Arsenal 1 Dynamo Kiev 0
Im happy with that, we're throught to the last sixteen. Problem is, though, that theres not many gooners to celebrate with here. One of my mates is a die hard, but the rest of them are disinfected liverpool fans, most of whom have trouble remembering Bergkamp and Petit, let alone Parry Groves and Vladimir Petrovic. I really do wish i was in london. Still though, i'd probably be still sitting in a cramped tube on my long way home now. At least there would be craic then though!
Come on the Gunners!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Price of Misinformation
Information is one of the most valuable tools of our society. It must be agreed that television is the greatest media tool in terms of both comfort and ease of access. I realise the Irony of conveying this message through an alternate medium, however the point must be made. In Ireland we have a state broadcaster- RTE. RTE provide a government funded state broadcasting network. Great! And we pay a tax for such a service. Fair enough. But there’s two problems:
1. They commercially advertise.
They force product onto to you, the consumer, to make money to fund their programmes. Now a lot of TV companies will do that, but we don’t pay Bravo, ITV, Virgin 1, TV3 and UK living €160 for the privilege. RTE get a personal donation from each household and business in the country, yet still whore themselves out to the likes of Harry Corry, Nike and Cilit Bang. Is our money not enough. How much does it take to run a tv station? Especially one who’s original programming looks like it was made on a nokia 5310 with a cast of presenters and actors who were (mis)fortunate enough to be in the dole office that day, Which brings me to my second point.
2. RTE is unashamedly Crap.
I mean really, really crap. With all the production value of a transition year project and the talent roster of a Heroin addiction support group it is a wonder the RTE brass don’t pay us to watch this nonsense. After all, state broadcasters have to follow their mandate to reflect the “climate of the Republic”. Even the news, the only thing it is very difficult to make a balls of, smacks of amateurism genetically spliced with Fianna Fail Cronyism, the catalyst for which being Anne Doyle’s Peroxide. If I’d know all I had to do was hang around in Donny and Nesbitt’s for a few weeks and I’d be offered a job as head of Current affairs, or chief Cable operator on Fair City then I’d have never bothered with the painstaking years of college being forced to go without Sky and having to spend my days with RTE’s pathetic (CHEAP) imports of terrible shows like Dr. Phil, Shortland Street and re-re-re-re-repeats of Murder She wrote (although it was great the first 3 times).
I don’t watch RTE. Ever. Not even sport. Why would I pay to see alcoholics make fools of themselves. I can get the drunk around the corner to dance for two cigarettes and a can of Lynden village. But I still have to pay a licence. It kills me. Id rather go through childbirth, while having Marty Whelan’s face tattooed on my scrotum, Drinking domestos and trying to have semi-consensual sex with a porcupine. Bloody RTE. Bloody TV licences.
1. They commercially advertise.
They force product onto to you, the consumer, to make money to fund their programmes. Now a lot of TV companies will do that, but we don’t pay Bravo, ITV, Virgin 1, TV3 and UK living €160 for the privilege. RTE get a personal donation from each household and business in the country, yet still whore themselves out to the likes of Harry Corry, Nike and Cilit Bang. Is our money not enough. How much does it take to run a tv station? Especially one who’s original programming looks like it was made on a nokia 5310 with a cast of presenters and actors who were (mis)fortunate enough to be in the dole office that day, Which brings me to my second point.
2. RTE is unashamedly Crap.
I mean really, really crap. With all the production value of a transition year project and the talent roster of a Heroin addiction support group it is a wonder the RTE brass don’t pay us to watch this nonsense. After all, state broadcasters have to follow their mandate to reflect the “climate of the Republic”. Even the news, the only thing it is very difficult to make a balls of, smacks of amateurism genetically spliced with Fianna Fail Cronyism, the catalyst for which being Anne Doyle’s Peroxide. If I’d know all I had to do was hang around in Donny and Nesbitt’s for a few weeks and I’d be offered a job as head of Current affairs, or chief Cable operator on Fair City then I’d have never bothered with the painstaking years of college being forced to go without Sky and having to spend my days with RTE’s pathetic (CHEAP) imports of terrible shows like Dr. Phil, Shortland Street and re-re-re-re-repeats of Murder She wrote (although it was great the first 3 times).
I don’t watch RTE. Ever. Not even sport. Why would I pay to see alcoholics make fools of themselves. I can get the drunk around the corner to dance for two cigarettes and a can of Lynden village. But I still have to pay a licence. It kills me. Id rather go through childbirth, while having Marty Whelan’s face tattooed on my scrotum, Drinking domestos and trying to have semi-consensual sex with a porcupine. Bloody RTE. Bloody TV licences.
I hate living in Ireland
Ireland is a lovely place, full of friendly locals, cozy pubs and beautiful scenery. This is quite simply nonsense. While some parts of the country look nice, none of those parts have things like Jobs or amenities. I live in cork, which, i'm told, is really fun for a weekend. Im not here for a weekend. Im bloody stuck here.
Let me explain. Im not stuck here for long. My girlfriend is doing her masters, so when thats over we are free to leave. Im adamant that we have to go to london, and i think she agrees, but for now we have to grin and bear it in this hell hole.
Its not the fact that its dull, or rainy, or even that a pint cost close to a fiver. Its the general attitude to life that kills me. Every weekend people go to the same terrible clubs to piss their money away and then on monday morning come in and complain that it didnt live up to their expectations:
"went to fast eddies, but it was shit"
"really? Don't you go there every week though?"
"normally, and its normally a good laugh?"
"Really? You have said it was shit the last five weeks in a row"
"ah but thats just coz greg and shane are gone"
"ok so nothing to do with the fact that you're so institutionalised into small town ireland that you live for a crap club at the weekend but your so bored of seeing the same people who you dont really get on with since you were in school that you hate doing it, but shift blame onto the variety of reasons that your pathetic drinking hall will provide and refuse to accept that your life has not gone how it should and you feel a bit lost? you tool."
Water cooler chat, eh?
The attitude here makes me sick. Yesterday someone who i hadnt seen in a number of years asked me how things were going. We chatted about what we'd been up to since school etc..
She asked me had i done a year in australia. As if its a mandatory rite of passage, like holy communion, or discovering how to masturbate. "No" I said, "I couldnt imagine anything worse, like Ireland with a hot climate" It seemed like i'd strummed a chord constantly heard, but never defined. The look in her face was as if i'd just discovered how to turn lead into gold. She was amazed. She told me that was exactly how it was, and i was so right for not bothering with that sojourn, i smiled pretending that it meant something. I assume she'll be using my line at parties and social gatherings for years to come.
The sad thing was, that was probably the closest i came to accomplishing anything over the whole weekend. Cork is so empty. I didnt spend my time in a club getting wankered on saturday, recovering on sunday, which i suppose is an accomplishment in itself, but i really had little chance to do anything else. When i go to work on monday morning, people will ask me what i did and i'll say "piss all", to which they'll reply: "why not? are you saving money to go to Australia or something?"
I hate being in cork. Help me. It'll be the same crap every week.
Let me explain. Im not stuck here for long. My girlfriend is doing her masters, so when thats over we are free to leave. Im adamant that we have to go to london, and i think she agrees, but for now we have to grin and bear it in this hell hole.
Its not the fact that its dull, or rainy, or even that a pint cost close to a fiver. Its the general attitude to life that kills me. Every weekend people go to the same terrible clubs to piss their money away and then on monday morning come in and complain that it didnt live up to their expectations:
"went to fast eddies, but it was shit"
"really? Don't you go there every week though?"
"normally, and its normally a good laugh?"
"Really? You have said it was shit the last five weeks in a row"
"ah but thats just coz greg and shane are gone"
"ok so nothing to do with the fact that you're so institutionalised into small town ireland that you live for a crap club at the weekend but your so bored of seeing the same people who you dont really get on with since you were in school that you hate doing it, but shift blame onto the variety of reasons that your pathetic drinking hall will provide and refuse to accept that your life has not gone how it should and you feel a bit lost? you tool."
Water cooler chat, eh?
The attitude here makes me sick. Yesterday someone who i hadnt seen in a number of years asked me how things were going. We chatted about what we'd been up to since school etc..
She asked me had i done a year in australia. As if its a mandatory rite of passage, like holy communion, or discovering how to masturbate. "No" I said, "I couldnt imagine anything worse, like Ireland with a hot climate" It seemed like i'd strummed a chord constantly heard, but never defined. The look in her face was as if i'd just discovered how to turn lead into gold. She was amazed. She told me that was exactly how it was, and i was so right for not bothering with that sojourn, i smiled pretending that it meant something. I assume she'll be using my line at parties and social gatherings for years to come.
The sad thing was, that was probably the closest i came to accomplishing anything over the whole weekend. Cork is so empty. I didnt spend my time in a club getting wankered on saturday, recovering on sunday, which i suppose is an accomplishment in itself, but i really had little chance to do anything else. When i go to work on monday morning, people will ask me what i did and i'll say "piss all", to which they'll reply: "why not? are you saving money to go to Australia or something?"
I hate being in cork. Help me. It'll be the same crap every week.
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