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!