on working full-time in sony

i achieved nothing today except this sentence

and tomorrow will be the same

methinks

on the 1,000th day

it's been going on that long

and remember, it wasn't about regime change

it was about finding and destroying weapons of mass destruction

funny how shit unfolds, in a 1,000 days of war

i hope they each rot in hell

(kudos to the english indo for their coverage of this story, especially for the way they publish articles on their website in column format)

on protest etiquette

higgins and harte have both posted the contents of a sign that was liberally waved about at last friday's irish ferries protest

the sign, which has now strangely disappeared from the room, contained a quote from Pastor Niemoeller's famous poem about Nazi prosecution

the one that ends, then they came for me-/and there was no one left/to speak out for me

let's keep things in perspective now

the Nazi's were responsible for the systematic extermination of millions of innocents

irish ferries want to bring in low-waged workers from latvia

so maybe the use of Niemoeller's poem wasn't in the best of taste

beyond that, there was a weird subtext to the protest in general

maybe i'm overly cynical, but i get the feeling that whole gig was more to do with protecting irish jobs than it was about protecting the rights of the workers that irish ferries are gearing up to exploit

and when they fucked the latvians over i did not speak out, because i was irish and had a secure, well-paid job and didn't really care for as long as it didn't effect me

if anyone massively disagrees i'll get in to this a bit more

or think about it at least

on journalism (sans shorthand)

tomorrow at 10.20am, you will have failed the third exam of your academic life and the second that actually counts towards an overall grade

the first you failed was a 5th year "christmas test" in physics
(St. Mary's C.B.S.)

the second was a first year english paper that you just didn't go to
(TCD)

the third, it seems, will be shorthand
(D.I.T. Aungier St.)

funny though, the prospect of imminent failure doesn't make you feel any less of a journalist (or fledgling one at least)

which is not to say that you don't value shorthand as a skill and you're not out to diss the module

it's just not a skill that is or ever likely will be of value to you

because you're studying journalism for very specific reasons

and these reasons are based on certain things that you believe

you have an unshakeable (albeit sadly anachronistic) view of the role newspapers should play in our society

An institution that should always fight for progress and reform, never tolerate injustice or corruption, always fight demagogues of all parties, never belong to any party, always oppose privileged classes and public plunderers, never lack sympathy with the poor, always remain devoted to the public welfare, never be satisfied with merely printing news, always be drastically independent, never be afraid to attack wrong, whether by predatory plutocracy or predatory poverty.

Joseph Pulitzer wrote that in his first editorial as editor of New York World in 1883

it's recreated on a bronze plaque that's nailed to the wall of the New York Times building

if there'd been a line in Pulitzer's editorial along the lines of, "and that all employees shall have the ability to take accurate notes at press conferences", maybe you'd be more concerned

and he was writing in the days before dictaphones too

and long before Gonzo journalism, for which accuracy is about as important as

structure

you might sound arrogant, but you know where you're going and if you can't get there in a way that you believe in you'll just pick a different destination

you're not willing to be conventional for the sake of now

you're not willing to compromise for the sake of "success"

you said before that you'd rather work in a laundrette than file a story about one burning down

you honestly meant it

you believe in journalism, but in a higher sense, beyond the mundane

you believe in what it can achieve, in the importance and necessity of honest, fearless journalism being written if we're ever gonna solve our problems

you know you've not done yourself justice on that front these last three months

but you just can't motivate yourself to work hard at elements of a profession that don't really matter to you

you're gonna have problems, kiddo

you were so pissed off by the manner in which your interview in DCU was conducted, you went directly to a tattoo parlour in town and had the Gonzo fist carved in to your right wrist in black ink

you decided that from that point on, you wouldn't let anything deflect you from the path you'd decided to take

you knew if you failed to get in to the course, you could always look at your wrist and remember the goals you'd set yourself and the reasons to keep writing, regardless

you were offered a place in DCU and took real pleasure in turning it down

so your tattoo worked

it's a constant reminder

it's a personal tribute to the man that inspired you to write

it's also a fitting symbol to live by for someone starting out in a profession that's had its balls cut off

throw a punch the right way and you won't break your hand

your thumb, if properly locked, will support the knuckles of the first and second finger

the knuckle of the third finger usually won't make contact

the knuckle of the fourth is most vulnerable

get the angle of attack wrong and you'll dislocate your fourth knuckle, the trapezium

you'll crack it if too, if you're unlucky, which can leave it appearing flat and feeling stiff for the rest of your life

you'll almost definitely break the scaphoid, the bone in your hand that runs from the base of the trapezium to the radius at the start of your wrist

it's something that's known informally in A&E rooms on a saturday night as a "boxer's fracture"

and it hurts like hell

the Gonzo fist, which sits on top of a dagger, has two thumbs

it's at once a classic symbol of resistance (the clenched fist, raised in defiance) and a symbol of strength

throw a punch with a Gonzo fist and you're not likely to be the one going to A&E

* * * *

it seems strange that something this irrelevant to your goals might lead to you failing your masters, or at least blowing any chance of a first out of the water

still, you can't help your attitude

your tattoo hasn't gone anywhere, and never will

* * * *

you look down at the keyboard and decide that 26 letters, 10 digits and a half dozen or so punctuation marks will do fine for what you have in mind

if you can master just these in your life, you'll be happy

on saturation

i'm studying journalism, so i'm interested in news

i use google to search and e-mail, and sometimes to read the news

but the new google news feature is a bit irritating

cos e-mailing, my daily means of escaping, is now news-linked too

unrequested, on all G-mail screens, there's a link

the link refreshes itself, and has a forward/back/customise option

in the last few minutes, this is what the link said:

SI.com - Bills suspend Moulds for game vs. Patriots - 17 hours ago... Yahoo! News: Entertainment - Christian Stores Capitalize on 'Narnia' (AP) - 2½ hours ago... Forbes.com Most Popular Stories - The Forbes Fictional 15 - 2 days ago... Ginger Spam Salad - Serves 1, refrigerate overnight... SI.com - High School Football Power Rankings - 19 hours ago... Quote of the Day - R. Buckminster Fuller - "Man knows so much and does so little."... ESPN.com - Barnett out as coach of Colorado - 2 hours ago... The Motley Fool - Fidelity Soft No More... Discovery Channel News - Scientists: Surprising Tsunami Findings - 2 days ago... Official Google Blog - Public transit via Google - 1 day ago... Engadget - Sorell's NF1 does GPS, music, and vids - 3½ hours ago... ESPN.com - Kentucky's Morris ruled ineligible for entire season - 14 hours ago... Wired News: Top Stories - Spend Money While You Earn It - 7 hours ago... ESPN.com - No. 3 UConn avenges '04 loss to UMass - 10 hours ago... BusinessWeek Online -- Top News - Should You Own a Hotel Room? - 8 hours ago... NYT Travel - 'JetBlue Factor' Expands Your Weekend Reach - 13 hours ago... Dictionary.com Word of the Day - voluptuary: a person devoted to luxury and the gratification of sensual appetites.

now then, why was i here?

why yes, to mail a picture to someone

dear Google...

if i'd wanted to know, i'd have asked

you provide a wonderful service, but didn't your mother ever tell you that "proffered service is little valued"?

sincerely,

T.

on, and on, and on, and on...

three years later and she just can't fucking let it go

i'll be changing my number soon

watch this space

on john lennon's anniversary

around this time of night 25 years ago, John Lennon was gunned down in front of the Dakota Building in New York

he's been dead longer than i've been on the planet, but it's still strange to think of him being gone, of his dying like that

it was so damn pointless, such a waste

i've just been thinking of him the last while, and listening to some records

it'd get you down really

on thatcher's hospitalisation

better late than never

fingers crossed

on editors

...i could be wrong, but this is what i heard...

...that in Ancient Rome, the guy that arranged the bloody games at the Colloseum, his title was the "editor"...

...so...

...this guy, the organiser, the manager, the director of presentation for daily atrocities aimed at keeping the masses entertained, peaceful, united...

...he's the origin of the title "editor"...

...that's where we get the word from...

...and maybe the job description hasn't changed all that much since they were opening pits with lions in them, flooding the arena and dropping in sharks...

...beacause newspapers, radio, tv news, the media in general, they play a number of roles in our lives, some more subtle than others...

...there's the dissemination of news, of course...

...the publication and broadcasting of "matters of public interest"...

...but the reasons we read, listen, watch, they're more complicated...

...our reasons for reading, listening, watching, they're symptomatic of our society...

...we're voyeurs...

...it's a strange and horrible thought, but maybe we take pleasure in reading about the latest murder...

...or terrorist attack...

...earthquakes, floods, hurricaines...

...because by reading about it, you prove that it hasn't happened to you...

...a perverse "Cogito ergo sum"...

...it might have happened in your city, or even to someone you know...

...it might have "changed the world in which you live", (see 9/11)...

...but for every day you're able to be horrified, outraged, terrified, that's another day when you're not the victim...

...it's somebody else's tragedy...

...and it's the reason why for centuries we've read Greek Tragedy too...

...it's called catharsis...

...expose an audience, evoke pity, evoke fear, bring them to the emotional brink...

...healing, easing, soothing strong negative emotions by exposing our minds to the extremes of human suffering, with a resultant emotional relief, release and sense of well-being...

...because deep down, we all know we live in a very sick, troubled, unjust world...

...but we don't like admitting this to ourselves...

...so we make it through our days by filling them with simple pleasures...

...coffee, our homes, friends and lovers...

...we use them as a buffer between our existence and the reality outside...

...but we know the world we create for ourselves is a delicate one, one that can be torn down at any moment by the next murder, or terrorist attack, or earthquake, or flood...

...and so we read for comfort...

...because it's not us...

...not us we're reading about...

...collectively, united, peacefully (and entertained), it's always not us...

...safe until tomorrow's possilbe headlines...

...and so, like the citizens of Ancient Rome, we look to the editor to arrange a daily performance of bloody atrocities, a sacrafice to the ways of the world that isn't us, safe in the knowledge that for today at least we'll be seated in the audience, cheering, booing, horrified, appalled, but fuck it i'm in the audience, so that's fine by me...

...but like i said, i might be wrong...

on last night

POZZO: (calmer) Gentlemen, I don't know what came over me. Forgive me. Forget all I said. (More and more his old self.) I don't remember exactly what it was, but you may be sure there wasn't a word of truth in it.

(Waiting For Godot, Act 1)

on the 24hr day

i'm starting a campaign to lengthen the day from 24 hours to 36

this, in the vague hope that i'll actually get something done

anyone interested in joining the good fight, sign below

on grannies

it's the same old routine, the same old pattern

once again my mum was up late last night, worrying

just waiting for a simple call to say that everything was okay

(possibilities for disaster are always endless in a mother's mind)

she got her call, but not till 1.15am, several hours in to panic

but, for once, she wasn't waiting on a call from me

me, i made the last bus, highly respectable

so anyway, my granny eventually called to say she was home, safe and sound. she'd been at her neighbourhood's christmas do, turkey and ham, party hats, the whole nine yards. (the food was terrible by the way, too cold by the time it made the tables, so 50 or so OAP's noisily complained, waved various walking aids in the air and duly received a partial refund of 10euro. it brings to mind that scene from Tough Guys when Burt Lancaster taps his teeth and says, "See these...? all mine... we want REAL FOOD", or words to that effect)

culinary problems aside though, it seems fun was had by all

she danced the night away with this, from a woman of 79 that fractured three veritbrae in her spine last march

this blog, from a lad of 23 that at 1.30pm still feels half asleep, has never danced despite a relatively intact spine, and wouldn't complain about the food if it waved at me before lighting a cigarette

more power to her

on face transplants

what?

seriously?

cool...

on the 10

it's pissing rain out... when you eventually find the bus stop you're already late for work... it's your first day and you still don't actually know where work is... you never had a great sense of direction but the northside is a total dead loss... the traffic is biblical... you want it to be this evening, you've got something to look forward to... standing on the bus, you really wish you hadn't applied for the job... you make yourself as small as possible to allow a mother and her buggy in to the luggage area near the front of the bus... she doesn't say thank you but her baby's cute... she sounds Russian when she argues on the phone... the bus empties out after a bit and mother and buggy alight... a man in his early sixties takes the backwards-facing seat in the luggage area... you stay standing because the bus driver is gonna tell you where to get off, so you have to stay nearby... the old man is talking to himself... you try not to watch... you fail... he swings from being irritable to agreeing with himself in a "sure that's the way the world is" kinda way... he's not so much speaking as miming and nodding now... you realise he's wet his trousers... he's a big man, and his belly hangs halfway across his crotch, but he's wearing light grey cotton pants, so it's all pretty clear... your sense of gloom is growing by the second... you feel genuinely sorry for the old man... he's a pathetic, broken figure and doesn't seem to know... in fact his only concern is what looks like an inexplicable chalk stain on his right shoulder, which he continuously rubs and dabs at with a wetted forefinger... distracted, you're jerked forward when the bus stops... stumbling, you slightly stub the toe of a relatively large black lady... she loudly curses you in what you presume to be some African dialect or other... you quickly apologise and she snorts and looks away... when she storms off the bus (she was waiting in the aisle) you take a look around at the people that are left... seated nearby and facing you is a man in soiled trousers, brain long rotted by drink... you count one, two, three obvious nationalities... they all look miserable and no-one's talking... welcome to the melting pot... you can't wait to leave.

on the 77 (the joys of parenting 2)

nokia tune

...hello?

...what?

...speak up, i can't hear you...

...i said SPEAK UP...

...you what?

...where?

...and what did your daddy say?

...oh hellooooo, i thought you were sick...

...you're "feeling better"?

...so when will you be home?

...what time tomorrow?

...right... BYE...