Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Bags of fun - designer bags of designer fun, that is.

I had the pleasure of seeing the second Sex and The City movie this afternoon, a few days before its general release. I won't lie - I wasn't expecting much, which turned out to be a good thing. Ah sure its grand as a really long (like, really long) ep of Sex and the City, but films are expected to have more of a plot. I gave up on storyline redemption after Carrie ran into Aidan, of all people, in Abu Dhabi, of all places - goodness me, what a lucky coincidence! He was there buying a carpet, as you do, and she was on a random all expenses paid holiday, as one so often frequents. Anyway, here's my little review. I still hold a flame for the tv series, so I tried my hardest to be nice ... but I'm a feckin bitch  not a nice person too honest so I'm not sure how well that went.

Picking up two years after the first film, Carrie steps back into the Manolos to show us what life married to Big is like, and along the way we see Charlotte struggle with motherhood, Miranda attempting to find balance between her work life and home life, and Samantha determined to defy biology and defeat the menopause. This forms the basis for a rather weak plotline; it feels rather more like an extended (much too extended, clocking in at two hours and twenty six minutes) episode of the television series, albeit with notably more outfits. Perhaps this is why Michael Patrick King decided to shake things up a little and move Carrie and co to Abu Dhabi.

This move was a peculiar decision, as New York herself was almost like a fifth member of the quartet throughout the series. Unfortunately, the cultural difference between traditional Muslims and, er, Samantha, was rather like treading delicately on expensive Tiffany watches. Flocks of Westerners holiday in the United Arab Emirates each year, but while places like Dubai have become popular for their rapidly modernising cities and sun drenched beaches, this makes it easy to forget that public displays of affection are still heavily frowned upon, if not banned in some parts. Thus Samantha’s man eating ways are not only not accepted in Abu Dhabi, but they are illegal; yet rather than adhere to Muslim tradition while visiting another culture, she flouts etiquette and flings condoms around instead. Should we be supportive of her stance for supposedly suppressed women’s rights? Or embarrassed that she waltzed into Abu Dhabi and blatantly disrespected Muslim culture and custom? Or just too distracted by the stream of designer outfits to notice? Speaking of which, a group of fully robed Muslim women then invite Carrie and co behind a beaded curtain, where they whip off their niqabs to reveal glamorous designer outfits worthy of Carrie’s closet; is this what women’s liberation is? Western fashion?

In fact, never mind the ‘are they/aren’t they ridiculing Muslims’ aspect, the frolicking Irish nanny that evokes a barrage of rainbow sprinkled, tin whistle twinkly music every time she bounces (literally ... you’ll see) onto the screen drew far more wearisome moans. Oh, and let’s not forget a gay wedding that, while visually beautiful, cranked out every gay stereotype in existence. In fact, there are few genuinely realistic moments; one was a very touching conversation between Charlotte and Miranda about the struggles of motherhood, and the fear of being an inadequate parent, reminding us what made the television series so great – the friendship.

It’s certainly not going to win any Oscars, but at the end of the day if you take it for what it is – two and something hours of escapism and over the top fun – you’ll contentedly munch your popcorn and remind yourself that realistically, nobody lives as lavishly as these ladies, so there’s no need to despondently ask God why you weren’t chosen to be given a walk in closet stocked with goodies more expensive than most people’s houses. Liza Minnelli also deserves an honourable mention, even if it’s just for doing a cracking good dance routine at her age.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Credit card, library card, student card, Irish-ness card...

I read in the Metro the other day that the Department of Foreign Affairs is contemplating introducing an ‘Irish Heritage certificate’. This means that if you can prove you have even an ounce of Irish ancestry – as an estimate SEVENTY MILLION people worldwide do – you qualify as Irish, and can use this certificate to get loads of awesome discounts in Ireland.

Cue a stampede of ecstatic Americans, delighted that their dream has finally come true – their mother’s aunt’s cousin’s grandmother’s father’s brother’s dog is Irish, meaning that their one fifteenth of Irish-ness actually counts. Oh blessusansaveusall.

This certificate will most likely be credit card sized, meaning that thousands of randomers, many of whom have probably never even been to Ireland in their life, can store their Irish-ness neatly in their wallet and whip it out at the first visitor attraction.

“Just because myself, both my parents and my grandparents have lived in America our entire lives, have never been to Ireland, don’t speak a word of Irish, have no idea who Michael Collins is or what an Eater Rising might be, and frequently pronounce ‘slainte’ ‘slaancha’, doesn’t mean we’re not Irish – look, I have a card to prove it!”

Alright I know I’m targeting those unfortunate Americans here, and I think this is meant to boost tourism – we all know the magical green land of tinkly music, those mischievous leprechauns and Guinness guzzling craic is a major tourist attraction, but I think it just dilutes Irish culture. Give us money and we’ll let you be a little bit Irish? Ah g’way wit yeh.

There is also an 'Irish pub' in France named the Loch Ness Inn.
Better still, there's a chain of Irish pubs in the States with an extensive 'Irish food' menu - one of my favourites is the 'Black and Tan Brownie'.

...Really? You're going to name a dessert after the Black and Tans and call it Irish? Why not just serve Union Jack pie?
If that's not to your taste, you can order a 'Dublin Platter', which consists of traditional Irish foods such as cheese dip, crispy chicken tenders, and chicken quesadillas. Eaten by our forefathers during the potato famine, of course. I could have sworn quesadillas were Mexican. Well, shows what I know!

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Leavin' wha...?

Amazing video from 2FM about the Leaving Cert.


It all kicks off in about three weeks now; you can tell because the weather's starting to get really good. I pity everyone doing theirs (and by pity I mean point and mercilessly laugh).

I would like to say that mine was the most stressful time of my life, but that would mean I was actually studying, which I very much was not. The last week or so beforehand was stressful - the point of no return where you realise, oh sweet jesus why did I spend all that time highlighting everything from the introduction page to acknowledgments? (I was really dreadful for highlighting, I don't think I quite understood the concept, my books looked like a coke addled fairy sneezed all over them).My idea of note-making was copying teacher handouts word for word, and past papers were exactly that - past. What good were they?! I wanted to know what was going to come up in the present, please!

From predicting poets, to finding someone to write a top notch special topic for you, to learning biology from Sabrina ("mitosis is ..."), to writing out your Irish sliocht in phonetics (eh rather defeats the purpose), and all the other crap in between, it was just the hardest thing ever.

Then after all that stress, 'the biggest exams of your life', most important test you'll ever take nonsense, you make it to college and discover three or four years of even harder exams. Well first and second year, not so much. But your last year is a biatch. Bet you wish you had the Leaving back - god that was piss easy wasn't it?

Monday, May 17, 2010

I'm auld, let me on the bus!

I was on the bus into town a cupla days ago. Normally I’d be getting off at Stephen’s Green, but on this particular occasion, I was going as far as O’Connell Street. Sitting downstairs (one of those extremely rare occasions where upstairs was packed and downstairs was not – bit of a phenomenon you don’t usually see), a woman, probably late thirties, got on and sat across from me. She had no buggy, no crutches, and because she was yappin away on her phone, I could tell she was Irish and therefore no a tourist who might be lost.

Where am I going with this?? O’Connell Street, that’s where – I got off, and so did she.

Grafton Street to O’Connell Street can’t be more than a ten minute walk. It was not raining. It was not cold.

I’ve noticed this on several occasions before – going about two stops before getting off buses. I don’t get people who do this. I’m hardly the world’s most athletic person (I’ve been known to argue that driving is a workout for the legs) but even I’m not that bad. I told my friend, and she argued that there’s a city centre fare of only fifty cents, so sure why not?

Ok, fair point ... but then there should not be a city centre fare. Alright maybe for the auld ones – but this should be called the auld one fare. A bit of walking is good for you. If you were to do this every day, for a working week, that’s 2.50 a week. That’s 12 euro a month. That’s one hundred and forty four euro a year you’re wasting on a ten minute stroll! And, that’s only one way! One of the worst ones I’ve seen is people who get on the luas at Stephen’s Green and actually get off at Harcourt. Come the feck on like, you can practically see Harcourt from Stephen’s green! I could outrun you!

If I were in charge of public transport I’d totally ban this nonsense. And the lazy feckers wouldn’t even fight me cos they’d be too lazy.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

How to Not be Famous

Some people choose not to be celebrities. Some people aim to be normal things – doctors, lawyers, farmers, go-go dancers etc. But there are those whose careers just naturally thrust them into the spotlight.

This is fine. Some people lap it up, acting every inch of celebrity perfection.

Others ... not so much. Here are several things, complete with examples, of what you should not do if you aim to keep your limelight a-glowing. This might not concern you – maybe you don’t want to have another of Jude Law’s babies, or sleep with Tiger Woods, or collaborate with Timberland. But it’s funny anyway, so read it.

Chris Brown
Yeah so the most obvious thing here is, clearly, don’t beat up your famous girlfriend. Like, duhh. But to make a statement complaining about the paparazzi hounding his every move? And then to go off in a huff and moan that “what happens between Rhianna and me should remain private, between us”? Oh gosh we’re so sorry that people wanted to know if Rhianna was, like, alive and stuff? How very intrusive of us. Point clearly made – domestic abuse should totally stay on the DL. Cos no one wants to know what style of knuckleduster works best for giving girls black eyes.

Mariah Carey
Don’t diva it up, biatch. They just don’t learn, do they – stop behaving like a five year old. It was recently claimed that Mariah Carey hires someone to walk in front of her, in case she trips. Maybe she’s too good to lift her eyelids and see where she’s going? She should probably get someone for that. Or, you know, being sober helps with that straight line business. When she was filming for a low budget film ‘Tennessee’, the director told her they couldn’t afford to fly her to the location on first class – omg, Mariah Carey on economy??? I wouldn’t put it past her to just buy an extra two seats so she could have the whole row to herself!

Oh wait... she did. No, wait ... she bought all the seats. In the whole plane.

She also says that her feet ‘repel flat shoes’, which is why she always wears heels, even at the gym. It must be some sort of condition, evidently her breasts repel clothing. She should probably see someone about that.


Kanye West
Clearly a bad idea to enrage a whole generation of teeny, screaming, wild eyed fans of Taylor Swift by interrupting the poor thing during an acceptance speech. Not to mention the straw chewin, rake stabbing hicks who worship her and her ‘country’ (ehh...really??) music. No one is quite sure what was going through Kanye’s head when he thought this was a smart move – I reckon his brain was oxygen starved from spending all that time underwater with his sparkly fish friends.

Tiger Woods, John Terry, Jesse James, Ashley Cole, and the rest of the keep-it-in-your-damn-pants brigade.
In fairness, they’re still celebrities – they’re just utterly hated celebrities. Nothing will plummet you to this status faster than cheating on your wife. Ashley Cole has it pretty bad, seeing as Cheryl is basically adored by all, even though she’s as boring as Westlife’s water safety ad since going from Chav-tastic to Chanel. Tiger Woods is just a spanner of the highest level though – a hundred and twenty affairs??? Did he honestly think that there was no chance at all that at least one of them would come to light? How did he even remember who he was supposed to be cheating with on what night and where? Something of that scale would almost require a full-time team to organise it all. I’d love to hear all his excuses, no doubt he accidentally re-hashed several of them more than once. I wonder if he ever got caught out?

-Mrs Woods: “what’s that large, purple splotch on your neck dear?”
-Tiger: “ehh.. mosquito bite.”
-Mrs Woods: “again? That’s the third one this week. We don’t even live in a mosquito infested area...?”
-Tiger: “ehh... business trip. To Africa.”
-Mrs. Woods: “again? Weren’t you there last month?”
-Tiger: “ehh... that was the north. I was in the South this time”.
-Mrs Woods: “again? Weren’t you in the South a few months ago?”
-Tiger: “ehh... that was South America. With the lads like.”
-Mrs Woods: “again? Havn’t you away with your friends four times this year?”
-Tiger: “ehh... that was just for the craic. This was for Bill’s stag do.”
-Mrs Woods: “again? Weren’t you at Bill’s stag do a year ago...? I sent a wedding gift!”
-Tiger: “ehh... they got divorced. This was his second stag do. To Mary”.
-Mrs Woods: “Mary was his first wife...?”
-Tiger: “ehh... this one’s called Mary too. That’s who rang here the other day looking for me ... she wanted to check about the stag do.”
-Mrs Woods: “was it not a Lucy who rang here?”
-Tiger: “Lucinda actually – I mean, no, that was last week, and she’s ... my golf ball cleaner.”
-Mrs Woods: “I thought she looked after your stick? Doesn’t Suzie look after your balls?”
-Tiger: “ehh... they both do. In fact, I have several people to take care of my stick and balls."

Not to mention his new Nike ad that shows him staring blankly at the camera while his dead father speaks in the background. Hmm, I've already exploited over a hundred women for sexual benefit ... what's next? Why, exploiting my deceased father for financial benefit of course!! duhhh. What do you mean people won't get that its an ad for shoes?

Here it is
And here is a fantastic spoof!

And last for now, Daniel Radcliffe
You probably shouldn’t ... get Harry Potter stoned. He might put his wand somewhere he shouldn’t and make something explode... ahem. A few months ago, Daniel did the utterly unspeakable – unlike any eighteen year old boy before him, he smoked hash. Not coke, or E, or like horse tranqs or something – one whole entire joint of weed.

Dear God in Heaven. Alert Dumbledore immediately!

I know I’m being hypocritical here in that I’m standing up for Harry Pothead, but I suppose you probably shouldn’t let yourself be photographed with a scribbled on moustache. It’s very misleading. People are going to think you’re grown up enough to grow a moustache.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Monkeys don't like Kit Kats

I have a subscription to PETA (back from the days when I wanted to be a vet and play with fluffy kitties all day long) and they sent around this video, made by Greenpeace.

From the horrible crunchy noises to the hair protruding from the kitkat at the end, it actually disturbed me probably far more than an ad should, really. And what’s more – seriously I kid you not, this really is true – I was mid kitkat-tea-dipping at the time I watched it. This depresses me greatly; I have a bit of an obsession with kitkats, which I will now have issues eating. My fallback when there’s a lack of kitkats is usually those little aero balls.
Grand. Except aero are also Nestle.


I turned to a packet of buttons for comfort, but whaddya know, in 2006 Cadbury had to recall a heap of products because they accidentally infected them with salmonella due to faulty labour.

Peanut M&M’s...? Mars Inc, (mars bars, snickers, malteasers, M&M’s, and Minstrels), have been repeatedly lambasted by PETA for animal testing, not to mention underpaying labourers in Africa, where they purchase their cocoa beans.

Hersheys? ...Hersheys tastes like crap.

So what am I supposed to do now?! My yummy kitkats are tainted!! I could make a decision to give up unhealthy food, or I could help support Greenpeace and PETA, or I could spread the word, or I could ... switch to Lindt.

Mmm, Lindt  :-)

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Thou Shalt Not Study

I've spent the past weeks or two totally consumed by the amount of study I had to do, swiftly followed by crafty procrastination, then that guilty feeling you get for not studying and knowing you're going to keep not studying...

Here's a tiny bit of what's kept be preoccupied. There has been heaps more, but most of it, as most procrastination is, really, was totally boring.

I don't usually listen to music while studying; more often than not (don't lie, its happened to you too) I end up inadvertently typing out song lyrics. 

"Media coverage of the war has often been misleading, because ... the party don't stop til I walk in ... following twenty four hour coverage of the Gulf War ... I was like, baby, baby, baby, Ooohh ... until journalists were able to report live from war zones, and were often quoted saying ... come on rude boy, boy, can you gettit up ... "

I don't think that would have gone down well in an exam. However, I did come across a few bands I hadn;t heard of before, and though Yes Giantess were pretty good. I’m not great at adequately explaining positive and negative attributes of a band, so I’m just gonna say they'e kinda awesome and leave it at that...

I’ve also spent a considerable amount of time youtubing almost every band to be announced for Electric Picnic 2010 (which I cannot WAIT for, despite the fact that I still haven’t actually got a ticket...) Very excited for LCD Soundsystem, Mumford & Sons, Crystal Castles, (even though I’ve seen the twice already) and Hot Chip, in particular. Must stock up on glow sticks.

Another thing that I’ve spent a sizeable (no pun intended) amount of time googling is Heidi Montag and her recent love starved desperate bid for attention surgery. In one day while most of us plebs can only moan about our human bodies she had a boob job, nose job, chin job, several face jobs, lipo, and a back scoop.

... what the hell is a back scoop?? Someone asked her and she actually said, “you know, I wasn’t too sure, but I figured, why not?” That’s a life motto right there.

And she’s not even done – apparently the boobs aren’t big enough? Yes ... yes they are. They are hilariously huge fake boobs. They look like blow up boobs. They’re like something off a cartoon character. The girl is a real life Barbie ... freaky. Apparently the fact that NO ONE seems to think she looks better than before, and that she’s making appearances on websites like epicfailure and awfulplasticsurgery.com, doesn’t bother her. Ties in well with her newly released single, ‘Superficial’.
...too easy.

Yeah, I know I need to get a life and get off facebook, but that’s hard to do when your chained to your laptop procrastinating studying, so I spent far too much time joining every Kate’s Party group I could find. This was a prank; some guy created a fake birthday party invite to a girl named Kate’s house, where he claimed she accidentally left it on ‘open invite’. It spread like swine flu, and at the last check I think there were over thirty thousand people attending. If nothing else, it’s a perfect, ready-made statistical project on how much time people waste on Facebook. (Pot, kettle, I know).

"Hey are you going to Kate's party?" "No, I wasn't invited." *AWKWARD*
"Aww, I can't... I have Kate's party!"
"Mum and Dad, where did you meet?" "In the toilet queue at Kate's Party, son"
"I Sure Hope I Get Laid At Kate's Party!"
"Ted Mosby met your mother at Kate's Party".
"FuckHogwarts, I'm going to Kate's party!!!"
"Hi, I'm Troy McClure and you might remember me from kate's party."
"The Hangover sequel: Kate's Party"
"Kate wore army pants and flip flops... so i wore army pants and flip flops"

Please don’t ask me what I was youtubing when I came across this, but it gives me nightmares. I think the mother must have reproduced with a squid or something. I won’t lie, I probably would weep and call an exorcist if I gave birth to this. If you watch the extended version ... it even barks.

I’ll leave with this, which I initially thought was a belated and disturbing April Fool’s joke. Not so much.

There are so many things wrong here I don’t quite know where to start...?

-By publishing their story, are they not highlighting the fact that they’ve committed the illegal crime of incest?
-Em... its sick?
-Has anyone checked to see if the auld one is mentally disturbed?
-Still sick..
-How in the name of sex is he attracted to that?
-So, so sick
-Is it not like some form of child abuse to put a kid through having the knowledge that his granny and his nephew are his parents???

Keep an eye out, I smell a future Jerry Springer in the making.