Judging A Book By Its Cover (but with movies)

Th movie industry has really gone into overdrive with sequels and reboots. I decided to take a look at some of this low hanging fruit movie executives have decided to send our way. I guess this is like a preemptive mini review based on the trailers and any leaked information I have garnered from vague Google searches. Just remember these opinions are subject to change.

The Amazing Spider-Man
So the first reboot coming our way is The Amazing Spider-Man. I am unconvinced by the storyline and  I think The Lizard looks a bit strange, no snout and no lab coat. This Garfield character doesn't seem nerdy enough for me. Too pretty and wavy, stylish hair is not very Peter Parker, but we'll see. However, I know I will enjoy at least one aspect of the movie. Emma Stone. She can do no wrong and looks awesome as a blonde.

Potential Favourite Line: With Great Power, Comes Great Responsability (If this is not in the movie, in some misguided attempt to be original, I will find everyone involved in this movie and shout mean things at their children/grandparents)

Potential Worst Line: Oh no, I've just been bitten by a radioactive spider and now am getting super powers!

The Bourne Legacy
Originally under the title "Guy who is not as handsome as Matt Damon, killing people in cool ways" this sequel/reboot is a mystery to me. The Threadstone cover up is interesting but unnecessary. It really feels like they are flogging a dead horse. With the introduction of genetic engineering to the plot, I think it's over the top. Also since the original novels/movies were based on me, I am a little upset they would just write me out. 


Potential Favourite Line: I sure wish Jason Bourne/David Webb was here. He'd know what to do.


Potential Worst Line: You've had alterations to two different chromosomes, it's the most exciting development in the history of the science. (Wait, actual line. Oh dear)

Monsters University
I cannot wait for this. A prequel to the best animated movie there is, and I wont hear any arguments to the contrary because Monsters Inc is perfect in so many ways. I laugh, I shout "look out Sully, Randall is behind you!!" and invariably dissolve into tears when Sully says goodbye to Boo (keep it together). Seeing Sully and Mike become best friends, learn to scare, and fulfill the college clichés will be awesome. Steve Buscemi is also back as Randall, so this cannot fail! Unfortunately it won't be here until next summer, but Monsters Inc rerelease is exciting enough.

Potential Favourite Line: Everything

Potential Worst Line: Nothing

The Dark Knight Rises
There are no words to convey my excitement. I can barely breathe. As if Anne Hathaway in the Cat Suit wasn't excitement enough, there is also Tom Hardy as the "Man Who Broke The Bat", except with an English accent for some reason. Marion Cotillard is playing Miranda Tate, but may secretly be Talia Al Ghul, but this has been strongly denied, but I hope it's true. I am counting the seconds until July 20th!


Potential Favourite Line: Death would only end your agony and silence your shame!


Potential Worst Line: Wherever a party needs to be saved, I'm there. Wherever there are masks, wherever there's tomfoolery and joy, I'm there. But sometimes I'm not cause I'm out in the night, staying vigilant. Watching. Lurking. Running. Jumping. Hurtling. Sleeping. No, I can't sleep. You sleep. I'm awake. I don't sleep. I don't blink. Am I bird? No. I'm a bat. I am Batman. Or am I? Yes, I am Batman. (Just as it might undermine the tone of the film is all)

Sadly all these movies will pale in comparison to one movie, which stands tall above all else, in heart, depth and reach. Many will criticise it but they will merely not fully understand the beauty that will be on show. I am speaking, of course, about the One Direction 3D Concert Movie. It may not be released until November 2013, but the world is holding it's breath in sweet anticipation. 


Dave

UPDATE: I have now seen "The Amazing Spider-Man" and they don't say With Great Power, Comes Great Responsibility. While the emotional scenes were heavy handed and laugh inducing, the action scenes were incredible! 4/10 from me as a good hero movie, is more than just action sequences. 

Conversations with a mad scientist; part 1

Part 1

Part 2

My Life

I guess I kinda miss that guy. Although killing small rodents is the first sign of a serial killer. So I guess having him out of our space AND time isn't so bad. 

Niamh

The Hazards Of Being A Bus Wanker.....

On moving to the supposedly warmer climes of Switzerland (it has rained 7 of 10 days here), I looked forward to no longer being Bus Wanker all summer. The thoughts of a sophisticated Metro System or even commuter train were oddly alluring. Alas it is not so and I get the bus to work. It would seem I will forever be a bus wanker. However, the buses here are far superior to the Irish service. This is not about timetables, routes or displays but the people on these buses. The whole experience is just nicer and I think I know why. It's because two particular things are missing......

School Acquaintances

Not school friends, these are people who merely existed near you for 5/6 years. If you’re lucky you will see them first. From a distance at first but as they approach an ever increasing feeling on doom begins to weigh on you. The Blackness is closing in and so are they. You have not seen him in nearly three years and for the most part that has been intentional. But now you scramble hoping to somehow avoid the inevitable. You start reading the Metro on the bus because your iPod died and if you don’t look like you’re otherwise engaged that weird, smelly kid you went to school with might try talk to you and it is too early for you to sit, listen and nod politely as they detail every tiny insignificant facet of their depressing life, from the child he and his Gorgon like girlfriend are expecting after knowing each other six minutes, or how he is doing his sixth Fás course because bee-keeping didn’t really work out, or how his brother is getting on great in Australia which you find particularly aggravating because you have not even met this brother and you know that if you did see him it would most likely be on a Saturday night outside 21s spitting in a bouncers face , but I don’t want to be too specific.

This is a difficult situation with no clear resolution. Also it becomes worse if you see someone you do want to talk to but they ignore you. Are you one of the smelly, weird kids? Odds are yes, yes you are. So if this painful realisation should ever dawn on you please, please leave us alone. We merely want to ride the bus in peace and get through this depressing experience without you making us feel worse.

Loud People

There is always one person. What ever happened to proper bus etiquette? It is now all too common place for people to play their music not through headphones, or to carry on a phone conversation as loudly as possible. There is one incident I will never forget. A girl sat at least half the length of the bus from me was screaming down the phone about how “He is a player! That’s what you get. I said don’t mess with ‘im”. To help you picture this she was Nigerian me thinks. A thick accent that only added to the absurdity of the conversation. “I don’t need this in my life right now. I don’t need this drama in my life right now”. This was repeated and was funny at first. I was almost interested in this girl’s life and problems. This interest quickly turned to petulance and I am ashamed to say I was not above over the shoulder glances and snorts of derision. But bus etiquette goddammit! This is not the place for you to air you grievances and definitely not at a volume akin to a shuttle launch. “Drama, drama, drama, drama, drama, drama!” she shouted at one point, which admittedly had me burst into laughter. Laughter which garnered daggers from this half-wit, who was clearly revelling in her drama.The bus is a place for hushed tones and personal music. The worst part is there is no established manner in which to tell people to shut up! See: Maeve Higgins Bus Sketch below

I trust this settles the matter and when I return in September these problems will never again trouble me. I have seen the future, Irish bus users, and it is peaceful.

Dave,

Former Hula Hoops Spokesman 

This entry will soon be a key feature in a therapist's file on me.

Clearly for the last month neither Dave or I have done much worthy of writing about (except moving to Switzerland, but the Swiss are fairly taciturn and really who wants to hear about that?) . Between exams and unemployment, I'm in a perfect position to write a glowing review of tea, but since there's sure to be a unanimous "Tea is awesome" response, that's pointless in and of itself.

Today I was quite hungover, and after waking up mid-afternoon, indulged in a day of comforting "Cure Movies" (and tea, oh was there tea). It was lovely, and happily seemed to arrange itself in accordance with each level of hangover, so without much ado, here are my Top 5 Hangover Movies:

The First Wives Club
Bette Midler, Diane Keaton and Goldie Hawn, wreaking revenge on their cheating, cradle snatching husbands. I love this film an indecent amount. Sarah Jessica Parker as Midler's shallow, anorexic nemesis, and Maggie Smith as a jaded New York socialite, are just perfect in this dark comedy about sisters doing it for themselves (ugh, sorry, but that song DOES feature, and during a montage too; the best montage EVER). Essentially, when I'm older I want to be these women, teaming up to use underhanded methods to get what's theirs damn it!

Hangover Stage: High spirits, full of delightful memories of a friend filled night, perhaps still slightly drunk, happy to talk to the television as if it were a person.


Favourite Scene: Midler, Hawn and Keaton reveal their elaborate plans to their gobsmacked ex-husbands, who slowly realise that their lives have been thorn asunder. (Also Brenda holding Elysse's Oscar and saying "Does it say 'I beat Meryl?'". All the LOLs).

Legally Blonde
Everyone has that movie that they can watch over and over, without it losing an ounce of its original charm. For me that movie is Legally Blonde. Its also one of the few movies that makes me cry nearly from beginning to end, with or without hangover. Yes, Legally Blonde, the feel good comedy, makes me cry almost continuously. I cry when she gets the required SAT scores, I cry when the mean girls trick her into dressing like a whore, I cry when she's unjustly accused of of sexing her way to success, I cry when she makes her glorious return.. Elle Woods for Prez.

Hangover Stage: Sobering up, want a friend around to give reassuring cuddles and morning after chats.. LB is that friend.

Favourite Scene: The final cross-examination when Elle tricks Whitney into revealing her murderous secret.. (Ugh, seriously, I'm so sorry).

Strictly Ballroom
WHY HAVEN'T MORE PEOPLE SEEN STRICTLY BALLROOM!? Definitely my favourite film on this list, and possibly any list. Everything I love about Baz Luhrman; sparkly, cheesily tongue-in-cheek, endearing. I shouldn't be as sensitive to the backwards world of Australian Ballroom Dancing as I am but this movie just makes me wish I could Rumba. Scott is too handsome to engage in such a sport; the best part is Fran's gradual and *cough* subtle progression from dowdy loser to stunning ballroom dancing superstar, its responsible for 74% of all my self-image perceptions. Its about passion, not the rules. A PASSION FOR BALLROOM! I'm too emotionally attached to write a logical synopsis of this movie. Everyone just watch it.

Hangover Stage: The beginning of hangover depression/The Fear, desperately trying to pull out of it with a movie that fills with joy.

Favourite Scene: Scott and Fran's learning to dance/learning to love montage, to the absolute gem of Time After Time.. Tears. Laughter. Dancing. All together now IF YOU'RE LOST YOU CAN LOOK AND YOU WILL FIND ME.... TIME AFTER TIME. (Alternatively Love is in the Air to close on.. This film is eclipsed only by its soundtrack.)


Moulin Rouge
So at this stage I'm in the Baz Luhrman zone, and what better than possibly his most ridiculous film to make it a Luhrman double feature. Having descended into full-blown, alcohol deficient depression, Moulin Rouge is tragic enough to indulge in some unjustified moroseness, but showy enough to distract me from a full blown weeping session. And I can sing along to the songs!

Hangover Stage: Bleak.

Favourite Scene: ROOOOXXXXXXANNE!

Monsters Inc
So by now I'm emotionally spent, and tired from my lack of sleep last night anyway. So I want something to soothe me into gentle, welcoming unconsciousness.. My favourite Pixar movie, it restores my faith in humanity, quite a feat considering it features one human, who is too young to have developed any empathetic  tendencies thus far... But shes pretty frickin aborable.

Hangover Stage: That's enough being alive for one day.

Favourite Scene: The very last scene when Sully opens the door, looking expectantly in, to hear "Kitty!" Tears. As usual.

Join us next week, when I'll be discussing my unruly emotions that seem to be accompanying my drinking problem. Yikes.

Niamh

Dear Dublin. You're Doing it Wrong.

I know the Irish are famed for a charming illogicality; its endearing and quirky. But every now and then I come across examples of this which truly make me despair for the continuance of our race. Our government have made a right balls of our financial system (so I'm told, I am not well informed enough about his to start making compelling arguments) (I know, I know, I am a disgrace, but it's just too depressing), but its the little things, the day-to-day oddities, that really irk me (see my issues with bureaucracy). Today its the new fangled machines standing abreast every bus stop.

Here is an example of the offending technology. In theory, when I first heard of the contraptions, they supposedly monitor the bus and give the information of when exactly it should arrive at your stop. Sounds like a fantastic, useful idea, to save many the weary commuter the anxiety of "Have-I-Have-I-Not" missed the bus syndrome. However, this is not what they do. Instead they give the time the bus is SUPPOSED to arrive at its stop. It does not factor in delays. It gives information ALREADY PROVIDED ON THE ESTABLISHED BUS STOP. It is a technological timetable, not a time keeper. All it saves us from is the effort of manually working out what time the bus is scheduled to arrive. As every Dublin bus traveler knows this is next to useless, as Dublin Buses appearing on scheduled time is an apparition on par with  Jesus' second coming; I'll believe it when I see it.

So. I would like to know. WHAT IS THEIR PURPOSE? WHY DOES EVERY BUS STOP HAVE ONE? WHY DOES IT TELL ME MY BUS IS DUE? I KNOW IT DUE. THAT'S NOT THE ISSUE. I WANT TO KNOW BY HOW MANY MINUTES IT WILL MOST DEFINITELY BE LATE.


As the picture suggests, it was raining. My new umbrella had broken in the wind. I very much wanted to go home. I took my frustration out on this, typically Irish, institution and its useless, useless, technologies. I feel this rant was more than justified.

Niamh

Move over John Lennon's "Imagine"!

First of all; YAY AMERICA! You guys just keep knockin' em out of the park!

Now, lets talk about the song! Oh my God, I'm so excited!

The first 18 seconds appear to be a shot of a statue of Athena, the goddess of wisdom, writer of the song, if I'm not mistaken. It sets us up nicely for the rest of the video, which is frankly out of this world.

"Look at me and tell me the truth
What do you do
When people don't know
What we go through?"


I think she wants the entire world to rise up-in-arms in abject horror whenever she's slightly mistreated or poorly judged because of her mind-blowing appearance.  The opening of the song is a direct accusation against humanity, like Bono and Geldoff done did at Live8. We, as a people, are not doing enough about this pressing issue, and something must be done.

"They see my blond hair,
Blue eyes and class,
But they don't know,
I have a really big heart."


Oh.... They said heart... I thought they were gonna say something else.

"Don't get me wrong,
I know that I'm hot,
But textbook perfection really takes a lot."


One of the real tear-jerking lines of the song. The thing about being wildly attractive is the real lack of appreciation for all the hard work it takes. I mean, they're doing us a favour, and what do we do? Throw is back in their exfoliated, moisturised faces! They could be putting that time and effort into charity work or getting a good education and they're not. Now WHERE IS THE THANKS, HUH?? You people disgust me.

"We're not perfect and sometimes we lie."

That right there is character depth. Wes Anderson couldn't write personalities that multi-sided and endearing.

"I got the look, 
I got the butt,
But those things don't make me a ____"


Don't make you a what DONT MAKE YOU A WHAT!?!?!

"Just cos I'm pretty,
Don't mean I'm dumb
I don't care about wits
I just wanna have fun."


Uuuhhh. This is a little harder to decipher. At first glance it's hard to distinguish what exactly she's trying to say. I know it looks like she's a complete fucking idiot, who is totally contradicting herself and offending attractive women everywhere by standing for them in this complete and utter massacre she calls a pop song, with her complete disregard and misunderstanding of the English language.. But I probably only think that because I am a raging feminist lesbian.

"People start rumours
And say things about me
Funny thing is,
I didn't go to that party."


This requires a little context; unfortunately we don't have that.

OK now they break down into a little rap bridge thing. Lets do this!

"Why oh why
Can't you see
You are all
Just like me,
We make mistakes and get in trouble
Now you see our hot girl struggle."


I mean, its a revelation. Take away the beat and this could be a work of poetry, as like all good poetry it allows us a glimpse into the world and uphill battles of others. Its the dilemma of our time, unknown to most and the duty of the truly great (hot) among us to bring it to the attention of the world. These girls are our Ginsberg, God damn it!

"Hot girls we have problems too,
We're just like you,
Except we're hot."


Wait.... I'm not hot?


WHY ARE THEY IN A FUCKING LIMO?!

Niamh (Rose of Tralee; 1987)

PS. When Dave found out this video was real his response was:
"I despair for humanity.
Although I do feel for the hot girls."
The universal reaction.

You're Not Making The Compelling Case You Think You Are

This post is a long time coming. I've been stewing over this point for a long time. I'm referring to something that happened during the campaign to find the GOP candidate in America earlier this year. Glitter Bombing is a new technique taken on by a Gay Rights Activist Group called the Glitteratti. I will preface this blog by saying: I think the gays are a great bunch of lads but this does not help them.

The Glitterati is a fucking retarded name. If you want to be seen as a serious activist group don't let the guy dressed as Lady Gaga (in the Bad Romance Video is how I'm imaging him but any outfit will do) pick your name. It sounds like something from a bad, pun based sitcom. It is truly awful and forces you down from the moral high ground.

If you wish to be taken seriously as a group of people with something serious to say, don't be a stereotype. The protester may as well have slapped Romney, called him a "Stupid Betch" and run away with his scarf draped elegantly over his shoulder. Campaigning for equal rights, gay marriage and an end to homophobia only work if you don't stop for a Glitter Fight half way thorugh!

Glitter is not conducive to political change. Not even that but Romney and Santorum promptly continued their speeches; nothing actually happened. If you're going to throw shit, make it heavy. Throwing heavy things is never taken lightly (PUN!!).

Well rant complete and no one cared but I feel better for it!

Dave,
Mustard Enthusiast

Sometimes I Miss You So Much It Hurts

The Bromance is a trend that has certainly taken off in the last number of years. With so many movies popularising the phenomenon it was never going to be long before the men every were locked in sweaty embrace. I have what would be classified as a Bromance with, oh lets say Eric C, no that's too obvious, E. Conway. For the first semester of this year we were thought of as a couple, with people often commenting if we weren't together. And our "relationship", for lack of a better term, has many of the features of all normal relationships.

Pride
I feel proud of him when people tell me they like him. This rather embarrassing revelation dawned on me on my J1. Eric came over to visit me, obviously he missed me terribly. He had never met my two roommates and as I was working he would be spending a lot of time with them. I was nervous how they would get on, as Eric is so very, very odd. But he was a hit and when this was acknowledged I was stupidly pleased. He had the seal of approval from my oldest friends! This was joyous news. But obviously I didn't let on. Totally played it cool. Did what every normal guy does, kept those emotions inside for months and then wrote them in a blog, just like everyone does.

Jealousy
Starting third year with an entirely new class was initially very daunting. Eric and I having already been bros kinda stuck together, slowly but cautiously getting to know the rest of the group. Thankfully they're all great and Eric took a particular initial shine to Graham. Graham, that wispy haired harlot. Well they quickly became close, sharing private jokes, attending Botany together and even living nearer to each other than Eric and I do. I took this betrayal with quiet indignation, all the time the contempt for this new cheap floozy bubbling just beneath the surface. But as in all these situations I realised I was being petty and jealous and I soon accepted Graham for who he is, a dangerous sexual deviant who must be stopped.

Despite these challenges Bromances everywhere remain strong and ever on the increase. I like to think the future is bright for E. Conway and I, but only time will tell. In the mean time, I think this says everything I cannot.

Dave,
Qualified Horse Whisperer

There are no words for this.

http://www.friatider.se/shocking-photos-shows-swedish-minister-of-culture-celebrating-with-niger-cake

I have some questions.

1. WHO THINKS UP THIS IDEA FOR A CAKE?
2. HOW MANY PEOPLE DID THE IDEA GO THROUGH BEFORE THE CAKE CAME INTO BEING?
3. WHO THINKS ITS A GOOD IDEA TO USE THE CAKE IN A CULTURE FESTIVAL?
4. WHO DECIDES TO SLICE INTO THE VAGINA OF THE CAKE (A PHRASE THAT SHOULD NEVER BE USED EVER) AND FOR THE INSIDE OF THE VAGINA TO BE RED?
5. WHO THINKS ITS FUNNY FOR THE CAKE TO BE ACCOMPANIED BY SOMEONE IN BLACK FACE WHO SCREAMS WHENEVER THE CAKE VAGINA IS SLICED?

I have never been closer to vomiting at something on the internet. I am offended on every single moral level.

"Lena Adelsohn Liljeroth was invited to open the festivities by performing a clitoridectomy on the cake"

SHE IS THE CULTURE MINISTER. THE MINISTER FOR CULTURE. WHO IS A WOMAN. AND A HUMAN BEING.

Here she is feeding the cake, some of its own vagina. 

I've lost all faith in humanity.

Niamh

I don't even wanna know her favourite colour

(via Facebook chat)

Dave: I'm watching Law and Order

The mom from Elf seems to have killed her son

and stored the body in her closet for

14 years.

I can't process that.

Robin Williams never had to deal with this shit.

When I was little my favourite book/movie/general story was Peter Pan. As such, I like to attribute much of my immaturity to this fact. If that man-child never has to grow up then neither do I. Unfortunately, reality, that old kill joy, has other plans and likes to remind me that social expectations don't share my views. I have to take responsibility, pay my way and, most infuriatingly, deal with bureaucracy. I have to deal with bureaucracy all the fucking time. Up until about 17 seconds ago I couldn't even spell bureaucracy. So many conflicting vowels.

I recently had my car NCT'd, it failed for some tire technicality. It is bewildering to me that the NCT as a system exists. Obviously its a fabulously necessary concept, to keep us alive and that. But their methods are just bizarre. They take a look at your car, suggesting they have a lot of know how about the ins-and-outs of how exactly cars work. They make a list of what is wrong with your car. They return your car to you, along with said list, with all the problems they've named still actively in play. You've told me exactly how and why my car is not fit to be on the road, and now you want me to drive away in it to get it fixed somewhere else, instead of fixing it then and there, solving the problem once and for all. Where is the logic in this? Please explain to me how such a charade has been branded with "National"? Ireland please get your stamp of approval off this!

Fuck you bureaucracy. 

I, along with nearly everyone else, often find myself in financial dire straits. One evening I was at home, in a pressing need to know how much money was in my account, but without the means to get to an ATM to check. Bank of Ireland, being the savvy, with-the-times institution they are, had been flogging their new online banking service all over town. When I logged on, hoping to get the information I needed immediately, my own personal information about me and my possessions, I was met by several insurmountable barriers. Apparently I needed to earn this information by completing set tasks. Assuming that I would still be able to check my bank balance once I had filled out all the necessary forms, I proceeded with this task. Several hours later, BOI thanks me for my cooperation and informed me they would send me out the necessary pin in 3-4 days. *RageFace*. Two weeks later the pin arrives. But I cannot use it. First I must ring BOI, give them the pin (the one they have generated and sent to me) then answer questions to verify my identity. Listen, Bank of Ireland, you are starting to ask a lot so I can have instant access to what can only amount to about sixteen euro. But I comply, I have an assignment to do, and I can justify this as a grown-up activity, worthy of procrastinating for. I ring BOI, my name is not good enough, they need my account number. I do not know my account number. I hang up. I find my account number. I ring back. I type in my account number. Due to a technical difficulty they cannot connect me to a server. They terminate the call. 

Fuck. You. Bureaucracy. 

Niamh 

Teenage Mutant Awkward Turtle...

Sometimes I wish other people could be in my head, just for a day, so they can appreciate the labyrinth of social awkwardness that is my life. I interact with people on a daily basis and can go from inappropriately affectionate to accidentally racist too quickly for comfort. However, I do believe this is not my fault. Factors outside my control  lead me into these situations and I never see it coming until it's too late.

Culture

Soon I will be living in Switzerland for 3 months. I speak no French and my knowledge of the Swiss culture does not extend past Lindor and Toblerones. I expect my first month of work and life there to be fraught with uncomfortable interactions. This is not mere nervousness, one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life happened while in Boston last summer.

Working in a "Movie Theatre" for the summer was easy and had free food and movies. Many of my co-workers were African American, I'm going to say black, if you find that racist you may want to stop reading. So one afternoon the ushers, of which I was one, were standing having a chat between cleaning theatres. Suddenly a woman approaches us and lets us know her daughter has vomited and it's everywhere! My automatic reaction is to shout NIGS and declare I am not cleaning it up. So I shout it. I look around and everyone else is touching their nose and staring at me. I'm becoming increasingly aware that apart from one latina gentlemen and myself, everyone in the circle is black. I have just shouted the word NIGS at a group of black people. Instead of immediately explaining it means Not In GoalS, I freeze. The accidental racism just hangs there, festering. I snap out of my daze and protest my innocence. They were very accepting, but several of them didn't talk to me again.....

Chance
Randomness has more influence on my life than I care for. This is unsettling and makes me weary of interactions with new people. Recently I had my ruined computer and had it repaired. The courier who brought the computer back was helpful and a nice guy but apparently slightly afraid of dogs. Our dog, Oscar, barks continuously at strangers. The courier slightly nervously asked whether the dog was any danger. I assured him his bark was far worse than his bite. He departed wearily and I called the dog to me to alleviate his stress slightly. "Oscar" I shouted after my dog. The courier quickly turned, "Yea??". There is a startling realisation that his name is also Oscar. What are the odds of that?! There is no etiquette for this situation. Again I am a rabbit in the headlights and after what must have been nearly 20 seconds, I simply say "Safe Trip!". He says nothing and goes to his van, and leaves. "Safe Trip", who the hell did I think i was talking to! A simple Thanks would have been ideal but that would have been too easy.

Completely My Fault
Okay so this is not an extrinsic factor but I do acknowledge that I heap a lot of this on myself. I like to be clever or funny and all too often I fail and it back fires on me. Never again will I try to make a joke during a presentation because all that happens is I turn into a homophobe.
Studying genetics I often come across strangely named genes. One such gene is tinman, as mutants are born with no heart, like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. A theatrical reference I intended to allude to. But as I began "This gene is called tinman for the heartless phenotype, which is rather...", suddenly the word theatrical no longer exists in my vocabulary. I struggle and I search for another word. Instead all I manage to do is to mutter "which is rather....gay!". However, this time I keep cool, pretend nothing has happened and move swiftly, oh so swiftly on. A small victory, but I take them where I can.

I will continue to meander my way through life moving from one awkward moment to the next. I would like to say I am getting better but all three of these examples occurred in the last 6-7 months, but I remain optimistic!

David
(National Young Lepidopterist '06/07 )
   

Lets stay somewhere EVERYONE can see..

I like to think I have fairly respectable taste in music. That being said one of my favourite songs, possibly ever, is The Wanted's triumph 'Glad You Came'. There are many reasons I wish this was not so, but there it is. I like it because its got a catchy beat, an easy to learn chorus and some of the most appallingly ridiculous lyrics of all time. The song charts the efforts of a young man, presumably out "in da club", hoping to take a young lady home for a night of sexual frivolity. How he goes about it is, not only suspect, but probably open for improvement. 

You cast a spell on me, spell on me

You hit me like the sky fell on me, fell on me

From the off I am confused as to why the benefactor of this song should feel complimented. This clearly implies that, in the eyes of The Wanted, they are an obese warlock. 

I decided you look well on me

This is just frightening. Its like a letter a serial killer would write before he kills someone and wears their skin under his clothes. 

Hand you another drink

Drink it if you can

This is my favourite line from this masterpiece. Nothing makes me want to go home with a guy more than a good old fashioned throw down. The beauty of this is because of the incited challenge, the drink will definitely be drunk, and there are probably Roofies in it! Everyone wins!

Stay with me, I can make

Make you glad you came

I'm sure there are other reasons apart from you that she's glad she's come. Maybe all of her friends from school are there and she hasn't seen them in months, and she's having drunken DMCs about how growing up was difficult, but everyone's come so far. And her hair is really working tonight. And the music is bangin'. Get off your god damn horse! What? Double entendre? I don't... OOOOHHH... Well played The Wanted. 

The sun goes down

The stars come out

Silver lining; the guys observant. So at the very least you could get a confidence booster out of the fact that he has recognised that you are, in fact, female. 

All that counts

Is here and now

Downside; he's inconsiderate. I mean what if you have work in the morning?

I know my opinions makes it seem like I take the Liz Lemon approach to night life seduction... And I am fine with that. 

Niamh (Sister-In-Law of Kevin Federline)

I'd make him a Ham Sandwich

You all know Dave right? He's a pretty cool guy. He didn't lick that up off the ground though. Dave's dad, Winston, is so much cooler than all of us will ever dream to be. He's like a Liam Neeson/Michael Palin hybrid, who's hobbies include being witty and rescuing disadvantaged children. If that wasn't proof enough as to how fantastic he is, today I received this Facebook chat off Dave:

Dave: Winston's a Ham Sandwich fan

Asked if I knew them.

I was like

fuck you.

Endless LOLz.

Niamh (Vegan.)

Driving Miss Crazy. (Not the best pun ever, wanna fight about it?)

I, as a person, am not very achievement oriented. I tend to focus on one sizable goal a year, close my eyes and hope for the best. I've spent the last year learning too drive and it was an ordeal. At first I resisted it completely sticking with the unlikely, yet often irrefutable logic, that I was going to fucking kill someone. Learned drivers laughed this off, insisting that I just had to get the feel of the car, that it all becomes second nature. They just didn't get it. They were literally putting me in the driver seat of a death machine.

But it wasn't just the spectre of imminent destruction that clouded the path of enjoyment that was learning to drive. Mostly its just hours of social awkwardness. Every near crash made an instructive parent lose more respect for me, and as for the hours spent with driving instructors..

Spending more than an hour in a confined space, with a stranger, who you are paying to judge and criticise you. What kind of sick hell is that? And why have I endured it nearly 20 times? Intensely staring at me while I try not to steer a two ton death machine into a stream of oncoming traffic, while muttering "biting point" under your breath every now and then, does not a happy Niamh make. It stresses me out, to say the least.

My first driving instructor tried to bond over the course of our (purely professional) relationship by incessantly talking about his live in "partner" and her daughter. He was never inappropriate, by normal social standards. But as I think has been well established, one person's acceptable social behaviour and small talk, is my over share. I just did not want to know about this man's personal family life, especially as I was particularly concerned that at any moment I might kill him, robbing his pseudo step-daughter of a driving instructor.

My second driving instructor was a lot more reserved, and kept conversation strictly to observation, clutch control and coasting. This suited me down to the ground. However, instructor number two seemed to attract awkward incidents. During his driving lessons I was pulled over by the Gards on multiple occasions, even, on one memorable trip, breathalised. I will never get over this. I had to blow into one of those breathaliser machines on a mock driving test. My instructors reaction? "If you fail this breathaliser I am fucked." Eh, CHEERS. You're not the only one. During another lesson, at this stage we were driving around in my own car as I was a lot more comfortable with the clutch and the like, I drove him back to the industrial estate he had parked in. And remained parked in. As his car was locked in. He was the male, adult, driving instructor version of me, in terms of his awkwardness and plain bad luck.

The test itself is the most sadistic, state enforced requirement ever conceived. I am convinced that Driving Examiners are born, not made. It takes a certain smug, condescending, cruel asshole to conduct driving tests. They are suitable to no other position on earth. Once you fail your test (as I did, to the shock of absolutely no one, except my mother, who maintains an unexplainable faith in me) you are left in suspense as they bring you all the way back to the RSA offices, to inform you of your failure and hand you a "Statement of Failure". In case you you were in any doubt. The correct response to this is "Oh, fantastic. If you excuse me I'm just going to DRIVE MYSELF HOME. Bye now." My response was "Yeah. Thought so. . . . I'll just.... Go."

The fact of the matter is, that the Irish as a race are just too lackadaisical for such official documents as driving licenses. Some of the most terrible drivers in the country possess full licenses. And it means nothing. I drive nearly every day, and it is always full of incident, near crashes, angry interactions with pedestrians, other drivers and, the worst of the worst, every drivers nightmare, CYCLISTS. I never return from a spell of driving, not sick to my very stomach with stress and fear, caused by the mere though of all the damage and death I could have caused. But that's just how it goes. I'm awaiting my first, proper accident with anticipation. My "Statement of Failure" is soon to be framed and placed on my wall of achievements.

Niamh (Speaks fluent Clingon)

Twitter is too susceptible to wordplay.

Twitter is an odd social convention, one which over the past nine months or so I have become utterly addicted to. Before I joined I was bemused at the twitter addiction (twiddiction? .......no.) my friends suffered from, they literally live blogged their every thought, movement, any incident that occurred was recorded and immortalised on this cyber journal. When I eventually made my own account, I tweeted sparsely, attempting to keep my tweets either witty or profound. That method soon fell by the wayside and now I tweet daily about anything and everything, from the mundane to the incredibly awkward, and frequent, events that form my existence.

I am rapidly approaching my 1000th tweet, an event that sadly means a lot more to me than it should. As such,  I put forward this analysis of my best and worst, essentially a collection of 140 character thoughts that sums up the last few months of my life, its sure to be pretty dull at worst and hugely mortifying at best. Also I had to scroll really far so I feel like I have accomplished something today.



The pressure for this first tweet is painful.... Oh, that wasn't so bad!
A brave stab at a cliched joke upon entry into a new arena of my life.. Yep, sounds about right.

Andrew McCarthy circa 1985.. Thanks for the ridic high standards!
Pretty in Pink, St. Elmos Fire, Andrew McCarthy is the condescending 80s douchebag that should be populating my life, making me feel better about being weird and, probably, insinuating that I could be pretty if I changed almost everything about myself. Alas, I am on my own, but a girl can dream.

"There, Philip, below mine... YOUR NICE WRITING PHILIP!" "Oh yes, yes there you go. This countrys nice, innit? Do we still own this?"
One of the biggest events in my life over the past year is the impact of the Royal Wedding and subsequent obsession with the Royal Family, particularly Philip, which ensued. Watching the coverage of his trip to Ireland (and the Queen's too, I suppose) took up a lot of my time, imagination when it came to improvising what they were saying, and tweet space.

So the world's supposed to end THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW! ahahahah.....haha...ha...sorry.
Remember when everyone briefly believed the 21st of May was the end of the world? This was composed on the 19th... No further explanation needed.

"You have very big hands, God Bless you." - My Grandfather. 
My Grandfather is easily one of my favourite people on the planet. He lives in the nursing home where I work so I get to spend a great deal of time with time, time he usually spends musing on my inappropriate hand/stomach size, worrying about when I'm going to get married (sooner rather than later seems to be the general concensus) and whether or not he looks handsome enough on any given day to "get some mots".

I've built a fort inside the hood of my hoodie using my imagination.
I have no explanation for this other than; exam time.

I rarely consider myself sexier than when plunging out the shower. Especially when Kanye comes on. Get down girl, gon' head, get down. 
We've all been there, sexy dancing to the iPod, then glancing in the mirror and realising we look like a human equivalent of a sewer rat.

My Dad tried to hide the M&Ms from me. Degrading. Its like tying up an obese kid on a diet at night so he doesn't eat his fingers. 
I don't think I've gotten over this, although when I found the sharer bag of M&Ms I DID eat them all, then immediately felt sick. So maybe he was in the right.

Waiting until its bright to sleep... New life low. 
I suck at horror movies.

Good thing my bro in law is understanding of the female need to cook whilst simultaneously getting drunk. 
During an ill-fated Come Dine With Me in my sisters home, when I started drinking before I started cooking to steady my nerves and help me forget that I can't cook.

Better invest in a coat.
True.

You don't even know Twitter. You don't even know how excited I am for The Muppets. 
This was written in November. I have since seen The Muppets. And Holy Mother of Moses but it was fantastic. I want Jason Segel to marry me in a quaint, but not forced looking, Hawaiian ceremony.

=O
Not at my most articulate, but you get the idea.

Well that was sexually uncomfortable.
This was written about the Late Late Toy Show, I have no idea what it was in reference to, but I do remember Tubridy dressed up as Woody so its probably something to do with that.

She's literally YouTubing cats... What, I don't even...
My friend Aoife is the most ridiculously adorable person I know, she speaks fluent LOLcat and is the biggest Twitter influence in my life with over 400 followers and 52,000 tweets.

God I wish I had tumblr, for further means of procrastination.
I love you Blogger.

I don't like Oprah. There I said it. 
SHE'S JUST TOO BIG FOR HER GOD DAMN BOOTS.

I'm in my twenties.
Oh, what a horrid, horrid realisation. I'm a bit in love with my birthday, but the aging fear that gripped me on turning twenty made me cling to immaturity more than usual. As a result on my twentieth birthday I was insufferable. Whenever I didn't get my way I would scream "I CALL BIRTHDAY!" until someone relented into giving me what I wanted. The shame.

Who won the superplate?
I stand by this hilarious wordplay. Plate and bowl, get it? GET IT?

No one will want to talk to me if I keep referring to feminist lit as my "Vagina Class".
I mean, where is the chase and how do I cut to it.

I can get up anytime I want...
This was only a few days ago! I'm still in bed.

Had to sleep in my parents bed after spilling a pint of water in mine when I turned in my sleep. Makes me wonder... Where are they??
This did happen, I am very awkward, and my parents are quite mysterious. I once rang my Dad to see if he'd pick me up from school and he couldn't because he was in Amsterdam.

An entire year of my life compressed into one blogpost via twitter: I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

Niamh (discovered the internet yesterday.)

Yours Hornily, David xXx

So the title is somewhat misleading.This is not a blog about my insatiable labido [sad face], but instead a blog in praise of "frape". This is something we have all fallen victim to and hopefully inflicted upon someone else at least once. For legal reasons I am obliged to point out that I am of course referring to the act of hijacking someone else's facebook profile for nefarious means. Good. All clear? No one thinks I'm condoning rape in anyway? Excellent!

I recently fell victim to a vicious fraping at the hands of my classmate and friend, I use this term loosely, Paul. I have to say I found it very difficult to feel irate about it in anyway shape or form. In what can only be described as a flash of brilliance, he decided he would message Snooki and the Situation (of Jersey Shore acclaim). While I have since removed the message for fear of strangers following it up it went something like this:

"OMG just snapped some pics of Snooki/Situation at my local beach. Get them before the tabloids see them! Message me!!"

How on Earth he decided on this course of action is beyond me. I laughed about it later at home. Genius. 

However, Paul was not so merciful in other aspects of the frape. Remember the title of this post? Paul sent some mail. It went like this, "You always smell delightful. Yours hornily, David xXx". Needless to say I got a less than favourable reply and was sufficiently mortified.

So lets not write off the fraping phenomenon as a digital method of calling your friends gay. There is much to be learned from frapes. The best take a flash of inspiration and effort. The best require a high level of execution and follow through.

My own brother was fraped not long ago. He loaned his ipod to a friend not realising he was signed in the entire time. But I couldn't tell for the first few posts. My own brother. We are a seperated by only a year and see each other every day. But when I saw:

"I don't know how planes fly :("

"Sometimes I cry when I see nature" 

and finally "Haters gonna hate, I just keep my swag on! xxx" 

I genuinely thought 'Karls having a weird day'....

I am yet to create a frape of such brilliance but all I need is time, time and opportunity.

David

Official Spice Girl Fan Site Treasurer 08/09

I'm not always wrong, but when I am I hope there's always soup involved.

The Leaving Cert was really hard. I know I may be preaching to the converted here, but during my lifetime of absolute first world problems, the Leaving Cert was one of the most distressing and scarring experiences I have ever endured and I hope to God it stays that way. That being said, I feel like I really earned college, that my presence there was won over the space of two years of nervous breakdowns, cramming completely irrelevant information and, in one mortifying incident, crying in class. (It was Irish, I'd just found out I'd failed my mock, I was a ball of hormone and weepy female emotion) (....Still doesn't make up for it, Christ that memory makes my heart shrivel in shame) So yeah, my college attendance is more than justified. And I reserve the right to participate in college life whatever way I see fit. If that means sparse lecture attendance, slightly delirious tutorial attendance and the occasional chats in the back of a lecture hall, then so be it.

Mature Students. As much as I try to avoid generalised hatred, when it comes to mature students it is a struggle. The affronted look I receive from a mature student on any given day, as I go about my business, carrying out my work with the exact same level of competence as them, with a lightheartedness I like to call a "good attitude", enrages me. Because they refuse to respect my right to be there, like I do for them.

Today a good forty minutes of a tutorial was wasted on the following exchange, repeated again and again between an aggressive, obnoxious mature student and a shy, helpful tutor:


Asshole: Regarding fieldwork, when it comes to picking a site, we can pick any group of society to study?
Shy, Helpful Tutor: Yep, any site will do, as long as the people remain the same for each session of study and subjects are interacting with each other.
Asshole: What about an emergency room?
Shy, Helpful Tutor: Yes that works because the staff and setting remain the same.
Asshole: What about, like, Mass?
Shy, Helpful Tutor: Mass actually won't work, because there's no interaction between a group, just responding. But anywhere else is perfectly fine.
Asshole: I don't understand, you said anywhere.
Shy, Helpful Tutor: Any other site is fine, just not mass, you'll find you have very little to study.
Asshole (becoming obviously frustrated and confused): So will an AA meeting work?
Shy, Helpful Tutor: Yes it will. Any site will work if you have a group interacting.
Asshole: But not mass?
My Brain: YOU CAN'T STUDY MASS, WHAT IS SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND, ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING IN THE WORLD BUT MASS, PRAYER GROUP YES, BIBLE STUDY FINE, NOT MASS, STOP SAYING MASS, WHY DO YOU EVEN WANT TO STUDY MASS!?

Rinse, lather, repeat. For forty god damn minutes.

Because of their time off, during which they've worked jobs they hated, reared children who were clearly a disappointment and held relationships that obviously weren't fulfilling, mature students think their life experience have empowered them with an all encompassing knowledge. And while I don't doubt that they have a maturity I have yet to grasp, it doesn't make them more superior when it comes to the study of 19th Century poetry. That shit's pretty theoretical, guys. I have as much ability to understand, study and discuss it as anyone. I can also do it without being a raging, pretentious, undermining asshole. So when I work up the courage to volunteer a point in those nervous sweat boxes known as tutorials, you shooting me down with an incorrect interpretation and a withering glare just makes me hate you even more.

However, I am generally a positive and upbeat person (that last statement is technically not true in any way, shape or form) and I try to see the good in most things. So when a member of a social group I despise does something awesomely charming, which considerably brightens my day, I want to give them props for it. In the same tutorial in which the engaging Mass Debate took place, in the corner sat a different mature student. On her arrival to class I had subconsciously labeled her in my internal mental folder as "quirky" (she was wearing a delightful pink frilled dress, over white jeans and had an air of disarray). I would have happily ignored her for the hour. When she had settled herself in her corner, from her bag she removed a jam jar. Within the jam jar there was a grey, milky liquid, resembling homemade mushroom soup. She placed the jar on the desk, and left it there, untouched. For the entire class. when we were gratefully dismissed, she put it back in her bag and went about her merry way. Good luck soup? Homegrown alien? Who knows. All I know is that it was freakin' fantastic. Bravo, quirky mature student. You have done so much for you race just by being you.

Niamh (Can't count in prime numbers)

Welcome! Can I get you anything? Tea? Diazepam?

It won't be long before this blog turns into a petty rivalry between two old friends and their intellectual prowess. However seeing as one member is a witty, big boned girl with a sharp tongue and a basic grasp of large syllable words, such as "curmudgeon", and the other is me, already there is no competition.

Five Things You Need To Know About Me

1. So you're going to be a Garda?: I have been six foot two since I was fourteen, and it wasn't long before such a conspicuous birth defect led to a reflexive sarcastic gene.
2. Writes Comedy Blog With Science Student; Science Student Is Funnier: My life, and the day-to-day events which make up that life, has been described as "like the socially awkward penguin meme, but like more awkward?" Needless to say this fact has haunted and enhanced my life ever since, so much so that I literally cannot park my car without at least three embarrassing incidents ensuing. 
3. I'm just like...... : Despite studying such passionate and endearing subjects as Anthropology and English Literature, I am apathetic beyond belief. If I cared less, I would probably be flat lining. Three months after graduating I foresee myself living a routine based on cheese toasties, slipper socks and a very strict 30 Rock/Arrested Development regiment.  
4. Fact: I am Blue Ivy Carter
5. I have the boxset, I'll get round to it: I like to make outrageous claims, which at first glance cannot possibly be true, without providing any evidence to back up my wild fantasies, nor disprove them. So who can prove anyone's anything really? Yeah. (I've also never seen The Godfather) 

Five Things You Need To Know About Dave

1. Still celebrates Martin Luther King Day: He is often accidentally and casually racist, which makes his Aryan good looks both frightening and incredibly appropriate. 
2. The one singing harmonies: He is the sixth member of chart topping boy band 5ive.
3. This doesn't make it into the final cut of the movie: Is an adequate sportsman, been known to willingly break bones to give his brother a shot in the limelight, only to be proved inferior to said brother and find himself replaced. Turns to science in the hope of mending crushed dreams.
4. Will probably let the funky music do the talking: Dave will soon be moving to Switzerland, where his poor grasp of the delicate French language, terrible pronunciation, and general social ineptitude will surely lead to hilarious blog posts. (So please hang in there!)
5. Glitteratti: Despite some upcoming rants, Dave is completely comfortable with his own sexuality and totally accepting of the sexuality of others. Been known to lust after the alluring, sexual magnetism of Tom Hardy and the modest talents of Laura Linney. 

Dave and I appreciate that choosing blogs these days is like trying to pick the best poppies in a field of... Well, a field of poppies. So taking the time out of your enriching StumbleUpon lifestyle to read a little about us and who we are, and why we desperately need to prove to the world that WE CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONES WHO FIND US FUNNY truly means a lot to us. Dave will someday be the proud owner of an aging cat named Darwin, a Nobel Prize for his work on hands and,with any luck, a good trophy wife, and I will still be refreshing my Twitter waiting for glorious, life fulfilling retweets. Your company on this path to success couldn't make us happier.

Niamh (owner of twelve cross-continental Dunkin' Donuts)

Caution: The Fun May Begin Here

First welcome to "What I Can't Even" and congratulations on choosing a blog with such low potential. I'm Dave and have the ambiguous privilege of presenting you our first ever blog! This is just a quick round up of the Five Most Important Things To Know About Me!

1) I am male: Despite many a taunt from my schoolyard days I am in fact a boy. Every now again I do man thing, play sports, barbeque meat products or  partly assemble furniture only to declare there has to be pieces missing and abandon the project entirely. However, I have been known to balance such stereotypical male features with a love of gossip and Downton Abbey.

2) Science!!: I am a massive nerd. And not a nerd as in "OMG I totally love the Big Bang Theory!" nerd, a real nerd. A nerd who takes pride the fact that I have a favourite element (Bismuth!), I have a cat called Darwin and my favourite gene is Sonic Hedgehog.....

3). Laziness: I actually envied that guy in Seven who got to be sloth. Stay in bed for a year?? Don't even move to (ahem) relieve yourself?? Yea, that guy had it made. Except for the dying part, obvi.......

4) Her?: Television is a huge part of my life. I consider Tim Riggins a close personal friend and have emailed the Bluth Company my CV. Last summer I visited 30 Rock and was genuinely upset Kenneth didn't give me a tour. Also I realise none of these people are real but if we all just believe....

5) I wasn't even looking for droids!: Despite being an empassioned science geek and math enthusiast, I have never seen Star Wars. This often provokes the reaction of "How have you never seen Star Wars?!?". The obvious answer of "I never sat down in front of a television and cast my gaze thusly" apparently doesn't suffice. I have also never seen Lord of the Rings. Deal with it planet Earth!

Now The Five Most Important Things To Know about Niamh!

1) She does not eat: Never have I frequented the King household to find anything other than waffles and Rich Tea biscuits.

2) Secret Hipster: Niamh longs to wear thick rimmed glasses and a hat that makes her look aloof and creative. However, she resists these urges and instead listens to the music, reads the books and studies arts while wearing comfortable jeans and a Jansport bag.

3) Inferiority Complex: Niamh overtime has developed a well deserved inferiority complex. With her sisters continued success as wife, nurse and all round great person, Niamh struggles with her self esteem and often relies on her sardonic wit to mask her pain.

4) Tina Fey: Niamh is obsessed with Tina Fey. She once followed a look-a-like to their car and stole a lock of hair.

5) Book Enthusiast: Niamh takes great pride in her substantial book collection and often uses it to belittle my poorly read self. With novels by Dickens, Kerouac, Steinbeck and emmmm Meyers, Niamh is bonafide book worm!

Dave
Former Extra On Echo Island