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)?

In Print: What's in a Name?

As part of my 'try to trick someone into hiring me' campaign, I've been doing the slightest bit of freelance for the Limerick Leader. They were gracious enough to put my rather blog-style opinion article on the front page of their features section, which was nice, so I figure why not share it with you fine people?

The article is here, and I'm chuffed to see that it's already on the 'most popular' stories pane (not that I reckon the traffic is very high on their site) - so feel free to click through and send it up the chart!

Comments of course, are appreciated - either here or there (no registration required on mine however!). Feel free to have a go at my naivety if you'd like. I know I would.

One from the Road: Teetotalling Traveller

I'm writing this from Terminal 6 of Kennedy International Airport in New York, in an attempt to kill the considerable amount of time that stands between me and my flight to Pittsburgh, to finally reunite with some good friends from my exchange-student days (friends I have now spent more time away from than with).

Little did I know that July 31st is "Bring your small child to America day", as the plane was crawling with the snotty-faced urchins. The satisfaction I usually feel when I finally sit on the plane bound for wherever the hell I’m going was short lived, for my ears were immediately battered with the sounds of some screaming shit-dispenser behind me.

Before I had time to wince, a steward appeared in my vision, and told me that there was a family who would like to sit together and if I'd be willing- at which point I cut him off with a enthusiastic "yes". The flamboyant pretzel-pusher then tantalizingly promised "I'll take care of you for this" - making me excited about the prospect of a journey with a happy ending.

I was positively delighted to be putting some distance between myself and the wailing, but this proved to be a little premature. My new spot was right next to two children - one a few months old - the other three years of age at the most. The elder child and the mother were in a frenzied discussion as I joined them:

Mum, are we flying?
Not yet.
Mum, are we flying?
Not yet.
Mum, are we flying?
Not yet.
Mum, are we flying?
Not yet.
Mum are we flying?

She smiled at me, as if to say "isn't he so cute?” which I promptly shot back at her as she humoured the impetuous infant:

"Not yet."

By now the gelatinous lump on her lap decided it wasn't getting enough attention, so it let rip with a succession of shrieks, each one driving the grimace deeper into my already rather sour pus.

Thankfully, the mother was a woman of action, and she promptly shoved her tit into the tot's face, quelling his quarrelsome mood (a placating method men never grow an immunity to).

Being the polite passenger that I am, I turned away from the suckling nipper, and began to stare longingly at the empty exit-row seat. No sooner had the covetous thoughts taken a hold than a stewardess materialized from behind me and offered me the leg-roomiest spot on the plane.

The plane took off on time, and I got to spend six and a half hours, enjoying the ingenuity employed by a brother and sister pair in annoying one another. The stewardess of ambivalent offers appeared and revealed the spoils of my charitable acts: free alcohol.

Offering free booze to this teetotalling traveller meant about as much to me as my mother's assurances that she'd pray for my safe voyage.

Holy shit! A clergyman I respect

John Shelby Spong, retired Episcopal bishop from Newark, N.J., talks about why Christianity must change its view of hell. Spong is one of the leading spokepersons for liberal Christianity.

This is a spiritual man who has grown sick of Christian bullshit, and is happy to hold onto a rather agnostic sense of reverence. While I don't necessarily agree with what he holds onto, I certainly hope that this movement catches on, and a more cerebral, less intrusive type of religion can remain in place for those who need the crutch.

Saints and Shitters III: Triple Trouble

If you're not familiar with the Saints and Shitters series, you should check out Part 1 and Part 2 before continuing.

It's hard to believe, but five months have passed since the last documented sighting of a rather specific type of of vandalism.

"The Bible is the word of God - A Priest". So far this message has been found scrawled in permanent marker inside of mensrooms in Limerick, Clare and Galway.

Today, I present the latest confirmed victim of this evangelical-epidemic; the Limerick City Library's male toilets. After receiving a tip from (one-time Sully's Blog contributor) Dermot, I called over to the library and jumped into the cubicle closest to the door. The dim light made for a crappy camera-phone picture, but serves to illustrate what was there. Just underneath the coat hanger was some misguided bastard's slogan; a specimen that matched the graphology of the previous ones exactly:


I moved onto the next cubicle, to see yet again, the meaningless collection of words underneath the coat hanger:


In the third and final cubicle, I found the most intriguing example of the toilet-dwelling priest's handiwork:


Note that "Priest" has been crossed off twice, and replaced with "pervert" and "liar". Obviously this means, that like most criminals, the author of this endeavour has returned to the crime scene - at least three times! His cubicle-debating skills are astonishing - note how he has cleverly drawn a line underneath his signature, effectively separating himself from the name-calling underneath... Well played sir.

Despite being crossed out twice and replaced with a slur against his character, this man has returned each time to insist that he is - in fact, a priest. That's one pathetic persistent vandalising clergyman!

Dear reader, do your part to report these happenings! Next year I will be launching the Committee for Secular Cubicles to tackle this issue with the fervour it deserves... Until then - let me know of any crapper-based religious shenanigans via the comments!

Watch 20 children get molested...

... mentally, of course.

The following video is fairly old, and I first watched it about three months ago, but in honour of "mock-an-easy-target month" (working title), I thought I'd post it. It's a newspiece from ABC, called "Biblically-correct tours". The premise is that two religious "fuckwits" [Thanks, PZ] take a group of home-schooled children through a legitimate museum, ridiculing any scientific aspects that don't fit with their ridiculous religious beliefs, and obfuscating everything else.



Thankfully, the newspiece is sufficiently sceptical of their nonsense, which helps to restore my tarnished faith in the mass media (and saves me a bit of typing!). Whilst watching this perversion of science, I had to pause every minute or so to involuntarily exclaim, like a Tourette's sufferer, at the absolute stupidity of what I was witnessing. Whilst this video is quite hilarious in its outright absurdity, it's also utterly infuriating.

Science isn't limited by superstitious notions that cannot be challenged - it doesn't start with a framework that everything has to be hamfistedly stuffed into. Nor is it decided in the courts. Reframing evolution as a "philosophy" or "religion" is absurd, and done only because it is not a part of evangelical Christianity. Just to further reflect on how insane this is - the Catholic Church officially accept evolution - (and the pope has a blinking-red-bat-phone direct to God!). We know that science works because people who have never talked to each other can come to the same conclusions through empirical observations; a feat lacking not only in different religious creeds, but also their spin-off denominations. These people are getting so wrapped up in the minutiae of their allegorical fables that they are beginning to unravel the progress of our civilisation as a whole!

Indoctrinating a child with religious beliefs is bad enough, but actively crippling their understanding of the world, and planting crackpot theories is absolutely child abuse. Does anyone else feel disturbed after witnessing just how shameless and brazen the efforts of the religious right are to unravel human knowledge?

Christians? Crackers!

In December ’06, during my fourth month or so in the States, I had to do a “cultural breakdown” of some public event, and contemplate it at a level people generally don’t. I made casual reference to this in a blog entry at the time, but didn’t go too far into the polemical specifics, as I had yet to embrace representing the full extent of my beliefs on this blog.

It was supposed to be a 'cultural breakdown,' but since I winged it and was deulsionally tired, it turned into a ten minute lecture on why everybody should be agnostic.

The thesis of the presentation was that ‘faith‘ is just reframed superstition, and anyone who invokes it is openly declaring their lack of intellectual integrity. It was my first public denunciation of childish beliefs, and most greeted it with a stunned silence, or laughed at the absurdity of what the large Irish man was saying.

The presentation was borne out of the frustration I felt at being surrounded by so many people who seemed to punctuate their sentences with allusions to religious dogma, and the general lack of scepticism with which they approached all topics, as a system of binary oppositions seemed to define most; democrat/republican, pro-life/pro-choice, “global warming is real”/ “global warming is a scare-tactic by liberals”. I'm also keen to point out that I had yet to hear of Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, or any others in the atheistic movement before moving ahead with my diatribe.

Anyhow – as part of my project, I attended a Catholic mass, went up for communion for the first time in years, (forgot what came after “Body of Christ” and said “cheers” instead of "amen"), and slipped the communion-wafer into my pocket, so I had something for show-and-tell. The presence of the communion-wafer on my study desk made my suitemates a little uneasy at first, but it didn’t take long for them to give up on my hell-bound soul.

Why am I bringing this up again? I just read a blog entry by the legendary PZ Myers, in which he highlights a story that is a reflection on the sorry state of our species, which tells the tale of young Webster Cook, who “smuggled a Eucharist[...] out of mass, didn't eat it as he was supposed to do, but instead walked with it”. This incident is hardly newsworthy on its own grounds, until you factor in the immensely stupid response of the religious, who have accused him of hate crime, condemned his “mortal sin” (sending him straight to hell when he dies), and are actively trying to get him expelled from school!

Let’s have PZ break it down:

That's right. Crazy Christian fanatics right here in our own country have been threatening to kill a young man over a cracker. This is insane. These people are demented fuckwits.

PZ Myers is an educated man. A scientist, even. Who teaches biology. Biology is a science which furthers our understanding of ourselves and the world, and is therefore important. And these people just made him say “fuckwit”.

Of course, as appalled as I am by this story, my overriding narcissism has to kick in, and I have to think about myself for a moment. When I made that presentation in Pittsburgh, I decided not to use the cracker at the last minute, thinking that my classmates would cry “offensive!” and not listen to what I was actually saying. Not only would I have committed a “hate crime” by removing the magical Jesus-bread (listen to how stupid your beliefs sound, Catholics!), but I would have used it as a prop in a 10-15 minute “hate-speech” against Christians. They probably would have tried to get me deported, and at the least, it would have destroyed my chances of staying a second semester.

Unsurprisingly, PZ Myers is now being attacked by the pitchfork-brandishing “fuckwits”, merely for reporting on the issue, and treating it with the reverence it deserved:

I have received 39 pieces of personal hate mail of varying degrees of literacy, all because I was rude to a cracker ... I even have one email that says I should be fired, that the author would like to kill me, and that I only criticize because Catholics are so gentle and kind.

C'mon readers, time to give something back...

So now that I've finished with college, society informs me that the next step expected of me is to enter the workplace. Since I've decided I quite like this writing lark, I'll be pursuing it as a means of putting food in my belly and gimmicky electrical devices in my house.

The only problem with trying to get hired as a writer is that people expect me to provide them with examples of how I write. Since the amount of stuff I've bothered to get published is minuscule (and I didn't keep copies of most of it), I'm going to try and use my blog as an example of what I'm about. The only problem with this is that sending a potential employer to my blog would lead to pointless posts like this!

Here's the solution: over the next few days I'll be going through the past entries of the blog, tagging the best of them with a label like "hireme". Would-be employers come to my blog via http://ssully.blogspot.com/search/label/hireme and voila! No pointless posts to endure!

Anyhow - I'll be requiring suggestions and advice via the comments - every entry that I tag or am thinking of tagging will be linked from there. So get to it! What posts make me look good?

Regurgitation Recollection

Given that it’s been a slow month for a blog that primarily serves to chronicle the odd happenings in my life, and my montly target of five posts was looming, it seemed like a safe enough bet that my brother’s stag party in Poland would be a safe bet for blogging fodder.

The flight to Krakow was scheduled at the rather painful time of 7.30am, and we showed up at Dublin Airport at around 5.45am – other than a curiously relaxed security screening that failed to find the 150ml canister of deodorant (a banned substance for the past year or so) that one of our group had in his carry-on luggage, there was nothing unusual about the beginning of the journey.

I was looking forward to taking a nap on the plane, as I had only slept for 2 hours the night before, but despite being absolutely knackered, I couldn’t slip into a gentle slumber. All of a sudden, my eyes opened, my mind snapped into to full alertness, but my energy levels utterly vanished. I mumbled something to my brother, who was seated to my right, about not feeling good and then frantically began searching for a sick bag. Upon finding one, I immediately retched into it, much to the delight of the gentleman seated to my left, and very much within the splash zone, should things get messy. It took immense effort to keep the bag held up to my mouth, as all my strength had immediately dissipated.

Despite making a fuss, nothing actually materialized in the sick bag. My brother put his hand up to my remarkably sweaty forehead and pronounced that I was “stone cold”. Within a few moments, my energy came back and I wandered up to the bathroom, in case another wave struck, clutching my sick-bag should the queue prove too taxing. After a minute or two of sitting in the tiny toilet, with nothing happening, and the cold-sweat gone, I began to feel a little silly – not to mention ignorant towards my fellow passengers. I sat back down and fell asleep.

I awoke shortly after in a cold sweat, again lacking in energy drained. The sick-bag was still clutched in my hand, which was fortunate, as I had it quarter-filled in a few seconds. During – and before – the episode, I wanted to get up and make my way to the toilet, but my legs were a dead weight. Within a minute or so of the purge I managed to drunkenly stumble towards the front of the plane and sheepishly ask the stewardess where I should dispose of my breakfast. She responded with a surprising amount of sympathy, and told me to use the bin in the toilet – where I took up residence for a few more moments. Once again I dawdled for a few moments, but left after nothing happened.

After stepping out of the tiny room, I was greeted by another stewardess, who lathered me up with sympathy before asking if I was “sick from last night, or food poisoning”. She offered me some Motillium and told me to sit in the much-coveted exit row while she dug out the stomach-settling pill. She sat opposite me and ran through the symptoms – “clamminess, nausea, vomiting” (yup, yup, yup), then gave me the pill and a glass of water that she repeatedly told me to “sip slowly” with exaggerated gestures in a kindly manner.

I held out another two hours or so until we got to the hotel, then sunk into my comfortable routine of sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat, then regurgitating as I swore at the porcelain. In between bouts I imagined a contraption for people in similar quandaries, who have to use both “ends” at once, and don’t want to have to “hotswap” whilst on the toilet. Prototyping begins this Autumn. You heard it here first.

Moral of this story? Aer Lingus stewardesses: keep up the good work! Soho Coffee in Dublin Airport: go fuck yourself.

€9.45 for food poisoning? Bargain!

Sully's Blog: Inedible Truck Edition

Every now and again, when I'm in the States, I'll witness something that I generally wouldn't expect to see back home. Here are a few examples that I managed to get on camera (click for larger view).

I generally don't expect to see my fat head from the side - not least when I'm driving a car with a steering wheel on the opposite side to what I'm used to

Scraping the blogging-barrel

Shame on you, Electronic Arts/MTV Games for: screwing European gamers over. Whereas the yanks got it in November, the music-rhythm game Rock Band didn’t release in Europe until six months later, and cost more than double what those privileged States-dwellers paid. Regardless, I shelled out for the game and a drum-peripheral, but when I set it up I noticed something upsetting about the drumsticks:

They clearly say “ROOK BAND”! I’ve played the game in the States, (which convinced me to buy it), and whereas the drumsticks feature a similar design, the C in “Rock” is clearly rendered (proof is but a click away). It’s more likely that the print on the European sticks is just of a poorer quality, and the C has smeared into looking like an O, but at this rate, it’s like spitting on the European fans after you've kicked them while they're down.

Shame on you, Tesco for: crimes against basic literacy.

“DVD’s” – seriously? Tesco, made £2,550,000,000 profit last year, and yet they can’t afford to hire a person who understands basic apostrophe placement to write their signs? This should be a cause of embarrassment to the entire company... I blame the media. This picture was taken in the Tesco in Arthur’s Quay, Limerick, and the signs in Roxboro’s Tesco had the same moronic error.


Shame on you, Harvey Norman for: knowing how to do something right, but being too cheap to do it!
At least Tesco are consistent. Exhibit A: The Harvey Norman slogan, hanging outside their Unit at City East Business Park, Limerick, which reads “We Won’t be Beaten on Price, Range or Service” Exhibit B: A banner hanging inside, with the same boastful mantra, sans apostrophe. If you seek apostrophes inside the store, you will be left wonting. Har-Har...

Moving swiftly onwards, shame on you, Limerick’s Christ Church, for: crimes against making sense. Far be it for me to be the kind of chap to criticise a religious institution, but look at this picture:

Now chew on it for a bit... “better than broadband – immediate access to God”... I’m sorry... what? This is simply so wrong on so many ways – are they insinuating that people are trying to find God online? And what the hell is the celestial hand holding? An improvised explosive device? And why do the arms seem to belong to Mr Fantastic? I’m not one to use expletives unless the situation calls for it. But that shit is fucking nuts. I will never understand the non-logic that the theistic mind revels in, and I’m sure that at least one person walked past the sign today and thought that it was very clever. I’d have no qualms if the ad read “Cheaper than broadband – waste time by talking to yourself”, but that’s just me.

While I’m in a wrist-slapping mood, I may as well address the dearth of updates around the blog. It’s not that I’ve been busy, but quite the opposite (as the last 450 words will attest, I’ve not been up to very much lately!) Watch this space though, as I hastily try to make my commitment of posting 5 entries a month by pooping out ill-conceived drivel!

Lisbon igNOrance

I generally try not to write about political matters here, as there are people far more talented and interested than I catering to such needs, and it wouldn’t quite gel with the other content on here. Regardless, I present you with this old news. Irish readers will have to forgive me for how broken down things are, but there might be yanks reading!

Last Thursday, the people of Ireland voted on whether the Lisbon Treaty would be ratified; a document that outlines how the European Union is going to conduct its bureaucratic undertakings now that it’s grown to a bloated 27 member states. Out of all 27, Ireland was the only country that handled things in a democratic fashion.

The people of Ireland responded with a great deal of confusion. “Why ask us?” They pondered aloud. “What’s this about? Why wasn’t anybody else asked?” That’s where their inquisitiveness ended. Despite the vast majority of politicians assuring the good people that the treaty was something that would benefit the entire of the European Union, the Irish were more compelled by the claims of tinfoil-hat wearing independents who simply made shit up.

After getting caught up in the hype, and deciding I needed some information, I read about the treaty, and kept track of all the things that I was concerned about, all the things I was happy about, and all the things I was ‘meh’ about. I determined that the only think remarkable about the Lisbon Treaty was how such an unremarkable document could drum up such intense controversy, given all the ‘meh’s on my page of notes.

One of the worst things about the referendum was talking to people about it in the weeks up to it. Nobody seemed to feel any shame in expressing their ignorance, and even tried to present this ignorance as a valid reason for voting “no”! These were the same people who didn’t read the concise information pamphlets sent out by the neutral Referendum Commission, which had a strong TV, radio, and web presence.

I present to you a product of this paranoia: on the day of voting, I got into my car and drove to the end of my village to find that somebody had spraypainted “NO” onto the road four times in fifteen metres. Five miles down the road I saw the same thing.


Here's the video, complete with rockin' soundtrack (that'll be promptly removed, more than likely), recorded from my phone (hence the assy quality).



It’s a shame that the treaty wasn’t ratified, so we could retrospectively laugh at the prophecies of the new Ireland, in which all the men have been drafted to the European Army and sent to battle the US, all businesses have been taxed out of existence, and the footpaths can’t be seen for all the aborted foetuses that litter the streetscapes.