Prognosis Negative

My brother just got diagnosed with a viral infection - seeking to learn more about how not to catch this affliction from him, I decided to do some research.

Top result - seems like a safe bet, right?

After a quick skim, everything seems in order, let's continue on to the 'therapies linked to this health conidition...:

Herbal Medicine? Aromatherapy? For a viral infection? Oh sweet Jesus, what the hell is going on? Where am I?


Strewth! In my haste to get to the info, I didn't realise that I was on a 'Complementary and Holistic Healthcare' website.

This right here? Dangerous. Credulous people want real advice on how to deal with their health concerns, and instead they're getting directed towards sugar pills and magic needles.

'Viruses do not respond to antibiotics' - the page informs me. Seems like Western Medicine has been defeated! Score one for the healing crystals!

Of course, it should read that 'viruses do not respond to most antibiotics' - my brother was prescribed Amoxicillin, which "is used to treat many different types of infections caused by bacteria" according to drugs.com, which apparently includes the one he was diagnosed with this morning.

Perhaps I'm being a little dramatic - they do have a rather helpful "I-wash-my-hands-of-this-business" style disclaimer:

The Healing Web Ltd accepts no responsibility or liability whatsoever with regard to the information on this site. In no way are any of the materials presented within this site meant to be a substitute for professional care or attention by a qualified medical practitioner, nor should they be construed as such. You are encouraged to consult with your own Doctor to discuss any course of treatment presented or suggested.

Out of interest, I thought I'd check out the same part of Drugs.com:

Drugs.com provides free, accurate and independent advice on more than 24,000 prescription drugs, over-the-counter medicines & natural products.

Data sources include Micromedex™ [Updated 22 July 2009], Cerner Multum™ [Updated 16 August 2009], Wolters Kluwer™ [Updated 31 August 2009] and others. To view our editorial policy, content sources and attributions please click here.

'Accurate'? 'Data sources'? 'Editorial policy'? 'Content sources and attributions'? A little bit more reassuring than soothing green graphics and pretty buzzwords.

Curse you, evil search-engine-optimised shillers of wishy-washy nonsense!

A holy day of obligation

Shortly after midnight today, a sudden compulsion gripped me to venture up into the attic to indulge my nostalgia. After two trips that amounted to about fifteen minutes of groping around in the dark, the light of my phone fell upon an old friend:

My Sega Dreamcast.

On the tenth anniversary of its North American debut, I found myself eagerly hooking it up to my HDTV, worrying that the LCD TV would be unkind to its SCARTy output. It's possible that the white wonder was suffering from a dose of stagefright as when I powered it up I was greeted by the familiar chimes but a black screen. Drat.

One cathode-ray-tubed TV later and everything was working fine!


Here are a few things that struck me:

Size: This is one small console, at least by today's standards - [190mm x 195mm x 78mm]

Noise: Despite being one of the smallest consoles to sit under my television, it's undoubtedly the loudest. The Xbox 360 gets a lot of flak for its industrial-strength fan, but between the GD drive and fan, the Dreamcast creaks, whirrs and clanks like a troupe of badly oiled breakdancing robots.

Graphics: Held up amazingly well - my graphical snobbery could have been lowered by owning a Wii, but the graphics were generally crisp and clear, and none of the games I played seemed as though they were impaired by lack of graphical horsepower.

Controller: Design quirks aside (the painful cramps the analogue triggers caused were seared into memory) but the two controllers I found held up incredibly well over time, delightfully free of the flaccid-analogue-stick problem that blights my elderly N64 controllers.

Games: The worst part of the whole endeavour - not because I had a single bad game for the Dreamcast, but because of the condition they were in. I found a spine with about 35 game-discs (8 of which belonged to Shenmue 1 & 2 alone!), reminding me that the jewel cases that came with PAL Dreamcast games were junk, and rarely lasted a week, let alone a decade. Last time I dug out my N64, I was excited by each unearthed cartridge, knowing it was almost guaranteed to work. I began to lament finding my classic Dreamcast games, as I knew the chances of them working were slim.

Neither of my Headhunter discs worked.
Sonic Adventure(!) didn't work.
Crazy Taxi(!!) Didn't work.
San Francisco Rush 2049(!!!) booted, but the game wouldn't load...
Jet Set Radio (!!!) didn't work... At all.
Ready 2 Rumble Boxing and its sequel both worked, but with heavy audio glitches.
Power Stone 1 & 2 both worked, making the entire exercise worthwhile.

The good news is that Sega totally dropped the ball on copy-protecting the Dreamcast, meaning that the only thing needed to pirate games is the internet and a CD-Burner (I'll get cracking on that over my days off.)

Sad facts of a misspent youth: About three years ago, my younger brother set the Dreamcast up in his room. The first thing I did when I booted up the console was review my memory cards to see how much respect he had for the literally hundreds of hours I had poured into the dozens of games.

I found a blank screen.

It was all gone - not that I'd actively miss it or anything - I've gotten by for eight years without needing that save data, but it would have been nice to be able to step back into those virtual shoes and have access to my unlocked cars in San Francisco Rush, or review my collection of toys in Shenmue, or compete against my teenaged former-self in Crazy Taxi for the high score.

I slightly begrudge the fact that I'm missing out on a snapshot of the past because of my brother's lack of gamer-etiquette - I mean, countless hours wandering around a virtual Yokosuka looking for sailors, and what do I have to show for it? [Answers in the comments, please]

'Lazy premise'

I've learnt over the past three months or so that long hours at a job that claims most of your energy isn't exactly conducive to an active writing mentality, and I'm beginning to miss having the cognitive resources to piece together blog entries in my subconscious.

One of the most dramatic occurrences of this phenomenon was briefly catalogued in this blog post, when I got hit with something akin to divine inspiration, which featured the two greatest ripostes I'll ever attach my name to. But enough about how great I was! Let's snap back to the present day, and the drivel that I've been serving up to my ever-dwindling reader-base, both on this blog, and the pages of [crude] magazine.

Back in June, [crude] magazine (a magazine that always seems to set the contributing deadline on or around the day that I go visit my ladyfriend) ran an article I knocked together (and subsequently posted here) that drew rather lazy parallels between the seemingly increasing-number of heroin junkies on Limerick streets and the inevitable zombie apocalypse. Hoo-hoooh! Sounds hilarious, no? Well, I dragged 600+ words out of that one lazy premise!

The article could have done with a bit more attention to smooth out the rough edges, but what it really needed was a proper headline to tie it together - something that set the tone properly with a wink and a nudge so there was no ambiguity about what's going on. In the end, the title was total arse.

As I got into my car the other night after the first quiet day at work in weeks, something popped into my head. It was like the title of a film, but not quite. I flipped it over in my head a few times, puzzled. Why had this come into my mind? And then it clicked into focus.

My subconscious had finally gotten off its ass and finished the article, over two months after it had been published.

I should have called it "Dawn of the Deadbeats".

Via Stephen Spillane: Videos from the No Side

Stephen Spillane is a man with a general interest in European affairs, whereas I tend to tune in when it's time to decide something, which is why I find myself paying more attention to his blog in times as this, with the Lisbon Treaty: Part Deux looming.

He posted some videos on his blog today [original post here] that dovetail nicely with my earlier posting, and I was excited by the prospect at going a step lazier than my last video-dump post by taking somebody else's video-dump.

The general theme is: "It doesn't matter that arguments are flaccid, we can scare the shit out of people by lying to them about Lisbon and achieve our goals that way!"






As much as I'm aware of what a rich parody of democracy the government's affinity for mulligans represents, I see no harm in a do-over given the ubiquity of mis-information around Lisbon.

The problem with democracy

Watching this video of a 'protest' outside a Town Hall meeting in California makes me feel awfully sorry for Barack Obama, if not for the United States as a whole.



Reflecting on the collection of public, histrionic outbursts that this filmmaker has put online, it's easy to lose track of the fact that there are legitimate points to be made against Obama's proposed reform, but the sheer volume of people who have been convinced that some great evil is about to befall their nation is a mite worrying.

Much like the Irish reaction to the Lisbon Treaty, there's a great deal of false information bullshit motivating these people's vociferous denunciation of healthcare reform - many of it propagated by Fox News and the right-wing media (and indeed, some of those interviewed invoke Sean Hannity, Glen Beck & Michael Savage - the latter of whom gained notoriety for being banned from entering the United Kingdom in May this year for fostering extremism).

Some curious bits from the video:

• The quote: "God will take care of healthcare - God will take care… - The Children of Israel walked in the desert for 40 years and their sandals were not even worn out"

• The multiple 'trust Jesus' signs

• General conspiracy theory nuttery:

"They're claiming that abortion is not in the bill… But it is"
"This is a just a smokescreen"

• The dude holding up the book at 1.27 calls the book in his hands "The USS Constitution"

• "[Obama's] church was based on racism"

And the scorecard:

Hitler references: 5
Socialism references: 5 (often used in the same sentence as Hitler, oddly enough)
Communism references: 3
Fascism references: 1
Outbursts of "Theeey toook awwrrr jawbz!": Sadly, 0

Sully's Soapbox: Retard Edition

An article from the Calgary Sun was riding high on Digg this evening, so I thought I’d give it a read. The poster uncharitably posted the link under the heading ‘Resurgence in ‘retard’ angers idiots’, but the article itself was an open lament on how the word ‘retard’ has apparently made a comeback, much to the indignation of writer Michael Platt.

If you’ve got time for it, I recommend you read the article yourself – it’s short, because Platt doesn’t have anything particularly intelligent to say, and he does such a good job of undermining his own argument that you’ll feel more confused than enlightened as to what the point of the exercise was.

Platt opens his article by talking about his days as a naïve, overly sensitive child, who felt the need to stick up for his best friend’s little brother who had a speech impediment:

“With youthful indignation, I made it my mission to tell anyone who'd listen that the word retard was offensive -- what was once a medical term had taken on a hateful connotation, and it was hurtful to good people, like my friend's little brother.“

His central thesis is that the word ‘retard’ is as bad as the ‘n-word’ [“or maybe worse”!], but despite using the ‘r-word’ 14 times without a hint of irony, the word ‘nigger’ doesn’t appear once in the article. Its omission is so flagrant that the article fails to make any impact whatsoever.

Using "retard" to describe someone with a disability is like using the N-word to describe someone with dark skin -- or maybe worse, because those with disabilities can't always defend themselves.

Platt harks back to an entirely imaginary heyday, achieved through years of progress from his language-Gestapo admonishing slips of the tongue, when the word ‘retard’ was never uttered. It’s possible that Platt simply had no social interaction over these few years on account of his penchant for admonishing his friends, but I’m sure the reader will agree that this era he speaks of never happened.

Fast forward to 2009 and we're back at square one.
The R-word has returned with a vengeance, and a day doesn't pass without "retard" being uttered on the radio, on television, and by newsroom colleagues, usually to describe something or someone idiotic.
Whether it's a bad movie, a butter-fingered football play, or just someone acting the fool, "retarded" is once again the adjective of choice.

In an attempt to show off what a good amateur-linguist he is, Pratt reflects on other trends he’s pulled out of his ass:

“Maybe it's a verbal trend that will quickly wither and die, the way "it's all good," and "bling" have rotted away from daily conversation, to the relief of all.”

To investigate this notion, I consulted Twitter:

Damn fools! Don’t they know that ‘it’s all good’ and ‘bling’ are no longer permitted in conversation, by order of Michael Platt, locution tsar?

As part of his hard-hitting exposé on the shocking rise of hate-speech in Western society, Platt solicits quotes from someone who could nearly sound sensible had the story been written by someone else, and who must surely put up with an awful lot of retards: Carmen Wyton: president and CEO of Special Olympics Alberta.

"Language goes through changes, and the trend right now has the R-word very high [...] It's being used in place of 'silly' or 'ridiculous,' and I think if people really thought about what the word means, they would stop using it."

“Wyton says the word is found in the lyrics of many modern songs, stemming back to the Black Eyed Peas' 2003 hit, Let's Get Retarded.”

‘Many modern songs’? Yet he only mentions one! One that was hastily changed to ‘let’s get it started’ to appease the political-correct retards that inhabit this world.

Besides making mountains out of molehills, let get on with the part that rips the heart out of this entire masturbatory sermon of self-righteousness, which is paraphrased rather than quoted:

“[Wyton] thinks pop culture has convinced a new generation that the R-word word is hip, not hateful.”

A-freakin’ men! "Hip - not hateful!" Language is not static or rigid – words take on different meaning; once innocuous words can become negatively charged, and vice-versa. Making people afraid of uttering a word in polite company is what gives it power, so this dude should be imploring us to throw ‘retard’ about with wanton abandon, so that everyone and everything is retarded, thus putting everyone on an equal footing, restoring civility to society and bringing about the utopia that has remained just beyond our grasp for these past few millennia.

Regardless of how powerful a word is at expressing something – it shouldn’t matter unless that negative charge is directed towards something. Words like ‘retard’ or ‘nigger’ can be discussed objectively without avoiding their use – cowering behind ‘the n-word’ is a cumbersome way of capitulating to the moronic notion propagated by politically correct nitwits who maintain that words themselves have magic powers.

Let’s get hypothetical for a moment – if every single person in the world agreed to absolutely remove ‘retard’ and its derivatives from their lexicon, the concept would still exist, but people would still be impaired, both physically and mentally, meaning that one of the PC terms would have to be used until it spills over to describe things that are “ridiculous or stupid”, leading to some cretin taking issue with that word, so we have to spin the wheel-of-euphemism again and see what comes up this time.

"Everyone's opinion is equally valid - my arse!"

As long as I've had access to the internet, it's been my primary source of news and entertainment - this has been especially true over the past five years, since I've had regular broadband access.

As most big sites on the world wide web tend to have a US-bias, (and Ireland has been dragging its heels with regards to the internet until the last two years or so) it means that I've little concept of Irish TV shows, and even less knowledge of Irish celebrities, so despite the innumerable occasions my friends recommended I watch 'The Panel', I seldom did as I'd rarely be in front of the TV.

I'd like to take this opportunity to openly lament my folly in wasting every opportunity I had to watch The Panel, but never did, and that reason is Dara O'Brian. While I've always been aware of the man, I had little idea of what he was about until he impressed me with his wit during a radio interview some months back.

I finally got around to YouTubing his material a few days ago, and realised that an intelligent, sceptical mind was appearing weekly on one of Ireland's most popular current affairs/comedy shows, and I ignored it entirely.

Watch him riff on religious irrationality:


Watch him jeer at two of my favourite pet peeves: homeopathy & nutritionists:


So will I start paying attention to Irish celebrities now? Probably not - like anyone with any talent from Ireland, Dara has buggered off to some other country to earn himself a real living (see also: Bob Geldoff, Colin Farrell, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, U2), thus elevating him to the status of 'A British Celebrity from Ireland'. The lucky git.

The Language Barrier

Due to the asynchronous nature in which mine and my beloved’s day unfolds, the conversations we have at the end of the day generally start with her asking how my day was, and me asking her how her afternoon is shaping up. I found the following recollected exchange funny, and since I’ve sweet feck all else to blog about, figured it was worth sharing.

Ladyfriend: So what did you get up to today?

Myself: I went for lunch with British Cousin Joe!

Ladyfriend: Sounds exciting! How was it?

Myself: It was great! He taught me some new British slang!

Ladyfriend: And what was this new British slang?

Myself: I’m glad you asked. He taught me the word ‘mardy’.

Ladyfriend: 'Murdy'?

Myself: No - 'Mardy'. M-A-R-D-Y. Like 'mardi-gras'.

Ladyfriend: Okay. So what does it mean?

Myself: I’m glad you asked! It’s essentially another word for ‘stroppy’.

Ladyfriend: And what does ‘stroppy’ mean?

Myself: You don’t know what stroppy means?

Ladyfriend: No I don’t know what ‘stroppy’ means – why should I?

Myself: You’ve heard me use it!

Ladyfriend: Are you sure?

Myself: Definitely! And its derivatives – remember I told you about the customer that was ‘throwing a stropper’ at work?

Ladyfriend: Just because you’ve used it before doesn’t make it a real word.

Myself: Sure it is! Look it up.

Ladyfriend: It’s not in the dictionary.

Myself: Nonsense! I’ll look it up myself...


Myself: Oh....

Ladyfriend: Not a word?

Myself: Apparently not.

Ladyfriend: Can't win 'em all, sweetie.

Myself: But... It's in books! I've read it in books!

Ladyfriend: Are you going to tell me what this word means or not?

Myself: Now now - don't go getting all mardy over this, sweetheart.

Y'know what? In retrospect, I suppose this is one of those 'had to be there' stories.

Harvey Norman - Baiting & Switching?

I've talked about Harvey Norman before on this blog for committing lesser, apostrophe-related crimes, but my most recent visit to the local electrical superstore warrants another rebuking.

In what passes in my family as a rite-of-passage, I accompanied my younger brother to purchase a decent TV for his house in college, making sure to wear my hagglin' pants. After explaining the merits of HDTV standards, (Plasma vs LCD, Full HD vs HD Ready), we agreed on a specification of a 720P, 32", LCD TV, and he was willing to spend up to €500.

We started at Finucane's Electrical in Eastway Business Park, and identified a decent Samsung model for €600 that the pleasant salesman offered for €550. We said we'd look elsewhere before committing to it.

The next stop was Harvey Norman - they had all the 32" LCDs arranged in a row, making the job of picking out the best one a doddle - we instantly singled out the Philips 32PFL5404H as being the best on display, but the €600 asking price seemed a bit much.

The salesman who approached us was an older gentleman, who seemed to begrudge every comment I made. He tried to usher us towards the Full HD TVs, but I told my brother that the difference was barely distinguishable when using a 32" screen.

He spluttered and wheezed as he admonished my foolishness - "there's a world of difference between Full HD and HD Ready - over 2 megapixels..."[bullshit alarm went off here] he trailed off, possibly looking for more technical words to scare me off with.

I told him that I meant that the difference between 1080P and 720P would be scarcely discernible when dealing with smaller TVs - again he flared up to reproach this upstart who dares question the authority of The Television Salesman.

"No, no, no, no, no. It's 2 megapixels of difference!" He pointed deliberately at 2 TVs. "Look at the colours! Compare the brightness!"

Both TVs were 720P. He succeeded in convincing me that he knew less than I did about the technical stuff, but I wanted to see how useful he'd be about the price-tag.

"How good can you do on that Philips TV?"

"€600"

"C'mon - that's what the price tag says - you can do a hell of a lot better than that"

"€580"

"If you give it to us for €500 we'll take it home right now."

"No way - the best I can do is €570"

"€570? I saw it for much cheaper online"

"We don't compete with online."

"That's fine - if you won't compete with them I'll just get it online."

"Don't get it online. They won't look after you. What happens if it arrives broken in the box, then what?"

"You're telling me that you can't do any better than €570?"

He was visibly vexed, I thought I was getting somewhere.

"You're telling me that if I get a better price for this anywhere else, there's no point in coming back to you, because €570 is the absolute best you can do?"

The words hung in the air for a second, then the cogs started turning again:

"Nobody will compete with online. They don't pay taxes. They won't look after you."

"I'm not talking about online - I just want to know if I should come back to you if - say, Clancy's offer me a better deal."

"€570 is the best deal you're going to get in a real shop."

I thanked him for his time, and said we'd be back for it if we couldn't do any better.

I wrote down the model number and called Clancy's Electrical while still standing in Harvey Norman.

"Do you have a Philips 32PFL5404H in stock?"

"Yeah - it's going for €499"

"Could you make it €450?"

"Ummm... Sure."

It took one phonecall to knock €150 off the Harvey Norman price - we went and picked it up, and after we had the transaction completed, I told the (awfully nice) bloke that got it for us that Harvey Norman were looking for €150 more.

"Don't get me started on them - we dropped the price to €499 because we saw they advertised that TV for €449 - it's not the first time I've heard about something like this"

I took his comment with a grain of salt - but once I got home and opened the Limerick Leader, I couldn't help but notice the Harvey Norman ad pushing their big Sale event:

That TV for €449 looks familiar...


The model number listed underneath that TV? 32PFL5404H. The one that had a €600 price tag, and which was guarded by a surly internet-phobe who blatantly misleads customers with his non-expertise, while telling them that €120 more than the advertised price is the best deal they'll get in 'a real shop'.

Let's just consult the criteria by which Harvey Norman reckon they're top dogs:

Price: Beaten. Trounced, even.
Range: Matched.
Service: Beaten. Beaten to a bloody, surly pulp.

Flim Flam flew away

The high frequency of which I avail of air-travel, coupled with my often shoddy memory has caused many casualties. My exploits in 2006 left a trail of odd socks and underpants across the east coast of the United States, and I cannot state with any certainty which continent my limited-edition/collector's item Half Life 2 shirt last lay on (which still keeps me up at night, even 3 years since I last squeezed on the ill-fitting garment).

*Sigh*

The most recent possession that I can declare 'lost' is a book called "Flim Flam" by James Randi, which I left in the seat-back in front of me while disembarking Continental Flight 30091 on July 30th 2009. Despite being a good deal more replaceable than any other item of mine to disappear into the void, I felt bereft at the ill-fitting end such a phenomenally good book received.


I took some semblance of solace in thinking that maybe some other person would pick up the book and discover the genius of James Randi, or indeed, the fun to be had in critical thinking, but I despair to think that such thinking puts me on the same philosophical foothold (albeit briefly) with the same loons who put Jesus-propaganda in Hallowe'en bags.

The good news is that I can buy the book again, further increasing the demand for books of a skeptical nature! (Huzzah?)

My Girlfriend? Awesome

Just heading out the door for a long-ass drive (and away from Internet for two days), so I had to quickly share this one. Within minutes of arriving at the ladyfriend's abode in Wisconsin last night, I got part of my belated birthday gift:

The Creation Adventure Team: A Jurassic Ark Mystery

The blurb on the back of the box:

The Creation Adventure Team travels the world and reveals answers to the mysteries of the dinosaurs. When did they live? How did they die? What do their remains reveal? What about Noah's Flood, and were there dinosaurs on the Ark? Join the adventure as Buddy and the team explore the "X-tinct Files" to reveal the incredible answer to the great dinosaur mystery!

From a submarine deep underwater to an airplane high above the earth, Buddy and his team are out to explore! Biblical Reality glasses [I shit you not] reveal the unseen biblical truth about God and the world around us. This kid-friendly series combines live-action with cutting edge special effects and animatronics, plus 2D and 3D animation. Every episode is accompanied by fun songs and tons of humor.

Read my Homework

Blasphemy is now a criminal offense that carries a fine of €25,000? Christ-on-His-divine-bicycle! That’s entirely absurd! Only a complete buffoon would ignore all the decent people that the bill offends and outrages for the sake of appeasing a few crackpots!

Whilst pondering what this dangerously loose worded bill means to a loudmouthed ragamuffin like me, I thought of a happier time. It was September 2006, and I was in The Greatest Country in the World™, enjoying the first few weeks of my exchange year of college in Pittsburgh. My Study of Rhetoric professor gave the class the task of critically analysing a cultural event through the rhetorical toolkit he had spent the past few lectures explaining.

The cultural event I chose was close to my heart – the Catholic mass. The following essay is stacked with unnecessary jargon buzzwords to show the prof that I was paying attention, and some clumsy segues, but I still get a kick out of seeing what an irreligious asshat I was long before I had heard of Richard Dawkins.

Just bear in mind, any of you litigious twats, that my ample ass was covered by the first amendment when I wrote this. God bless America!

Critique #3
Eating Christ-Crackers in the 21st Century

One of the many rituals that may be considered odd to an outside observer is the manner in which the cultural group known as Catholics, near the end of their weekly prayer gathering, queue orderly to make their way towards the altar, eat a piece of wafer, sip from a golden goblet, then return to their seats for a few more moments of prayer before vacating their place of worship.

Of course, the ritual in question is the holy sacrament of the Eucharist, and Catholics are educated on this important tradition as part of their faith. Before they ingest the holy disc, the priest reminds the assembled worshippers that they are fulfilling Jesus' instructions from the Last Supper, as recorded in the New Testament of the Bible. First, the priest will read these relevant passages, and then he will administer Communion in a manner that echoes what has just been read. By indexical association, the priest 'becomes' Jesus, as he takes “the bread”, breaks it, and gives it to his “disciples”, represented by the congregation.

The Bible states how Jesus told his guests that they were eating his body and drinking his blood at the Last Supper, and the purpose of the Eucharist is to make all of mankind present at this seminal event. What this means is that the Catholic church do not believe that the bread is a symbol of Jesus' flesh, nor is the wine a symbol of his blood, but rather they somehow transform into the actual physical components of Christ, whilst retaining their original properties; a process known as transubstantiation. Interestingly, the Catholic church makes no effort to explain how the transformation occurs, but rather dictates what changes; the bread, while still looking and being in every way perceivable to the human eye as bread, becomes Christ's flesh, and the wine, while still looking and being in every way perceivable to the human eye as wine, becomes Christ's blood.

After transubstantiation has taken place, those who are eligible for communion may approach their nearest Christ-flesh vendor to consume their lord. After they are prompted with “Body of Christ”, the recipient replies “Amen”, which (whether they know it or not) is the Hebrew term for “Truly”, signifying their awareness or compliance with this theory. The bread will then be placed on the tongue, and the beneficiary will trace a cross on their body; beginning around their forehead, making their down to their mid-section, then over to the left and right shoulders. This is the act of blessing oneself, and it is an iconic allusion to the crucifix on which Jesus died while sacrificing himself for mankind, and also an indexical reference to the holy Trinity of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit.

As a person who can associate with the group identity of ‘one who has worked in catering', I am aware of the basic tenets of food preparation. At the most recent mass I attended, the priest was an elderly gentleman who appeared to be suffering from a cold at the time. Several times during his sermon did he cough and splutter into his hand, even while handling the communion wafer. Many people present at that mass would normally identify themselves as being unwilling to take unnecessary risks with their health, and be horrified by what had transpired, but nobody seemed put off the holy bread by the fact that it had been handled by potentially contaminated hands. Similarly, scores of people were drinking out of the same chalice, their health concerns seemingly satiated by the slight rub the lip of the grail received in between sups; an instance of western common-sense being overruled by habit, perhaps, as it is one of the few examples of a time where strangers may share drinking utensils with one another.

It is interesting to see the ways in which these hallowed traditions alienate certain people. [Deleted] is one such person - a celiac-disease sufferer. He is unable to participate in the consumption of Christ's flesh, transubstantiation or not, as it contains gluten, like most wafers and breads. This grants him an uncommon subject position, and subsequently causes an oppositional reading of the text as it is laid out before him. If the motivation behind the Sacrament of the Eucharist being carried out in churches is for all of mankind to be 'present' at the Last Supper in some form, then why is he, a man, not allowed to participate without risking grievous harm to himself? Is his autoimmune dysfunction a sign that he is unqualified for Catholicism, and therefore will miss out on the eternal life that is offered to followers of Christ? He investigated the issue and conversed with many priests before learning, much to his amusement that only bread made with wheat is considered eligible for the rather magical-sounding transubstantiation, prompting him to cynically ask, “if a substance as unremarkable as bread can magically become Christ's body, why not something else?”

The practice of the Eucharist is such a common occurrence in so many Catholics’ lives, that they are likely to not think much about what is happening, or question why they are engaging in the act, a situation that surely works to the advantage of the church. There are few who raise cannibalistic worries when summoned to consume the body and blood of Christ. Similarly, there are few who are aware that the bread and wine they are consuming is actually the body and blood of their saviour. There are even fewer who are aware of how this process occurs. Whereas other branches of Christianity practice the ceremony of communion, they carry it out with a different set of beliefs; some believe that the bread and wine are symbolic, whereas others choose to believe that Christ is present in a different form.

As societies continue to evolve, more people begin to ask questions, and religions lose their influence over the world, one must ask, when examining archaic rituals such as the Eucharist as carried out by the Catholic Church, how much longer will these cultural groups be willing to participate in increasingly outdated traditions?

Commenter Beware

Called it!

Sully's Blog: 'Please find me funny' edition

My new work commitments have completely annihilated my free time, but more pressingly, the time I'd normally spend dicking around and finding things I want to riff on, which is regrettable...

Good thing I have some more stuff I've written earlier to copy and paste into a browser window!

This time, I'm regurgitating an article that those nice people at [crude] magazine were kind enough to print. They were generous enough to put a 'humour' tag on the page someplace (or so I've been told), but I'll let you decide for yourself:

The End Times Cometh
By Seán O’Sullivan

If I were a praying man, I’d be on my knees right now, calling in a few favours in exchange for divine deliverance from the greatest crisis that has beset Irish civilisation since its inception. I assure you, dear reader, that this article is not more hackneyed histrionics over mere recessionary matters - what’s been keeping me up at night lately is the impending apocalypse.

You’ve seen the signs yourself, you’ve just yet to shed your denial. Perhaps you first noticed it on a busy street of people toing and froing, starkly contrasting that motionless figure that emitted a low growl as you passed: “Chaaaaaaange”. So jarring was this experience that it seemed unreal, not finding its way into memory but rather dismissed as fantasy.

It first occurred to me at about 10pm during an attempted trip to an ATM in Limerick. A creature, exhibiting only faint vestiges of humanity was perched by the cash-dispenser, and he raised his head forlornly as I approached. His dull, lifeless eyes stared past me as he grumbled: “Got a qweed?” I looked into this character’s gaunt face as it rocked lightly from side to side, trying to assess the situation. Despite his hoodie & tracksuit ensemble costing more than I had in the bank, he was somehow reduced to beggary.

Fearing an airborne virus was to blame for this chap’s condition, I skipped across the road to another hole-in-wall. There, in a stoop by the machine was a similarly attired, equally haggard critter. His dead eyes rolled in loose circles as he struggled to look straight, yet he stretched out his hand and implored me to “spare a few bob”. Met with only a stunned silence, he turned his outstretched hand to frenzied arm scratching and muttered to himself as I continued hurriedly out of earshot.

These encounters ruined my night, as the frivolities of my socialising had to take a backseat to my ponderings. How were these people justifying their fundraising efforts without having a stump to wave about, or a crude scrawl on a piece of cardboard to inspire sympathy? Their incoherence provided me with little information to diagnose the seeming pandemic that had struck the unfortunate sub-culture of perma-tracksuited street loiterers.

Please don’t confuse these shared musings for bigotry - I’m not necessarily complaining about these people, I just want to understand them. I’m aware that beggars come in all shapes and sizes – like the ones who don’t seem like they really needed the money. I’m speaking of course, about the organised network of snack-sized-Pringles-can proffering Romanians that are collected every evening in nice Passaats at six o’clock outside post offices. (The most I’ve ever offered them was the advice that the full-size cans are much more economical). But this seems different.

Since we’re on the subject of my tolerance, I’m anxious to add that I’ve encountered entrepreneurial sorts who have offered a service that mirrors beggary in its execution. People like the polite Africans who dwell in Ireland’s pub toilets, hoarding the hand towels and soap products and shilling breath-mints to halitosis suffering clubbers. The warmth of their smile (and slight erosion of white guilt) is well worth the €2 “tip” for a service that would otherwise be carried out gratis by a wall-mounted plastic box. But I digress; this is an altogether more pressing matter.

How can one reconcile the designer clothes with the pale skin, epidermal irritation, and impaired cognitive function? By now the astute readers should have - as I have - put two and two together, and surmised that the zombie apocalypse is upon us.

I have been fortunate enough to witness the zombification process in action, over 100km away from the site of first contact. Whilst enjoying lunch in one of Cork’s fine eateries I happened to observe a hooded gentleman halt his gait, take a few sips from his bottle of Deep River Rock, glance over both shoulders, then sit against the electrical box that encroached on the footpath. As he pulled away his hood, his blank expression was replaced with a slack-faced mournful desperation, and his body slumped back in a way that drew attention to the tattered paper coffee cup that had suddenly appeared. A pathetic murmur followed each passerby as the emaciated one attempted to collect a few coins.

For all that has been said recently about revitalising the economy, clearing infected from the streets has been conspicuously absent from Brian Cowen’s recent addresses. It’ll be quite difficult to lure the punters into city centres once the growing numbers of undead turn feral and start taking money, rather than politely (albeit unnervingly) asking for it. What if equally-enlightened denizens consult their accrued B-movie knowledge and set about despatching zombies by way of a bullet in the head? Such obstructions left on the footpaths would make shopping quite cumbersome, nevermind the health and safety worries that the tripping hazards represent.

It’s about time that the Gardai step up their efforts into investigating and removing whatever substance out there that’s causing this rather terrorizing outbreak before it gets any more out of hand. If the recent Swine Flu hysteria has taught us anything, it’s that the only reaction to public health concerns the populous will stomach is overreaction.

Oh wow, swineflu - I'm so topical!

Maybe the Clark Kent disguise isn't total bunk...

I had the following exchange at work on Saturday (whilst wearing contact lenses):

"Hello. I was dealing with somebody else about something yesterday. His name was Seán, and he was wearing glasses".

"Well, my name is Seán, and I was wearing glasses yesterday."

She took a step back, looked me up and down, then asked:

"Really?"

More idle blather

Sweet mother of mother-freaking Christ - has it been 9 days already?

My last glance at a calendar revealed that I've been working 28 days solid (although with two half days in a row I really ought to consider it 21 straight days), so I'm a bit busier than I'm used to being, so forgive yet another post in which I tread water.

This is what the soundtrack to my life has been lately:

I'm On A Boat - The Lonely Island.

Loud, dumb fun. Gets me fired up for a long day at the office.



The (Shipped) Gold Standard - Fall Out Boy

Yep, I'll admit to listening to teeny-bop stuff, but what's wrong with singing along to an infectious pop song on the way home from work? It's the first step in switching off for the night.



Hell0 - Eminem

I allowed myself to get hyped up for Relapse, and after initial disappointment, I've found a few regular tracks, and I tend to skip to this one when I feel like mellowing out.



I'm aware that there's no real 'point' to any of this, so consider it another "I'm not dead yet" post to keep you going until I find a reason to get back up on a high horse and warble about something that nobody else could possibly rise their anger over.

Civic Irresponsibility

Do not be perturbed by my recent blogging-lapse, dear reader - it is a consequence of having precious little free time. The hours of my day that would be spent online reading, listening to podcasts, twittering and blogging have been encroached on by petty matters like work and sleep. Much like before, I'm going to have to find a way to 'make' time for this noblest of hobbies.

I'm fighting the temptation to put up a sign reading 'Back in July' or suchlike, but I'll try and limp on a bit longer before succumbing.

Now that the excuses are aside, it's time to address the pressing matter of the European and local elections taking place tomorrow.

I've read a smattering of campaign literature, and nobody seems to stand out as being particularly original. Will I vote for the guy who wants to improve amenities for children and facilities for old people or the lady who solemnly vows to make a priority of catering to the needs of young and old people who have been callously neglected by the fat-cats currently in power?

Teasing out the finer points of a candidate's policy and deciding where to use your vote is a process that works a little differently for everybody. Here's how I decide what to do with the noblest of my civic duties. [And before I start, I have to give props to the Limerick Leader for putting their Election supplement online - even if its purpose was to bilk some money out of the candidates, it's a useful document nonetheless]

Leo Walsh

Not voting for him because: Whilst looking at his election poster and trying to determine whether that monstrosity under his schnoz was vandalism or his actual 'stache, I damn-near crashed my car.
Why I'd reconsider: I can empathize a man who is too busy to tend to his personal grooming, regardless of how ridiculous he may look.

Richie Smith
Wouldn't vote for him because: Stop the apostrophe neglect. It's no joke.
Why I'd reconsider: Richie seems to suffer from a split-personality disorder, and I'm a sucker for those two-for-the-price-of-one deals.

Robert Gardiner
Wouldn't vote for him because: He didn't even look up how to spell the words that comprise his platform.
Why I'd reconsider: In his frothing excitement to get his point across, he seems to have confused the order of his sentences. I think this means a lot to him...


Mary Harty
Wouldn't vote for her because: She couldn't think of anything to put on her ad other than her name and "Vote No.1". So she left it blank. Which is incredibly retarded.
Why I'd reconsider: She could have been trying a bold political move known as 'The Obama', in which the voters project their hopes and dreams onto a blank canvas. I don't think Obama literally used blank canvas, however. (What a dumb bitch!)

Tom O'Callaghan
Wouldn't vote for him because: They set aside a few minutes to focus on getting a decent picture for the campaign, and he still ended up looking like a drunken old lecher having a grand auld stare at the purty gurls across the street.
Why I'd reconsider: Guys like this are always fun to have around when there are large groups of people. Just fill 'em full of liquor, point 'em towards inappropriately young girls, and watch the hilarity unfold!

James Randi - The Carlos Caper

It's been a busy few weeks, so it's time to fall back on that staple of blogging - regurgitating YouTube videos that I've enjoyed!

In his pair of latest YouTube videos James Randi, skeptic extraordinaire has been describing an ambitious hoax played on the Australian people by feeding the mainstream media with (easily debunked) false information about a made-up 'channeler'.

I found the 16 minutes or so of viewing quite astonishing, as it illustrates how easily the media could be played, partly (once can assume) because the demand for such nonsense was through the roof.





Of course, looking at that archived footage, one has to wonder: would this hoax work in this era of the information age?

The Daily Star: A 'News'paper.

I was on the British Daily Star's website a few minutes ago, trying to find a story that appeared in the Irish edition (which may as well not have a website), when I noticed something curious:





I'm glad to see that they're as dubious about the worthiness of their content as most are.

'Moral Monopoly'

Watching videos like the one embedded below make me feel quite fortunate to have grown up in the modern Ireland, where a staunch Catholic upbringing wasn't the 'common sense' approach to take.

Whenever I hear a disgustingly nostalgic account about the 'Catholic Ireland' that was left behind, I think about the testimonies of people like this whose lives have been shattered by those who once held a moral monopoly*.


[Brought to my attention via http://www.atheistmedia.com/]

Good riddance to Catholic Ireland.

*An interesting aside: Tom Inglis' book 'Moral Monopoly: The Irish Church in Modern Irish Society' published in 1987 is a a fantastically relentless broadside against the evils perpetrated by the church from a pre-sex-scandal era. The 1998 updated edition: 'Moral Monopoly: The Rise and Fall of the Catholic Church in Modern Ireland' dials back the tone considerably, and features an extra chapter cataloguing the 'fall' of the church in a rather sombre manner, as if eulogising a stern, misunderstood father, rather than the merciless tyrant that the first edition personified the institution as.

Why the rose-tinting, Irish commentators? Answers on a postcard in the comments!

Deja Vu (in the most literal sense?)

I've a cinema-date tonight to go see State of Play, a film I've not heard anything about (which is how I generally prefer to watch movies), and while double-checking the time on the Omniplex website, I noticed this advertisement for the lazy-eyed Matthew McConaughey's latest film:

This of course, brings to mind a previous entry from December 07 (One for the Lay-deez), which featured the following image:


That's right, Matthew McConaughey's campaign to lean against every woman in Hollywood is still underway. Brace yourself, ladies.

Religiously motivated elitism? Sign me up!

More twitter spam of a religious nature to report (and in case you were wondering, no I don't write about every instance of spam I receive!), but this one takes an approach to religion that resonates with me.


After getting a retarded tweet aimed directly at me, I decided "I've ten minutes to burn, why not scoff at some nonsense for a while?"

The tiny URL lead to a website called "Spirit of Wisdom", let's have a read of what they have to offer:

When people feel like they are all alone, they often say that they feel as if they are on an island. The truth maybe that you have simply come to place in your walk that your companions are unable to ascend to. The reality is that you are not on an island at all, but standing on top of a mountain surrounded by water.

The top of the mountain is surrounded by water? An odd metaphor but I'll go with it . Hang on - it's not a metaphor - it's 'the reality'? Kinda like the Matrix? Okay, I can follow that...

For those that God has called to do a special work in life, isolation and loneliness are an inevitable. You must realize that you cannot take everyone with you. They cannot handle the altitude that you are being called to. You will begin to notice, as you continue to ascend in the will of God, that the number of people who have the ability to share your perspective of life are few and far between.

What's that? A spiritual reason to be an elitist prick? And since spirituality isn't frowned upon by society, I can practice my elitist prickery with open disregard for mere plebeian!

Therefore, your feeling of separation and isolation are not indications that something is wrong. It simply means that you have risen above the sea of mediocrity and ascended to a place that few others are able to witness.

Now we're talking! Fuck anybody who disagrees with me - I've risen above the sea of mediocrity and ascended to a place that few others are able to witness.

Your perspective is everything. Change your perspective of your situation and don't allow the enemy to cause you despise what God is doing in your life. You are not stranded on an island, but standing on the top of a mountain!

Damnit! You had to ruin it with that retarded metaphor, didn't you? Forget about the top of the mountain already! There's nothing to do on top of a mountain except climb back down.

It's difficult to deny the value of certain religious rhetoric that offers a crutch for the downtrodden, but twaddle like this actively promoting the building of walls between Jesus-freaks and common-folk is pretty evil. Guess I'll have to find another way to retroactively justify my holier-than-thou disposition.

Happy National Blasphemy Day!

National Blasphemy Day is a (fantastic) suggestion put forward by Bock the Robber to protest the inanity of a proposed Defamation Bill put forward by the minister for justice which includes blasphemous libel. From Bock:

According to the bill, A person who publishes or utters blasphemous matter shall be guilty of an offence and shall be liable upon conviction on indictment to a fine not exceeding €100,000.

And what exactly is blasphemous matter?

It’s anything grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion, thereby causing outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of that religion; and he or she intends, by the publication of the matter concerned, to cause such outrage.

That's the way laws should be, right? Very open to interpretation and on the side of those with tendencies to take offence? Oh yeah, wait, it's completely batshit insane.

Well, as part of my contribution to this noblest of excuses to blaspheme protests, I had hoped to write something clever that riffed on most major religion, but as the internal discussion over where to start and what to say dragged on and life got in the way, I've realised that it's a bit late now to be rushing something out. Just take solace in the knowledge that it would have collapsed under the weight of the absurdities it would have attempted to highlight, all the while trying to shoehorn the 'Holy Trinity' thing into an implied Mary/Jesus incest-fest.

Since you're here, I may as well point you towards Bock's post (which in turn points you towards his previous blasphemous posts), and post a YouTube video or two of a blasphemous nature.

This one might be a slow burner, but it highlights the absurdity of the whole 'Jesus' thing:



And of course, that rant from George Carlin:



Feel free to share your favourite blasphemous exclamation in the comments.

Atheism - uniting people in begrudgery

I just got home from my little brother's communion party, a function involving Irish people and alcohol, which ultimately lead to a singsong.

Myself and a few others (including the hosts of the party) took refuge in the adjoining kitchen, attempting to keep our conversations going despite the anguished crooning coming from the open doorway. The singers responded to this with outraged and indignant shushing (these are adults shushing other adults, mind), the absurdity of which succeeded in plunging our room into a stunned silence.

A woman of about 30 that I hadn't spoken to all night sidled up beside me:

"Ah Jesus Christ. Can you hear the shite that they're singing?"

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that song" I answered in earnest.

"It's fuckin' religious shite... I think."

We stood there for a moment with our ears perked until an agonisingly rendered "Gawd" floated out of the dining room. Vindicated, she turned to me for my facetious reply:

"How appropriate! This is a communion party after all."

She rolled her eyes. "Appropriate? At this hour of the night? At their age? They should know better"

Trying to be diplomatic about the (obnoxious) people I didn't know, I agreed that I found it a little absurd myself.

"I just don't understand the appeal..." she volunteered "...probably because I'm not religious at all."

For some reason, I found myself liking that person.

Viral Advertising done right?

I have two major peeves when it comes to viral video. The first is commercially planted viral video that tries to pass itself off as 'organic', and the other is one that plagiarises another video that came before it.

Despite this, I found the following video quite entertaining - it's billed as a 'ladies' response' to the Jizz In My Pants video (which has almost 46 MILLION views on YouTube alone!), where the female analogue - worryingly enough - involves regurgitation.


In exchange for five seconds of product placement for a fake wedding ring that can be deployed from keyring when pervy plonkers are on the prowl, you get two and a half enjoyable minutes of procrastination. The video ends with the URL for mstaken.com, where you can buy the product that you probably didn't notice in the video.

Like its source material, the first minute or so is the most worthwhile:

Saddened as I am that there's even a market for a product like this, I'm pretty sure that it'd have no effect on 90% of men anyhow. Unless there's a feature in which a great big buff dude springs out of that little keychain and administers threatening looks, I reckon you're just paying $50 for a nifty keyring and a cute conversation starter at your knitting circle.

Christian nut gives relationship advice

Can an atheist an a believer have a happy relationship together? Let's ask one of America's premier voices on theology for a nuanced discussion of the prospects:



"He's going to be serving the Devil. You're going to be serving God. It's that simple!"

Good thing this stalwart intellectual distilled a complicated topic down enough to be accessible to us lay people, eh?

Twitter Spam: Hummingbird

Twitter sent me an exclamation-mark laden e-mail yesterday to draw my attention to the two new web-denizens who subscribed to my fun-sized narcissistic twaddlings. Feeling that the occasion called for a cursory glance at these two random people, I decided to have a look:


When I saw this, I did what I always do whenever an attractive woman shows interest in me - I reacted with a great deal of skepticism. I clicked through to their profiles to begin my investigation:

Superficially, things seemed to be in order, (in that all her tweets were of a purely superficial nature), but I found the lack of any tweets aimed at other members was a little odd.

When I noticed that essentially the same message had found its way onto both profiles, I knew something fishy was going on:

One click on a tinyurl later, and I'm reading about 'HummingBird: Professional Marketing Tools for Twitter', and trying to contain my mirth.

Yes friends, that's a $197 pricetag

It seems that absolutely every bandwagon will be jumped on by enterprising peddlars of nonsense who are happy to deceive for monetary gain - you should bear in mind that a viable business model to monetize Twitter has yet to materialise.

Perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh before really examining this product. Let's consult the 'is it a scam?' checklist:

#1. Does the product claim to reveal some arcane-knowledge kept from the public by a group conspiring to hold power?


#2. Does the product offer vague, specious information whilst implying that the product in question is the only thing keeping you from becoming a guru yourself?

Yes, they just said that "Dell and Woot.com are earning Millions of Dollars on Twitter"

#3. Does the product establish itself as a way to bypass hard work, generate instant satisfaction, or generally get-rich quick?


#4. Does the product feature statements that are heavy in superlatives but light on specifics?

• "Hummingbird is completely unmatched in power"
• "unmatched performance"
• "If you're comparing Hummingbird to all the little free apps & web sites that do a couple of functions at a snail's pace, you would be misleading yourself. I didn't create this software with the everyday user in mind... this is for the top dogs"
• "Literally I can tweet a link and get a few hundred hits within the minute"
• "Massively increase your ability to interact with an untapped gold mine of customers"
• "Hummingbird makes you #1 in your niche."

#5. Does the product feature endorsements from dubious sources?

Alan? Alan!? Who the @*€# is Alan?

#6. Does the product attempt to imply celebrity endorsement without explicitly stating it?

Well, they do show Digg founder Kevin Rose's Twitter page in their promotional video, that's got to count for something, right?


So that's six out of six - we could go through the others on the list, including "excessive use of buzzwords" and "poor grammar on the product information page", but I think it's safe to say that this could be considered a scam.

So what is the tool for? By my reckoning, it's a Twitter account manager that you can use to generate accounts, which can then follow you, which also reach out to legitimate accounts to draw more hits to the product page. What it also means is that there are dozens of profiles spewing out identical status updates to give the impression of authenticity at first glance.

When I typed one of the updates at random into the Twitter search engine, here's what I got:

(Note the use of attractive/slutty girls in the profile pics - it's possible that the program comes with a stockpile of 'em.)

So there you have it - the latest episode of my Twitter sleuthing. Now that I've got that off my chest, I'll be blocking these fake groupies, sadly causing my followers to drop back to single digits, so feel free to remedy that!