Introspection on the Eve of the Year-Death

It's that time of year again folks, the time when I wake up in a cold sweat after weeks of partying and realise that another year is about to die and that I'm not sure if I've achieved anything, or bettered the world in any way possible. Y'know, that lovely ould feeling of mortality that conspires to make you feel like as worthless as a flea-ridden badger pelt.


I love that feeling. It's ace.


The past weeks have, if I'm honest, been a bit of a blur. Company xmas party (where I danced for 5 hours in a tuxedo and a fez), team xmas party (where we dressed up as medieval sorts and attended a wench-served banquetting hall) and the endless succession of festive catch-ups with friends and loved ones.

Then there was christmas itself: christmas eve, christmas day, and Boxing Day...all accompanied by food and drink...copious amounts of drink. I took the missus home with me to spend the holiday with my family, and now she's considering entering rehab. It was a lot of fun, but now I'm just about ready for a massive spell of detox and rest.

So now it's NYE, and I'm sitting in my boxers watching my (slightly insane) girlfriend dance around listening to 90's dance music while she gets ready. She's like a demented toddler, on crack, but the song is good for the end of the year.

SO, introspection. What was good, and what was shite about this year?

BAD

1. Social retreat (from almost everyone I hold dear) and the loss of huge swathes of memory.
2. Physical deterioration (I gradually became a big huge fat fucker, topping at 15st 8 - #fatcunt)
3. Near-perpetual money worries.
4. Horrendously neglecting, and forgetting how to blog (three posts in a year! woohoo!!).
5. Doing nothing to move away from a job I realise I seriously dislike. 
6. Procrastination in writing, the thing I actually want to do for a living.
7. Drinking too much, sleeping too little, taking my health for granted and waking up on the floor of my living room a few too many time.
8. Psycho-fucking-therapy.
9. My best mate moving away from London.
10. Not finishing writing the novel I promised myself I'd complete, in spite of having loads of time to do it in.
11. Finding out last week that one of my best friends was knocked over in a hit and run collision, and is now lying in hospital in Belfast. The cunt driving the car hasn't been found, and Stephen is in an induced come, though showing signs of stability and improvement.

So that all sounds pretty shite, eh? But there were a few great times as well...


GOOD

1. A holiday I took with the Missus to Italy in September. (The pasta!! The wine!! The PIZZA!!) and another not-so-good (but fun) trip to Egypt in April.
2. Paying off my debts with my annual bonus.
3. Writing a pilot drama script for a Channel 4 screenwriting competition. I didn't win, but I  completed the fucker in two days and was really pleased with it. It gave me a bit of confidence that I could do this for a living, in spite of the rejection and mad, murderous doubts.
4. Finally figuring out what I want to do with my life, and coming up with a rough plan for the next year. (It involves a lot of writing).
5. Getting back into boxing and exercise and shifting some of the blubber I'd accumulated. Much more to do there.
6. Running the Dublin marathon on 29th October and finishing, despite twisting my knee. 
7. The trip to Dublin for the marathon; meeting my best mates, staying in my first 5 star hotel, and going on some epic Dublin pub crawls.
8. Xmas with the Missus and my crazy family.

On the whole, it seems this year had more bad times than good, but I'm quietly optimistic for the new year. I'll be 26 in a few weeks, and I'm spending my holiday abroad...in India! Plus, I've got a few resolutions that I'll be trying my best to stick to, and which might make me a bit happier in my life.

So I think that's enough introspection for now, although I sadly realise that all these good and bad points could have made a separate blog entry, so I'll have to stop being such a lazy bastard.

Happy New Year everyone! I hope you have a lovely evening, and you all have a wonderful 2013.

x

How Proud We Are

So I've been a fight fan for about 10 years, and there's nothing better than seeing an Irish boxer doing well.

At this Olympics, our tiny country won 4 medals. That's almost 1 per every million. Basically our fighters are 1 in a million.

I cried my eyes out when Katie Taylor won her gold. She blasted the glass ceiling off the world of fucking boxing, and I love her.

Who inspires you?

Love,
Con

'The Cave Dweller', or 'Whatever happened to the last few Years?'

 Harumph.

So I haven't blogged in a while, a long while. Yesterday, I happened to click into my bookmarked pages, and this bloggo came up, and I shamefacedly had a look.

Nothing. Nothing happening at all. It was about as much fun as a 'Make a Wish' daytrip to Chernobyl, and not even half as entertaining. I looked over at the section marked 'The Past' and was surprised to see:
2011 (3)
2010 (42)
2009 (78)

Not even a single post from 2012 - how terrible.

My little blog had gone from being a (hopefully) funny and well-written online journal, to a dirty, festering, stinking, lethargic pile of shite; lazy and insignificantly dull.

In the last two years, I more or less gave up on the whole blogosphere heart-on-sleeve approach to writing, and tried to write a book. Also, I got a girlfriend, a real life one this time, and the relationship soon surpassed my previous record of 9 weeks. I soon got involved in the trivial and wonderful aspects of having a lady-woman to report to, part of which probably meant quitting from divulging my shameful, drunken antics to internet strangers, and I 'settled down'. Yuck.

Anyway, I'm still with the lovely woman (she's a mad Jewess with curly hair and a wicked sense of humour) in our little cave that we share in Fulham, and I'm still writing my book, which is about a crazy man, but I'm happy to return to the Pizza Box and pick up where I left off.

One reason for this turnaround is that I have no memories from the past two years, and very few from the past three or four other than the ones I can glean from Facebook, the photos saved to my harddrive, and past posts here. Seriously, hardly any at all!

I lived in a bit of an insomniac, drunken haze since I moved back to Ireland from the USA, and I stayed in my little shadow world thereafter, until a few weeks ago when I had a sudden moment of awakening and found to my horror that I was 25, and sleepwalking through my life. I had ballooned in weight, was seeing a shrink, had taken to sleeping all day during the weekend, and went for days at a time without speaking. When I did speak, it was either to snap or bark at someone, or rasp sarcastically. I had gone from being a cheerful sort of chap to becoming a bit of a cunt. I'd even fucked my career up! I was supposed to be a lawyer, remember? But I can definitely recall being invited not to continue my career with the firm I was supposed to work with. Good job, Conbot.

Years had passed, and I had lost the way of myself a bit and woke up to the great hangover of the truth that I had missed at least four years of my life. My personality had completely changed, and I had no idea who I was. I'm sure there are people I knew when I was younger who wouldn't even recognise me.

It's bizarre, I rummage through my bureau in my room, and find the manuscript to a novel I've been writing and it's 60,000 words. I have only vague memories of writing a lot of it, and have had to rediscover the characters and the plot.

Other things are harder. I saw a picture of a friend of mine on Facebook, a girl from University. She and I were 'rather close' then, and I can barely remember more than a few glimpses. Not even the bad stuff, which I'm sure was abundant (if she was hanging out with me!)

So I contacted a load of my friends and gave them the skinny. I had fallen off the radar and plummeted headfirst into a large quagmire of shite and doubt, changing from a happy scamp into a hairy recluse man. I asked those friends I could remember to help me by loaning me some of their memories, and that's why I'm back.

Over the next few weeks and months, I'll post what these friends reply to me with, and try to add my own memories of what they mean to me. It'll be as new to me as it will be to any of you suckers who stick around to read.

At best, I might get some memories back and maybe rebuild my blog. At worst, I'll chase what remaining followers I have into the ocean.

We'll see.
C

I got a critique for a short story I wrote

So I wrote a short story recently called 'A lullaby for Bosco Sweeney' - and submitted for consideration to a big Irish short-story competition. The Fish Short Story Competition is a bit of a hero-thing of mine, so it was great to hear back from them.

One point though - the character of 'Val' is supposed to be a man...just saying haha


"The direct appeal to the reader/listener in the opening paragraph succinctly creates a sense of immediacy and orientates the reader swiftly within the narrative, raising expectations and creating ample space for the unexpected. No explanation about who the narrator might be is necessary as the writer has trusted the reader to find the answer through the language presented which in turn motivates us to ask all the right questions essential to propelling the story forward. The anecdotal and informal voice of Johnny draws us to his story with ease and peppering the prose with unique word choices and syntax works well to render his voice distinct and credible however the repetition of the phrase “I mind” is overly intrusive. Phrases such as these, (I felt, I saw, I remember, it seems) tend to distance the reader from participating imaginatively in the story and notably in this work, fractures the tension in pivotal moments of the plot, in particular in the passage: I mind taking Bosco into the toilet.... where the character of Bosco is revealed both physically and emotionally before the climactic fiddle playing scene. Reducing the frequency of this phrase will mean the prose is stronger and slicker. The author has skilfully guided the reader’s interpretation of Bosco through a compelling and well-observed selection of detail. This is the story’s strength; the creation of this three dimensional and complex character that the reader is compelled to invest in emotionally. This astute attention to detail extends to the setting and the writer has created a vivid living that serves well to engage all the senses and convinces us that we are surrounded by this fictional universe. The narrative arc is crafted and consistent, building in a structured and suspense-sustaining manner and the shift from the “story” to “real time” marked by the inclusion of Val the bar maid propels the plot forward, apart from the interjection beginning “No, he didn’t show up at all, Val...” where its length causes this traction to waver slightly. This aside, the subject matter, structure and narrative perspective work successfully in producing a tender and insightful short story where all the elements of story-telling have been satisfied"


I can tell you, after years of rejection letters, this sorta stuff is like tuna-flavoured crack to a ghetto cat. Huzzah!

The Fatso on the Tube and my broken clownshoes.

I bought a new pair of red Converse yesterday. Yes, I exist in about 2006.

So I'm coming into work, very hungover, and tapping my heels together like some gangrel Dorothy with the booze-fear, and the train starts to fill up. I make myself as small as possible, and try to read my little book.

Eventually, there are too many people and they start to file into the aisle, to make space.


I'm reading away, trying not to think of the word 'vomit' and my right foot suddenly feels crushed, like mangled.

I look up, and there's a big fat woman repeatedly stepping on my shoes, my big fucking clown shoes, and looking the other way. The pristine white rubber toecap is smudged and blackening.

"Could you stop stepping on my foot please?" I ask, as politely as my broken foot will allow.

Fatso snaps "Can you not pull your big feet in?"

I have size 12 (US 13) so it's a fair question, and I struggle not to point out that her hoofs have the same texture, hue, shape and general appearance of two massive hunks of cowflesh, carved off a Creuztfeldt-Jakob'd bovine bloater, so I return,

'They're back as far as they can go, would you watch where you step please?"


She looks like she wants to slap (or eat) me, and her voice shakes as she says,

"Well...can't you FOLD them in at least?"

I laugh and say "I'm not a PENGUIN!", loud enough for everyone to hear, and with enough rage to allow a little raindrop of spittle to land on her fouracre, sweat-drizzled hamface.

Now my new shoes are desecrated, and I smell like the fury of an obese woman. Winning.

I'm moving flat in 2 days, the commute will be better...ins Allah!

I'm losing track of time..

Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus, singula dum capti circumvectamur amore

The Rules of Writing - Kurt Vonnegut

One of my favourite pasttimes is reading interviews with writers I love, especially when they impart advice rules or advice on the process of writing. Sometimes they can say ridiculousy pretentious and fucktardly things (eg "you have to be true to the child in your soul" etc) but some of the real heavyweights have fascinating insights into their craft.

At the moment I'm trying to write, but find that I'm lacking the motivation to sit with my notebook and beat my head until something comes out. Watching youtube and reading interviews of my favourite writers is really refreshing and I find it helps get you in the right frame of mind to write

Anway,


I've been a huge fan of Kurt Vonnegut since reading 'Cat's Cradle' a few years ago, and he imparted eight rules for writing short fiction:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things — reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
   
6. Be a sadist. Now matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them — in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

So there you go, thems the rules.

I'm writing non-blog stuff at the moment, so I'll just post a lovely song

Facebook Arguments - sex slavery.

Okay, so this is a bit of a thorny issue.


I was on, yes, Facebook tonight and noticed that a really good friend of The Lady had posted a link to an excellent article from the NYT. It deals with the endemic rise of sex slavery in the US - as opposed to 'traditional' prostitution - and how law enforcement sometimes struggles to notice the difference between the two. At 11 pages it's perhaps a bit bulkier than most articles we blog-jobs will read, but it's an extremely important piece, and just as relevant now as when it was written.

This friend of The Lady, who we'll name 'Ms AS', is a really lovely person and incredibly intelligent. She does have a tendency to grasp onto an idea and blindly argue it without acknowledging differing arguments. Usually she's right, and everyone else is wrong. By usually of course, I mean always.

The article had made her understandably angry. When I read it myself, I felt physically sick and absolutely drained and depressed at the content therein.

Of course...then there were the comments.

Now, y'all know that I can be less than sympathetic towards people on facebook. Often I can be a complete prick about it, but sometimes I think a little rant is necessary. Ms AS, in her vehemence not only posted the link to every woman's wall she knew, but also deleted comments that she didn't agree with.

Hmm, I love the smell of unfettered discourse in the twilight.

So, I'm making a record of my response in case mine gets the chop.


Here's what was written, note how the sole bloke gets attacked:

Miss AS: Read this; to be aware and for your own protection. SEX SLAVERY IN MODERN TIMES *link*

Mr JSN: Shocking.

Ms AS: Read the whole article though, it really will make you feel sick

Ms JB: "dozens of men came and went". Who are all of these men and what the hell is wrong with them?! Its so sad that this happens, and even sadder that there are so many 'John's' who finance it.

Ms AS: Yeah no exactly I completely agree JB, it is really tragic, if there was no demand for this, there would be no money to make from it and no industry. I don't understand either who these men are and what is in their head, just so sick.

Ms LGC: Horrid horrid horrid, thank you for bringing it to my attention AS. Some of these men are just average people... Around my office there are many "dance shows" and apparently the area turns into a prostitute area in the evening...so... Now I know what "working late" means ;)

"there are 30,000 to 50,000 sex slaves in captivity in the United States at any given time." What an outrageous number. We don't just merely need sympathy for these victims, we need ACTION! Oh but wait, these are merely women and I'm sure they like it.

Mr JSN: Why is my comment gone / deleted?

Ms LGC: your "shocking" comment is still there...

Mr JSN: I had another comment about how this article is rather old and hopefully this is now stopped. That must have been censored for some odd reason...

Ms LGC: hahaha, the article might be old, but still very relevant. Hopefully not that relevant in the US anymore (as action hopefully has been taken) but as a worldwide topic - sadly too painfully relevant...

Mr JSN: I know for a fact that in the UK this issue has been tackled rather well. Obviously we can never stop this sort of things 100% but they seem to have cracked down on alot of them. The British police has had a few joint operations and they go...t rid of quite a few of these gangs.

In Asia, Africa and the Middle East however, it beggars belief.

Ms LGC: I hope you're correct. However, everyone 1 is too many and what we need to start with is targeting the education of our men and their mental health.

Mr JSN: I disagree

It's not a issue of how well educated these men are; you will find that top lawyers, politicians and businessmen often frequent and abuse women. This is also not a mental health issue - these men are often quite sound. It is a case of 'power' or the need to exert 'power' over weak fragile women.

We need to decrease poverty levels (via increased education for women so they have better chances in their countries and also to facilitate the growth of their local economies) and then to narrow the gap between the rich and the poor (so that the poor are not abused).

Ms LGC: I completely agree with your second point. However, with "educate our men" I meant, we should change the way women are being portrayed in our societies (this should also be done by women). Furthermore, I do believe it is a mental health issue, especially when we talk about men who abuse 12 year old girls, this is not solely about increasing economic innitiative and possibilities for the poor.

Mr JSN: Playing devils advocate here but look at how long it has taken women to be emancipated in Europe and for various equality rights to be established. These regions are quite behind when compared to the Western world, it would be near impossib...le for them to 'catch up'. If for hundreds or thousands of years, women has been portrayed in their culture, society or religion as 'to be abused' - what makes you think that 10 - 20 years of lobbying / reforms / globalisation will change things?

But the girls in the articles are not 12 year olds. They are adults, young adults, I take your point.

Yes, abusing 12 year olds is a mental health issue.

Ms LGC: Yes, but they start out at very young ages.. and then grow into it - as also mentioned in the article. Moreover, even IF in these countries the women are not emancipated etc etc - they are trafficked to the West - our countries and our governments. If our men had no desire to abuse these women, the problems would stay in their countries and societies, but sadly enough it doesn't. I condone all sorts of sexual exploitation worldwide, but especially when it happens in my country by my men.

Mr JSN: They don't call it the oldest profession in the world for no reason....

Ms LGC: Because men are in charge ;)

Ms AS: It's not a profession Mr JSN to be a forced sex slave kept in a prison-like environment!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Did you even read the article???????? The article is about sex slavery where women are abducted and beaten and lured into forced prostitution – they don't get paid or the right to leave at any time. They are not voluntary prostitutes that make money for themselves and have consciously chosen that lifestyle. Maybe you should read the article before you make comments.

Mr JSN: I give up

Ms JB: He obviously didnt read the article. If he did, he would know that some of the children were even younger than 12- toddlers even. And no matter how old they are, it is wrong to keep people against thier will. How can you call rape, torture, and murder a profession? So shameless.

Ms LGC: Most clients are not aware that the women are trafficking victims and believe they are engaged in prostitution of their own free will. In reality, the overwhelming majority of women working in prostitution are victims of sexual slavery."

....... I'm sure the 3 year old boy and 16 year old girl want to have sex with 15 - 20 (even up to 50 sometimes!) different men.

Ms AS: I second that JB. It's not a profession but a crime - and one of the vilest imaginable.

Ms AS: unfortunately LCG i think these men that go to prostitutes are very well aware and they dont care, they just want this ''service'' to be available in case they need it and they dont care about the conditions of the people who supply this even if those conditions are completely inhumane and degrading. The only way to stop this is through the cooperation between police, law enforcers, informants and normal decent citizens -men and women.

Me: Just my two cents worth, but some of the responses here are completely unreasonable, especially some of the ones directed at Mr JSN, so excuse the length of this.

No-one could possibly believe that the crimes mentioned in the article are an...ything other than despicable, but it's totally counter-productive to argue in broad strokes with an issue like this. JSN clearly wasn't calling sex slavery a profession!

The article wasn't talking about the evils of prostitution, it was concerned with the sex-trafficking of vulnerable girls (a large proportion of whom are underage) and the increasing levels of slaves in the US (and elsewhere) as opposed to the 'Pretty Woman' fallacy of prostitution that Hollywood perpetuates.

First of all, if you automatically equate all forms of prostitution with sex-slavery, then you're allowing many more people than the estimated 50,000 annually (in the US alone) to fall through the gaps. If people don't realise the difference between, say, regulated prostitution in Amsterdam or Nevada, quasi-legal escorting in most of Europe and the US and then instances of slavery and pederasty which are reported in this article, then there's a risk of them all being pigeon-holed together. If, as the article states, a lot of officers, lawmakers etc don't understand that there are increasing levels of sex slaves in their vice arrests then the problem will get worse.

JSN wasn't saying the article wasn't about sex slavery, he was merely pointing out the difficulty of overnight change. The phrase 'the oldest profession in the world' is accurate, but not as some apologia arguing that slavery is okay, just pointing out that the sex industry is probably never going to stop. There will always be demand and there will always be supply, and that's the most pressing issue at the moment, how that supply is filled.

Accusing him of not having read the article because he was answering someone's opinion just reads as petulant, and actually shows that maybe y'all haven't understood the point of the article. He clearly wasn't equating sex slavery to prostitution, and yet you all jump down his throat for pointing out the difficulty in defeating the sex industry.

Secondly, and again about broad strokes, if you make a 'men are the problem' statement and blame the attitude of men as the sole reason for this problem then you're missing the point. It's demonstrably not a single gender issue.

This article doesn't do so, but a lot of the peripheral comments veer almost towards misandry in blaming 'mankind' for sex slavery. Saying 'men are in charge' and 'I'm sure they (the slaves) like it', even if joking/sarcastic just obscures the actual problems raised.

Yeah, some men are fucking sick and think sex can be bought and that women are commodities, but the VAST MAJORITY don't, and to suggest otherwise is completely false. If you demonise men then some of the more prevalent, and solvable, factors (eg: the cyclical nature of abuse, lack of inter-agency cooperation, corruption, lack of exposure of victim reports, lack of rehabilitation, funding cuts etc etc) just get overlooked more easily.

I agree that there needs to be a vast overhaul in attitudes towards women, but it's not only men who need to do so. It's as important that women change their attitudes too because it's a societal issue, not just an affront towards woman. Just as important is that governments make firm commitments against sex slavery (as has occurred in UK and Ireland in the last decade with some success) or that institutions like the catholic church take a firm stance against abuse in its ranks.

"How can you call rape, torture, and murder a profession? So shameless." - again, that's not what JSN said AT ALL. By hurling your misdirected anger at a man for raising legitimate questions and giving opinions on this seriously important matter, you're being counterproductive. This article seriously pissed me off too, it made me feel physically sick in fact, but there are different levels to the sex industry, and it's important to discuss it in specifics and dissect the problem, not just start leveling hysterical accusations.



So this is basically just an argument that I copy and pasted from Facebook. I'm sorry it's so long, but it's a subject that needs to be discussed and I think it's worth reading about and arguing about. I'd love to hear some opinions from any of the dear readers if possible. I hope I didn't sound like I was justifying anything, but I really got annoyed at the way they swarmed against him. What do you think?


Anyway, that'll learn me for getting into a scrap on facebook eh?

When I grow up and become a gunslinger in the old west...

I want to dress like Lee Van Cleef.

In the meantime, can someone get me a pocket watch that plays this tune and a mariachi band to create a tense 'duel theme' wherever I go?

Shut your fucking wordhole!! It's Ear Time.

I was reading a new blog today, something I haven't done in a while, and the writer was talking about how he knows there is no god, as opposed to 'timid' atheists or rationalists, who merely disbelieve, or who know they don't know. I think based on his rather black and white definition, I was one of those timid ones, that amused me.

It was a very well written piece though, the law student in me liking the source-quoting, the 'close the gate' method of returning to his original point, and he even gave a half-hearted attempt to understand why people would have opinions contrary to his own.

Then the comments...

Now, I'm as open-minded as the next guy I hate the rest of the world as much as the next guy, and I always have something to say when people make massively broad statements such as 'I know there is no god'...even if I agree with 90% of what he said.

I was thinking that maybe I'd point out that his assertion that evolution was fact and not theory was erroneous, as the 'theory of evolution' is merely more plausible than sky-wizards and thus has greater scientific credence. I might also have pointed out that atheism isn't timid, it's more precise in scientific terms, science 'being aware' of the fact that it doesn't know the answer as opposed to religious fundies who accept creation theory as explaining a 'truth' how the world came about, and this writer being paradoxically as incorrect as them in proclaiming a universal truth about the creation of the universe.

(Yes, I do find it hard to fill the hours when I'm away from my girlfriend.)

I was considering how best to word this (I thought) rather eloquent riposte, when I scrolled down the comments page and saw that the nuts had got there first.

Anonymous wrote: YOU ATHEISTS ARE ALL MAD!!! If there's no God, HOW DOES THE SUN ORBIT THE EARTH??


I sat back, absolutely dumbfounded. No....no fucking way, this can't....please no...

Then I saw that it was sarcasm, and nearly wept with relief. Life was good again. It was a blogger linking to his online store of atheist t-shirts. I threw a crust of bread at the unconscious hooker on my floor and smiled as my fear dissipated.

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It got me thinking though...mind-thinking. Why is it nowadays that people will discourse on a topic about which they know nothing?

When did it become okay to just 'have a go'? When did the world become so arrogant as to believe that everyone is an expert on a topic and has a valid point to make?

Post your comment:
Anonymous says: I attended a one week crash course on the ethics of biochemistry so I can talk with exclusive domain about a topic that people have endlessly debated for sixty years.

Anonymous 2 says: No WAY man!! You're crasy, My bibel tutor told me that biochemistry is what makes hommosexualls and asians, don't mess with God's plan!!!

Anonymous 3 says: Yeah, I half-read an online article about stem-cell research on a right-wing newspaper's website. YOU PEOPLE ARE SICK!!

Anonymous 4 says: I went to an obscure liberal arts college that none of you could afford and we had a very productive coffee-and-humous round table discussion of the moral consequences of stem-cell research. We agreed it's necessary for scientific development. I took philosophy for a semester so I know what I'm talking about. Lol.

Anonymous 5 says: Whats stencil research???

God Lover says: Bless you all, I pity you.

Anonymous 6 says: You know who else used stem cell research? Hitler!!!!!

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I mean, when did it become the norm for people to fool themselves that they had an expert opinion on something they've overheard in a pub?

I used to watch a lot of medical dramas (before I pawned my TV to buy chloroform and a handkerchief) but I'd never assume I could perform a tracheotomy.

I COMPLETELY agree with the concept of freedom of speech by the way, please don't think I'm advocating some restriction on people's right to voice opinions. I just wish people didn't kid themselves into believing they were an expert on everything they've read, seen or heard.

It happened to me the other day, and I literally didn't know how to respond. My girlfriend is moving house soon, and she and her flatmates are looking at houses in Northwest London. In fact, one of the places they're considering is Maida Vale, about a mile from where I used to live and somewhere I used to go running. It's one of the most expensive parts of London for property and I mentioned this, along with the fact that the Tube gets really slow in the mornings.

"No it doesn't"

What?

"I've been on that line before, it's really quick."

I was trying to point out that the two lines which service the entire area get extremely clogged in the mornings, as opposed to the east of London where there are more rail lines. Also, I mentioned that one of the lines gets closed every third weekend, thus increasing the pressure.

No, no listening there.

Now, I had lived there, knew the area well and could offer some practical advice, but the Flatmate knew better because she had heard otherwise from a friend. So what's the point?

In the Law, there is a tight control on what constitutes an expert witness. It's true for the Irish, UK and US legal systems. Not just anyone can come and give expert evidence. The court will insist on scrutinising qualifications, looking a practical experience (for say a fire officer in an arson case) scholarly articles and a whole panoply of other factors to to determine whether a purported witness knows what the fuck they're talking about...I'd love something similar in Real Life, like those regulators that stop a moped using above 150cc, or those machines that won't let the car start without a clean breathalyser test.

Because really, what's the fucking point of asking a question if you're not going to listen? Why does that whole fucking world close their ears until it's their time to speak and what the fuck has happened to our generation for us to believe that everything we read, see, hear or hear-from-a-friend-who-heard-it-from-some-bloke-who-overheard-it-down-the-fucking-pub?

So in future, if anyone asks me a question, I'm going to be really 100% accurate in my answer, or just not answer. Because when the entire world is so eager to talk, and no-one will listen to anything which is contrary to what they think they know, why fucking bother?

*end rant*

So, I'm trying to break into radio...

So, following the train-wreck that is my legal career, I've decided that I want to pursue a career in radio. My parents, and their incessant desire for a 'plan' for my life, have been badgering me more than a pesky badger trying to convince a fisherman to give him his fishin' worms. In other words, very badgery indeed, and rather depressing.

Parents have that great ability to summarise what you do in negative terms. It's a skill that comes with being a teacher and trying to promote constructive criticism. Sometimes though, it's just fucking annoying.

"What's the plan, son?"

"Well, I want to work for a year, maybe try and get a part-time job and try and get some work placements or experience with a radio station before enrolling in a masters next year."

"So, you plan to bum about for a year?"

(Grrrrr THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID!!!)



I won't even tell you what they say when I tell them that I'd love to someday write for a career.


Anyway, I'm trying my bestest, and I'm ploughing my way through work experience applications. The stations that I applied for today are....

BBC Radio
ClassicFM
XFM
NME Radio
Capital FM
Chill
Fun Kids Radio
Heart Radio
LBC FM

...and that's just the London ones.

I also tried Jazz FM and Heat FM but unfortunately they don't take work experience folks. Smooth, non-job-giving bastards.

So, if I'm trying to get a job in radio and I'm not employable with any of these guys, then I might be slightly screwed.

Slightly? Totally.

In the pushing-Marlon-Brandon-up-a-potholed-hill-during-a-mudslide way.


Anybody have any hints or suggestions? Cos Marlon's looking hungry, and I smell of fried chicken...

From my notebook - Thursday 23rd September 2010

I am in an overheated Aer Lingus tube-with-wings watching a trickle of early morning fliers file past, as tinny Tchaikovsky is tannoyed from, it seems, every seam of the grimy plastic fuselage. I am in an exit seat, the extra leg room and worst-case-scenario responsibility compensating me for the fact that I am beseiged, three rows deep, by a party of middle-aged, middle-class, middle-English golfing couples.

Hatchet-faced women in pearls and dyed bobs call in cheery stings about the how good the wine was with dinner last night and the men, red faced and all organically yoghurty, unashamedly berate each other with staccatoed guffaws about the sand trap on the twelfth hole and enquire how their egos will ever recover from 'that' double bogie.

They are all wearing pastels, trews, tank tops and sweaters. I'm half-hoping to see a man with plus-fours and a tam o' shanter, but no. They all look like neon fucktards that were bought in the 'special and smug' section of the Early Learning Centre's golf aisle. The men have been dressed by colour co-ordinated wives whose crookedly bleached teeth speak of liquid wealth and a chronic lack of imagination.

I am in Hell.

Happy-Go-Fucking Lucky McPositive and the Fork in the Road...

KABLAMMO!!

That's the noise of a bad moment, a little percussive volley as my corpus callosum is rent in twain and my head explodes, brainz n' all, like an egg in a microwave.

So about 5 months ago (Monday the 12th April in fact) I wrote a piece about my ill-fated and toe-blistering initial attempt to get back into shape as part of my (woefully inadequately fulfilled) 101 things to do and haven't really written anything since.

A cynic would suggest that my pot bellied attempt to be less dough-like stopped my brain working for almost half a year, but I don't think that's the case.

Basically, I had an exam in June, but thanks to the dual forces of working two jobs, and being a lazy earfucker, I managed to fail...spectacularly. Then, after spending the summer studying...I failed again. And lost my job as a lawyer.

KABLAMMO!

So that was yesterday. Now I'm one of the 99.9999% of the world again. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing with life.

Since 2008 I've been approaching my career as a lawyer who was going to become a writer at the first opportunity. It was comforting; financial security, quite prestigious, challenging and keeping with the 'artist' bullshit scenario that we all paint about ourselves in our minds.

That's the problem. When you spend enough time convincing yourself of a fact, it becomes all too easy to see it as a truth. Now I have to rethink some other things about myself that I though were true, like being a great lover, having the physique of a gladiator, or being an original member of The Sugarhill Gang.

So cut throat corporate law is probably not for me. Small-town Atticus Finchery maybe, but not the Michael Clayton red-braces-and-Porsche-Boxter type. Some cliché is coming to mind about heat and kitchens, but it escapes me.

So what now?

I think the next stage for me is a masters degree of some sort. I've been looking at either an MA in radio production or print journalism. I want to give the writing future an actual attempt.

What do you think? Become a nicotine/adrenaline headline jock or an NPR/Radio 4 type doing radio dramas and producer 'Gardener's Question Time'? Both sound good.

Packing my bags again. How things change!

Holy Fucking Bloma, Batman!!

So yeah, I haven't really written anything since April, choosing instead to get my head all muddled up and sent off to the abbatoir to get well and truly slaughtered. I sorta just put my head down, and without realising it, a third of 2010 just trickled away and suddenly I was sitting on a park bench, covered in coldsores and wanking off an old man.

(That last bit's not true, but I've not written anything graphic in months and wanted to treat you all.)

Anyway, I'm back.


"What's happened in the past 4 months??" I hear my few remaining followers ask.

Well, where was I 4 months ago?



Then:
-I had 2 jobs.
-I had an important exam fast approaching.
-I lived with my flatmate Sparkleberry
-I was getting ready for Sparkleberry's wedding
-I was single
-I smoked cigarettes like a train.
-I was broke.
-I was depressed.


Now:

I have 0 jobs.
I have an important resit fast approaching (my first ever 'fail')
I have moved out of the flat, made somewhat 'third wheeley' by the arrival of Sparkleberry's new wife.
I've quit smoking cigarettes (but still love the old pipe!!)
I have a proper grown-up relationship thing going with a girlfriend woman.
I'm still broke.
I have CHRONIC writer's block.
I'm happy.

So I lost my jobs, failed my exams, became (voluntarily) homeless and haven't written anything in months.

There's probably too much in the above list of things to go into too much depth about. So this is a mere ripple in the pool before I dive back into blogging again. Let's just draw a line under the last third of the year as being officially UNDER THE RADARRRRRRRRRR.

At the moment, I'm sitting on my girlfriend's bed, looking at the pile of clothes that will soon represent my luggage before I go back to Ireland to study before my exam on the 23rd of August. This week has been mostly study (except for a fucking bonza trip to the zoo with THE LADY) but there has been one big thing.

My friend Ruairí (Rufus) who has been mentioned here before started a hashtag game on Twitter called #badtvpitches. 5 of us started playing yesterday and today....it's gone febrile. We've had celebs endorse it, it was a trending topic in Ireland yesterday and featured today on Ireland's biggest radio station 2FM.


The game is simple, an example of a few of my own being:

PIMP MY RIYADH: Saudi capital invites X-zibit or Tim Westwood to put subwoofers and rhinestones everywhere. #badtvpitches

TOLKEIN OF MY AFFECTION: autistic savant learns Quenya to write romantic sonnets to a librarian. #badtvpitches

PROCTOR & GAMBON: Short-lived detective series with Lance Kinsey (from Police Academy) and @TheGambon Michael Gambon #badtvpitches

LAA-LAA YAKUZA: Yellow Tellytubby decides to leave the Somme and enter the Japanese criminal underworld with her orange ball. #badtvpitches

I'd love it if y'all played. And followed me in the process. And sent me some money or heroin or something.


Lol.


So yeah, I'm back. Lucky you.

x

Try to spot me (when I was 16)

Blogswap!!

As part of the 20sbloggers 7th blogswap, I'm really happy that Melissa has come a-visiting and written a little piece for the old pizza box. Her blog is a haven for music lovers everywhere (but mainly Canada) and she's a really great writer...

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Hi everyone! My name is Melissa and this is my very first guest post on someone’s blog. I signed up for a blog swap a couple weeks ago, and after completely forgetting about it, I got a very nice message from Conor telling me we had been paired up. 2 days later and here I am trying to write a reasonably not-too-long, not-too-short post about myself and why I started blogging.

As a disclaimer, you should all know that Conor was nice enough to send me his post first so that I could have a little idea of how this whole blog swap thing works. After reading about our future as an old married couple at dinner parties, I got a bit of a better idea on how to write this out. Oh and by the way Con, I certainly hope our future isn’t so grim?! I promise I at least won’t be smoking, that’s not my thing.

So, how about a little bit about me and why I write. My blog is 85% music and my adventures on the borders of the industry. Now, I’m not some huge musical genius who can quote any song dating back from 1975, but I am in love with music TODAY. There’s something about seeing an artist or band perform that makes me feel like I know myself a little more.

If you’re looking for me, try one of my best friends’ cars, in a random city, or at a local bands’ show. There is NO better place in the world to me. The road is where everything happens. You discover the greatest new songs, you see the most beautiful views, and you spend time with the best people. Every concert I go to is like falling in love with music all over again.

Now all of this is really great and fun, but I can’t say that it’s really a blogging style or a reason that I started my blog in the first place. It is, however, the reason I keep doing it 3 years later.

I originally started blogging way too long ago to even remember the specific date but I must have been 15 or so. I eventually started writing on BlogSpot when I was about 18, and I moved over to WordPress over 3 years later. I’ve always been the kind of person who wears her heart on her sleeve- I always needed an outlet for my thoughts. Maybe that’s a big reason that I can’t live without music. To me, it’s the ultimate way to express your emotions.

I have to admit that sometimes it’s hard to remember why I keep going back to my blog. Why not a good old fashioned journal? Maybe it’s because I’ve relied on it so much over the years; maybe it’s simply through habit. I think everyone has their own reasons to keep their little space on the internet open. Conor pointed out in his post something that really made me laugh because it was just so true. He quoted George Orwell who stated that one of the reasons he writes is the sheer egoism of it all. Everybody wants to be remembered or thought of when they’re not around- has blogging really become the modern day way to do just that?

The more I think of it, the more I realize that it’s become difficult to sift through the thousands of bloggers out there to find the quality ones. Everyone seems to have something to say, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they should be publishing it online. Every once in a while I’ll come across a really GOOD blog, one that’s worth adding to my very short blog roll. I think that’s my favorite part about the blog swap. I would have never found Conor’s blog among all of them had it not been for our random pairing. Looking through his archives, I found myself laughing at his sarcasm, his humor and his (sometimes) blunt honesty. All qualities that you really do need to keep up a good blog. Hey Con, how’s that for an opening line at our future dinner parties?!

In any case, I write exactly how I speak, if that makes any sense. If I’m feeling sarcastic, I’ll write that way. If I’m feeling angry… you get the point. I don’t know if any of this is considered a ‘blogging style’ but maybe that’s a blogging style on its own. Forgive me, it’s getting late and I feel like I’m not making much sense anymore. I’ll give you an example though. I was looking over Conor’s blog and vlogs earlier, and I noticed that he does the same thing. His posts each have their own writing style, in some funny way. They each reflect a new part of him and who he is on that day.

Writing this post has probably been one of the most difficult things I’ve done all month. It’s nearly impossible to sum myself up, my thoughts on blogging and blogging styles… but there you have it. If you’ve read this far, thanks for not losing interest in my ramblings. And Conor, thanks for letting me take a little space on your blog! I’m really glad that I found your blog among the thousands out there. Keep up those incredibly entertaining vlogs of yours and keep in touch!

Photojournalism Nom Nom Style...

The weird new implement bought by Spark for potcleaning.


My little fiery amigo, Mr McIlhenny


Biting cutlery, as you do.


Relaxing post meal with my straight-stem.


Where's my Pulitzer, bitch?


Oh yeah, under my belly...


I'll work it off in the morning.

Stumbled across this on youtube....

This is a recording of a band who I used to go and see when I worked as a music teacher in an Irish language summer school. I was a ceannaire, a sort of student supervisor, and we would go out every night drinking, it was insane.

The band, Blonderbraü, was made up of teachers from the area, and we would hang out in the pubs they played at. I think this night this was recorded, I was sitting right beside the the camera, and we made up about half the pub, it was fucking excellent.




Enjoy!!

Toe Juice and a Fond Farewell to the Guinness Baby

I'm sitting at the table in my kitchen, watching my pasta cook and trying not to cry. Apparently, a watched pot never boils, but as the bubbles dance higher and higher to the lip of the pot, and eventually dribble down with a spitting shriek into the gas hob, I realise that proverbs are over-rated. I can't get off the chair to turn the gas down, so I watch my beloved penne go from al dente to pasta-puddle.

The reason I can't get out of the chair is because my legs have stopped working. They no longer do what ask them because I was mean to them earlier today. So now, I sit, morosely staring at my dinner spoiling. my stomach rumbling mercilessly.

I was back in Ireland last week, spending some time with the family and generally chilling out and at some point getting rejected AGAIN! Anyway, at some point in the week, we all went to the island where I half-grew-up and went swimming. In the Atlantic.

It was fucking freezing.

Because the water was essentially colder than the endothermic version of hell, we had to wear wetsuits. As I zipped mine up, I looked down and realised I looked like a lumpy pillowcase full of tits. Then when my wee bro, sis and I were swimming, I realised I was nowhere near as fit as I used to be. Seeing as the last time I did any exercise was in June 2009, I have come to terms with the fact that I'm now mostly made of molten cheese. So, in the vein of self-improvement, I went for a run this morning.




Here's the route I took...5 miles in total, including a workout at the Kilburn outdoor gym afterwards.

I. nearly. died.



View Larger Map

I returned to the house an hour later, lay on the floor, and tried desperately not to cry. The Guinness Baby is not long for this world, I tell thee.
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That seems quite positive right? Getting up at 5:45 to go for a run. Well it isn't, I came home from work and now find I can't use my legs. They've stopped working...

ALSO, my toes have become all blistery.

Now, if some of you might remember, I have a weird fascination with the 'Cysts and Pus' genre of youtube porn. I decided to film my own. My toes are really long (..ladies) and they're important, so when I went to pop the blisters I thought I'd add to the pantheon of Pus Porn. Yum yum.

Prob best look away if you're easily nauseated.







Now I'm lying in bed, in my jammies, trying not to sound like an old man when I move, dreading having to do my pervert shuffle tomorrow on the way to the Tube. Hopefully my legs will be gone when I wake up and I can get Spark to give me a piggy back...



My feet say goodnight!
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