Just came away from seeing this, and really liked it. You'd want to have been in a coma not to have heard about all the praise being lavished on it, and I think it's the critics trying to make up for the fact that they overreacted to The Hulk, which wasn't really bad except for the CGI effects, which made Hulk himself look like the green giant out of the ads for tinned sweetcorn.
The general critical opinion is that Heath Ledger has excelled in this, and his protrayal of a surly incommunicative farm hand was spot on. Gyllenhaal's role was pretty much up there too, with him in a role I wouldn't really have imagined for him. Also, if a film can be described as 'minimal' then this is it. Everything progresses slowly, with a fair bit of emphasis on background scenery (not entirely dissimilarly to Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon), yet Ang Lee makes sure it still holds your interest all the way. It's pretty much at the opposite end to the more post-modern films of gay interest, with the traditional theme of coming to terms with love in an era where it is pretty much regarded as an aberration, at the forefront. The hype about 'steamy cowboy sex scenes' couldn't have been wider of the mark, and the film is all the better for that omission. The soundtrack complimented it well too, with a single finger-picking guitar composition running through it in a way not dissimilar to Ry Cooder's one in Paris, Texas.
So, go see. There really isn't a whole lot else out there anyway, Christ Almighty.
The trailer I saw for Walk The Line, a bio of Johnny Cash, looked pretty cool too. That has been pencilled in.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
A sex entry
I went to the Bulldog on Friday night. Ten minutes inside the door and I had notched up shifts from three different guys, with one of them also engaging me ... er... further down.
My arrival was likened by Phil to that of an exocet missile. Perhaps I go too far? In any case, I also got entangled with a hot'n'horny Scotsman. Time will tell if that progresses to something more. I had acquired a headache earlier in the day that just would not go away, so I wasn't really up for moving quickly with anyone, much as I would have liked to.
Friday's exam sucked, and I fear I'll be doing that one again. This last month has been hell for all of us, and it showed on Friday evening, with a lot of people going home early or just not really in the form for a whole day of partying, myself included. But it's over now. I have two weeks to find somewhere else to live, and hopefully I'll get a job in that time as well.
Oh, the stress is starting to take its tole.
My arrival was likened by Phil to that of an exocet missile. Perhaps I go too far? In any case, I also got entangled with a hot'n'horny Scotsman. Time will tell if that progresses to something more. I had acquired a headache earlier in the day that just would not go away, so I wasn't really up for moving quickly with anyone, much as I would have liked to.
Friday's exam sucked, and I fear I'll be doing that one again. This last month has been hell for all of us, and it showed on Friday evening, with a lot of people going home early or just not really in the form for a whole day of partying, myself included. But it's over now. I have two weeks to find somewhere else to live, and hopefully I'll get a job in that time as well.
Oh, the stress is starting to take its tole.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Chris Penn. October 1965 - January 2006
I heard about this on the radio last night, and sure enough, it's true. Chris Penn, brother of Seán, was found dead in his beachside apartment on Wednesday morning. He was 40 years old.
The only films I saw that starred him were Reservoir Dogs, True Romance, and Footloose, and those apart, I never really was that pushed about the rest. Having said that, I still have to see Rumblefish and Short Cuts.
Most of the articles written so far have concentrated on how his career was outshone by his more famous brother, but I found Seán's overwrought posturing a bit hard to take sometimes, and to my knowledge, Chris doesn't have an out-and-out bomb like Shanghai Surprise to his name.
Other commentators have pointed out that as his weight ballooned due to cocaine abuse, his career shrank. Maybe the latter was in fact due to the former, but I have to say I found that meatiness suited him. So here I provide some pictures:
Rest in peace Chris. You nailed a few noteworthy roles, you made more money than most people do, and you could have doubled nicely as a human duvet. Not bad, all in all.
The only films I saw that starred him were Reservoir Dogs, True Romance, and Footloose, and those apart, I never really was that pushed about the rest. Having said that, I still have to see Rumblefish and Short Cuts.
Most of the articles written so far have concentrated on how his career was outshone by his more famous brother, but I found Seán's overwrought posturing a bit hard to take sometimes, and to my knowledge, Chris doesn't have an out-and-out bomb like Shanghai Surprise to his name.
Other commentators have pointed out that as his weight ballooned due to cocaine abuse, his career shrank. Maybe the latter was in fact due to the former, but I have to say I found that meatiness suited him. So here I provide some pictures:
Rest in peace Chris. You nailed a few noteworthy roles, you made more money than most people do, and you could have doubled nicely as a human duvet. Not bad, all in all.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Exams...
Had microbiology this afternoon, which basically consisted of MCQs and a short answer section.
The MCQs weren't a complete disaster, but the smell of bullshit from my written answers would have driven away a dragon. At least the labs I've had to suffer for the last three months contribute substantially to the overall course mark, and I averaged a grade B there.
Now, here I sit, at 1:20am, learning about how tablets are made, and what goes into them. I never knew they could consist of so many ingredients other than the active drug substance itself. Bloody hell. I sit this one - the last - on Friday, and then it's out on a bender from hell with the class.
Roll on the weekend.
The MCQs weren't a complete disaster, but the smell of bullshit from my written answers would have driven away a dragon. At least the labs I've had to suffer for the last three months contribute substantially to the overall course mark, and I averaged a grade B there.
Now, here I sit, at 1:20am, learning about how tablets are made, and what goes into them. I never knew they could consist of so many ingredients other than the active drug substance itself. Bloody hell. I sit this one - the last - on Friday, and then it's out on a bender from hell with the class.
Roll on the weekend.
Friday, January 20, 2006
South Park, with a rant attached.
Around a fortnight ago, Comedy Central was forced to pull the season finale of South Park, an episode entitled 'Bloody Mary'.
This particular one - there's no way of putting this delicately - features a statue of the Virgin Mary bleeding from the ass. This miracle brings people flocking to South Park to be healed, until it transpires that in fact Mary's just having a period. Then the Pope declares that 'a chick bleeding out her vagina is no miracle', and everyone goes home disgruntled.
Unfortunately for Comedy Central, the episode was scheduled to run the before the Catholic celebration of the Feast of the immaculate conception. An American organisation, the Catholic league, succeeded in having the episode pulled from the air, never to be repeated. How they managed this may something to do with the fact that Viacom, the parent company of Comedy Central, has on its board of members a staunch Catholic. The Catholic League also succeeded in securing an apology from Viacom. What's that flying out the window? It looked like the first amendment...
Last year, the Jerry Springer opera opened to substantial controversy in the UK. I didn't see it, and it looked a bit shit frankly, but in spite of protest it was shown here. It showed that although catholicism had a voice here, it wasn't an overpowering one. Which is the way it should be.
The Friday Thing, a satirical commentsheet and the source of much of the previous three paragraphs, points out that this is an indication of, on the other hand, how much influence Catholicism has in the ol' Red White and Blue right now. Similarly offensive episodes have been aired previously (a couple of years ago, to be precise), but when the Catholic League tried to intervene then, they were told to fuck off. Something appears to have changed.
South Park is funny. Its subversion is rudimentary, it can often be peurile, and it's nowhere near as clever as The Simpsons was, but it does have one substantial jewel in its crown: Eric Cartman. He alone makes it worth watching.
The tenets on which the Catholic church have founded itself are so ridiculous - and, it should be pointed out, damaging to women and minorities in general everywhere - that it has no-one to blame but itself for becoming this kind of target. Its bound to be offensive to some catholics, but considering the whole subtext of the immaculate conception in general (docile woman accepts pregnancy as a gift from God, without sullying herself with the 'sin' of intercourse) the church have brought this on themselves.
So. I am going to help in my own little way. Here is a link to a bittorrent location of the episode.
It's fair to say that Matt Stone and Trey Parker wouldn't have the balls to try something like this with the Muslim faith though, even though that's as deserving a target as Christianity.
And now to my next point.
Comedy Central has pulled another another episode of South Park this week. It's called "Come out of the Closet" Tom Cruise. You don't have to be a genius to deduce from the title what that one is about, and all that reminds me of something.
There is rather irritating tendency for people inside and outside the gay community to 'out' people, as soon as they come 'under suspicion'. Even in academia, gay activists such as Andrew Hodges and David Hutter, in the pamphlet 'With Downcast Gays' (a good read, though flawed by its militant politics) point out that the writer E.M. Forster 'betrayed' the gay community by remaining in what was essentially 'the closet'. Maybe he did the gay community a disservice, maybe he didn't, but whom he slept with was ultimately his own business.
Fast forward quite a few years, and now we have people pointing the finger at everyone from Kevin Spacey to Tom Selleck to Tom Cruise. What the fuck does it matter if they are or not? If we (or more accurately, the media) have advanced to the point where we are 'accepting' of other people's preferences, why do we still have to know what their gender of preference is? It's none of our business.
I was in a pub once, in a discussion with someone about a work colleague that neither of us particularly liked. Up came the subject of the unlikeable one's sexual orientation. "At least you say what you are", pointed out the other drinker. To this day, I don't particularly think the unlikeable one is gay, and I couldn't care even less, but I'm pretty convinced that subconciously, the other drinker intended it [his orientation] as a slur because he didn't like him, not out of objectivity or some crusading purpose.
I'm pretty sure that this is what is at the root of what goes on with a lot of outing. A gay person's life is improved immeasurably once they come out. It could almost - though not quite - be argued that by outing someone, you are doing them a favour. But you are also performing an invasion of privacy that is pretty much without equal, and it is almost always something other than altruism that is behind someone making the demand that someone else come out of the closet. It is inevitably more about demander, than demandee.
Tom Cruise has attracted this shit because, on the surface, he is someone that attracts begrudgery. He has made a lot of money playing to the standard Hollywood archetype of the 'red-blooded' action hero, much, it has to be said, to the detriment of the more artistic aspects of his profession. He is good-looking - though not, I must stress, at all my type - and has had quite a few beauties on his arm.
He's also a bit of an arse, with all the Scientology, and in that rubbish about Brooke Shields he really was operating outside his field of expertise. In fact he should have been slapped hard across the face for that one, and it is this characteristic of his that lead people to react by characterising him contemptously. And it's pretty telling to see what they come out with.
Ricky Martin has attracted it. Paul Newman has attracted it. George Michael attracted it for some time before he was very publicly caught, but sometimes there is smoke without fire. Sometimes it's just mean-minded unattractive jealousy with a twist of disrespect for gay men. If you disparage someone, including their orientation as backup can turn the spotlight on what your core beliefs really are, and it can make for a rather unattractive sight.
The 'outing' of politicians that have a history of opposing gay rights is somewhat different, and serves a worthwhile purpose in one sense, but it still leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, because by their 'exposure' - try as much as you like to get away from it - you are equating their orientation with something shameful. I suppose the end just about justifies the means, but only just. I wish there was some other way though.
Lastly, some of the gay community are at this as well. Is it out of a sense of injured loyalty, or do they feel better if a closet gay man finally comes around to joining their ranks? I can't imagine why the latter would be the case. Some say that by remaining in the closet, a public figure contributes to the oppression of gay men and women, forgetting that if there was no oppression, whether or not they are in the closet simply wouldn't be an issue for anyone except themselves.
Tom Cruise's decision to remain secretive is most likely motivated by career considerations. The offers of a lead role as a hero in an action movie would probably dry up if he came out. Maybe there's more to it, but if I'm confronted with one prick taking issue with another prick on the basis of the sexuality of the latter, I'm not so much on the side of the latter, as against that of the former.
So. South Park, as entertaining as it can be, is not really so cool with this episode. It's probably not the intention of Stone and Parker, they're most likely just trying to get up the nose of Cruise himself. Unfortunately, the screen 'idol' succeeded in getting Comedy Central to pull that one as well by threatening to sue them, so he's pretty much won, and strangely enough, I don't feel too outraged about this.
You can still watch it here though, and judge for yourself. I'm nothing if not fair.
P.S. If you think there is hypocrisy evident in this post, you need to get a sense of history. Fast.
This particular one - there's no way of putting this delicately - features a statue of the Virgin Mary bleeding from the ass. This miracle brings people flocking to South Park to be healed, until it transpires that in fact Mary's just having a period. Then the Pope declares that 'a chick bleeding out her vagina is no miracle', and everyone goes home disgruntled.
Unfortunately for Comedy Central, the episode was scheduled to run the before the Catholic celebration of the Feast of the immaculate conception. An American organisation, the Catholic league, succeeded in having the episode pulled from the air, never to be repeated. How they managed this may something to do with the fact that Viacom, the parent company of Comedy Central, has on its board of members a staunch Catholic. The Catholic League also succeeded in securing an apology from Viacom. What's that flying out the window? It looked like the first amendment...
Last year, the Jerry Springer opera opened to substantial controversy in the UK. I didn't see it, and it looked a bit shit frankly, but in spite of protest it was shown here. It showed that although catholicism had a voice here, it wasn't an overpowering one. Which is the way it should be.
The Friday Thing, a satirical commentsheet and the source of much of the previous three paragraphs, points out that this is an indication of, on the other hand, how much influence Catholicism has in the ol' Red White and Blue right now. Similarly offensive episodes have been aired previously (a couple of years ago, to be precise), but when the Catholic League tried to intervene then, they were told to fuck off. Something appears to have changed.
South Park is funny. Its subversion is rudimentary, it can often be peurile, and it's nowhere near as clever as The Simpsons was, but it does have one substantial jewel in its crown: Eric Cartman. He alone makes it worth watching.
The tenets on which the Catholic church have founded itself are so ridiculous - and, it should be pointed out, damaging to women and minorities in general everywhere - that it has no-one to blame but itself for becoming this kind of target. Its bound to be offensive to some catholics, but considering the whole subtext of the immaculate conception in general (docile woman accepts pregnancy as a gift from God, without sullying herself with the 'sin' of intercourse) the church have brought this on themselves.
So. I am going to help in my own little way. Here is a link to a bittorrent location of the episode.
It's fair to say that Matt Stone and Trey Parker wouldn't have the balls to try something like this with the Muslim faith though, even though that's as deserving a target as Christianity.
And now to my next point.
Comedy Central has pulled another another episode of South Park this week. It's called "Come out of the Closet" Tom Cruise. You don't have to be a genius to deduce from the title what that one is about, and all that reminds me of something.
There is rather irritating tendency for people inside and outside the gay community to 'out' people, as soon as they come 'under suspicion'. Even in academia, gay activists such as Andrew Hodges and David Hutter, in the pamphlet 'With Downcast Gays' (a good read, though flawed by its militant politics) point out that the writer E.M. Forster 'betrayed' the gay community by remaining in what was essentially 'the closet'. Maybe he did the gay community a disservice, maybe he didn't, but whom he slept with was ultimately his own business.
Fast forward quite a few years, and now we have people pointing the finger at everyone from Kevin Spacey to Tom Selleck to Tom Cruise. What the fuck does it matter if they are or not? If we (or more accurately, the media) have advanced to the point where we are 'accepting' of other people's preferences, why do we still have to know what their gender of preference is? It's none of our business.
I was in a pub once, in a discussion with someone about a work colleague that neither of us particularly liked. Up came the subject of the unlikeable one's sexual orientation. "At least you say what you are", pointed out the other drinker. To this day, I don't particularly think the unlikeable one is gay, and I couldn't care even less, but I'm pretty convinced that subconciously, the other drinker intended it [his orientation] as a slur because he didn't like him, not out of objectivity or some crusading purpose.
I'm pretty sure that this is what is at the root of what goes on with a lot of outing. A gay person's life is improved immeasurably once they come out. It could almost - though not quite - be argued that by outing someone, you are doing them a favour. But you are also performing an invasion of privacy that is pretty much without equal, and it is almost always something other than altruism that is behind someone making the demand that someone else come out of the closet. It is inevitably more about demander, than demandee.
Tom Cruise has attracted this shit because, on the surface, he is someone that attracts begrudgery. He has made a lot of money playing to the standard Hollywood archetype of the 'red-blooded' action hero, much, it has to be said, to the detriment of the more artistic aspects of his profession. He is good-looking - though not, I must stress, at all my type - and has had quite a few beauties on his arm.
He's also a bit of an arse, with all the Scientology, and in that rubbish about Brooke Shields he really was operating outside his field of expertise. In fact he should have been slapped hard across the face for that one, and it is this characteristic of his that lead people to react by characterising him contemptously. And it's pretty telling to see what they come out with.
Ricky Martin has attracted it. Paul Newman has attracted it. George Michael attracted it for some time before he was very publicly caught, but sometimes there is smoke without fire. Sometimes it's just mean-minded unattractive jealousy with a twist of disrespect for gay men. If you disparage someone, including their orientation as backup can turn the spotlight on what your core beliefs really are, and it can make for a rather unattractive sight.
The 'outing' of politicians that have a history of opposing gay rights is somewhat different, and serves a worthwhile purpose in one sense, but it still leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, because by their 'exposure' - try as much as you like to get away from it - you are equating their orientation with something shameful. I suppose the end just about justifies the means, but only just. I wish there was some other way though.
Lastly, some of the gay community are at this as well. Is it out of a sense of injured loyalty, or do they feel better if a closet gay man finally comes around to joining their ranks? I can't imagine why the latter would be the case. Some say that by remaining in the closet, a public figure contributes to the oppression of gay men and women, forgetting that if there was no oppression, whether or not they are in the closet simply wouldn't be an issue for anyone except themselves.
Tom Cruise's decision to remain secretive is most likely motivated by career considerations. The offers of a lead role as a hero in an action movie would probably dry up if he came out. Maybe there's more to it, but if I'm confronted with one prick taking issue with another prick on the basis of the sexuality of the latter, I'm not so much on the side of the latter, as against that of the former.
So. South Park, as entertaining as it can be, is not really so cool with this episode. It's probably not the intention of Stone and Parker, they're most likely just trying to get up the nose of Cruise himself. Unfortunately, the screen 'idol' succeeded in getting Comedy Central to pull that one as well by threatening to sue them, so he's pretty much won, and strangely enough, I don't feel too outraged about this.
You can still watch it here though, and judge for yourself. I'm nothing if not fair.
P.S. If you think there is hypocrisy evident in this post, you need to get a sense of history. Fast.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Maybe I have a nice natural smell?
The Scene: Denis in the lift, headed for the ground floor. A woman gets on halfway down. I recognise her (I think) as one of the lab technicians from the microbiology department.
Her: "That's a nice eau-de-toilette you're wearing. What is it?"
Me (Not sure if I heard right): "Sorry?"
Her: "That's a nice eau-de-toilette you're wearing. What is it?"
Me: "Er....I'm not wearing any..."
Her (surprised): "Oh..."
The lift stops at my floor. I get out.
Me (over my shoulder, back towards her): "It must be someone else's..."
I'm no good at accepting unsolicited compliments from strangers.
I do wear 'Body Mechanics for Men' from the Body Shop as a deodorant though. Maybe it was that.
Her: "That's a nice eau-de-toilette you're wearing. What is it?"
Me (Not sure if I heard right): "Sorry?"
Her: "That's a nice eau-de-toilette you're wearing. What is it?"
Me: "Er....I'm not wearing any..."
Her (surprised): "Oh..."
The lift stops at my floor. I get out.
Me (over my shoulder, back towards her): "It must be someone else's..."
I'm no good at accepting unsolicited compliments from strangers.
I do wear 'Body Mechanics for Men' from the Body Shop as a deodorant though. Maybe it was that.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
A thought about alcohol
I become a much nicer, more friendly person when I'm drunk. Too much so, it could be argued. I suppose it's better than what happens with a lot of people, which is that they get aggressive, or near-psychotic, and start getting into fights. I'm the opposite. If I get confronted with that kind of trouble, I usually dispel it with loads of unthreatening amicability.
There is a downside to this. During a night out which involves beer, I can ending up entertaining the most moronic argument or slagging match and hearing the other person out, and it is only the next day, when I wake up, that I realise that sometimes a box into the face can work wonders for people who turn into a shambling mess after a drinking session. Or at the very least, walking off and leaving them on their own when their back is turned.
Current mood: Exasperated
There is a downside to this. During a night out which involves beer, I can ending up entertaining the most moronic argument or slagging match and hearing the other person out, and it is only the next day, when I wake up, that I realise that sometimes a box into the face can work wonders for people who turn into a shambling mess after a drinking session. Or at the very least, walking off and leaving them on their own when their back is turned.
Current mood: Exasperated
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Back in Brighton...
Exams in two weeks, and what do I do on my first day back? Go out drinking. And stay out until 7am. This is simply NOT on. I've got work to do!
Over Christmas I had ordered the DVD of 'Bear Cub', a film that first came out over a year ago but, thanks to the fact that it wasn't shown over here at the time and I missed subsequent screenings of it, one that I hadn't got around to seeing. This was wrecking my head verily, as my interest had been seriously piqued by the trailer, or more accurately, the men in the trailer. Watch it and I think you'll agree. I tried to do a screen capture of one of the scenes on the DVD and include it here, but it keeps fucking up, so no joy.
Anyway, I came back to Brighton on Sunday night (Boy, was getting a train from Gatwick at 11:20pm a barrel of laughs. Especially when the train timetable display changed the platform number of interest TWO MINUTES before the train came in) and found the DVD in my letterbox, much to my delight. A quick rendez-vous with Phil and it was decided that we would watch it on the plasma screen at his place to do it justice. With two bags of Nachos, dip, buttered popcorn, chocolate and alcohol in hand, we settled down.
Set in Madrid, the film tells the story of how a gay dentist, whose life is one big party, ends up looking after his 9-year old nephew after the mother is detained indefinitely in a different country. Add to this the fact that the boy's paternal grandmother wants custody of the child as she believes, surprise surprise, a gay man does not for a fit parent make.
The difference between this and almost every other film I've seen of gay interest is how it resonated in so many ways with me at an everyday level. Right from the opening slightly comedic sex scene, I was going 'Lord, I know what that's like.' A scene where the lead character is in the sauna having his nipples played with brought back to me how many times I've already had to tell guys that tit torture has never been my thing (I must be the only gay man on the planet who feels like this, from what I can see), a part where they are all mangled on cocaine made me laugh out loud, it brought back so many memories, and the prowling of the cruising areas reminded me of what I could avail of later, if I felt like it.
Other than that, the standard themes of HIV, homophobia etc. were dealt with in a very straight-up no-nonsense way. As a piece of art, the film didn't break a huge amount of ground, but it was probably the most realistic representation of the gay lifestyle I've seen in some time. And the men rocked. Loads of big hairy eye-candy everywhere. The only fly in the ointment was that I missed a thing about Richard Dawkins on BBC something, and also a programme about linguistics (they were doing a thing on the mauling of the English language by management-speak, a pet peeve of mine) but hey.
Anyway, it was kickin'. Get it out, and make sure you get the directors cut, with all the sex scenes left intact, so you can see it at its artistic best, har har.
So after that, we went out drinking, went back to the house, drank some more, watched some porn, and drank some more again. I then left, mystifyingly refusing the offer of a bed, at half-past bloody four in the morning and went cruising in The Bushes. There, I got entangled with a guy, and walked all the way home afterwards, thanks to the dearth of taxis around at the time. Bloody cabbies! What do they think they're doing, knocking off before 6am!
Today, I rose rather late. Lectures tomorrow. No more debauchery. There's a new man in town.
Oh déjà vu...
Over Christmas I had ordered the DVD of 'Bear Cub', a film that first came out over a year ago but, thanks to the fact that it wasn't shown over here at the time and I missed subsequent screenings of it, one that I hadn't got around to seeing. This was wrecking my head verily, as my interest had been seriously piqued by the trailer, or more accurately, the men in the trailer. Watch it and I think you'll agree. I tried to do a screen capture of one of the scenes on the DVD and include it here, but it keeps fucking up, so no joy.
Anyway, I came back to Brighton on Sunday night (Boy, was getting a train from Gatwick at 11:20pm a barrel of laughs. Especially when the train timetable display changed the platform number of interest TWO MINUTES before the train came in) and found the DVD in my letterbox, much to my delight. A quick rendez-vous with Phil and it was decided that we would watch it on the plasma screen at his place to do it justice. With two bags of Nachos, dip, buttered popcorn, chocolate and alcohol in hand, we settled down.
Set in Madrid, the film tells the story of how a gay dentist, whose life is one big party, ends up looking after his 9-year old nephew after the mother is detained indefinitely in a different country. Add to this the fact that the boy's paternal grandmother wants custody of the child as she believes, surprise surprise, a gay man does not for a fit parent make.
The difference between this and almost every other film I've seen of gay interest is how it resonated in so many ways with me at an everyday level. Right from the opening slightly comedic sex scene, I was going 'Lord, I know what that's like.' A scene where the lead character is in the sauna having his nipples played with brought back to me how many times I've already had to tell guys that tit torture has never been my thing (I must be the only gay man on the planet who feels like this, from what I can see), a part where they are all mangled on cocaine made me laugh out loud, it brought back so many memories, and the prowling of the cruising areas reminded me of what I could avail of later, if I felt like it.
Other than that, the standard themes of HIV, homophobia etc. were dealt with in a very straight-up no-nonsense way. As a piece of art, the film didn't break a huge amount of ground, but it was probably the most realistic representation of the gay lifestyle I've seen in some time. And the men rocked. Loads of big hairy eye-candy everywhere. The only fly in the ointment was that I missed a thing about Richard Dawkins on BBC something, and also a programme about linguistics (they were doing a thing on the mauling of the English language by management-speak, a pet peeve of mine) but hey.
Anyway, it was kickin'. Get it out, and make sure you get the directors cut, with all the sex scenes left intact, so you can see it at its artistic best, har har.
So after that, we went out drinking, went back to the house, drank some more, watched some porn, and drank some more again. I then left, mystifyingly refusing the offer of a bed, at half-past bloody four in the morning and went cruising in The Bushes. There, I got entangled with a guy, and walked all the way home afterwards, thanks to the dearth of taxis around at the time. Bloody cabbies! What do they think they're doing, knocking off before 6am!
Today, I rose rather late. Lectures tomorrow. No more debauchery. There's a new man in town.
Oh déjà vu...
Monday, January 02, 2006
And onto a new year...
Well, it's been, and I got a little drunk and demented in Dingle, and now it's gone, and I'm on the last leg of the holidays. Time to get on the new year's resolutions. Smokes and alcohol shall feature, as usual. Let's see if I can make it work this year. My stomach is extremely pissed off with how I've been shovelling junk into it indiscriminately, and it's been letting me know in know uncertain terms: While I was out in partying over the past couple of days, I had to keep a toilet nearby at all times. Uurgh...
I had a fear when I came home for the holidays that I would end up getting no study done. I have got some done, but all of this work could more or less be compressed into one day. I refuse to get upset about it. I have one week left.
When I go back, I have exams at the end of January. I also have to find somewhere new to live before the 8th of February. On top of that, I have to find a proper part-time job so that I can be more self sufficient. It's going to be a busy month.
Now I go do laundry. Excitement!
I had a fear when I came home for the holidays that I would end up getting no study done. I have got some done, but all of this work could more or less be compressed into one day. I refuse to get upset about it. I have one week left.
When I go back, I have exams at the end of January. I also have to find somewhere new to live before the 8th of February. On top of that, I have to find a proper part-time job so that I can be more self sufficient. It's going to be a busy month.
Now I go do laundry. Excitement!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Civil partnerships in the United Kingdom
I'm a bit tardy, downright sloppy in fact, in not writing about this earlier, but you'd want to have been living under a rock not to know that same-sex civil partnerships have now come to pass in the United Kingdom.
I had first heard about this when I had visited the two Craigs out in Arundel a while back. They have since availed of this new piece of legislation and on Wednesday the 21st of this month, after a 20-year 'courtship', they have gone ahead and tied the knot. They are amongst the first of all of the gay couples in the Brighton area to do so, and I wish them the very best.
Nazinger, I beg your pardon, the recently elected Pope Benedict XVMCIIwhat-fucking-ever is, of course, timely in his announcements: He has recently come out and pronounced that no priest-in-waiting may enter a seminary if he has ever exhibited tendencies toward 'the intrinsic disorder' that is homosexuality, within 3 months prior to the proposed time of enrolement. In a particularly noxious twist, the Vatican has issued this 'in response' to the revelations of child sex abuse at the hands of American priests, thus reinforcing in some of the smaller minds amongst us the 'link' that exists between homosexuality and paedophilia.
Here we fucking go again. The Vatican quite simply refusing to grow up and acknowledge the diversity that exists outside of their enclave in Rome. What they don't seem to appreciate is that at ground level, quite a lot of priests are embarassed at the stream of rubbish that is flowing out of there. Some of the less rigid amongst them may find that their job is made increasingly difficult by the pronouncements of a loathsome little toad in Rome who just cannot appreciate that guys who dig other guys are simply never going to go away. Seriously, we've been around since before biblical times, and step by step, we're winning all of our battles as time goes on. Get the fuck over it. Some priests, such as this guy here, are already 'rebelling' by refusing to give assurance that they won't engage in same-sex relations with - oh, this takes my breath away - the man they are marrying. You couldn't make up such a ridiculous scenario.
More and more, the Vatican are digging their own graves with these edicts, and widening what is already a substantial divide between them and the commmon church-goer. With public coverage and acceptance being given to the gay community more and more, we are now more visible than ever, and it has now got to the point where almost every straight person in Western Society knows or is related to someone who warms to the idea of warming up someone of their own gender, and this is where the cardinals are shooting themselves in the foot. They are forcing people to take sides, and if you were presented with the choice between a friend or relative in real life, and some abstract figure who is claimed to be represented by someone such as Ratzinger, well, I know which option I would choose. Only the most simple-minded amongst the Right need to be given instruction on how to live their life in this way.
Incidentally, it's good to see that people like Debbie Gaston aren't allowing organised religion to get in the way of their religious beliefs.
As an aside, if there is such a higher power, why are some people so readily accepting of the theory that he would have someone like Benedict as his spokesman here on Earth? If I were The Almighty, I would have long ago handed his holiness his P45 and found someone a bit more personable. Perhaps it's down to iconography, and how people have more respect for inaccessible figureheads, but I might be overreaching...
Anyhow, the partnerships have come to pass, and some political commentators, along with some of my friends, hold that it won't be long before it happens in Ireland as well. We'll see about that, but the fact that it now exists in so many European countries is good for me at the moment.
Lastly, another absolute red rag of mine. A recent letter to the editor of the Irish Times:
Discounting this clown's issues with terminology and the all-too-typical attempt to justify himself in paragraph four - I'll get to them later - one concept that needs investigation in this context is that of political correctness.
Political correctness was, like many social phenomena described in detail in the media, something that never really took off. It's central premise, the neuturing of modern speech, especially was something that existed only in the minds of a select few. Terminology such as 'intellectually challenged', 'horizontally advantaged', and 'vertically challenged' most likely had a half-life of about 5 seconds, yet were touted by those in the public eye for quite some time after everyone else had sensibly begun to ignore them. In short, if it ever did exist, it really does not anymore, at least not in the form in which it was originally conceived.
Here is something else. Thanks to variety of social factors, racism, and to a lesser extent, homophobia, stopped becoming acceptable in everyday life some years back. I'm not a social commentator, I can't draw a line in the sand and say exactly where this happened, but it is now not considered good social grace to disparage someone on either of these grounds and offend anyone in mixed company, and society in general is all the better for it.
Somewhere along the line being gay, or at the very least being polysexual, became kind of hip. One reason may have been that it was a way of dissociating oneself from, or offending, the old guard, in whatever form that might have been. Another reason was that it still has a aspect of sexual experimentation to it, along with the attendant party scene, that has since been relegated to the margins in mainstream heterosexual society.
Assimilation eventually came about, and now we have come to today's situation. Racism and homophobia, seen as the preserve of the uneducated redneck who never left his home town and never saw much of the world, is now quite unfashionable. But it's still there, buried in the subconcious of people who, under different circumstances, would never have been that pushed about erasing it from within themselves before.
So now, when people want to give life to the small-minded little shit inside them without looking like the under-developed prat that they are, they need a scapegoat, and boy is the PC concept fast becoming the punchbag of modern times. They give voice to their opinions, but when those are met with protest, they say such sensitivities are borne out of a stifling form of political correctness, the implication being that most people think like them at some level and thus they are absolved. Another annoying term of excuse, with connotations of plain-speaking, is 'irreverance'.
Horseshit. Ignorance is ignorance, and while homophobia is a strong word to use in these circumstances, their comments point to the fact that they are still little boys at heart, who haven't really experienced enough of the world. It's a result of people trying to excuse themselves because they have had a certain sensibility foisted upon them that they are not ready for, at least not yet.
I've always thought that Liberal bashing is done by those who have just a little too much time on their hands, or need to get out more, but now I think of it as a odious form of self-absorption. If these people themselves found that their own rights were being infringed, their whinging would be coming out of every available news outlet, but because it's someone else, they feel free to take potshots. It's the spoiled little kid within each of them being given a voice.
There is no PC brigade. If a slur from a person in the vein mentioned above induces a negative reaction in someone else, that's because the person is being an ignoramus, not a 'plain speaker'. End of story.
This brings me to his support of the Pope. You cannot support someone who condemns gays outright, and yet suddenly immediately afterwards start bleating that you 'don't have a problem with gays'. It just doesn't wash. At all. Not with a figure like that.
Which leads me to the other two points. First, his justificaton in paragraph four. It reminds me of something...
Sometime back, I saw an episode of The Office on TV, which had Gareth, anticharismatic par excellence, talking about gays in the army. He was against it, on the grounds that they might be sexually distracted by the other men in uniform on the battlefield, but then quickly defended himself against accusations of homophobia by pointing out that he had loads of gay musicians in his record collection, such as George Michael and Freddie Mercury ("And", he points out, "They're all bummers"). It was a genius sketch, mainly because most of us, least of all me, know someone this retarded in real life. The parallels between this sketch and the guy above, is that as lines of reasoning go, it's MORONIC!
Last, the use of the term 'homosexual'. It is true that the article referred to in the letter above goes to some lengths to avoid using the term, but in order to help the reader understand why, a quick history lesson.
Once upon a time, not so long ago at all, the medical establishment regarded homosexuality as a disorder, and as such it merited listing in the bible of psychiatry, the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual). The term they used to describe it at that time? Yep, you guesssed it. That was where the definition first surfaced. The term 'heterosexual' enjoys nowhere near the same kind of dubious history. Even now I'm still not a fan of the homo term, it just sounds too clinical, as if the person in question is some kind of curiosity, and I've noticed at a superficial level, that it can indicate in the user a certain aversion to aspects of our lifestyle. But maybe I'm being too 'PC', and 'not representative of the plain-speaking people of Ireland'. Oh, and if you find gay men getting defensive when you disparage aspects of their community, it's probably because they have a sense of history and are sick of fighting their corner all the time. Conflict can do that to you sometimes.
So on that note, plain speakers, don't diss gays. Apart from anything else it's not cool, and it'll make you look like a twat and you won't get laid. And you've already got quite a lot of catching up to do in that department before you get to where we are.
Hah!
I had first heard about this when I had visited the two Craigs out in Arundel a while back. They have since availed of this new piece of legislation and on Wednesday the 21st of this month, after a 20-year 'courtship', they have gone ahead and tied the knot. They are amongst the first of all of the gay couples in the Brighton area to do so, and I wish them the very best.
Nazinger, I beg your pardon, the recently elected Pope Benedict XVMCIIwhat-fucking-ever is, of course, timely in his announcements: He has recently come out and pronounced that no priest-in-waiting may enter a seminary if he has ever exhibited tendencies toward 'the intrinsic disorder' that is homosexuality, within 3 months prior to the proposed time of enrolement. In a particularly noxious twist, the Vatican has issued this 'in response' to the revelations of child sex abuse at the hands of American priests, thus reinforcing in some of the smaller minds amongst us the 'link' that exists between homosexuality and paedophilia.
Here we fucking go again. The Vatican quite simply refusing to grow up and acknowledge the diversity that exists outside of their enclave in Rome. What they don't seem to appreciate is that at ground level, quite a lot of priests are embarassed at the stream of rubbish that is flowing out of there. Some of the less rigid amongst them may find that their job is made increasingly difficult by the pronouncements of a loathsome little toad in Rome who just cannot appreciate that guys who dig other guys are simply never going to go away. Seriously, we've been around since before biblical times, and step by step, we're winning all of our battles as time goes on. Get the fuck over it. Some priests, such as this guy here, are already 'rebelling' by refusing to give assurance that they won't engage in same-sex relations with - oh, this takes my breath away - the man they are marrying. You couldn't make up such a ridiculous scenario.
More and more, the Vatican are digging their own graves with these edicts, and widening what is already a substantial divide between them and the commmon church-goer. With public coverage and acceptance being given to the gay community more and more, we are now more visible than ever, and it has now got to the point where almost every straight person in Western Society knows or is related to someone who warms to the idea of warming up someone of their own gender, and this is where the cardinals are shooting themselves in the foot. They are forcing people to take sides, and if you were presented with the choice between a friend or relative in real life, and some abstract figure who is claimed to be represented by someone such as Ratzinger, well, I know which option I would choose. Only the most simple-minded amongst the Right need to be given instruction on how to live their life in this way.
Incidentally, it's good to see that people like Debbie Gaston aren't allowing organised religion to get in the way of their religious beliefs.
As an aside, if there is such a higher power, why are some people so readily accepting of the theory that he would have someone like Benedict as his spokesman here on Earth? If I were The Almighty, I would have long ago handed his holiness his P45 and found someone a bit more personable. Perhaps it's down to iconography, and how people have more respect for inaccessible figureheads, but I might be overreaching...
Anyhow, the partnerships have come to pass, and some political commentators, along with some of my friends, hold that it won't be long before it happens in Ireland as well. We'll see about that, but the fact that it now exists in so many European countries is good for me at the moment.
Lastly, another absolute red rag of mine. A recent letter to the editor of the Irish Times:
Madam,
Why are commentators on homosexuality so reluctant to use the word "homosexuality"? Is it an example of the Sellafield/Windscale syndrome, whereby, to change the public perception of something, all that is required is to call it by a different name?
In his article on civil partnerships for homosexual couples (Opinion and Analysis, December 21st), Niall Crowley of the Equality Authority uses the phrase "gay, lesbian, or bisexual", or some variation on it, no less than 15 times, while eschewing the term "homosexual". He evinced a similar tendency in his article on December 6th responding to the Vatican document on homosexuality.
He gives the game away right at the end of the latest article, where he uses the term 'all forms of mutually supportive relationships - same sex or heterosexual' when it would have been easier to say 'homosexual or heterosexual'.
Lest I be accused of homophobia, while I agree with the Pope's recent pronouncements on homosexuality, I have met many homosexuals over the course of my life and have generally got on well with them. I experienced a brief homosexual phase myself, lasting about a month, when I was a teenager. Many of my favourite actors - Dirk Bogarde, Sir John Gielgud, Leonard Rossiter, Denholm Elliot inter alia - were homosexuals. One of my favourite films, Death in Venice, based on the book by Thomas Mann, is about a homoerotic attraction towards a beautiful young boy.
One of the important tenets of a democracy is freedom of speech, but I have noticed over the years that if one expresses an opinion contrary to the liberal beliefs espoused by most of those working in the media - who incidentally are not representative of the so-called "plain people of Ireland" - one is accused of being accused of being conservative or intolerant or worse. For instance, as Eamonnn Gavin (December 21st), any suggestion that the number of foreigners entering this country should be restricted is met with accusations of racism. Similarly, any expression of dissent about the propriety of homosexuality is met with accusations of homophobia.
Tendentious articles such as Niall Crowley's latest two contributions are extremely annoying because they are clearly written from a politically correct perspective, the chief characteristic of which is an inability or unwillingness to speak plainly.
Yours, etc.
Discounting this clown's issues with terminology and the all-too-typical attempt to justify himself in paragraph four - I'll get to them later - one concept that needs investigation in this context is that of political correctness.
Political correctness was, like many social phenomena described in detail in the media, something that never really took off. It's central premise, the neuturing of modern speech, especially was something that existed only in the minds of a select few. Terminology such as 'intellectually challenged', 'horizontally advantaged', and 'vertically challenged' most likely had a half-life of about 5 seconds, yet were touted by those in the public eye for quite some time after everyone else had sensibly begun to ignore them. In short, if it ever did exist, it really does not anymore, at least not in the form in which it was originally conceived.
Here is something else. Thanks to variety of social factors, racism, and to a lesser extent, homophobia, stopped becoming acceptable in everyday life some years back. I'm not a social commentator, I can't draw a line in the sand and say exactly where this happened, but it is now not considered good social grace to disparage someone on either of these grounds and offend anyone in mixed company, and society in general is all the better for it.
Somewhere along the line being gay, or at the very least being polysexual, became kind of hip. One reason may have been that it was a way of dissociating oneself from, or offending, the old guard, in whatever form that might have been. Another reason was that it still has a aspect of sexual experimentation to it, along with the attendant party scene, that has since been relegated to the margins in mainstream heterosexual society.
Assimilation eventually came about, and now we have come to today's situation. Racism and homophobia, seen as the preserve of the uneducated redneck who never left his home town and never saw much of the world, is now quite unfashionable. But it's still there, buried in the subconcious of people who, under different circumstances, would never have been that pushed about erasing it from within themselves before.
So now, when people want to give life to the small-minded little shit inside them without looking like the under-developed prat that they are, they need a scapegoat, and boy is the PC concept fast becoming the punchbag of modern times. They give voice to their opinions, but when those are met with protest, they say such sensitivities are borne out of a stifling form of political correctness, the implication being that most people think like them at some level and thus they are absolved. Another annoying term of excuse, with connotations of plain-speaking, is 'irreverance'.
Horseshit. Ignorance is ignorance, and while homophobia is a strong word to use in these circumstances, their comments point to the fact that they are still little boys at heart, who haven't really experienced enough of the world. It's a result of people trying to excuse themselves because they have had a certain sensibility foisted upon them that they are not ready for, at least not yet.
I've always thought that Liberal bashing is done by those who have just a little too much time on their hands, or need to get out more, but now I think of it as a odious form of self-absorption. If these people themselves found that their own rights were being infringed, their whinging would be coming out of every available news outlet, but because it's someone else, they feel free to take potshots. It's the spoiled little kid within each of them being given a voice.
There is no PC brigade. If a slur from a person in the vein mentioned above induces a negative reaction in someone else, that's because the person is being an ignoramus, not a 'plain speaker'. End of story.
This brings me to his support of the Pope. You cannot support someone who condemns gays outright, and yet suddenly immediately afterwards start bleating that you 'don't have a problem with gays'. It just doesn't wash. At all. Not with a figure like that.
Which leads me to the other two points. First, his justificaton in paragraph four. It reminds me of something...
Sometime back, I saw an episode of The Office on TV, which had Gareth, anticharismatic par excellence, talking about gays in the army. He was against it, on the grounds that they might be sexually distracted by the other men in uniform on the battlefield, but then quickly defended himself against accusations of homophobia by pointing out that he had loads of gay musicians in his record collection, such as George Michael and Freddie Mercury ("And", he points out, "They're all bummers"). It was a genius sketch, mainly because most of us, least of all me, know someone this retarded in real life. The parallels between this sketch and the guy above, is that as lines of reasoning go, it's MORONIC!
Last, the use of the term 'homosexual'. It is true that the article referred to in the letter above goes to some lengths to avoid using the term, but in order to help the reader understand why, a quick history lesson.
Once upon a time, not so long ago at all, the medical establishment regarded homosexuality as a disorder, and as such it merited listing in the bible of psychiatry, the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual). The term they used to describe it at that time? Yep, you guesssed it. That was where the definition first surfaced. The term 'heterosexual' enjoys nowhere near the same kind of dubious history. Even now I'm still not a fan of the homo term, it just sounds too clinical, as if the person in question is some kind of curiosity, and I've noticed at a superficial level, that it can indicate in the user a certain aversion to aspects of our lifestyle. But maybe I'm being too 'PC', and 'not representative of the plain-speaking people of Ireland'. Oh, and if you find gay men getting defensive when you disparage aspects of their community, it's probably because they have a sense of history and are sick of fighting their corner all the time. Conflict can do that to you sometimes.
So on that note, plain speakers, don't diss gays. Apart from anything else it's not cool, and it'll make you look like a twat and you won't get laid. And you've already got quite a lot of catching up to do in that department before you get to where we are.
Hah!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
King Kong Kickass!
Slight spoiler ahead...
After hauling myself out of bed this morning at the ungodly hour- well, ungodly by Christmas holiday standards - of twenty-past eight, I got a lift to Cork with my mother and hit the shops looking for my father's Christmas present. He (my father) has given up the subtle art of dropping hints like clangers about what he wants for Christmas, and this year has simply told us directly that he wants a rather obscure yet popular traditional Irish music CD this year. God forbid that it would be easy to find, and after searching specialist shops, Golden Discs, HMV, and Virgin records, I was still empty handed. I ended up getting one of the shops to order it in, and fingers crossed I'll have it on Thursday. Other than that, that's my Christmas shopping taken care of. Our family, thank God in heaven, have opted for a Christmas Kindle setup this year, and that suits my moth-infested wallet down to the ground.
Anyway, at about 11 O'Clock I got on a bus out to Mahon Point shopping centre. Two things about Mahon point: It has one of the best shopping centres for miles around in Cork, along with one of the best cinemas as well. The other thing is that it is in ...erm...Mahon.
I have yet to come across an area anywhere in Ireland that is as drab, grey, and utterly uninspiring as this place. Housing estates as far as the eye can see, that are serviced by a bus route that is really rather shit. Hell is not other people, it is not war, it is not Bray (thank you, Linus), it is Mahon. Add to this the thought that in my attempt to escape the rabble that infest the cinemas of the city centre, I may have jumped out of the Wok and into the furnace. Oh well...
So into the shopping centre I went, found that King Kong was about to start, nabbed an early bird ticket for only EUR2.50 (the munchies were 13 fucking euro, but that's something else) and settled down to enjoy.
You don't have to know your directors to know that this has come from the maker of the Lord of the Rings. The visuals are as striking as they come (as someone who doesn't handle heights very well, I squirmed at the shots of Kong on top of the building being attacked by aircraft, and the scenes with the overgrown insects were...*shudder*) but there is still a decent heart at the centre of the film, and there aren't many in the kind of directorial company kept by Jackson that can effectively combine the two. The sets of New York in the 1930s were spot on - at least to me - and the characters all gelled well together. Naomi Watts can scream with the best of them, and Adrien Brody, whom I last saw in The Jacket, is fast becoming one of my favourite 'character' actors ("That performance was effluent"). Jack Black's film director, well, headed for caricature, but there you go.
I also liked the 'Heart of Darkness' thread running through the background, and have a look at the chase scenes with the dinosaurs and reflect on how another director has been outclassed by Jackson. You know who I mean.
Anyway, it was sad at the end. The outcome was not what you would hope for, but one that you knew was coming. Not like Godzilla, for example, where you wanted the thing dead, nay, anyone involved in the making of the film dead, by the time the end had rolled around.
So there you have it. Denis heartily recommends. Go see. The only downside was that the shitness of the transport service was highlighted when I had to wait 40 minutes afterwards to get a bus back into the city.
But the best thing? The sum total of the viewing population during this film: Four. Me, and three elderly noiseless pensioners. Just the way I like it.
After hauling myself out of bed this morning at the ungodly hour- well, ungodly by Christmas holiday standards - of twenty-past eight, I got a lift to Cork with my mother and hit the shops looking for my father's Christmas present. He (my father) has given up the subtle art of dropping hints like clangers about what he wants for Christmas, and this year has simply told us directly that he wants a rather obscure yet popular traditional Irish music CD this year. God forbid that it would be easy to find, and after searching specialist shops, Golden Discs, HMV, and Virgin records, I was still empty handed. I ended up getting one of the shops to order it in, and fingers crossed I'll have it on Thursday. Other than that, that's my Christmas shopping taken care of. Our family, thank God in heaven, have opted for a Christmas Kindle setup this year, and that suits my moth-infested wallet down to the ground.
Anyway, at about 11 O'Clock I got on a bus out to Mahon Point shopping centre. Two things about Mahon point: It has one of the best shopping centres for miles around in Cork, along with one of the best cinemas as well. The other thing is that it is in ...erm...Mahon.
I have yet to come across an area anywhere in Ireland that is as drab, grey, and utterly uninspiring as this place. Housing estates as far as the eye can see, that are serviced by a bus route that is really rather shit. Hell is not other people, it is not war, it is not Bray (thank you, Linus), it is Mahon. Add to this the thought that in my attempt to escape the rabble that infest the cinemas of the city centre, I may have jumped out of the Wok and into the furnace. Oh well...
So into the shopping centre I went, found that King Kong was about to start, nabbed an early bird ticket for only EUR2.50 (the munchies were 13 fucking euro, but that's something else) and settled down to enjoy.
You don't have to know your directors to know that this has come from the maker of the Lord of the Rings. The visuals are as striking as they come (as someone who doesn't handle heights very well, I squirmed at the shots of Kong on top of the building being attacked by aircraft, and the scenes with the overgrown insects were...*shudder*) but there is still a decent heart at the centre of the film, and there aren't many in the kind of directorial company kept by Jackson that can effectively combine the two. The sets of New York in the 1930s were spot on - at least to me - and the characters all gelled well together. Naomi Watts can scream with the best of them, and Adrien Brody, whom I last saw in The Jacket, is fast becoming one of my favourite 'character' actors ("That performance was effluent"). Jack Black's film director, well, headed for caricature, but there you go.
I also liked the 'Heart of Darkness' thread running through the background, and have a look at the chase scenes with the dinosaurs and reflect on how another director has been outclassed by Jackson. You know who I mean.
Anyway, it was sad at the end. The outcome was not what you would hope for, but one that you knew was coming. Not like Godzilla, for example, where you wanted the thing dead, nay, anyone involved in the making of the film dead, by the time the end had rolled around.
So there you have it. Denis heartily recommends. Go see. The only downside was that the shitness of the transport service was highlighted when I had to wait 40 minutes afterwards to get a bus back into the city.
But the best thing? The sum total of the viewing population during this film: Four. Me, and three elderly noiseless pensioners. Just the way I like it.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Back in Mallow...
Well, I'm home since Saturday evening, though it was a pure miracle I got here at all. The last few days in brief:
Friday: Go out for a meal, in a vain attempt to be sensible and avoid getting trashed. After meal, break off from group and go meet up with Phil and head for the Star Inn.
Can anyone see in advance how this night will end up? If you said 'ending up at Phil's boozing until the early hours', you'd be right. Talk about sabotaging myself.
The Star Inn was fun, though the owner was a bit stand-offish this time, toward the end. I don't care. I'll get around to him eventually. After that, The Bulldog. The novelty of going to this place still hasn't worn off: There's always someone new to chat up.
So why did I lock mouths with someone I had been with before, who's not really my type? Aaarrrggghhh!
Anyway it was fun, and when I fell into bed at 4am I had no idea of the day that lay ahead of me.
Saturday: Wake up with a horrible hangover (Taste of Phil's gin martinis still at the back of my throat. Never drinking them again!) and in an amazing feat of mind over matter, get my nausea-wracked ass out of bed to pack for the flight home. It is in the back of my head that the flight is at 7:10pm so I aim to be at the airport an hour beforehand.
I make it to the train station at 5:27pm. I see from the TV display that the train to Gatwick airport, which I must catch if I'm to get there in time, is at 5:34. I queue, with mounting hysteria, for my train ticket, and manage to board the train at 5:33 and 30 seconds. I settle and relax, thinking to myself how lucky I am, and that even though I haven't checked my flight details for quite a while, that I was right, that the flight is at 7:10pm.
Isn't it?
I get there at 6pm and lug my bags over to the screens that tell you the flight details. The entry of interest makes my blood run cold:
1810 - Cork - EZY878 - Check-in closed
For reasons that will forever remain unknown, mostly to myself, I had got the departure time wrong by one hour. One hour in the wrong direction. Why do I put myself through these ordeals? Why?
Depressed, and still hungover, I went over to the check-in desk. I mention that it is probably too late to check in, and the girl there confirms this. She mentions that I should go over to their Sales desk, so I do, with leaden heart. I speak to the guy there, he gets on the phone, and manages to get me on the flight list! It turns out that the flight has been delayed by one hour, so boarding is still a possibility. After checking in my bags, I head to the departure gate. Everyone else is seriously disgruntled at the delay, I am thanking the Lord above.
I get home, check my bank balance online, and as a consequence realise that most of time at home will revolve around studying, and nothing else. Oh well, at least I took care of all the essentials first this time, but there'll be no trip to Dublin this Christmas, or anywhere else for that matter. At least New Year's Eve will be in Dingle this year, which should be cool.
Yesterday and today, I vegged.
Other than that, buckets of college coursework await. Onward ho!
Saturday, December 10, 2005
After 12 years of waiting...
...I got the new Kate Bush album 'Aerial'.
I am not yet ready to pass comment on this milestone.
I am not yet ready to pass comment on this milestone.
Aaarrrgghh! Again.
For some reason, the college network has disabled cookies at the server end, which means I can't change the settings back to what they were when I log in. The consequences? I can't log into blogger - the reason for lack of posts lately - and I can't order anything on my visa card as an online 'shopping cart' needs cookies enabled to be able to work properly.
In other news, I got entangled with the owner of the Star Inn in Brighon last night, although I ended up bringing someone else home at the end of the night. This latter guy had an interest in a third party as well, but that person wasn't too keen on our lack of specificity in the sex department (I don't really like categorisation) and opted not to come home with us as a result, so I had to make do with a standard me-and-one-other scenario. Oh well, I shouldn't complain.
Loads of work to do. No more men this side of Christmas. No alcohol either.
(Resolution lifespan: 1 hour)
In other news, I got entangled with the owner of the Star Inn in Brighon last night, although I ended up bringing someone else home at the end of the night. This latter guy had an interest in a third party as well, but that person wasn't too keen on our lack of specificity in the sex department (I don't really like categorisation) and opted not to come home with us as a result, so I had to make do with a standard me-and-one-other scenario. Oh well, I shouldn't complain.
Loads of work to do. No more men this side of Christmas. No alcohol either.
(Resolution lifespan: 1 hour)
Monday, November 28, 2005
An awkward moment is...
...when your mother hands you some plastic bag-wrapped toiletries she found in your room, and upon closer inspection, you see that it is two tubes of KY Jelly.
I only had one in that drawer at home though, the other one must belong to my sister. Too much information? Oh well...
The weekend with my parents over went pretty well, discounting the horrible hangover I had halfway through, and the uncomfortable bed I had made for myself with the sofa cushions laid out on the floor (My parents got my bed). I only got about 3 hours sleep last night. I only got about 2 the night before, but I didn't notice the lack of comfort so much that time as I was wasted. Thankfully the Sunday hangover didn't linger long enough to get in the way of having a Sunday roast at Dan's mother's place, which was very nice, though I had to fight to stay awake afterwards. Everyone else seemed to want to fight for me to stay awake then too. The abuse!
Now that I have some money coming to me, a sex trip to London is in order I feel. Outside of that, I am paying for all essentials for the coming months first, before I start spending money on other stuff. I have learned my lesson! A quiet christmas is for the best this year, I think. 3 more weeks (including this one) left in college.
More classes this afternoon. Unnhhh!
I only had one in that drawer at home though, the other one must belong to my sister. Too much information? Oh well...
The weekend with my parents over went pretty well, discounting the horrible hangover I had halfway through, and the uncomfortable bed I had made for myself with the sofa cushions laid out on the floor (My parents got my bed). I only got about 3 hours sleep last night. I only got about 2 the night before, but I didn't notice the lack of comfort so much that time as I was wasted. Thankfully the Sunday hangover didn't linger long enough to get in the way of having a Sunday roast at Dan's mother's place, which was very nice, though I had to fight to stay awake afterwards. Everyone else seemed to want to fight for me to stay awake then too. The abuse!
Now that I have some money coming to me, a sex trip to London is in order I feel. Outside of that, I am paying for all essentials for the coming months first, before I start spending money on other stuff. I have learned my lesson! A quiet christmas is for the best this year, I think. 3 more weeks (including this one) left in college.
More classes this afternoon. Unnhhh!
Friday, November 25, 2005
Thank God. THANK GOD!
My bank manager in Ireland has agreed to loan me another £1000! Oh joy and rapture! The perfect end to another hellish week of labs. Now I can have a life again, and pay the rent so I don't end up sleeping on the side of the road.
I'm pretty much done with microbe analysis now, thank fuck, but I have some computer thing on genetic engineering to do next week, and all of that is still Hebrew to me.
I say Hebrew instead of Greek, as having brushed with the former over the summer while testing Blackberry phones, Greek is positively a joy to behold compared to Hebrew. A new phrase of my invention shall be absorbed into the English language!
"Nah, mate. I don't get it. It's all Hebrew to me..."
Hmmm.
Parents tomorrow. Flat still looks like shit. Get on it Denis!
I'm pretty much done with microbe analysis now, thank fuck, but I have some computer thing on genetic engineering to do next week, and all of that is still Hebrew to me.
I say Hebrew instead of Greek, as having brushed with the former over the summer while testing Blackberry phones, Greek is positively a joy to behold compared to Hebrew. A new phrase of my invention shall be absorbed into the English language!
"Nah, mate. I don't get it. It's all Hebrew to me..."
Hmmm.
Parents tomorrow. Flat still looks like shit. Get on it Denis!
Monday, November 21, 2005
Aaaarrrrrggghhhh!!!
If I have to read about microbes of pharmaceutical importance such as Staphylococcus Aureus, Pseudomonas Aeruginosa, Escheria Coli and Salmonella one more time, I WILL KILL!
Aaarrrrrggghhhh!
Aaarrrrrggghhhh!
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Trying new things...
After a hellish week of labs, independent reading, and more labs, I managed to round it off in a rather novel way.
Last night I called out to Arundel, a town about 30 miles outside Brighton, and met up with two chaps, both of whom were engaged to one another, both of whom, funnily enough, were called Craig. On top of that, they both had goatees.
One other thing they had in common last night was me.
It was rather a fun threesome, though I was a bit subdued this morning as I made my way to the train station to go back to Brighton. Maybe it's the workload I have to get through for the exams after Christmas. Maybe it's that I'm sick of poverty. Maybe drinking that bottle of red wine wasn't a good idea. Maybe...
Oh BLEH! I think I'm fit only for a day in front of the TV today, but I must at least try and do some study. That, and make a start on tidying up the flat. My parents are coming around next weekend.
Dum dee dum...
Last night I called out to Arundel, a town about 30 miles outside Brighton, and met up with two chaps, both of whom were engaged to one another, both of whom, funnily enough, were called Craig. On top of that, they both had goatees.
One other thing they had in common last night was me.
It was rather a fun threesome, though I was a bit subdued this morning as I made my way to the train station to go back to Brighton. Maybe it's the workload I have to get through for the exams after Christmas. Maybe it's that I'm sick of poverty. Maybe drinking that bottle of red wine wasn't a good idea. Maybe...
Oh BLEH! I think I'm fit only for a day in front of the TV today, but I must at least try and do some study. That, and make a start on tidying up the flat. My parents are coming around next weekend.
Dum dee dum...
Friday, November 11, 2005
I'm a bit late with this, but...
Editor free after Kemp 'assault'
Sometime last week, Rebekah Wade, poisonous editor of arguably the most poisonous and shittest newspaper in the whole world, The Sun, was held for assaulting her husband, Ross Kemp, but was later released without charge.
It would perhaps be rather politically incorrect of me to say that he should have returned the favour by clattering her up and down the street. Just a little.
Sod it. He should have stabbed her in the head. The world would be a much better place without her.
I have always found Rebekah Wade a curious proposition. She's educated enough to carve out a career that would have more cerebral connotations (apparently she's studied in the Sorbonne), and by all accounts she has some ability in the socialite/networking arena. It would not be unreasonable, then, to expect to see her establish herself in the broadsheet sector, seeing as she wanted to be a journalist since she was 14. Her ambition is, to understate it somewhat, substantial.
Unfortunately it is not ambition of the intellectual bent, and this is where the rot sets in all over the place. I have yet to see an intelligent newspaper that outsells shit like the red tops, and it's a deeply depressing indictment of the critical faculties of the general public. The Sun has always been the worst of this lot though, and when I read some time back that Wade was coming back on board as its editor, the gist of the Irish Times article was that no-one really expected her to effect many changes. Satan's emissary himself, Rupert Murdoch, likes the page 3 girls apparently, and her argument that this little feature alienates a potentially lucrative audience - women - fell on deaf ears.
An argument based on economic considerations rather than female solidarity. See what I mean?
Anyway, around the time she was made editor my curiosity was piqued, and I decided some monitoring of the integrity of the paper was in order. I shouldn't have bothered. It's hard to know who is more contemptible, the careerist c*#%s who form most of the papers staff, or the readership on the ground. I would argue that enforced sterilisation of the latter would be a service to the human race in general, but I'd wager that the journalists who write their rubbish have as much contempt for their readers as anyone, seeing as securing an internship at one of the red-tops is apparently a very competitive business.
I'm not berating the Sun for its base level, it's the fact that it's so damn obvious about its leanings it might as well come with a siren attached, and STILL it shifts serious units all over the UK. For shame. For shame.
I'm not sure which aspects of Wade's reporting have irked me the most. The consequences of the Name and Shame campaign, overseen by her while she worked at the News of the World, were as much the fault of the TOTAL FUCKING MORONS participating in the riots that followed as anyone, and all tabloids go batshit fucking mental when it comes to paedophilia, so I would have to say that it was the Sun's coverage of the 'War on Terror' (oh, how I cringe to even use the phrase) that literally had me gaping in disbelief.
I remember the editorial of the paper in this regard in the run-up to the US devastation occupation of Iraq. Tony Blair was Bush's obvious ally while most EU countries were still humming and hawing about whether to get involved or not. The Sun, subtle as always in its approach, 'rated' each country out of ten according to how willing they were to commit to Bush's cause - I vaguely remember France enjoying a position near the bottom of the league table) - and I stood there wondering how on earth a newspaper could get away with being so obviously biased. It was like the Belgrano 'Gotcha' headline in its blatantness. The reason that the Sun pulls it off, of course, is that its readers are incapable of higher intellectual thought processes and its well the husband beater knows it. What gets me is the influence this paper has (why? why? why?) and how she wields it.
I must say, though, I derived a smug sense of satisfaction when I saw its bleating yesterday, after the terror bill was defeated.
Incidentally, a story about paedophilia I linked to a while ago was made all the worse for the two innocent nursery workers wrongly accused of this crime, by what was nothing more than a call for a witch hunt issued by the Sun in 1999. Guess who was deputy editor of the newspaper at that time? You have three, and the first two don't count. It makes you wonder how many lives the evil vengeful witch has ruined altogether.
So there you have it. Rebekah Wade knows that there are a great many thick turnips out there, and boy is she more than happy to capitalise on it by playing to them. More than anything else though, she draws attention to the fact that ambition doesn't necessarily mean being good at your job, it just means manoeuvring yourself into a position of influence and making buckets of money. There you have it folks, the former no longer can be equated with the latter in journalism, it seems. When the history books are rewritten about the 'War on Terror' in Iraq, she will most likely be remembered as the voice of evil in all the madness. Her assassination is all that can save us now.
In a similar vein, I saw Piers Morgan, ex-editor of the Mirror, present a show on TV during the week entitled 'Most Pointless Celebrities'. How rich was that?
Note: The above piece should be accepted in the vein of humour in which it was (just about) intended.
Sometime last week, Rebekah Wade, poisonous editor of arguably the most poisonous and shittest newspaper in the whole world, The Sun, was held for assaulting her husband, Ross Kemp, but was later released without charge.
It would perhaps be rather politically incorrect of me to say that he should have returned the favour by clattering her up and down the street. Just a little.
Sod it. He should have stabbed her in the head. The world would be a much better place without her.
I have always found Rebekah Wade a curious proposition. She's educated enough to carve out a career that would have more cerebral connotations (apparently she's studied in the Sorbonne), and by all accounts she has some ability in the socialite/networking arena. It would not be unreasonable, then, to expect to see her establish herself in the broadsheet sector, seeing as she wanted to be a journalist since she was 14. Her ambition is, to understate it somewhat, substantial.
Unfortunately it is not ambition of the intellectual bent, and this is where the rot sets in all over the place. I have yet to see an intelligent newspaper that outsells shit like the red tops, and it's a deeply depressing indictment of the critical faculties of the general public. The Sun has always been the worst of this lot though, and when I read some time back that Wade was coming back on board as its editor, the gist of the Irish Times article was that no-one really expected her to effect many changes. Satan's emissary himself, Rupert Murdoch, likes the page 3 girls apparently, and her argument that this little feature alienates a potentially lucrative audience - women - fell on deaf ears.
An argument based on economic considerations rather than female solidarity. See what I mean?
Anyway, around the time she was made editor my curiosity was piqued, and I decided some monitoring of the integrity of the paper was in order. I shouldn't have bothered. It's hard to know who is more contemptible, the careerist c*#%s who form most of the papers staff, or the readership on the ground. I would argue that enforced sterilisation of the latter would be a service to the human race in general, but I'd wager that the journalists who write their rubbish have as much contempt for their readers as anyone, seeing as securing an internship at one of the red-tops is apparently a very competitive business.
I'm not berating the Sun for its base level, it's the fact that it's so damn obvious about its leanings it might as well come with a siren attached, and STILL it shifts serious units all over the UK. For shame. For shame.
I'm not sure which aspects of Wade's reporting have irked me the most. The consequences of the Name and Shame campaign, overseen by her while she worked at the News of the World, were as much the fault of the TOTAL FUCKING MORONS participating in the riots that followed as anyone, and all tabloids go batshit fucking mental when it comes to paedophilia, so I would have to say that it was the Sun's coverage of the 'War on Terror' (oh, how I cringe to even use the phrase) that literally had me gaping in disbelief.
I remember the editorial of the paper in this regard in the run-up to the US devastation occupation of Iraq. Tony Blair was Bush's obvious ally while most EU countries were still humming and hawing about whether to get involved or not. The Sun, subtle as always in its approach, 'rated' each country out of ten according to how willing they were to commit to Bush's cause - I vaguely remember France enjoying a position near the bottom of the league table) - and I stood there wondering how on earth a newspaper could get away with being so obviously biased. It was like the Belgrano 'Gotcha' headline in its blatantness. The reason that the Sun pulls it off, of course, is that its readers are incapable of higher intellectual thought processes and its well the husband beater knows it. What gets me is the influence this paper has (why? why? why?) and how she wields it.
I must say, though, I derived a smug sense of satisfaction when I saw its bleating yesterday, after the terror bill was defeated.
Incidentally, a story about paedophilia I linked to a while ago was made all the worse for the two innocent nursery workers wrongly accused of this crime, by what was nothing more than a call for a witch hunt issued by the Sun in 1999. Guess who was deputy editor of the newspaper at that time? You have three, and the first two don't count. It makes you wonder how many lives the evil vengeful witch has ruined altogether.
So there you have it. Rebekah Wade knows that there are a great many thick turnips out there, and boy is she more than happy to capitalise on it by playing to them. More than anything else though, she draws attention to the fact that ambition doesn't necessarily mean being good at your job, it just means manoeuvring yourself into a position of influence and making buckets of money. There you have it folks, the former no longer can be equated with the latter in journalism, it seems. When the history books are rewritten about the 'War on Terror' in Iraq, she will most likely be remembered as the voice of evil in all the madness. Her assassination is all that can save us now.
In a similar vein, I saw Piers Morgan, ex-editor of the Mirror, present a show on TV during the week entitled 'Most Pointless Celebrities'. How rich was that?
Note: The above piece should be accepted in the vein of humour in which it was (just about) intended.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
A song
Now (and then) - Billy Corgan
Nice and atmospheric, this one. It's taken from his most recent release, The Future Embrace. Overall the Corgan has veered off in a more electronic synthy direction compared to the psychedelic rock-outs of his earlier stuff. It's not a million miles away from Ava Adore, by way of comparison. There's also a rather out-there cover of the Bee Gees 'To Love Somebody', a duet with Robert Smith, though the hairy one can hardly be heard at all.
He's not firing on all the cylinders that he used to when he was in the Smashing Pumpkins, and this album will take a bit of getting used to, but he still has flashes of the genius that, in my opinion, made him better than Kurt at the height of the early 90's alternative explosion. He also did a unique line in a curious sort of frontman anti-charisma, which was refreshingly different and served to scare off the casual everyman (I don't like sharing my bands with just anybody, you know).
I always thought the Pumpkins were at their best when they were doing slightly off-kilter alt. rock rather than writing rock anthems. Gish was uniformly great and possessed of Billy's greatest flash of all, Rhinoceros, and Siamese Dream kicked ass, but Pisces Iscariot...Wow. I remember hearing that when getting a lift to Limerick to visit my brother, and hearing it, I was in a trance for the whole journey. Soothe, Obscured, Blue, La Dolly Vita, Starla, just about everything on that was indie eccentricity brilliantly married with RAWK (man). Sometimes I think they should swap around their A-sides and their B-sides. And of course the Pumpkins had drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, who James Iha once referred to as the most gifted of all of them.
It got a little bombastic for them with Mellon Collie, what with drug overdoses and everything, but songs like Porcelina.. and Thru the Eyes of Ruby still showed that when they pushed out the boat, they were one of the most killer bands on the planet. Then came Ava Adore, cool once you had gotten used to it, with another classy highlight in the form of For Martha. Then came Machina.., which had some low points but still a very very high one in the form of Glass and the Ghost Children. And then came the split.
Then came Zwan, a project that still threw up some good songs in spite of what some Pumpkins fans will tell you, but they split acrimoniously as well. Bad feeling and fortune seems to follow Billy like a bad smell sometimes.
Now there is this offering, which has its moments, but I suspect it won't really do it for the indie kids, if they still exist. They seem to be a dying breed now. It just isn't the same as it was in my day anymore!
It's official. I have turned into my father.
Anyway, on billycorgan.com the shaven headed one has already announced that he wants his own band back. God only knows if they'll all ever be able to sit in the same room again, let alone play together, but if it results in a return to their heyday, I'm all for it.
In other news, the lab I was supposed to have today was replaced with a placement in a Pharmacy for three hours. All of the stuff I had to do under supervision was done and stamped in my logbook, so even though I'll have other visits to other clinics, I can now relax safe in the knowledge that the requirements for this aspect of the course have already been dealt with for the whole year. Woo hoo!
Nice and atmospheric, this one. It's taken from his most recent release, The Future Embrace. Overall the Corgan has veered off in a more electronic synthy direction compared to the psychedelic rock-outs of his earlier stuff. It's not a million miles away from Ava Adore, by way of comparison. There's also a rather out-there cover of the Bee Gees 'To Love Somebody', a duet with Robert Smith, though the hairy one can hardly be heard at all.
He's not firing on all the cylinders that he used to when he was in the Smashing Pumpkins, and this album will take a bit of getting used to, but he still has flashes of the genius that, in my opinion, made him better than Kurt at the height of the early 90's alternative explosion. He also did a unique line in a curious sort of frontman anti-charisma, which was refreshingly different and served to scare off the casual everyman (I don't like sharing my bands with just anybody, you know).
I always thought the Pumpkins were at their best when they were doing slightly off-kilter alt. rock rather than writing rock anthems. Gish was uniformly great and possessed of Billy's greatest flash of all, Rhinoceros, and Siamese Dream kicked ass, but Pisces Iscariot...Wow. I remember hearing that when getting a lift to Limerick to visit my brother, and hearing it, I was in a trance for the whole journey. Soothe, Obscured, Blue, La Dolly Vita, Starla, just about everything on that was indie eccentricity brilliantly married with RAWK (man). Sometimes I think they should swap around their A-sides and their B-sides. And of course the Pumpkins had drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, who James Iha once referred to as the most gifted of all of them.
It got a little bombastic for them with Mellon Collie, what with drug overdoses and everything, but songs like Porcelina.. and Thru the Eyes of Ruby still showed that when they pushed out the boat, they were one of the most killer bands on the planet. Then came Ava Adore, cool once you had gotten used to it, with another classy highlight in the form of For Martha. Then came Machina.., which had some low points but still a very very high one in the form of Glass and the Ghost Children. And then came the split.
Then came Zwan, a project that still threw up some good songs in spite of what some Pumpkins fans will tell you, but they split acrimoniously as well. Bad feeling and fortune seems to follow Billy like a bad smell sometimes.
Now there is this offering, which has its moments, but I suspect it won't really do it for the indie kids, if they still exist. They seem to be a dying breed now. It just isn't the same as it was in my day anymore!
It's official. I have turned into my father.
Anyway, on billycorgan.com the shaven headed one has already announced that he wants his own band back. God only knows if they'll all ever be able to sit in the same room again, let alone play together, but if it results in a return to their heyday, I'm all for it.
▪
In other news, the lab I was supposed to have today was replaced with a placement in a Pharmacy for three hours. All of the stuff I had to do under supervision was done and stamped in my logbook, so even though I'll have other visits to other clinics, I can now relax safe in the knowledge that the requirements for this aspect of the course have already been dealt with for the whole year. Woo hoo!
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