Did I mention...

...that it snowed here this year? For the first time in years it has snowed in Cork, and on Christmas day too!

Tomorrow I build a snowman, if it hasn't all melted. But tonight, I go out...

Christmas Day...

Which was spent with my sister and her husband, along with my parents and the in-laws and so forth.

It's been a while since I woke up with a blinding hangover on Christmas morning, but I did it this year, and so another new year's resolution has been added to the long list:

If one must go out on Christmas Eve, one will return home at least one hour before serving stops.

Lovely dinner, though I didn't eat much of it. This tradition of feeling delicate on Christmas day was proudly nurtured by a group of us when we were younger, but I am now officially knocking it on the head.

When conversation turned to my brother's engagement, my parents didn't really say much, as they didn't when my sister announced hers years ago (my sister was insulted that my parents seemed to find the Late Late Show more interesting that night). Funny how some people handle things.

I can't wait to see how they handle things when I announce mine! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!

Bed early tonight...

Merry Christmas, one and all!

Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all the readers of this blog.

I met my brother today. The one whom I had previously referred to as The One Whom I Would Like To Stuff In A Blender And Press Purée. He arrived with his girlfriend, a girl both he and I have known for years, and announced their engagement. I now have a new sister-in-law. Everyone took it well. The thing with my brother is that he is great for the grand gesture, but once upon a time wasn't so great for seeing it through. I don't think he'll have any problems seeing this through though, and I wish them both the best. The girl in question is well suited to him.

They have both managed to climb far enough up the career ladder and now seem to be making quite a lot of money (they recently bought a BMW between them). As long as my bro still doesn't carry baggage that, in spite of his less than stellar performance in middle education, he is now as 'good' as anyone, we'll get along fine. I know that it's something that was with him, and I would empathise if we got along better. Hopefully we will this year. Last year got quite ugly towards the end, but he's staying at his fiancée's house this year so everything should be OK. I know that we won't head out together to get rat-arsed anymore like we used to, but such is life. The problem is that once I used to put up with him, but one morning I woke up and found that I couldn't suffer fools any more. And he was the first to see this. Families, eh? Who knows how it'll turn out in the long run...

Christmas Eve was understated but not bad. Met my neighbours and caught up. The usual. Turkey and stuffing at my sister's house in 9 hours.

On that note, off to bed I go.

Peter Jackson. Respect.

"Certainty of death? Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?"


I saw the final instalment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy on Tuesday night, and for me, it was the best of the three. It isn't often you see a project like that improve with each successive film, but it was accomplished there. It is quite often you see a production like that flounder in excess, but that was avoided here. Watching the credits roll at the end of it gave an insight into how epic the whole thing was, not just on screen, but behind the scenes as well. I was talking about this with a LOTR fan the other night, and we wondered how Jackson managed to move from something as understated as 'Heavenly creatures' (incidentally, a film I much liked) to the herculean task of interpreting J.R.R. Tolkien's books so effectively. As someone who nurses fantasies of writing/directing, am I jealous? Oh no. Noooooooooooo!

I remember when The Fellowship Of The Ring first came out, the expectations of just about everyone on the planet, to understate it somewhat, were stratospheric. Almost everyone I knew had read (or claimed to have read) the books as a child, and this was where I stood apart. When I was younger, I devoured books to the point where I was almost officially declared a hermit, but I never went near this epic. Whenever it came up in discussion, all the talk of elves, hobbits, and talking trees (whatever they're called) made it sound like Dungeons and Dragons committed to the printed page, and so I gave it a miss. It was only years later when people whose literary opinions I respected gave it praise, and certain English teachers recommending it as an aid to expanding the skills of creative writing, that I decided a rethink was in order. I still haven't undertaken the task of reading all three books yet, but soon my precious. Anyway, it is now widely acknowledged, as it always has been, that Jackson pulled it off. It is unlikely that anyone else could have done it as well, and for that, Mr. J is now pretty much up there in the Directors Hall of Fame. It's no less than he deserves.

When the first one came out, not having read the book, my logic at that time was that the only way around this lack of experience of the whole phenomenon was that I shouldn't go and see the films either. Go figure. But then, when I was unemployed for a rather lengthy spell during 2003 (I was in the IT sector after all), I got the first one out on DVD and watched it with great curiosity, curled up on the couch with a bucket of nachos, dips, ice-cream, popcorn, and liquorice allsorts while everyone else was at work. Small bloody wonder I was carrying so much extra weight in those days.

Anyway.

After seeing the first, I thought 'Right, that's a new interest for me, then' but the second one hadn't come out yet, and when I did get to see it, it was a crap copy from a print media company that one of the flatmates had provided. The one thing I do remember was how life-like the battle scenes were. NOT because of the wide-screen television, but owing to the fact that we were all smoking at the same time in a small and crowded room. Not surprisingly, I decided I would need to see it again.

When the Return of the King came out long after I had seen The Two Towers, I didn't go, for the sake of continuity. I decided I would watch them all quite close to one another to enjoy it fully. All this might sound pedantic, but I found that the way in which each film required your brain to be in 20 places at once no small challenge. So it was. Last week, after everyone else had fecked off home and left me, for the most part, alone in the college residence, I got the first two out again for the newly procured TV and video. I got the whole thing much more this time, and seeing the conclusion the other night polished it off beautifully. The battle scenes were epic, the characters well rounded, the soundtrack spot on, and the costumes...oh it was just VERY GOOD! And there is no character more cute, cuddly, endearing, and yet (at the end) dignified than Sean Astin's Sam. At least, for me.

As an aside, does a smirk play around anyone's mouth when they realise that the characters in this, essentially a fantasy tale, seemed to have more depth than some of those in 'Braveheart' and the rather faecal 'The Patriot', both of which were based on true stories? I know it did for me. Also, The Return of the King was most likely responsible for the Russell Crowe vehicle 'Master and Commander' not getting as much 'recognition' as it might have, which gave me a little frisson of delight, I must say.

So that's it. The reading of the books looms on the horizon. If there is an inner circle that I had always been unaware of, I am now inside it, and if there is a box set of the three already out, I'm buying it.

And lastly, a question for you. Of the two acceptance speeches from two directors who won 11 Oscars, Jackson and James Cameron for The Titanic, which one makes you roll your eyes and which one makes you think, 'That guy rocks!'?



Nuff said.

Received in the mail...

"A Chara,
I am pleased to inform you that on the basis of information supplied, with regard to the prescribed income limits, you have qualified for the award of a Higher Education Grant.
...
Is mise le meas,
[etc. etc.]"

That wasn't the wind you just heard, it was a deep sigh of relief from me.

Thank God. Things are now a slightly less dark shade of grey. My liver is already on the black market (for all the good it'll do someone else), but at least I can hang onto my kidneys.

Now all they have to do is actually produce the sponduliks. And all I have to do is actually open one of the three books I brought home with me to study over Christmas.

Days till Christmas: 4
Days till Semester I exams begin: 35

Drunkeness in Dublin

Well, I'm back from two days of my booze heaven/hell (still haven't worked out which) and it was epic. On Thursday night I went along to the Christmas party of the old software company I used to work for before I moved to Brighton. I met up with friends and went down to the hotel where it was on, to meet up with everyone else. The party was noted for the fact that it involved the use of vouchers to obtain drinks. Everyone was issued with 6, which would lead one, not unreasonably, to understand that every person was entitled to 6 free drinks. However, these vouchers seemed to enjoy a curious phenomenon: No matter how many you used, you never seemed to run out.

Can anyone see where this is going?

As the night went on, one would be forgiven for thinking that I was trying to commit suicide by alcohol poisoning, but I've always seemed to have a problem making a glass of wine last more than a few minutes. And then there are those Fat Frogs. Damn them to the very blackest spot of hell.

Things of note:

1. It is generally accepted that you have one or two glasses of wine with a meal. Downing a glass (or two) with each course of a five course meal is not the most exemplary model of moderation.
2. It is possible to set up a roadblock for a mince pie on a table, using linen napkins. I have done it.
3. It is also possible to almost dislocate your dancing partner's shoulder by trying to execute an over-zealous twirl on her. I almost did that too.
4. More often than not, when you are talking to a husband-and-wife team and you tell the wife that you find her husband attractive in the presence of her husband, the wife will laugh, and while the guy sometimes laughs too, they can also squirm.
5. Being the nice, jovial and complimentary person that I am when I am hammered to the fiftieth power, I remember declaring my undying love for a man that I was not attached to ("Don't ever change, Cathal, you're just so hot the way you are!" Aaaaarrrrggghhhh!!!). I pray that the reason I can't remember doing it to anyone else is down to the fact that I actually didn't do it to anyone else.
6. I am never EVER drinking Fat Frogs again. EVER!
7. When a couple who are staying in the hotel invite you to join them in the residents bar, it is not a very good idea to try and gain this illicit entry at the same time as the fifty other invitees. You will most likely be met with a point-blank refusal.
8. When you try and gain said entry by pretending to be one of the aforementioned party, it doesn't help if they have a obviously foreign surname, and you are very obviously Irish. This is noteworthy for the fact that it actually wasn't attempted by me. Redemption is still a possibility.
9. A whole dining hall of tables with green pints of Fat Frogs on them lends a bizarrely patriotic feel to the proceedings. Could this alcoholic hybrid be the new Guiness? Roll on St. Patrick's day!

Oh, and there was also the taxi driver that drove us down to it. He spoke at length about his penchant for spiking with viagra the drinks of people who were 'giving him grief' in pubs. Go figure.

Having arose the next day at around 3pm, I began making arrangements to meet others. A rendezvous was organised with Joanne and we enjoyed our catch-up time. Nice meeting you J, hope the hangover isn't too bad tommorrow. Once that was finished, I met up with my old flatmates for some drinks. I swear, myself and Sinéad have always enjoyed conversations about sex, but last night we wouldn't have made it past a Cineclub censor. Thank God no-one heard us. I hope.

After, myself and one of the flatmates went to a late night supermarket to get food. There was a security guy inside, and I leaned over and, attempting to speak in hushed tones, said to my companion, "That security guy is hot". I mustn't have been as hushed as I would have liked though, as the following exchange took place:

Security guy: [loudly] "WHAT did you say?"
Me: "Er...nothing!"
SG: "Did you just insult me?"
Me: "No, actually it was a compliment!"
SG: "What did you say?!!"
Me (realising that this is not going away): "I said that you were hot!"
SG: "Harsh?!!"
Me: "HOT! H-O-T!"
SG: "Are you gay?"
Me: "Yes!"
[Cue much sniggering in the queue, both behind me and in front of me]
SG (calming down): "Well, it's not really my thing. I like girls!"
Me (in mock-dramatic fashion): "Fine!" (Pays for sandwich. Passes security guard. Stop and rub his face. He smiles. I leave, vowing to shut up in future when I am drunk, reminding myself that Dublin is NOT Brighton.)

Today was similarly lazy, and I said my goodbyes to all flatmates, and headed home. My only regret is that I didn't get to see as many people as I would have liked, but sin é. It was all good. I even managed to fit in a visit to the higher education grant office, and it looks as if things might finally be sorted. All the same, it ain't over til the fat lady sings, so I'm ringing them on monday to confirm.

I can't bring myself to check my bank balance after all this, though. I'm such an ostrich when it comes to these things.

Abstinence is looking more attractive by the day.

Back home...

As usual, the journey wasn't without its surprises. Once again, the flight was delayed (Déja vu, anyone?) and we took off about an hour after the scheduled departure. I whiled away the free time in the bar, eventually making a crazed dash for the departure gate. Composure? Never heard of it...

Tomorrow (or should that be today?) I head to Dublin for the Christmas bash for the company I used to work for. There'll be plenty of faces that I shall look forward to seeing, and one or two which I shall not, but that's life. I almost got into a drunken brawl at it last year. Hopefully this year's will pass off peacefully.

I put a new commenting system (Haloscan) on this blog. Finally, it's working. It allows me to delete comments much more seamlessly than the existing system did (tried and tested already) and it also allows commentator bans based on IP addresses, which is what I need right now. Pest control, baby. The only problem is that it hides all previous comments entered under the old system, but then these oldies are recoverable. Of course, it has nothing to do with another blogger who executed a similar move a couple of days ago.

Originality, that's me.

Passed Biology!

Yeah, baby!

Yet here I am frantically working on two assignments that are due tommorrow. Some things will never change...

Well, the fact that I got back from my big gay piss-up at about 3am this morning and didn't actually knock off to sleep for another while after that saw to it that today was just a model of productivity. Oh well, at least I made the gym, and for once it was almost deserted, so I didn't have to wait all night for benches and weights to become free.

I've been thinking about priorities in this whole area lately. I know that in order to commit to making physical gains in the gym I am going to have to knock this party habit on the head. I'd already mentioned that I was considering cutting down on alcohol, but this is at odds with the belief in the back of my mind that as I am in Brighton, I should be partying every minute God sends me.

The reality of all this was slammed home again to me this morning. I got a call from the Irish Higher Education grant authority (yes, my application is STILL FUCKING PENDING). A short summary of the story follows.

1. A while back, the authority told me they wanted a copy of my tax returns for the year 2003, in spite of the fact it will tell them NOTHING and prove NOTHING that they don't know already from the other documentation I have furnished.
2. I ring tax office and ask them to make a copy of the form and post it to me, so that I can send it onto the grant people (no, there are no communication lines between the two departments). They say 'no problem'.
3. A couple of weeks pass, and no sign of the copy of the form.
4. My parents got onto tax office last Friday and a man says he will send out the copy.
5. Grant crowd ring me this morning, saying they want the copy of the tax return. I explain that it should be on it's way.
6. Woman says fine, but she also needs a P60 for the year 2003.
7. My grip on the phone tightens, as I silently seethe through clenched teeth.

Because the year 2003 was a very haphard year employment wise (I switched contracts 4 times, and was on the dole for a spell), I don't have all the documentation that they want, even though they actually have PROOF that I am UNDER THE REQUIRED FUCKING INCOME LIMIT TO QUALIFY FOR A GRANT ALREADY. I am sick of explaining to people that as I don't have a p60, my tax return certificate will have to suffice as proof of my PAYE income. This should be fine, as the cert is sufficient proof (it is next to impossible to falsify PAYE information). Yet all I hear when I speak to these people is:

We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60 We need a P60

and all I see is:

Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape Red Tape

*Deep deep breaths*

So there you have it. Nothing focuses one's priorities like a lack of money. No more pub. Much more gym. Hopefully much bigger pecs and biceps.

It should be OK. Abstinence will make me appreciate it when I go back to it. I think a year away from regular drinking will be good for me. I'm sick of looking in the mirror and wishing I had less of a gut. But there's no way I'll make this happen this side of Christmas. I'm not that deluded. But come the new year, there'll be a New Man In Town. Or I'll die trying.

But if I don't qualify for a grant, I don't know how in hell I'm going to progress beyond this year. I think a visit to the local politician is in order. Strings are going to have to yanked on. I have an ambition to realise.

The last few days...

I had a big piece written here, and then the blogger crashed and lost it all. Don't you just love it when that happens? Aaarrrrgggghhhh....

I'm just back from the exursion to the Isle of Wight, Away with the Fairies. It was different, something new, and not outrageously expensive. The timetable for the weekend was comprehensive, so I'll give you some extracts.

Fri 1pm: Board mini-bus with hangover and begin journey. Jokes begin to be told on the bus, and they quickly slide into Carry On humour. I go to sleep in an attempt to shake off the excesses of the night before.

Fri 6pm: We all arrive at hostel at Isle of Wight. We are all introduced to each other. I meet one of the 'facilitators' and find him to be hot.

Fri 9pm: Go to the pub. Conversation revolves around anal fisting. We go down a storm with locals.

Fri 11:30pm: Get back to Hostel and play a game of Pink Knickers. This is a game where everyone sits on a seat, all around a person standing in the middle of the room. The person makes a 'question-statement', and if that applies to a number of the seated party, they must get up and then scramble to sit into one of the other chairs left vacant. The person who is left standing has to give the next Q-S. It all starts off very innocently, with questions such as:

'Anyone ever been to Sweden?'

and quickly degenerate into:

'Anyone had sex at a bus stop?' (Oh, the scramble of people for that one...)
'Anyone performed a 69er?' (Asked by me)

Saturday 11am: Do an exploration workshop. Find that the group as a whole don't look upon bisexuality favourably. This gives food for thought, as I always thought it was the ultimate way of someone saying 'I won't be labelled'.

Saturday 6pm: We make Christmas dinner for ourselves. My group gets assigned the duty of the main course. Pastry with a meat or vegetarian filling. Against all odds, we pull it off. The kitchen is left looking like a bomb hit it.

Saturday 9pm: Have a pub quiz. Our table engages in blatant cheating, and still we get the lowest score at the end.

Saturday 11pm: By now very drunk at hostel. We all head into a room and play a game of pass the parcel. I win the present, but in order to be presented with it, I have to submit to a 'task': Getting lube rubbed all over my stomach and then two people blowing raspberries on it. Oooh Matron!

Sunday 1:30pm. Begin journey home. We are divided into two groups for each of the two minibuses. On the way home, we are flashed by one of the girls on the other minibus, who displays her rather substantial tits.

Sunday 5pm. Arrive back at apartment.

All in all, it was good. I met gays and lezzers that I hadn't met before, and that can only be a good thing. There's ANOTHER booze up for us again on Tuesday. Mother of divinity...

The picture of unity that is our apartment have finally managed to organise a TV. It's about time, though I'm not 100% happy with the deal (wrangled by one of my flatmates), and I have to collect the money from everyone to pay for it, but hell, it's been nearly three months without one. This is not good for Denis Of The Movies. It'll have to do.

Chill time for the rest of the night. Let my system eliminate the rest of the red wine from itself...

Strike two on gaydar last night

Damn, this guy was good. I think I should move away from this though, and try and meet people in nightclubs. The only thing is, the Brighton gay scene is guilty of capitalising on the pink pound phenomenon, and I'm broke. I'm still wrestling with the fucking pricks that populate the Irish higher education grant section, so I haven't got that yet. Wankers.

I still haven't got used to the fact that I don't have something to study for or something to hand in for a whole two weeks. Mmmmmm. Coasting. Did absolutely nothing today, apart from the weekly shopping in Sainsburys, which, as usual, consisted of me haring in ten minutes before closing time and running around frantically throwing everything in a basket.

I'm feeling kind of uninspired at the moment, so might operate a 'less is more' philosophy here for a few days. One thing I need to do is organise some new pictures for this though. Joanne, if you're reading this, I'll be requiring your services again over Christmas! Not as much costume changes this time, I promise :-)

Kate Bush, Gay Icon

Recently, having not ever looked around for blogs of others with the same interests as me, I clicked on one of those of mine to bring up the blogs of those with whom I had that interest in common. That of Kate Bush. Most of the blogs that appeared were pretty cool, a bit out there and different, a reflection of the screechy-voiced one, if you will. And where there were men, almost all of them were gay.

A while back when I was in Ireland and living with an American girl, she said that one night when she met a guy at a party and he told her he was a fan of Ms. Bush, her prompt response was 'Dude, you're a fag, aren't you?'. I didn't pay her much attention at the time (indeed, I didn't pay her much attention in general) but it looks like she had something.

It's about bloody time. Up until now, I thought almost all of my taste in music was devoutly 'straight' and couldn't have cared less for Barbara Streisand, Judy Garland, et al (is Streisand supposed to be a good singer? Really? She only ever succeeded in doing my head in...) but it's good to know we have an alternative out there. Also, I think La Bush would like it.

For the first time in weeks, I don't have an exam or assesment looming, and I don't have to work next Saturday. Chill time....

The outing to the Isle of Wight (Away with the Fairies) is Friday coming. I have to get a present for the Christmas kindle part of it, and I also have to bring an item of 'personal value', which I presume will be used in some sharing/exploration workshop. Hopefully this won't turn out to be too earnest.

Recovery

Well, I am now rested and a some way restored. I managed to make it as far as 1:30, before realising that there was very real danger of me falling asleep right in front of the lecturer, and so I bolted out of the class. Thankfully, I was near the door. Hopefully the Boots teacher/practitioner won't remember me the next time he sees me.

Yesterday was a mixed day. Biology sucked. I underestimated this one and suspect I will suffer consequences. I'm in no hurry to find out the results. The test was divided into two consecutive sessions with the same paper for both. I was scheduled for the second. Just before the end of the first one, a girl in my class came out with the paper for the year before, explaining that the variation between the two was almost non-existent, and I should learn off the answers marked on it (this was also an MCQ). She left it with me, but unfortunately I have scruples when it comes to these things, and didn't take advantage of this opportunity. I fear my honesty will be rewarded with a less than stellar mark, but we'll see. At least it wasn't terribly important, and I can make up the marks later.

Then I met Danny after and we headed to the library. I finally solved the previously mentioned equation (Divide across by 'y', Denis, you utter plank!) with his help, and since we were technically ahead of our self-imposed schedule, we decided to hit the pub at around 6, with the intention of returning at about 9.

Big mistake.

By the end of the night, I was losing spectacularly at pool (difficult to make the balls go where you want them when you are trolleyed) and exhibiting almost sociopathic tendencies. My progress here now always follows a rock solid pattern.

a) Sobriety, social functionality.
b) Merriness, enhanced social functionality
c) Inebriation, complete withdrawal into private world, characterised by staring off into the distance, oblivious to what is going on around me.

The last one has become a defining characteristic, with some of my old friends calling this world 'DenisLand'. In one sense it's not bad, as it coincides with 'noxiousness and loudness' in most other people, but I find it very hard to engage socially when I've had quite a few, unless the other party is completely demanding my attention. I've been like this for years, and wonder how this habit came about. I've actually lost friends over it, though admittedly I look back now and think that considering who they were, I'm well rid of them.

I'm seriously thinking of giving up drink soon, or at the very least cutting it down to special occasions only. It's expensive, the following day is a write-off, and it's incompatible with my goals in the gym. The only thing is that it is very hard to get through seven days without having a drink in there somewhere. It's ingrained in me to let off steam at some stage (why, I'm not sure: It's not as if I'm suffering from work-related stress). Nevertheless, I'm almost thirty, and my liver is not as robust as it once was.

I shall have to give this some thought. That, and I have to stop kidding myself with this 'just the one' philosophy. I have never left a bar after just one. Ever.

This may sound like a broken record, but...

Oh my HEAD!

I am about to face into a day of lectures, having gone out on the beer last night. Nothing out of the ordinary there, I hear you say, but this is different.

I didn't go to sleep.

I am quite possibly still a little bit drunk.

Here's hoping I get through the day without making a complete mammary gland of myself.

More later...

Banging my head on the table

Does anyone know how to linearize the equation y²=ax+by, where a and b are constants?

So far I have come up with y=(1/(y-b))*a*x but I don't think it's right as there's no intercept and x/y on the right can't be plotted readily.

Anyone?

Lingering and shitty hangover today, courtesy of Jack Daniels. Of course this is making the assimilation of the cell biology course material all the more lovely.

Beam me up scotty...

I got a B in chemistry!

Actual grade, 64%, which is a B in college, which is a 2.1. Cool!

To be fair, it was rather undeserved. It was an MCQ, and I guessed quite a few, so luck was factored in as well, but fuck it, I'm not going to complain. If the grade reflected the actual work that was put in, it would have been more like a C- or a D.

Note to self: Work harder, maybe you'll get an A next time.

Prescription interpretation exam went well enough today as well, I feel, and I just handed up the statistics assignment, which I'm happy with.

Now off I go to the gym.

Current mood: Relieved, on top of things.

Busy, busy, busy.

Chemistry this morning, though I refuse to comment until I get the result (Friday, hopefully). Stats assignment to hand in on Friday, on which I have yet to make a start, and also a test on prescription abbreviations that afternoon. Biology next Thursday, and then that's the worst of it out of the way.

Making enquiries into buying a G4 Powerbook. Soon you will be mine, honey....

Must go to gym soon, but lads are in the local Irish hole pub drowning sorrows. Must be strong and avoid joining them.

Must....resist........nnnnnnnnhhhhh!

I Love You Golden Blue

Cookie-cutter America with a twist. Nobody does it quite like Sonic Youth. That Sonic Nurse album is on my next shopping list.

I have finally knuckled down to study. Hopefully it won't prove to be too little too late.

I finally got a weights programme on Thursday night, and it is only today that I can finally bend and straighten my limbs as normal again. When I was doing one of the exercises that night (a deadlift, I think), on my own after the instructor had left me to it, I was doing it so badly that a Spanish bodybuilder stepped in to show me how to do it, but not before him and his friend had looked at me with curiosity for two minutes. Certainly, I suck at this. Hopefully it won't stay this way for too long. For two days after that, I could hardly move, but I feel a bit better now. Of course I'll be going back there tomorrow to begin the cycle again.

Off I go to thermodynamics and organic chemistry. Wheee!

Rant II

This day week I will have my mid-term chemistry exam out of the way. I am now officially in the grip of fear. We had a revision session today, and I had an overview of what we had covered in the last so many weeks. I knew this anyway, I'm not so much of an idiot that I would doss lectures this time around, but it has been brought home to me in a big way that some of what I am doing is seriously rigorous shit. The books will be hit tonight, and I won't let up until it's all over. I have to hand up a statistics assignment the Friday after, as well as doing another test that day, and then it's Bio the following Thursday. Oh fun, fun...

I also spent a small fortune ringing the Irish tax office and trying to get them to send me a copy of my tax return. You will recall that the grant authority requested this from me a while back, in spite of the fact that they will glean nothing from it that they don't know already. Anyway, the tax people said a copy would be on its way, several minutes and several STG£sss of phone credit later.

Lastly, having moaned about my lack of activity on the cinema front, I went to see The Corporation last night. It was on in the Duke of York cinema, the Brighton equivalent of Dublin's Irish Film Institute, which I'd managed to track down. I very much liked, even if it retread some ground that I was already acquainted with. The subject of the film was the effect of the growth and (often malignant) influence of the corporation on general society. Milton Friedman, Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, and of course Michael Moore were all in there, amongst others. At the end, Michael Moore tried to undercut the complacency of the multinationals by saying that people had more spirit in them than to just leave the cinema, think about it, and then do nothing. I hope he's right, though I still think about how I often pay lip service to these ideals without actually doing much about them. I suppose writing about it here is a start, and with that, I give you my message:

GO AND SEE IT!

No, really. This was no exercise in finger-pointing and bleating. Some real and tangible alternatives were offered. It's enjoyable, apart from anything else. Everyone there clapped at the end last night.

One of the things that was mentioned in the film was how impossible it was to avoid coming into contact with corporations at some level, and this is the obstacle that is hardest for even the most well-intentioned person to overcome. As a consumer, you would have to sit down and completely re-evaluate your purchasing habits, and that's something that most people don't have the time to do, or else they consider it too daunting to attempt it. As Klein once admitted, they're all guilty to some extent, so you may as well just pick the least of all the evils. This site is kind of good for that.

www.transnationale.org

There was also the fact that the protestors that showed up on the lawn of the Chairman of Royal Dutch Shell achieved the dubious honour of almost making him look good. Watch it and you'll know what I mean.

And lastly, the revelation that a living species developed in a laboratory can be patented, and the same for the intellectual property associated with research for the human genome project, was genuinely scary in the way it was told. Along with the attempts by the Bechtel corporation to privatise water. Including rainwater. As in, you weren't allowed to collect it. No, you are not seeing things. And then my 'favourite': How IBM designed a machine for the Nazis to help them count and categorise the number of victims dealt with in the Holocaust....

Of course, one of the corporate logos that flashed across the screen was that of Pfizer. No prizes for guessing what discovery propelled them high up into the list of Fortune 500 companies. I wonder if a project to develop an enhanced version of an anti-psychotic drug to ensure greater treatment compliance was pitched at them, would they pump as much money into it?

But I'm not going to get anywhere near that kind of career by sitting here typing, so off I go. Readers, pray for me...

Work on Saturday was exactly what I was afraid it would be: Stopping people at random on the street this time. I'm now working along the lines that if someone looks at the stand that we are manning, then I'll approach them, but otherwise I won't. At least I got a fair few people to sign up for a Free Food Waste Digester. :-S

Tommorrow I go online to agencies and try my damndest to find something else.

I went to see the Exorcist: The Beginning that night. It was the most lumpen, leaden pile of shit I've seen in a long time. Interestingly, this was first done by Paul Schrader, he of 'Raging Bull' and 'Affliction' fame, but Hollywood decided that his version wasn't commercial enough, and got Renny Harlin to do the whole thing again! This guy did Cliffhanger and Die Hard 2, amongst other things. The idea is now that Schrader's version will be included alongside Harlin's one on the DVD release. I had originally intended to wait for that and watch the better one when the DVD came out, but of course I had forgotten all about that last Saturday, which was why I was sitting there through the late show wishing I was somewhere else.

I also never got to see Saw as it had moved on. This is a habit I've acquired lately, that of looking at a film and thinking 'Oh, that looks good' and then leaving it go for three weeks before trying to see it, and finding that it's too late! It happened also with Collateral and Supersize me, and it's not happening again!

I managed to book a place on the LGBT outing 'Away with the fairies' (!), which is this weekend away on the 3rd of December to the Isle of Wight. Should be interesting.

Fire, fire!

Got dragged to Bonfire night in Lewes this evening, a town about 10 mins by train from Brighton. It's actually meant to be famous, this one, as Lewes hold the biggest bonfire night of its size in the UK, supposedly. I went down with a few people, vainly tried to meet some others in the middle of all the thousands and failed (as you do) and then went home. The procession was cool. Lots of burning everything, with lots of groups, including military, out in all their finery. One recurring image was that of the burning cross, which you wouldn't really see back home. At all. We waited in the cold for the fireworks to start and the burning pyre to appear, but gave up and left.

Of course just as we left, the fireworks started, and as we reached the train station to journey back, they reached their climax. Whatever. I have work tommorrow, so I have to have an early night.

It hasn't been specified exactly how we'll be operating tommorrow. If it gets to the level where we are stopping people on the street at random, I'm quitting. Still, some of the people I was with this evening conceded that I was getting paid well for what I was doing. Hmmmmm.

Is it possible for a country to be completely ignorant of what is good for it?

It would certainly seem so.

Jesus, what a downer. I can't say I'm surprised this time, though. The first time I was, but not now.

The US election seems to be the one public event that that has bookended different phases of my life in my twenties. I remember the one in 2000 well. I had just moved back to Dublin, having spent the previous two years in Cork. I had taken, out of financial necessity more than anything else, a job in software testing in my nation's capital. I did not know then that I would end up doing it for the next four years, and looking back, that was most likely a good thing. For the first few weeks of the job, I had to stay in a hostel while I found somewhere to live and that was an experience I NEVER want to relive again. I remember being unable to sleep on several occasions, and that was how I found myself watching the 2000 US election on TV one night in the lounge at 4 in the morning.

I remember being genuinely mystified as to how George W. could be preferable to any candidate running against him. The revelations with regard to his drug habits and less-than-ideal ties with very-less-than-ethical multinationals had already come out. Already. Not after he had been elected, in a big explosive scandal, but before. It would not have been unheard of for someone else to back down in the face of something like that, but not only did he brazen it out, a substantial number of people actually saw fit to vote for someone of that calibre. Words fail me.

I also remember some of the accusations being thrown at Al Gore at the time. 'Wooden' and 'bereft of charisma' were two of them. Obviously those are much more serious than 'open to corporate pay-offs' and 'of sub-standard IQ'. This kind of shit surfaced again with John Kerry, although from what I saw, it was to a lesser extent.

Now the 2004 election has been and gone, and here I am, starting something new again.

Anyway, my point. I've always been amused by how people can make a link between someone's presence at a rally, or their ability to work a crowd, and their suitability for running a country like the US. It was a misconception that Al Gore fell foul of back in 2000, in spite of the fact that he was (even taking all those quibbles into account) quite clearly the better choice. Three words, people. Previous. Track. Record. A well-timed well-wishing of the local football team at a rally in the mid-west does not a great president make, yet people, now more than ever, are starting to place emphasis on surface appearances when those appearances are indicative of absolutely nothing.

Anyway, Bush has it in the bag. Even a cursory glance at this chart would depress any democrat. Virtually Middle America in its entirety has been lost to him. Granted, the inclusion of some states as 'red' comes as no surprise, but that the colour should dominate so uniformly.......

And then there is the backing on the ban on gay marriage in Ohio. It reminds me of a not unrelated quote in the film The Heathers, where JD and Veronica are discussing the enactment of Kurt and Ram's attempted suicide borne out of the two jocks' supposed love for one another:

JD: ...Let's take a look at some the homosexual artifacts I dug up to plant at the scene. Alright. An issue of Stud Puppie.
Veronica: Great.
JD: Candy dish. Joan Crawford postcard. Let's see... Some mascara. Alright.Here's the one perfecto thing I picked up. Mineral water.
Veronica: Oh, come on, a lot of people drink mineral water. It's come a long way.
JD: Yes, but this is Ohio. I mean, if you don't have a brewski in your hand you might as well be wearing a dress.

That was in 1989. Things obviously haven't changed much since then. And then there is this. It isn't taking long, is it? As for the smugness of that schmuck Gary Bauer, I would simply tell him to look at the list of states (Oregon excepted) where the ban has come to pass, and then I would ask him if he honestly believes that those states are representative of America as a whole. Overwhelmingly, my arse.

It makes me wonder, was Kerry's rather cowardly stance on gay marriage down to the fact that he secretly advocated it, but knew that a public endorsement would be political suicide?

I'm off to see Saw, to take my mind off all this. This, and the fact that my glasses never showed up, and it cost me £200 to replace them.

Bleh!

Well, the fact that I am only logging on now should be an indicator of how productive my day was today. A great night last night anyway. I even got up on a dance platform thing and shook my booty. Didn't see any action, but then I was wearing white face paint with black lipstick and eyeliner, and that probably didn't help.

The only fly in the ointment is that I lost my glasses in the course of the night. FUCK! Getting kitted out with new glasses over here costs a small fortune. I went back there this evening and the bouncers told me to ring in the morning, that maybe the cleaners might have got them. Fingers crossed, although I doubt that I'll recover them.

Also, I rang the grant authority today to tidy up the loose ends. They have now informed me that they want the form that I submitted to the revenue department when I was filing my tax return! It apparently is not enough that I enclosed the notice of assessment with my original application for the grant, they want the information that I gave to the tax office as well. Being the first world technologically advanced country that we are is obviously no such guarantee that the two departments actually communicate with each other. It is hard to put into words just how angry this makes me, as it will delay everything, and I will have to go digging up financial information that resides, for the most part, back in Ireland. Aaaaarrrrggghhhhh! FUCK again! So tommorrow I have to get up and spend most of the morning taking care of this when I could be studying for the tests I have in two weeks.

Be warned people, when you apply for a grant for third-level education, be prepared to submit every tiny detail of your movements for the year preceding the one in which you intend to return to education.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Rethink

The Dracula costume (on its own, costing £20) is the lamest thing I have ever seen: A genetically modified nylon/polyester disaster. The only thing I can do is compensate with make-up. Dracula in drag? 'Dragula'?

The 'Solpadeine for Headache' tablets have been bought and are nestling anticipatingly in my cupboard.

Nnnnnggggggghhhhhh!

Hello, would you like some information on a free food waste digester?
'No, thanks.'
Excuse me, would you like a leaflet on our free food waste digester?
'Nah, you're alright mate...'
Sorry, would you be interested in learning about the free food waste digester?
*Quickens pace and almost runs past*

Repeat, ad fucking nauseum.

I applied for this job a while back and started it today, promoting the green cone free f*@$ing food f*@$ing waste digester outside Tesco. The 'role' is somewhat different to what was originally described on their employment website. There, I was only supposed to be hoisting things around, but now I have to approach people and try and get them interested. I cannot communicate enough how much this goes against my personal nature. The money is decent enough for this kind of job, but I had visions of working with data entry/filing/typing, not this kind of shit. I need to find an alternative, and fast.

On a different note, there is a big gay halloween bash tommorrow night (Wildfruit at the Creation nightclub, which is supposed to fairly legendary). Brighton LGBT are doing a meet up for it, the only catch is that it's fancy dress! So being the understated soul that I am, I went out today after work and spent £27 on a full vampire cape and make-up set. God help me! I have a recurring fear that I'll arrive at the warm-up bar before the club as the only person who actually dressed up! Time to pray...

Not much else in the last couple of days. Got trolleyed Thursday night and ended up chilling out at the pad of the venerable Danny. After tommorrow I'm in hibernation until Christmas.

A Shame

He was the man.

I like The Fall's idea too. That's nearly what I'd want at my funeral.

As for this, I'm delighted.

"Signor Buttiglione ... sat stony-faced through Senhor Barroso's speech this morning as MEPs cheered their victory."

And he has 'Butt' in his name. And the fact that Berlusconi is under pressure as a result of this makes it all the sweeter.

In other news(!), I had a presentation to give yesterday on Influenza. I think it went OK, but then I had to leave the room while they got the knives out, so to speak. I had a follow up meeting this morning, and some of my faults were pointed out, but overall the consensus was that it was good. Thank fuck.

Roll on the new year, when I have to give a detailed presentation of a case study, which will be marked much more clinically than this. I cannot wait...

Also, the grant authority in Ireland that I referred to in an earlier near-hysterical post have actually admitted that they made a mistake and are going to 're-examine' my file. The only thing is that they are threatening to request individual self-employment receipts from the year 2003. Which I don't have. And the related stuff of which is in Ireland anyway. I did get my loan this morning though, which means I won't be evicted from my halls just yet. Now I must go and check out Mac laptops. That and the f*@#ing laundrette that's on-site. 3 washing machines between more than 10 apartments. Bloody hell!

I also have mid-term exams in Bio and Chemistry in about 3 weeks. The Bio should be OK, but the chemistry course is such a bastard it would make Mendeleev himself weep. Some serious work is going to have to be done.

So with that...

I like

Rebel rebel

This Friday just gone, we had a lecture (no, really!).

In it, the lady of the moment was talking about personalities that are often associated with certain professions. Incredibly, pharmacists are generally known as conformists, and are not recognised as a group for throwing up wild characters.

My subconcious mustn't have liked that, because that night I went out and got trashed, staying out drinking until 5am, and then last night I cruised gaydar for an hour before meeting a willing participant in Brighton, going back to his house, and having sex with him.

That'll teach her.

Uurrrgghh!

Nursing the hangover from hell today, although I still made it into lectures (granted, they didn't start until 2, so I got up at 1:50).

I went to a GAA raffle held in an Irish pub, and met all the Irish students on my course. I swear, it is possible to take a look at someone's face, and know instantly that they're Irish, before you even engage them. I think we all share some nationwide resemblance at some level. In spite of the fact that it was seriously ghettoised (birds of a feather, and all that) and Irish songs were being sung at high volume on the bus into town (in the UK) I enjoyed myself. I got absolutely shit-faced in the honey club and then fell home at about 3am. In spite of all my moanings in the past about noise in student residences, I was making enough noise last night to wake everyone at 4am. Oh well, what goes around comes around, as they say...

Cell biology today and I just sank deeper and deeper into the seat. If there is a way of fast-tracking the mechanics of DNA replication into my brain, I'd love to know about it.

I got an e-mail from the guy who is in charge of promoting the food waste unit. It's not looking very lucrative, as most of the work days are on Thursday and Friday, which I wouldn't be able to do. First day is at Tesco, on the 30th of this month. I'm not sure if I want to do this, but I need the money so I'll press on. Hopefully it'll be fine.

Thanks to my indecision about two upcoming LGBT events, I looks like I have now forfeited my place on them. Dammit! Denis, you are going to have to be more proactive!!!

I still have heard nothing back about the grant yet. I'm ringing them tommorrow. I also have to get onto accommodation and ask them to give me another week before I hand over the first installment of the fee. I'm already two weeks behind. They're going to love me in that department, I can tell. Thanks to someone's absent-mindedness, I won't have the bank loan until next week.

Joy sunshine rainbows and pink fluffy things...

Shit

I got a letter from the Irish Grant Authority this morning (well, I didn't, my father did, but for the purpose of argument...) and it contained news that very quickly eclipsed every other issue I currently have or have had.

The authority said that they were not awarding me a grant for this programme of study. They said it was because I already had a degree in Engineering. I very quickly e-mailed them and told them that I did not actually finish the degree (I dropped out in third year) and as a result I came under the heading of a 'second-chance student', i.e. five years have passed since I was last in college, and I can now start again with a clean slate because I didn't complete the first course.

It's an error on their part from where I'm standing, but now I'm nervous. What if, for some reason, they ultimately decide that I'm not going to get it? I would be SCREWED. For those of you who don't know, this is worth about 3000 euros a year, i.e. 12,000 euros in total for the four years of the course. If I don't get it, I'll have to work a whole load of extra hours in some part-time job to pay my way (thus putting paid to any interests I might feel like pursuing while I'm here) or else get a huge loan (most unlikely, as the bank were reluctant enough to part with money this year for the few essentials I needed). Alternating between constant study and a shit part-time job would be the worst possible way of doing this.

I had a discussion with one of my flatmates recently about the costs of college (she's Canadian) and she seems pretty reconciled to the fact that by the time she finishes her course (also Pharmacy, she already has a biology degree behind her) her parents will have spent about half a million in total on her education. The whole thing about sky-high education costs is nuts. If I was facing the tuition fees that most Americans/Canadians face, I simply wouldn't proceed to third level. It wouldn't mean that much to me.

It got me thinking about how whether the general public is entitled to a free third-level education. The cost of it has to be paid in some way, and some economists compare the education of students to that of a consumer buying a service. Why should they not pay for it?

Well, here is another way of looking at it: At last check, and I'm talking about the Irish government here, revenue from taxes was not being spent in a way that yielded tangible benefits for even a substantial minority. Sweeping generalisation there, I think you'll agree, but one such example that springs to mind is the health service. These days when I see a shot of the inside of the Mater (hospital, Dublin) on television, it looks no different to an ad-hoc clinic quickly thrown together to deal with casualties in the middle of a war zone in a developing country, and the finance minister at the time (who has since been shipped out to the EU commission) has gone on record and said that the service was so inefficient he refused to put money into it until it was reformed. Well, that's alright then. That leaves a whole lot of money unspent on one of our most important but also most financially demanding services. Anyone got any ideas about how we can spend this money instead?

Paying to help people and institutions realised their full potential would be a start. By that I mean free fees. Institutions need money to continue to thrive, and the main way they do this is by charging for their services. So far, agreed. How should they get it? Well, if the government isn't spending in any noticeable way for our benefit, then why not let them pay?

Well, they are, for now, so that's fine. But they have made moves in the past to try and abolish this, and if they attempt to do so again on the pretext that the state coffers can't accommodate it, you would be well justified in asking

'Well...eh... where has all our money gone then?'

Because it certainly doesn't seem to have been spent on anything else. Interestingly, fees were not universally paid for by the Irish government at a time when income tax was at it's very highest (70's and 80's) in Ireland. I wonder where that money went? Well, Mr. Charlie Haughey, you detestable, rapacious crook? I'm waiting for an answer....

Sarcasm aside (I'm not genuinely suggesting that the government prioritise free education over a decent public health service, though the latter should closely follow the former), it makes sense that the government help their citizens realise their full potential. Hands up the authority figure who wants a nation full of frustrated, unchallenged underachievers? The cost of educating them can always be claimed back through the extra tax collected on their enhanced earnings over their lifetime, and they'll put more back into the economy in the long run anyway.

This doesn't really address the situation in other countries though. For a start, I know that American universities (especially the top ones) charge a small fortune on a year-by-year basis, the standard reason trotted out for this being the one of the economist above. One small problem: The consumer/service analogy breaks down here, as we are talking about people, and something that will not so much enhance their life, as define it (yes, yes, I know your job isn't everything, but you spend most of your waking life doing it, so all things considered, it pretty much defines a substantial part of your existence). Yet, any American I know just shrugs when it comes to this subject, as if to say, well, that's the way it is. Maybe it's just my socialist streak coming out again.

One other thing I have to wonder aloud about: If universities and other institutes of higher education are being paid in the way that they always were, why, now more than ever before, are they getting into bed with big business for the sake of sponsorship? This wasn't always the case, but now it looks like they're trying to have their cake and eat it. And also, why are almost 7o% of places on some university degree courses, such as Medicine, being set aside for foreign students, thus driving the required points for Irish students sky-high. Is it because they pay, in one year, roughly twice as much as an Irish student does for the entire degree?

Lastly, I'll readily admit that the sight of a group of overprivileged, self-centred, pretentiously accented shits protesting outside the Dáil would induce the most liberal leftie to vote for charging them to the hilt, but there are those of us out there, believe it or not, who would attract more sympathy. Don't forget that.

Anyway, here's hoping I get my grant sorted.

Really hoping.

The weekend has come and gone...

..and as usual I have done f*$@ all for it. No studying and no partying. There is a rule somewhere stating that when you are a student, if you're not doing one, you should be doing the other, and I just broke it. For the last time.

One thing I did fit in was the cinema. Went to see Inside I'm Dancing, made by those of 'East is East' and 'Billy Elliott' fame. I quite liked. It was shot in Ireland, with pretty good dialogue, and most of the actors (including the two principles) were relatively unknown, which I always prefer. If you have the time, go see. 'Saw' has been recommended to me as well (thanks J), so that goes on the 'next' list.

I've never really referred to the harmony of the living arrangements up until now, as they've always been fine, but it now looks like cracks might be appearing. When you throw six strangers together in an apartment, it's inevitable that something somewhere will be done by one person to piss off another person, whether by accident or design. For once it has very little to do with me. Hopefully it'll all pan out well. Time will tell.

Just out of curiosity...

We had a lecture today about communication skills of pharmacists (again!) and the speaker made one or two points that piqued my interest.

The first one was about speech patterns. Apparently, when it comes to accents and dialects, Irish, amongst others, speak relatively quickly compared to the English. No surprise there, going by my experience so far, but then he pointed out that in a survey done on the correlation between regional accents and perceived social status, Birmingham came out the worst. That is, if you have a brummie accent, people think you're way down the proverbial ladder. Interesting/damning piece of trivia. For any English people reading this, is that really the case?

Secondly, and what would seem extremely debatable, is the 'olfaction' of people. In other words, how they smell. The speaker maintained that Japanese people don't eat dairy products, and because of this, are much more sensitive to the smell us caucasians emit: The smell of sour milk! This I have to verify. If there are any japanese people reading this, feel free to comment and tell me if this is true. I would love to hear from you. He also maintained Indian people smelled of curry as a result of their diet, which seemed a bit puerile, so the next time I see an Indian person, I'm going to go right up to him/her and have a good sniff around. Or not.

There are pictures of me up on realbrighton.com, when I was out on the gay night last Tuesday. I was going to post them up, but I look like absolute shit in them (being 150,000 sheets to the wind didn't help), and I can now draw two conclusions. One, I have not lost all the weight around my face that I thought I had, and two, I have lost a lot more hair from my head than I originally thought I had. Bah! ;_;

I'm not sure what I'm going to do this weekend. I should study, and try and break the addiction that this habit of blogging has become. Or maybe I'll just go to The Bulldog and chance my arm.

Hmmmm.

Mmmmmmm.

Bear cub.

This isn't something that I've seen Hollywood attempt already, and damn, some of those men look good.

Note to self: Check this one out.

Not a lot to say...

Had my induction at the gym yesterday and then got on with breaking a sweat. Will do the same again tommorrow. A programme for making my build a little less like Kate Moss will follow in about 2 weeks, the instructor said. Some of the equipment is a bit ropey, but the treadmills are the Rolls Royce of running machines, and that is what I'll be concentrating on for the next while.

Today a practical. It involved not real patients, like I initially thought it would, but just actresses. I avoided getting picked, and it was interesting seeing how the four 'volunteers' each dealt with their consultation. It was funny in parts, seeing how each individual dealt with the quirks of each 'patient'.

Some of us went to a brief welcome ceremony held by the British Pharmaceutical Society this evening, in Brighton Hospital. It was all rather understated, but there was an interesting presentation on the history of the profession (going right back to the cavemen days), and there was free wine and finger food. My own personal jury is still out on whether or not this is the right thing for me to do, but I will stick with it. I reckon I'll be better off with this than without it, regardless of what I end up doing.

Tommorrow I must attend a demonstration of a food waste composter in action. This is not college-related, but for a job that I may end up doing at weekends. I will be present at places like shopping centres to provide information on this gadget, and promote it where necessary. What in God's name do I think I'm getting myself into?

Lastly, there has been an oversight with the bank and they have agreed to loan me more than they had initially declared. This means that a laptop could be within my reach. I could just repay the excess immediately, but I could also compromise and get a G4 Mac without all the extras like Office and an iPod, which would cut down the cost by a third. We'll see. I have to store my mp3s and my pictures of big hairy men somewhere.

Word, man.

Yeah, whatever.

I went to an R n' B club last night with all the other flatmates bar one. The club was called Core, and it was 'Mo' Money' night. Even though 50 Cent and Beyoncé were the order of the day, I quite enjoyed it, the atmosphere being very chilled and one of the bouncers looking rather tasty. I was struck by the amount of black guys weighed down with chain necklaces and baseball caps on backwards. A good night was had, and there was no crushing queue for pizza after, we got it within 10 minutes. One thing I've noticed about Brighton thus far, is that the city is pretty relaxed after the clubs close. Even all the people coming out onto the street doesn't render it very threatening. At home, fast food places have started closing before the nightclubs because they can't deal with the zoo that ensues there afterwards. Even when there was a slight mix-up over whether or not we had jumped a taxi queue (we hadn't), the matter passed off without any disturbance of the peace. If that was Dublin, fists would have been flying in two seconds.

I've just out that I have to do a five-minute presentation at some stage soon, and get peer-assessed by my class afterwards. My topic? Influenza. Oooh-er. But then, we're all in the same boat. I also have mid-term exams in about 6 weeks. And on Tuesday, I get to do a practical which apparently involve dealing with real patients, and if I'm lucky, I get filmed while doing it. I'll be the one skulking at the back, praying I don't get picked...

Induction for the university gym tommorrow. £97 for the whole year is very good. It'll be good to get back in training.

Rant

"No deity that men have ever worshiped is more ruthless and more hollow than the free market unchecked...".

From 'In the strawberry fields', from 'Reefer Madness and other tales from the American underground', by Eric Schlosser.

Well, that's another essay down, with 1 to go. 2, if you count the epilogue-type one at the end. Where the first one was an eye-opener, the second one was just plain depressing. This essay concentrated on the use of illegal (and mainly) Mexican immigrant workers during the peak of the strawberry-picking season. As is often the case with these things, the corporations involved exploited the fact that the labourers in this case were desperate for work and would live in almost any kind of conditions while doing it, and as you'd expect, they were grossly underpaid. Interesting how some bigots see Mexican immigrants as little more than vermin, when the latter are doing at least as much for the economy of the West Coast as anyone else, albeit unwittingly. I could go on about this more, but I recommend you just buy the book instead.

This got me thinking about my own principles in this regard. I'm now firmly in the money-isn't-everything camp, but that wasn't always the case. Right throughout secondary school, I had dollar signs in my eyes, and my career of choice at this stage was going to be law. Some of this was probably down to the glamour that is traditionally associated with the profession (all you crime dramas out there, take a bow) but the main motivation was the money. In one sense, this ideal was a good thing: Law has always had competitive entry requirements and I was a lazy bastard at school. I would never have made myself do honours in everything if there hadn't been some reason behind it other than the advice of my parents and teachers. But then somewhere along the line, I think about halfway through my leaving cert year, I had a change of heart. I ended up putting Engineering as the first choice on my CAO form, and went down that route instead.

What happened after that is the long and not always uplifting story of my first attempt at college, but somewhere along the line I stopped caring about money in the insane, trample-all-over-the-little-folk way that I did when I was younger, and all things considered, it's just as well. One guy that I used to live with who had studied economics for a while made the point that capitalism was the law of the jungle applied to human society, where the so-called weak are moved to the bottom of the hierarchy and the 'strong' to the top. I discounted this at the time, but now it makes perfect sense, and would go someway towards explaining that while financial success still means something to me, how I or anyone else comes into it is also as important, and it also highlights why I am no longer automatically impressed with wealth in other people.

So yup, I am now a committed semi-socialist leftie and proud of it.

Lastly, two essays that I like on the internet, which are more or less in the same vein as what I was saying above:

Kurt Vonnegut: Cold Turkey

Julian Edney: Greed

Interestingly enough, in the second essay, the model of Smithian economics being rebutted by John Nash Forbes' theory of equilibria is only given a passing mention, and could be used as an example in the section 'The Nuts Game', at the end. As far as I know, Smith said that 'what is good for the individual is good for the group', i.e. if each member of a group pursues the goals that are best for itself, then the group as a whole prospers. What I think Nash was saying was that each member of a group must do what is both good for itself and the group, and the equilibrium that is reached between both of these is known as a Nash equilibrium.

Ok, wank over. I think I'll look into this more though.

Update

Well, the last few days have been normal enough. Monday on my timetable is completely free, which is cool. I paid to join the gym, £97 for the whole year, and I have an induction on Monday coming. Time to get back in training.Tuesday saw us have our first practical for the course PY131/2: Respiratory and dermatological therapies in Pharmacy. The lab was basically a 'communications workshop' which saw us doing role playing, story telling, and a game that resemble musical chairs (Don't ask!). Our supervisor sounds uncannily like Anne Robinson from The Weakest Link, but not as bad.

That night, I went to the LGBT Brighton-Sussex association meeting. We basically went on a big gay pub-crawl, which was cool, though for some reason an inordinate amount of the bars that we visited were for lesbians. Go figure. Everyone seemed to know someone else (either that, or friends were made in record time!) so I really had to put myself out there, but everyone seemed grand. There were one or two slips on my part (when a girl talked about her partner, I asked 'Where is he from?' DUH Denis! Not clever!), and of course, the night would not be complete without me making a toe-curling attempt to chat someone up ('Can I steal a Kiss?' Urrrgghhh!), but everything went down well, though I didn't pull. The only fly in the ointment was that I was hoping that Hot Greek Guy would be there too, by magic, but he wasn't. I fear he may be straight. Sniff ;_;

There is another international students night tonight. Maybe I'll gatecrash it and find him there. But I'm hungover, so I might not. We'll see.

Thanks to the boozing, I overslept and missed three lectures this morning. First and last time, Denis!

Lastly, my bank manager won't lend me enough to buy a laptop, in addition to my other borrowings. It's probably for the best in the long run, but I would have liked a G4 powerbook with an iPod. Now it looks like it's going to have to wait. Oh drat and bother! Maybe I'll get a turntable and build up my vinyl collection instead.

Slowdown

Well, the initial mad scramble of socialising is over now, and things are winding down. I was right: classes don't begin until next week, but that suits me. The last couple of days have been a blur of queueing and frustration. I enrolled on Monday after queueing for an hour outside the passport photo machine and they didn't even ask for my photos. Gah! I then had to queue to pay a bench fee for lab coats and stuff, but the line was so long, and I didn't have the cheque anyway, so I gave up and went away. Some of this really should have been organised better. On Monday night, I went out with my flatmate, a Swedish guy called Michael, on a pub crawl organised by the college. Of course this made registration on Tuesday so much easier, but the queues were mercifully short this time. Oh, and before you ask, yes, you would think enrolling is the same as registering, and yes, you would think that they would combine the two procedures into one, but no, not around here.

Last night was quiet, except for the occasional bit of noise outside my flat. I'm living in on-campus accommodation and apart from the mature/international students that I live with, the rest of the area seems to be populated by 18 year olds. Which can be annoying, especially when there is drunken giggling out in the square at 12 at night. Yes, I'm showing my age, but Christ, at least I can handle my drink to the extent that I don't wake up a whole area when drunk, or at least not intentionally. I'll give it some time, as we are still in the first week of term, but after that...

Today I went to the freshers fair and joined the Brighton LGBT society, amongst others. There is a pub crawl for that next Tuesday, I believe. I won't go out until then. Especially since the first installment of my accommodation payment is due on October 12th. Oh, and did I mention that I underestimated that amount by a factor of, oh, 50%? You can understand my terror. I need to get to get set up for a bank account here quickly. And then get a loan, even more quickly.
After the freshers fair, I met up with Tess and Jess, two American girls. They had been to a march for peace in town, as Tony Blair was visiting. Unfortunately by the time I got there, it was winding down. Some other time maybe. It seems that I'm getting back in touch with my student protestor roots. This is good.

After that, I left them and went to the cinema to see The Village. M. Night Shyamalam has now established a pattern for himself that he seems happy to stick to. Yes, I'm talking about the twist/revelation that comes at the end. This worked very well for the Sixth Sense, was rather forced for Unbreakable, and merely added to the storyline for Signs. In this one, it works in two ways, one which is a bit ropey, and one which is quite effective, though overall the story drags a bit in places. His use of music in film is also good, with lots of discordant screeching strings in all the right places. Critics are starting to say that he is beginning to repeat himself, and they're right, but plenty of filmmakers have done this and still managed to entertain well. In each of Shyamalam's films, there is always some kind of incidence of flawed humanity taking place alongside the suspense, and it makes for an interesting story.

Interesting point: Bruce Willis was in the Sixth Sense, and then in it's successor, Unbreakable. Joaquin Phoenix was in Signs, and now in the next consecutive film The Village. A pattern seems to be emerging. I've gotten to like Phoenix, and he was good in this. Also, William Hurt was good as the patriarchal figure, though maybe it was the beard. Very Benjamin Harrison.

Got my timetable sorted, which is reasonable compared to what it was like when I was doing Engineering. 14 hours on average for the first semester, and 17 hours for the second. When I was in Engineering it was like 30-35 hours a week.

Lastly, I fear my drinking over the last few days has caught up with me: The whole of my upper body is covered in hives. I'm almost certain that's it's my system saying 'No More Booze!'. I read once that this happened to Robert Smith out of the Cure. A more prosaic explanation could be that I'm allergic to the soap I am currently using, but that doesn't explain why they've suddenly appeared out of nowhere. If they don't go away in the next few days, off to the doctor I go.

Later...

My name is Denis and I'm an alcoholic

Christ, I'm nearly shaking with blood poisoning from all the drinking I've been doing over the last few days. Three consecutive days on the piss. It's been a long time since I did that. So far it looks as if everything is going OK. We have all been divided into separate groups for the international student orientation week and are being led around by a black hip-hop Wu Tang Clan fan called John-Paul. The international students seem like a nice bunch (for some reason, a disproportionate amount of them seem to be Greek, including a hot dark-haired bearded guy who I met last night whom I suspect of being straight! Damn!) and I've already met a few of my future classmates. So far so good, though while the consumption of alcohol is a necessity in these meet-and-greet things, it also take some control away from you in terms of the impression you make. I'm going to have to learn to strike a balance.

Tuesday night saw us being ferried out to the Falmer campus (I think that's what it was!) to have some drinks in the students union bar. That went fine, though my cigarettes got lifted, intentionally or unintentionally, during the night (yes, I've fallen off the wagon but will get on it again when everything calms down).

Wednesday was a tour-of-campus thing which finished up with us going to this club called the honey club. In the queue, the orientation co-ordinator got searched at random, so I took the opportunity to yell 'terrorist' out of the side of my mouth. Two minutes later, the same search happened to me. As you can imagine, she found this quite funny. Inside I got split up from everyone and ended up getting rather pissed. I saw this guy who was the image of Keanu Reeves, and of course in my drunkeness I felt the need to go up and tell him. He ran.

When I met up on Thursday with other people, they were laughing at how I was the night before. This is worrying, coming from people who are more entitled to irresponsibility than I am because of their youth (!) and of course I ended up coping with it by getting equally as drunk on this night at Club New York on Dyke street (!!). This is where I meet the very hot greek guy. An excerpt from the conversation:

Me [looking in mirror in club]: 'I like this mirror, I actually look good in it'.
Hot Greek Guy: 'You look good anyway'

And later...

HGG: 'There is this island off the coast of Greece,' [Can't remember what he called it] 'You should go to it'.
Me: 'Do they all look as good as you there?'
HGG: 'Oh, better'

I like self-effacing. I think I'm going to have to investigate this chap further. Oh, and I also made a blatant attempt to chat up the barman ('By any chance are you into guys?' Uurgh.) but he took it as a compliment even though he turned out to be straight. At the end of the night, I told him I hoped I would see more of him in future, and he said that he would always be down there on a Thursday night.

I can't decide if the above was cool or not. Best to put it behind me, I think. Damn those shots of tequila going for £1!!! And Tess from Indiana for suggesting them!!! I might give the place a bit of a wide berth for a while.

Today, I turned up at exactly 12:00 as arranged at the meeting place but no-one was there. It might be a blessing in disguise. I know it's Friday, but I really think a quiet night in is the right thing for me tonight.

I also have been set up with a mobile phone here, at last. Which is a not-inconsiderable source of relief to me. I still have to book my Christmas flights. I tried doing it a while ago, but the BMIbaby website went down just as my payment was about to be validated. I feel like killing someone. Their website administrator, mainly. I'll try again tommorrow.

Dispatch from the front line

Finally, after the day from hell, I have arrived in the B&B with all my luggage intact. The day can be broken down into distinct phases:

Phase I: Get up this morning and get ready. My father does my head in by helping me pack, and RUINS any chance I have of enjoying a relaxed breakfast. It is only afterwards that I realise he made it somewhat easier for me, but nothing sends my parents into a neurotic frenzy quite like a looming flight departure.

Phase II: Arrive at airport. I have excess luggage which works out at 7.45 euro per kilo. I end up paying an extra 105 FUCKING EURO!! ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE!!! It is only then that the baggage assistant lets it slip discreetly out of the side of her mouth that the flight has been delayed by two hours. Two hours. As my parents like to arrive early for these things, we are two hours early for the original flight. So a wait of four hours looms ahead of me. Four hours.

I was sorry to say goodbye at this stage. My mother was very tearful, and all I could manage was 'It's for the best, Mam'. She said that she knew this, but she cried anyway. I left them and headed for the departure lounge. The guy who took my ticket seemed to know me as he addressed me by my first name, even though it wasn't on the ticket. I hadn't a clue who he was, so I just looked at him blankly and then walked through.

The flight was then delayed by almost a further hour. I resorted to pacing up and down the duty-free to amuse myself. Just as I went to go to the Little Boy's Room, the boarding call came.

Phase III: Get to Gatwick. As usual, I didn't enjoy the take-off or landing, but everything was OK. Struggle with my 60kg of luggage and after going up and down the same ramp in the wrong direction TWICE, I eventually figure out where the trains are and get a porter to help me carry my suitcase, two holdalls, a duvet, and a guitar down to the platform. I manage to get the train.

Phase IV: Get to Brighton and wrestle with the luggage trolley for 5 minutes before LOOKING at the explanatory diagram over it, and finally getting one free. I manage to get a taxi after a while, and get to the B&B in Kempton (nicknamed 'Camptown' because of it's position in the middle of the gay quarter. Wa-hey!).

I've been here before for the course interview, but once again, my impressions are good. I tipped the taxi driver for helping me with my bags and he thanked me profusely. He could teach a thing or two to the taxi men back home. Everything still looks as good as I remember it and the pier, now open, is stunning.

The orientation programme for international students starts tommorrow. Fingers crossed.

I think I'm going to like it here.

I am not nervous. I am not at all nervous.

Oh Yes I bloody am!

Well, the packing is almost done, but I will not be happy until I am actually over in that apartment in Brighton with my things safe and sound. The amount of luggage I will be bringing is fast starting to mushroom beyond what I thought it would be, and the washing machine is still going. I refuse to panic. I have got myself into worse messes than this one. Flight tommorrow at 2:30. Christ, I have elephants stampeding in my stomach.

I'm looking back over the past few days with some satisfaction. Thursday night I went for drinks with Jane. Friday night I met up with Kate and a few of her friends in Cork for a meal, and then last night, the cherry on the cake. I went out for a scrumptious meal in Mallow and then had lashings of alcohol afterwards. The only cockup was ordering deep fried brie for a starter and then goat's cheese for the main course. Christ, I was weighed down. I still ate the sticky toffee pudding for desert though. I was joined during all this by Jane, Jaq, and Jo, and I had a ball for the whole night. It's at times like this that you realise who your real friends are, and also those who aren't (i.e. those who didn't bother meeting up with me at all, or even phoning). But I am not in the slightest bit bitter. A new beginning is almost upon me, and hopefully I'll see the three again in November when they come over to me for Jaq's 30th.

I got presents last night too. The books: Reefer Madness (already started) and The Da Vinci Code (this is supposed to be very good). I also got a funky friends pink stationery set to remind me of the 3 girls when I'm over there, which was very cute.

God only knows when I'll get near this blog again, but I'll make an effort to throw something in during the week. After all, I started it to record all of this mess in some shape or form.

Things to do:

Pack hand luggage (one bag)
Pack Guitar (one bag)
Pack Toiletries/Pack CDs and minidiscs/Pack stationery stuff (one bag, I pray)
Pack Clothes (one suitcase, or I'm dead)
Duvet (done)
Burn porn and docs onto CD.

Pray.

Am I really that bad?

I got up this morning at about 8am to go to the toilet. My mother peered around my bedroom door 5 minutes later, with a look of genuine concern on her face.

Mother: Are you OK?
Me: Yes.
Mother: Why are you up this early?

I'm starting to feel like the Prince Regent in Blackadder. My favourite quote ever (from Part III Episode 2: Ink and Incapability):

In Prince's House (in bedchamber)

Prince Regent: (wakes, shouts) "Oh, oh, oh, Blackadder! BLACKADDER!"
Blackadder: (enters) "Your Highness."
Prince Regent: "Wha--wha--what time is it?"
Blackadder: "Three o'clock in the afternoon, Your Highness."
Prince Regent: "Oh, thank God for that; I thought I'd overslept"

I've always empathised very heavily with that quote, which goes someway towards explaining why you could count the number of days I've been on time for work on the fingers of one hand.
There is also this equally mirthsome section (Part III Episode 6: Duel and Duality):

[While Blackadder is having a conversation in the palace kitchens with Baldrick, The Prince's bell rings.]

Blackadder: "Ah! The walrus awakes."

The Prince's Bedroom --------------------

Prince Regent: "Ah Blackadder. Notice anything unusual?"
Blackadder: "Yes sir, it's 11:30 in the morning and you're moving about. Is the bed on fire?"

You get the picture. I've never been a good riser. I'm fine (unlike some) once I get up, more cheerful than most, it's the getting up that's the problem. The snooze button on my Morphy Richards seems to have been designed just for me. It's not uncommon for me to languish in bed an hour after the alarm has first gone off, being rudely awoken every nine minutes only to turn over, crash my fist on said button, and then plunge back into the land of nod again. Every minute of sleep is precious, and as a result, I have alway tried to live as close to where I work as possible with a view to minimizing the commute so that I can stay in bed longer. I managed this admirably when I first came to Dublin and worked in my first testing job. Eight months into it, I moved into a house literally around the corner from the testing firm. Even after that, however, it was always pushing 10-15 minutes past the start time when I walked through the door. Flexitime, my best friend, did not exist at this company. My reputation was well established by then anyway. I'd already received a verbal warning only a couple of weeks before the move (at that point I was living 45 minutes from work by bus) from a team lead because I was always arriving in anytime upto 30 mins past the start time. I got that warning the morning after a company-sponsored party in honour of a guy who was leaving, though, which was a bit hard to take.

Incidentally, the guy who was leaving that night was my first lead ever, and was a big supporter of the policy of 'however late you are, work it up at the end of the day'. The other lead mentioned above was my second, and a vociferous opponent of flexitime because it didn't suit him. He was also a bit of a dimwit, and full of managerial hot air. You know the type. Anyway, this guy conducted my end of year performance review, and I got slated. He used my punctuality as the main talking point, but then argued that he had tried to press for flexitime himself, only to see it rejected. Yes, his pants was very much on fire. He also implied that I would have scored more highly for the whole year, but Team Lead One had given me a low score. Bollocks again.

Anyway, in my exit interview from this company - I had got a job somewhere else eight eternal months later - I let the HR person know exactly how incompetent he was and how inappropriate some of his comments were (he was constantly asking Joanne, who worked on the same team as me at that point, what the story was with herself and me) and soon after that, one of his clients complained about him and he got demoted.

Demoted Team Lead was always very personable though, which made it hard to dislike him. I still never really forgave him for that review but I'm beyond caring these days, and would actually be curious to see what he's upto now because he eventually got made redundant from that company.

Anyway, I have digressed substantially. My point: I love my lie-ins.

My trip to the doctor yesterday was OK, apart from the 45 minute wait (why do they make appointments, only to have you queue for ages along with everyone else?) and the horrible needles. I was in hospital before for a ruptured ulcer, and I was used as a human pin cushion by all the interns while I was in there. Since then, I've always had to avert my eyes when getting an injection. My GP is a pretty sound bloke though, and I hope I get someone half as decent over in Brighton.

I also verified my tax return and, no, it's not a mistake. I did owe the government 800 euro. Cobblers. It has been paid, and I now drown in bankruptcy. AIB must be contacted immediately. Grant application also gone off, the benefit of which I will be lucky to see before the end of the academic year, knowing me.

Later...

Financial strain go away, come again another day

Christ, it's been pissing rain all day. When the bloody hell is it going to stop?

It's kind of fitting though. This morning, the notice of my tax return for 2003 came through the post this morning. I owe the government 800 euro. 800. The timing, of course, is just absolutely brilliant, broke as I am and about to leave for Brighton next week. I'm coming out in a cold sweat about the financial side of all this. The tax return that I got this morning can now be used as an official document for the grant application, so I can now proceed with that, even though it's already two weeks late. The grant people should understand as it's a legitimate reason for a late application, but the tardiness means that I probably won't get the actual money until halfway through the academic year. This is assuming, of course, that the money I owe the government was computed correctly, and I have a feeling it wasn't, which could mean more delays. And I have to come up with £500 by October 11 for the first term's rent on my apartment. Some serious footwork will have to be executed in the next few days to salvage something from all this. I was going to sever all ties with Allied Irish Banks before going to Brighton, but now it looks like I'll have to keep doing business with them, purely for the sake of a student loan.

Anyway, the weekend was good. Joanne arrived at close to 10pm on Saturday into Mallow thanks to a train delay, but after that we hit town straight away. The Olde Fiddle, the Gallery, and Albert Lynches were the bars that we took in, before heading to Chasers, which was a good laugh. We tried to get into 'Light', basically a refurbished version of the Chapel Lane night club, but it was full! I'll give it a few weeks and it'll be back to it's usual half-dead self. Chasers, a club that doesn't have a charge on the door, has hit it's rival in the pocket, and I can only say that it's deserved.

Yesterday, we were too hungover to do anything, and we just stayed in and watched Copycat. Today we headed into town and I saw Joanne off at the train station. She left me a good luck card before she went, which was nice. Thanks J :-)

I also have to have my Hepatitis B vaccine before I go to Brighton. I was told about this by the university ages ago, but of course I let it slide, and only now has my appointment been made with my GP. I've to see him at 9:20 tommorrow, but apparently a whole course of Hep B vaccines takes months. Hopefully this won't cock things up over in college. I'll speak to him tommorrow. Hopefully it'll be good. It'd better be, I don't think I can take any more catastrophes.

Lastly, it appears that the barely-cordial relations I had with someone I used to work with, on-and-off in Dublin, have had a torpedo driven through them. When I had left work on the 25th of last month, this guy was on holiday, so I mailed him last week after he got back basically wishing him well. I got back my original mail as a reply, but with a load of snide comments inserted by him, which he may have thought were funny, but for me were out of order, pure and simple. I replied back in the same fashion, and then so did he, and then I, and then today he, with more little-kid insults, such as references to how I had failed college before, and how I would fail again as I didn't have what it takes to finish a pharmacy degree (this from someone who succeeded in surprising me by telling me he had been to third-level himself), and how he hoped that this would be how I would 'discover my limits'. This was someone I was never really sure about, for as long as I've known him, but, well, I know him now. This guy was actually in charge of me at one stage, believe it or not. Anyway, monkeys like him are the main reason why I left testing in the first place, and that was one of the many things I said to him, when I mailed him for the last time today. It may not do my chances of working there again during summer months any good, but then again he doesn't have enough influence in there to really affect hiring decisions, and it's for the best that I try to get work in England over the summer from now on.

I'm on the home stretch now. Meeting Kate on Friday for goodbye drinks in Cork. Meeting Mallow people on Saturday night for the same. Meeting Seána at some stage before I go as well. It's going to be a busy week.

It was my mother's birthday on Saturday. 9/11 is a great day to have your birthday these days, isn't it? Naturally I had no idea what to get her, so it was book tokens again. My brother's birthday is on Wednesday. I reckon a card with the overriding theme on it as beer should suffice.

The weekend

Friday in the cesspit of my childhood.

Well, it's been a productive couple of days. Yesterday my Dad drove me to Dublin and picked up the rest of my stuff from the house, so now all loose ends have been tied up. I felt a bit guilty for making him drop me off at home before picking up Mam but the car was such an oven from the hot weather I was starting to overheat. Oh well, I made it up to him later by moving a load of turf, so anyway...

It turns out I was wrong about the dilemma of flying to Gatwick. Bmibaby.com does flights from Cork to Gatwick, and my one has just been booked! Yay me! All I have to do now is book the B&B for Monday night.

Today, I went to Cork to visit my orthodontist. I've been in 'retention' for 3 years now, so he took off the fixed bar from the inside of the front of my bottom teeth. For the first time since I got braces, my mouth is now clear. This is good.

After that, I went to the cinema. Before I start on the film I have to ask: When did holding a conversation at normal volume in a cinema become the accepted norm? Nearly every time I've been to the cinema lately, I've invariably had to almost shout at someone to be quiet before they stop talking. It's at its most prevalent in the muliplex-type cinemas, but is a rare enough occurrence in the more arthouse cinemas. This makes sense: The latter attract a serious audience who actually want to see a film, whereas the former is a draw for any old joe gobshite, but at some point people seemed to start actually paying 6 euros just to use a film as background noise while they have a conversation. I derived a theory from the book 'No Logo' (Naomi Klein) about how the more like a shopping mall a place is, the more people are in 'browse' mode, just wandering around in a daze, not actually engaging themselves in anything. No coincidence then, that the cinemas that resemble a shopping mall in appearance, with the bar, snack section, and coffee counter, attract a bored, dazed, and (to put it very mildly) sheep-like clientele. The UGC in Dublin suffered from this, and by all accounts (though I've never been) the Liffey Valley centre is the same. I nearly came to blows with a bunch of pre-teen brats today in the Gate cinema in Cork, and even the usher had words a few times. They eventually left, about half an hour before the end. The next time I come across this, direct action will result. Unfortunately today, the law was on the side of the guilty party by default. Otherwise there would be one or two little shits in a dumpster now.

* DON'T WORRY, NO REAL SPOILERS AHEAD *

Anyway, I saw The Terminal. It's by Steven Speilberg, and as you'd expect, is an enjoyable piece of escapist fluff. He may make them commercial, but he does commercial better than almost anyone else, especially when you consider the competition. Tom Hanks stars as Viktor Navorski, a man from a country that had undergone a coup of some sort just after he left it, and as such, it's status as a country is uncertain. Because of this, he finds that his passport has been revoked, and he is stuck in an airport terminal , and he can't leave. It's wholesome, feelgood, and a bit silly, but worth the few bob of the entrance fee. Ms. Zeta-Jones is in here too, and so is Stanley Tucci, who as usual has been cast as the prick of the piece. The only quibble I have with it is the constant product placement throughout. Speilberg seems to love his brands, they representing, he seems to feel, All That Is Great About America. That, and the way that New York in the film seems to represent some promised land. Aul' Steve must have a boner for the symbolism of the cities of the great red, white and blue. And maybe he could have done more with Zoë Saldana's character (immigration control officer), I think. But, like I said, still decent. You may just need to leave your brain at the door.

The packing of a .44 magnum for the noisy little shits, however, is entirely up to you.