incredible exchanges of intellect, speaking on a level few people can manage:

Mega, how come Vin Diesel hasn't been in any films lately?

It's cos he's gay.

Really? I never heard that.

Oh yeah - big scandal. All over the papers.

Wow. I completely missed that. Is it true?

Yup - the newspapers were going to break the story, so he beat them to it and came out of the closet.

Makes sense, I suppose. Amazed I never heard of it.

A few days later, I'm at my father's house. XXX is on the TV, its cacophony of screaming and explosions providing my father with the kind of ambience he needs to enjoy his Sunday paper.

Watching XXX eh?

He doesn't look up from his paper as he mutters his response.

Yup.

To jump-start the conversation I throw out an interesting nugget of information:

Y'know one of the stuntmen died during the making of this film?

The paper drops below his eye line. He peers at his grotesquely over sized TV unblinkingly as the protagonist rides a scrambler around the most explosive compound ever captured on film, performing any number of daring manoeuvres that could conceivably end a man's life.

Of course - they never said which scene it was that killed him.

My words break the spell and he glances at me.

That's amazing all the same. I can see how somebody'd get hurt. Where'd you hear that?

I watched the director's commentary on DVD a few years back.

He nods silently. Then turns back to his paper. The conversation is drying up, so I scan for any more interesting tidbits relating to the film. After mulling it over for a half-second, I decide to proceed:

Here's something else you don't know. Y'know Vin Diesel?

Yer man there with the baldy head, yeah?

Yeah.

What about him?

Y'know how he hasn't been in any films lately?

I hadn't noticed, but why hasn't he been in any films?

Because he's a homosexual.

Silence. My father looks at me in disbelief. It could have something to do with my odd word-choice. I blurt out what little details I have:

He was outed as being gay a few years ago and hasn't been able to get work since - noone takes him seriously anymore.

Vin Diesel drives his bike through a group of AK-47 toting henchmen who fall like a set of skittles, spraying bullets as they do.

Y'mean he's a queer?

A helicopter rolls into the shot. I'm already shaking my head at my father, regretting my decision to set him off.

I can see why nobody would take him seriously, so.

Vin Diesel looks around the compound, looking for an escape route as the helicopter's minigun whirrs up.

The guy who has been driving around breaking necks is actually a hairdresser?

Vin Diesel charges forward on his bike, hitting a conveniently placed ramp that launches him onto a slanted corrugated rooftop that he uses to jump onto the next, the action tracked by chronic-Parkinson's-afflicted cameramen.

My father was beginning to splutter through his self-congratulatory chuckles

You mean to tell me that this super-duper-secret-agent would be an airhostess if he wasn't killing for a living?

A series of great big bassy booms accompany the barn's explosion, as a mess of debris and glowing orange flames thunder towards our hero, eventually engulfing him. A split second later, he triumphantly emerges from the blaze, seemingly unperturbed by the amount of death he had to defy at once. And yet:

I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at him the same again. I wish you hadn't told me that!

I knew that my father's exaggerated display of homophobia was just him joking around, but his closing remarks made me lament the fact that I had passed on information I didn't verify for myself.

The following morning I decided to use the Internet to verify Vin Diesel's sexuality:


'Vin Diesel Slams Gay Rumours'. 19 keystrokes was all it took to rubbish Mega's story of a decloseted action star, yet by the time I looked it up, the damage had been done.

Next time I met with my father, I came clean and admitted that I had passed on bad info. He looked at me funny. Seems he "didn't give a flying fuck anyhow". My sleeping pattern returned to normal.

That's the thing about being a sceptic: there's always a logical explanation - it might just be a bit of research away. The question still stood though. Why hadn't I seen much of Vin Diesel in a whiel? Was his credibility hurt in some way? Didn't take long to figure this one out.

Does this count as a guest blog?

My girlfriend sends the weirdest e-mails...

To: Sully
From: Cait
Subject: My Life has been changed


Hi honey! I know I'm going to see you soon, so I really could wait to show you these images, but I think that they're important. I was leaving class yesterday at about 5:15pm and as I walked past a random board in the Biological/Geological Sciences Building (Lapham Hall), I happened to notice a very interesting booklet tacked onto the board. Seeing as I never, ever noticed any booklets like this until this past Hallowe'en, I was amazed that so shortly after having my own eyes opened and my life changed completely because I accepted Jesus, I saw a real-life example of someone witnessing to the godless, college-age masses. It was a wonderful experience. So wonderful, in fact, that I decided that I had to document it and pass it on to you...I know that you'll do the right thing with these pictures, Sean. I like you and all, but nowhere near as much as I love Jesus.

(Does this count toward my 'witnessing for Jesus' points to get me into Heaven?)

Hmm... It seems that my girlfriend is broken and needs a replacement. I've had her two years now, meaning the warranty is up, so I might be as well off to try and fix her myself rather than going through the expensive process of acquiring a new one...

Smut - Nintendo Style

In a few weeks, Nintendo will be releasing Animal Crossing: City Folk for the Nintendo Wii, the sequel to the Gamecube title released in 2002, a game on which my college housemates and I passed many an hour.

The game is a unique experience, one that could best be compared to The Sims, as there are no 'goals' per se, save for amassing furniture, expanding your house, and interacting with the computer-controlled locals of your town (who get very crabby if you fail to lavish them with attention).

As the release date for the next instalment approaches I've been trying to decide on whether I should spend €50 for the same game again, with only a few new bells and whistles. Of course, one factor swinging my decision in Nintendo's favour is the prospect of sharing the experience with my 12-year old sister and 7 year old brother.

To make sure that nostalgia wouldn't cloud my judgement, I decided to fire up the old Gamecube and go through a typical day in the town of Sultonia [dumb names are a prerequisite for beginning your cities].

6.48 PM: I exit my house and check my mailbox for first time in 8 months...

... and find a strange umbrella attached to note from one of my housemates.
The caustic tone of the letter makes me think of happier times. I weep softly.

6.49 PM: I take a gander at Town Bulletin Board...

... only to realise that the vicious rumours about my sexuality are still in circulation. More soft weeping ensues.

6.50 PM: I decide to pay a visit to Mitch's house, taking note of the reminder he left not to pilfer from his peach tree...

... making sure to read the note he left on the door.

6.51 PM: I stop to marvel at Mitch's new carpeting and giant watermelon.
6.55 PM: I take a quick trip down to my basement to ensure rocketships are safe. Once I find something explosive in this game to combine them with I'll bring this town to its knees!

6.58 PM: Finish practising evil laugh.

7.00 PM: I go to pick some pears, but get a sudden craving for poultry instead.

7.03 PM: I pay a visit to the tailor's to try on the latest threads.

7.04-7.08 PM: I frolic in fields in a carefree manner, proudly displaying my new attire and matching umbrella. Attract odd looks from villagers - this look must be out of style already.

7.09 PM: I hop a train to neighbouring town. Forced to make conversation with mentally-impaired cat-looking-dog.

7.10 PM (Sultonia Time): Arrive at Mitopia, which despite being a 2-minute train journey away is six hours behind, so sun is shining. Much like in Ireland, the public transportation is run by monkeys (har har).

7.11 PM (Sultonia time): Meet up with Hank, the inappropriate chicken...

... and Chuck, my old white-supremacist neighbour. He invites me to a 'meeting' of some description, I opt out.

7.24 PM: After returning to Sultonia, whilst walking through the woods, I spot Mitch's prized cherry tree...
... which I take an axe to...

... "Timbeerrrrr!! Bwahahahahahahahaahahahaahaaaa!!!" That practise earlier really paid off.

So here's what I leart from my visit to the world of Animal Crossing: If you give any drawing tools to unimaginative males, they will invariably draw phalluses, swastikas, and anything else of a crass nature. It doesn't mean they're gay, or anti-semetic, it just means they're stupid.

I think I will get the next game, even if it's the same as the last, purely because the ability to visit my little brother's town will facilitate the scientific undertaking of discerning at what age a boy's motor-system will be overpowered into leaving electronic dicks all over an imaginary village.

In touch with my base...

(This is what the Internets would call an epic win)

Ruining it for the rest of us

There are many forms of stupidity on this Earth, but no form of stupidity is as frequently, proudly, and ebulliently broadcasted as religious stupidity.

Speaking of stupid, let's talk about my girlfriend. My girlfriend is great, not only because she recognises what stupidity is and shies away from it at every possible opportunity, but also because she occasionally points me towards the kind of stupidity that I find somewhat entertaining, and says something along the lines of "Go get 'em, tiger". Before I continue with this story, it's important to note that this woman, who willingly identifies herself as my girlfriend, lives in the United States of America. Which as we all know, is the stupidity capital of the world.

Anyhow, this not-at-all-imaginary girlfriend of mine went trick-or-treating with her niece in celebration of the pagan festival, Hallowe'en, with the intention of acquiring sugary snacks from altruistic neighbours. Many of these neighbours obliged the little urchins, providing them with artificially-sweetened sustenance, but some seized the opportunity to pontificate to these diminutive-doorstop-denizens.

A colourful envelope arrived in the post today, and inside were the following documents and a card that read:

I thought you'd really, really enjoy these wonderful treats that Rosie received in her trick-or-treat bag last weekend. I grabbed them before she had a chance to look at them (Thank GOD!) [At which point she drew a smiley-face to drive-home her facetiousness - she's thoughtful like that]

Have fun tearing the people who pass these things out to shreds!

Here are the contents of the envelope, bear in mind that each one of these bears a heavy-handed religious message:


Allow me to espouse Richard Dawkins' oft-jeered position that religion often manifests itself as child-abuse for a moment. I try not to entrench myself in any position too much, but I'm very much of the opinion that distributing this insidious mental-poison to a child who is expecting (a different kind of poisonous) delicious treat is an utterly reprehensible and indefensible act.

My concern is not for the atheistic kids - they have probably been prepared for over-zealous attacks on their emotions by their rationalist parents - my concern is for those children who practice a moderate form of religion and are being targeted to embrace a fundamental, evangelical form of Christianity motivated through fear.

The inherent dishonesty of these pamphlets is astonishing. No parent could object to an apparently cute (though patronisingly simple) maze puzzle, a seemingly patriotic pamphlet fostering interest in the democratic process, or what looks like a spooky ghost story making their way into a treat bag, only to mentally molest [tabloid-style exaggeration for the fun of it] the child once they're alone with their spoils. This cowardly trojan-horse approach is reprehensible [hang on a tick - I've used that word already... Let me consult the thesaurus...] opprobrious!

Flight 144 is a particularly evil story, in which a chap who killed a guy in a drunken barfight meets two old philanthropists (who have dedicated their life to alleviating the suffering of thousands of fellow humans in Africa) on a plane that goes down. The murderer (manslaughterer?) gets to enjoy the spoils of heaven because he preached at his cellmate, whereas the elderly couple are cast into a fiery pit of some description because they didn't harp on about Jesus enough. (I will henceforth point to this example to show that Christianity doesn't necessarily equate to moral guidance 100% of the time, often getting too mired in the worshipping of idols)


I tend to yammer on about things like this for far too long, and I'm sure my feelings on the matter are somewhat evident, so how about you just erase the last 600 words from memory, and take away the summarized version, from the intrepid trick-or-treater’s father:

You have no idea what religious spoil-sports do on an otherwise great holiday for kids in costumes.

Do things like this happen in Ireland? My mother never let us trick-or-treat when I was younger, so I’ve never gone door to door for demanding sweeties like some kind of Jehova’s witness who only has "one heathen's soul" left on his scavenger hunt no idea of what kind of bullshit the good people of Ireland try to pull.

Is it wrong that this no longer surprises me?

It's amazing to think that about half of the time I find myself standing at an airport baggage carousel waiting patiently for the bag containing my clothes, toothbrush, contact-lens solution and razorblades (materials outlawed within the cabin thanks to those industrious terrorists), I invariably find myself leaving with some light reading material instead:


On the bright side, however, this does provide an almost-valid excuse for looking and smelling like a hobo. Almost...

"Filthy Atheists"

As I indicated some nine days ago, I attended the third (I believe) meeting of the Mid-West Humanist association, with a great deal of trepidation that was proven unfounded. The fourteen or so other people in attendance were bright, eager people from 21 to 65, of various backgrounds, each with an interesting tale to tell and a fascinating perspective on the religious peculiarities that exist in Irish society.

Being the non-writing aspiring writer that I am, I figured that since I had found an organisation that I could conceivably contribute to, I'd better volunteer my services to their blog, and after a rigorous vetting process that involved lifting one's hand to indicate willingness, three new authors joined the fray, myself included.

The first thing I contributed was a repackaged rehash of one of my pet-projects on this blog, 'Saints and Shitters', which may well have found a new home, if the reception there is warm enough. I've since followed it up with some new content, in which I laud the average Irish Catholic (typical contrarian prickery, eh? Lambasting it on my personal blog, only to join a pack of filthy atheists and have a change of heart).

For the sake of brevity, I've grotesquely simplified everything down to a level where America = bad, Ireland = good, but I'm hoping the bones of my idea will prompt some bit of critical thought.

You should should see this development as A Very Good Thing, as it means that my espousal of atheism has found a new home, leaving me more space to fill with unbridled PMSing.

Please to enjoy: In praise of Irish Catholics - which features the phrase "the only thing that comes close to this woman’s offensive ignorance is her aesthetic repugnancy" - religious broadside and fatty-bashing in one blog! I'm like a pig in shit!

define: sully

One of my favourite websites of recent times is UrbanDictionary.com - a vast educational resource that I use to inform myself on a vast number of topics, from internet memes I haven't encountered to the non-standard use of a word that doesn't make sense in its usual context. Most crucially, UrbanDictionary has minimised those awkward moments in which I must ask an acquaintance what a phrase means, only for him to describe a sexual act so depraved that it surely only exists in theory.

Putting that randomly-divulged piece of trivia to one side for a moment, I'll introduce another! Lame as it is to admit, I get a small kick out of the fact that my nickname (and blogging handle) is also a verb:

sul·ly [suhl-ee] verb, -lied, -ly·ing, noun, plural -lies. –verb (used with object)

1.	to soil, stain, or tarnish.

2.	to mar the purity or luster of; defile: to sully a reputation.

–verb (used without object)

3.	to become sullied, soiled, or tarnished.

–noun

I've gotten some mileage out of this over the years - even if it mostly consists of me lecherously threatening to 'sully' my girlfriend when I've run out of idle threats to send her way - but until today I've never been bored enough to look it up on UrbanDictionary. Of the 17 results, some of them are quite mundane, others are quite funny, and one or two evoked an irrational paranoia that the author could conceivably be talking about me! So let's have a looksee, eh?

Sully
A charismatic,but cheeky person with the power to annoy and entertain people around the world.can be random and unpredictable at the best of times.

a ''sully'' is sitting in the corner.girl sits down with a lot of food. sully:woah,take it easy on the munch there. girl:are u calling me fat? sully:are you calling me a liar?

"Random"? Maybe. "Entertaining"? Why not! They even incorporated my latent misogyny into the usage example! Urban Dictionary is great! Let's see what else is on here...

This one was posted on my 22nd birthday (I kid you not!):

Sully
[...] Favours the nazi regime over drunk easy women!! [...]

Sullys eyes are imfamous for giving people the impression that he is imagining having sexual relations with underagers![...]

Also believes to be batman...this is just a excuse for him to dress up in the costume so he fits in with the kids!

sully.....i tink ur of the homo majority!

Hmmm... Not sure I like this one quite as much. Some of these accusations are mere misunderstandings, of course. I would rather be reading about the Nazi regime than entertaining intoxicated women, but who wouldn't? The perma-pensive look on my face could understandably be misconstrued as intent to play the kiddie fiddle in today's paedophile-obsessed society, and my Batman impersonating proclivities hark back to a childhood obsession with a certain Snickers ad, and nothing more.

Let's look at another one:

Sully
a male child who strangely resembles shirley temple and will not shut the fuck up. Most teachers hate "sully" and wish him to never speak again. A "Sully" will frequently ask stupid questions that will either end up in a very short sentence, or a reprimand for asking something so stupid (if a reprimand occurs a "Sully" will give a long, unnecessary explanation of what was going on through his mind when he asked the question). Somehow he manages to pull good grades out of his ass. He also embarrasses himself in front of others and then when laughed at he says, "I did it on purpose to get a laugh."
NOTE: "Sully" is capable of saying "you know" 14 times in a short monologue.

Sully, shut the fuck up!

This person has to be talking about me - I do pull good grades out of my ass, I am prone to asking questions then explaining my motivations for doing so, and I do on occasion sacrifice my dignity to amuse others. And while it's true that teachers to find me quite offensive, the part of the description that tips me off the most that I'm being attacked anonymously by the internets is this irrefutable evidence:


Of course, not all of the entries are a libel on my character - it seems that there are alternative uses for the word 'sully' that cast the aforementioned idle threat to my girlfriend in a much more sinister light:

Sully

Get a girl mid-orgasm, pass out drunk and pee inside of her.

"I've been cleaning piss out of my vagina all day because some asshole gave me a Sully last nite."

Hmmm... I'm not quite sure what the point of this exercise was, but it's soured my opinion on Urban Dictionary somewhat. Ban this sick filth!

Any Takers?

While my final year project was in its gestation stages I joined the atheist.ie forum, thinking I could probe its users for information and ideas relevant to the thesis, and also because I wanted to bolster the meagre 150 or so members they had at the time (which has since grown to over 800, I'm happy to note).

Registering was about as involved as I got, as once my thesis topic was established I had no need nor inclination to converse with anonymous internet types about a topic that can get quite tiring quite quickly.

Regardless of this fact, I received an e-mail yesterday alerting me that someone from the messageboard had sent me a private message:

Hi,

As an member of atheist.ie living in the Mid-west I thought you might like to know that there is a new group of Humanists, Atheists, Agnostics, and Skeptics meeting in Limerick.

Our website is at http://midwesthumanists.wordpress.com/ and our next meeting is in the Castletroy Park Hotel at 11.00 on Sunday the 19th of October.

Hope to see you there

I have a natural aversion to such gatherings - my concern is that it could be an opportunity for a group of people to unify for the purposes of mutually affirming one another's 'beliefs*', (or as a more eloquent friend described it, a 'circle jerk') - which would fly in the face of my personal philosophy, and therefore not be a thing I want to be a part of (I'm talking about the belief-affirming here, although I should probably clarify I've no interest in circle jerks either).

Of course, there's a chance that this is an organisation that is interested in something a little more cerebral, and if the (rarely updated) blog linked above is any indication, there's at least one like-minded soul (inappropriate metaphor intended) involved that I could happily engage in conversation with.

So then. 11am - Sunday the 19th of October - Castletroy Park Hotel. Anybody want to accompany me on my investigation into this group?

*= I put 'beliefs' in apostrophes because atheism does not involve belief - it involves repudiating the claims of religion, most of which are demonstrably false. I should have just said 'disbeliefs', but I enjoy asteriks. Really spruces up the blog.

10,030.54 Kilometers

See that red dot on the leftmost side of the picture of the Earth? That's where I am now.

See that red dot on the rightmost side of the picture of the Earth? That's where I'll be in two weeks time!

As you've surely figured out by now - I'm quite excited by this fact.

It seems that I'm an asshole

So randomly today, I found myself the unwilling participant in conversation with a person who told me that he hurled himself off the top of a five-storey building in an attempt to end his life.

There was a moment of silence, in which he expected me to react, but to chase away the silence that met him, he topped off his story:

"That was the first time I tried to kill myself"

Not wanting to get into a touchy-feely conversation with the how or why behind this person's mental illness,I decided to try and end the conversation as politely as possible:

"It's true what they say - you never forget your first time."

Eat-driving

It seems that eating a McDonalds® meal whilst driving a manual-transmission, power-steering-free, cupholder deficient vehicle through a suburban area then a country road at night is a difficult task.

Y’see, a manual transmission, power-steering free vehicle generally requires the use of all limbs for effective piloting. The left hand is responsible for changing gears, operating the handbrake, the indicators, and toggling the headlights between high and low beams; the right hand is tasked with turning the steering wheel, assisted by the left hand when turning (due to the difficulties imposed by a lack of power-steering). The left foot is necessary to operate the clutch, while the right foot operates the brake and accelerator. It’s not a complex system, as basic co-ordination between limbs in this inter-reliant fashion will generally lead to safe locomotion.

Difficulties that arise when additional duties for the four limbs are introduced can be overcome by implementing a proprietary driving system, such as the official McDonalds® ‘I can’t wait ten minutes I have to eat now’ system, which compensates for the multi-tasking limbs by introducing less dexterous - hence underused - body parts.

For instance, whilst the driver holds a McDonalds® Sweet and Sour dipping sauce in his left hand, and a carton of McDonalds® lightly salted French fries in his right, the operation of the steering wheel is sub-contracted to the subject’s knees. This duty is compounded by the presence of a McDonalds® 500ml carbonated beverage clamped between his thighs, which must be held together despite the constant movements of left and right feet on the pedals. This three-way conflict of interest means that the driver must maintain a balance between maintaining a safe position of the vehicle on the road, the vehicle’s rate of acceleration, and maintaining only a gentle grip on the beverage between his thighs, so as not to warm it.

When changing gears, great care must be taken not to spill the McDonalds® carbonated beverage, as the depression of the clutch involves considerable leg extension. Great care must also be taken not to spill any of the McDonalds® Sweet and Sour dipping sauce, which should be gripped between the thumb and index-finger as the gear-stick is manipulated with the palm of the left hand. A similar process is involved when indicating and toggling the headlights between high and low beams, making use of knuckle of the thumb to activate the switches.

When taking sharp turns on a car without power steering, two hands are generally required to turn the wheel. This is generally problematic, as once the right hand has been handling McDonalds® lightly salted French fries, drivers do not wish to transfer the residual salt to the equipment in the vehicle. A sharp turning manoeuvre can be performed satisfactorily whilst holding the McDonalds® Sweet and Sour dipping sauce between the thumb and index finger as before, and gripping the wheel at the 10 o clock position with the left middle, ring and little fingers, and placing the wrist of the right hand under/over a spoke on the steering wheel as appropriate, and moving it in an anti-clockwise / clockwise direction.

Follow this guide, all drivers of cupholder-deprived, power-steering lacking, manual-transmission vehicles, and enjoy the sudden improvement in the quality of your life today!

[Note: Has been known to cause serious injury and some cases of death]

Sick Note

That picture was taken last Friday at the Cahercalla Clinic in Ennis, just before I got my wisdom tooth pulled.

In advance of the surgery, I was advised to take a week off to recover. I was looking forward to the this process, thinking it’d afford me a few days to write and blog and job-hunt with the kind of zeal my present obligations have a tendency to interfere with.

For the past few days I’ve felt a desire to defend the procedure, lest anyone think any less of me for the fashion in which it was carried out. This compulsion is enforced by the phenomenon that most people I’ve talked to have had more teeth pulled with much less ado.

Y'see, my lower right mandibular third molar (to use its proper title) was removed whilst I was under general anaesthetic, on an operating table, wearing only a hospital gown. My father couldn’t help but compare this with his experience, in which he had four wisdom teeth removed in a dentist’s chair (whilst conscious, wearing his own clothes) on a Friday, and was back at work on Monday. Any efforts by myself to situate such incidents as belonging to a more barbaric time are immediately rendered fallacious by my girlfriend who underwent essentially the same procedure not too long ago.

For these reasons, I feel the need to regurgitate half-understood buzzwords from my dentist’s diagnosis to elevate my seemingly childish ailment into a testament to how severe the situation was. When someone innocently remarked “I’m surprised they knocked you out for just one tooth”, I couldn’t not stick up for myself: “The one tooth I did have was coming in horizontally!” I spluttered, as if such an orientation gave it explosive properties. I followed this up with a swift appeal-to-medical-authority to quell the quarrelsome lay-person: “Also, it was so close to the nerves for my tongue and lips that they didn’t want to take any chances”.

When dealing with more-credulous profferers of sympathy who unwittingly stumbled into the realm of undermining my condition, I’d occasionally indulge in some purely speculative exaggeration. “My wisdom tooth came in horizontally, and was pushing against my teeth – in time they could have looked like a line of collapsed dominoes!”

Anyhow – whether or not I managed to impress upon those around me that my recent “surgery” deserves the quotation marks or not, I can at least assure you that I believe it was an ordeal. The amount of pain and swelling I’m experiencing is still on a sharp upward trajectory; whereas the lump in my cheek was the size of a ping pong ball yesterday, it’s more comparable to a tennis ball today. As my face balloons, I can hear my speech growing increasingly indistinct, and I’m starting to sound a poor man’s impersonation of Marlon Brando in The Godfather.

Needless to say, the first day of my well-intentioned week hasn’t been very productive. Not only has my work ethic been kicked squarely in the nuts, but my level of concentration has taken a hit also. Whilst driving my car earlier on, I noticed the lack of the symbiosis between man and machine – I was on edge, trying hard to focus on what I was doing, but having little success and feeling quite unsafe in the process. There was an editorial-piece that I was going to get around to writing today, but if I can’t trust myself with the mechanical operation of a motor-vehicle, I’ll hold off on any attempts to provoke-thought for the time being. Instead, I’ll post something that I wrote last week, decided ‘nah’, and figured I’d touch up before posting at a later date.

Since I’ve spent the past 600 words hedging the following entry with a ‘don’t blame me, I’m on medication which affects my judgement!’, I think I can safely post it without the edits I planned on making whilst of sounder mind. Enjoy!

WTF of the month

[Note: this isn't a regular feature, in case you read too much into the headline]

True story: a week or two ago, I attempted to visit this very blog to have a peek at what I was up to a year ago (it's no secret that this blog serves as my online memory), but instead of arriving at 'Sully's Blog - the angry warblings of a narcissistic atheistic pedant', I found myself looking at 'AZT.com - Mega site of Bible studies and information'.


My jaw dropped. For the first four seconds I wondered if the site had been hacked by someone displeased by my good-natured ribbing of organised religion, but realising how utterly insignificant my site is in the grand scheme of things, began to look for alternative hypotheses.

So I checked the address bar. I wasn't on ssully.blogspot.com at all! I was on ssully.blogpot.com!



It seems that these evangelical types decided that they would buy a domain to catch typo-prone chaps like myself, and convert them in the process. Of course, if they'd learnt from the experiences of Jehova's witnesses, they'd know that few people enjoy spontaneous religious pontification, but it's a nice effort all the same.

With friends like these...

A few months ago, I decided to add the Feedjit widget to the blog, which sits to the right side of the page and displays where the last few hits came from, for all that are interested (such as myself).

Late last night, I got a message from friend and fellow-blogger Fin, suggesting I have a gander at the detailed results page for the widget.

From the details above, it seems that someone came to the site from Ireland, using Firefox as their browser, running Mac OS X, and found it through google after searching for 'people who are shit at halo'.

After a bit more scrolling, I saw a few more unusual entries of dubious veracity:

As you've probably surmised by now, my friend is an idiot. A very clever idiot. If you're interested, he's written up the same tale with a bit more technical information, on his new look blog! (Oooooh!)

"Broken"

I'm posting this video because it deserves to be shared and seen by as many people as possible. If you're not interested in US politics, you might want to give this post a miss, however.

The clip is a delightfully succinct summation of the type of brazen hypocrisy that propaganda-spewers will indulge in, and the highest concentration of these offenders seem to sit on the right-wing, making the job of political satirists like Jon Stewart a very easy one indeed.

It's testament to how broken political reporting is in the United States when Stewart can just compare statements made by pundits (and politicians) and get the laughs he does. To a casual-follower of US politics, Jon Stewart's comedy (!) show is essential viewing, as it represents the most forthright and concise criticism that one can find on US television.

A Close Call

Whilst playing videogames with my seven year old brother, I became distracted by the fact that he had stopped looking at the TV screen and was directing his gaze towards me, as if gearing up to broach an awkward subject.

“Can I help you sir?” I asked.

“Seán” he squeaked.

“Yessir”

“Do you know America?”

“If by ‘America’ you mean the nation known as the United States of America, then yes I do”

He took a moment to process what I had said, then continued:

“Do you know that there’s a hurricane there at the moment.”

I chuckled and said “Oh Really?”

He seemed taken aback by how aloof I was about our exchange, and proceeded gingerly:

“Do you know who’s there?”

“Who?”

“Caitlyn.”

He paused, waiting for the shock to register on my face, then gave me a little prompt:

“Your girlfriend.”

At this point, (after another chuckle at his concern), I put his mind at ease by explaining to him that America was a very large place, and that anybody I know over there was not in any danger.

And in one fell swoop I learned a few things about my littlest brother: he likes my girlfriend, he has a means of keeping abreast of major world affairs, and unlike his second-eldest brother, he endeavours to be tactful and discreet in potentially difficult conversations!

Excuses Excuses...

It seems every other month I find myself apologising for some perceived infraction of the blogger - blog-reader covenant. Dear reader, I am truly sorry that I only managed a feeble three posts during the month of August, and I'll try my best to counterbalance this dearth during the month of September.

In the meantime, I humbly present my excuse:

I couldn't update because I had a few things to do. Things like:

Going to Pittsburgh to see old friends!

Going to a wedding in Wisconsin!
Checking out a baseball game in Milwaukee!

Being best man at my brother's wedding in Cork!

Visiting Northern Ireland!
Graduating!
Going to my graduation ball!

Next post should be business as usual: over-zealous effusions about things people care little about!

Things you probably didn't want to know about Mother Theresa...

Apologies for the lack of updates as of late - I assure you I've been quite busy (I was about to go to my brother's wedding rehearsal when I was putting this post together, and it involved taking a break from writing my best man's speech) but for the sake of updating my blog, I humbly present a thought-provoking video I've watched twice and enjoyed.

This video examines the reputation Mother Theresa has, and critically investigates whether she deserves it or not. (Spoiler alert: not at all).

If you can spare 30 minutes to watch this documentary, I insist you do - the first few minutes are enough to expose the tawdriness around this beatified bastion of moral flexibility.

What's wrong with America (in handy video form)

I'm going to show you two videos designed to deter people from driving whilst under the influence of alcohol. One shows a handful of feeble, unfortunate chaps who are all caught by the police and made to look rather silly. The other shows a rather horriffic example of what could conceivably happen as a result of drink-driving.




(It's in German, but I'm pretty certain that this was made in Ireland and shown there first)

So after watching both of these ask yourself: which is more effective? Promoting an individual ethic of responsibility by making one aware of the possible dire consequences, or warning you that someone else will catch you in the act (for something that is portrayed in an innocuous fashion)?