Severe Jam Damage

Written very quickly this morning. To be sung in a Damien Dempsey stylee…

I am an angry man yeah, I vent it when I can, yeah
On the DART, with a shopping cart
The negativity, yeah, about the orangemen, yeah
Is a shame, whose to blame?
And when the barrow flies, yeah, into the garda’s lines, yeah
Throw it down, through the main street of town

But it’s all good, it’s all good
Got me some free shoes today
It’s all good, sure it’s all good
Got me some free shoes today

and when the wheelbarrow flies, yeah, it’s a sight for sore eyes , yeah
It is truth, it is youth
They try to keep us down, yeah
The marchers from out of town, yeah
From the North, travelling back and forth
And to survive their marching, yeah
You have to throw everything, yeah
you can grab, like a paving slab

Love Ulster Parade, no way, no way
Love Ulster Parade, no way, no way

The barfly asked me during the week how ‘Eichmann and Mengele’ were doing. Here are their mugshots taken last week. Do not be fooled by their seeming innocence and furry snuglability. These two are DANGEROUS and should be avoided.

11.30pm Sunday night. The dogs were all tucked up in their bed, everyone comfy and cosy. I went upstairs and crawled into my own pit, left the door to my bedroom open so that I could hear if the dogs woke up during the night and wanted to go out for a pee. Fell asleep about 11.30 and was in a lovely sleep.

At about 1.30 I woke up, one of those where you are wide awake in a matter of seconds and there was a sick feeling in my stomach. ‘Somethings wrong’ I thought. ‘Something is very fucking wrong.’
I jumped out of bed and went down the hallway. Couldn’t hear anything downstairs, but still had that awful feeling in my stomach. Hit the staircase and my stomach involuntarily spasmed. FUCK!
I ran down the stairs, two at a time and all the while the smell was getting stronger. Threw the kitchen door open and the dogs were whimpering in the corner, when I came in they ran over and jumped on me. They didn’t bark, but whined and whimpered. The smell of gas was overpowering, by this time my stomach was in violent upheaval. I pushed the dogs out of the way and slammed into the cooker. No lights, I was half asleep, but I was awake enough to remember that much of various safety messages over the years. I still remember that ‘Spirit of Dark and Silent Water’ thing from years ago with the kids and the stick.
The kitchen was pitch there was no moonlight coming through the windows so this meant a lot of feeling about in the dark to find which ring was on. I could hear the gas hissing from the stove and prayed that the fridge wouldn’t kick on now. A brief image of one of those CSI ‘explanations’ crossed my mind…

VO:’And when the fridge clicked on…’
Cut to extreme closeup of fridge mechanism and tiny spark as refrigeration unit clicks on
VO: ‘Da place go booom!’

I was still scrabbling at the cooker knobs, found the one that was on and wrenched it off. The dogs were still whimpering around my feet, very scared. I opened the back door and shoved the two of them into the fresh air, hoping to god they were ok. I had no idea how long the gas had been on before I awoke. The dogs ran out beside me, they were gasping, I was trying not to throw up on my bare feet.

I sat on the step at the back door, shaking for about 20 minutes, after shutting off the gas at the bottle. (We’re in the country so it’s not connected to mains gas line, which is a small mercy, I think.) Only then did I dare to switch on any lights. Spent the rest of the night sitting up watching telly with the doors and windows open. The house was well cleared of gas by that stage but the smell lingered. The dogs wouldn’t sleep in the kitchen, I could understand their reticence, if the smell was strong enough to make me want to vomit it must be excrutiating for them. They slept on the living room floor beside the sofa. I was still worried about them as I wasn’t sure how long the gas had been on, and how much they might have inhaled. It was better to have them in a room where the smell was lessened.

Freaked me right out. Bobby must have woken up and jumped up against the counter to see if any food had been left out. (He knows he is not allowed do this.) He obviously knocked one of the knobs for the stove in his search.

So, now that I’ve cheated death this once, I’m wondering if I should be looking over my shoulder, watching for falling street signage, speeding buses or incorrectly secured butchers knives.

I don’t know who is responsible for this little collage, I received it yesterday in email, this is why I love the internet, no matter how tragic or questionable a subject t’internet is not afraid to say what it really thinks. Okay, that’s enough Cheney stuff already I guess….

isn’t it?

The latest from the Daily Show:

Jon Stewart, speaking as a “concerned parent,” urged viewers never to let their children go on hunting trips with the vice president. “I can’t emphasize this enough,” Stewart said. “I don’t care what kind of lucrative contracts they’re trying to land, or energy regulation they’re trying to get lifted. . . . He’ll shoot them in the face.”

of Ultimate Destiny.

I’m feeling decidedly abandoned lately. Lost and bereft of company, with nary a plan in sight. Of course it doesn’t help that I’ve been ill for the last week, nor that I went back to work far too early (one day out sick was all I could afford to take) so ended up making myself sicker again on the weekend. I won’t go into gory details. I’m still not completely over the lurgy, as today I am experiencing some weird dizzy spells which feel like my brain has become unstuck from it’s pan. Very unsettling.

I also really could have done without the fact that today is Monday, as me and Monday’s don’t get along so well. Bad things happen on Monday. Things like having to get up for work, or having to deal with new people starting, or doing interviews, or LOSING YOUR TOOTHBRUSH. Lying in bed staring at the ceiling since 2 this morning also does not help.

And to top it all off, tomorrow is VD day. However, the Barfly (who is in a quandary over what to get his gf) sent me this little piece of joy:

The annual Lupercali festival of the Romans on February 15 was a perpetuation of the ancient blooding rites of the hunter in which the novice is smeared with the blood of his first kill…
For centuries, the Luperci observed an annual ritual of chasing women through the streets of Roman cities and beating them with leather thongs.

So I ran a test roll through the new camera, and what I got back isn’t what I was expecting. It’s different anyway. I’m not sure yet if it’s good ‘different’ or bad ‘different’…
The results are up on flickr.

Last night I took a rare opportunity to head to the movies. Actually that’s not true, I go to the cinema fairly often but since it’s the beginning of the year and there’s that whole big hole in my bank account at the moment I haven’t been out much lately. Earlier in the day there was discussion about what would be the best \ most interesting movie to see and since my movie buddy has one of those Monthly-I-have-no-life passes he’d seen pretty much everything there was on offer. Also time was an issue as I had to work late yesterday evening and didn’t hit town until after 7.
I could say that this is the reason we ended up watching ‘Cache’ but truth be told we’d half decided on it before we got to the cinema. ‘A Cock and Bull Story’ was on at the ridiculous time of 6.30 and ‘A Bittersweet Life’ which looks kinda interesting was on at 10.45 or something. I can’t remember what issues we had with ‘Munich’ other than my wondering if Spielberg had one of the Mossad noticably running around in a red coat.
So we ended up at ‘Cache’.
Now before I start to talk about the movie I want to talk about something very near and dear to my heart. The subject of cinema ettiquette. At this stage we all know, or should be aware of the usual things that drive Eli to distraction when watching a movie: People scrumpling plastic sweet wrappers, mobile phones ringing, people talking, fidgeters, seat-kickers, heavy breathers and the weak bladdered. Here’s a tip honey, DON’T BUY THE SUPER EXTRA HUGE GUZZLER size of soda if you are going to be up and down from your seat every five minutes. But besides this I have a theory which runs pretty much similar to to a theory a trolly dolly friend of mine told me about his passengers. It runs thus: There are two types of passenger, the first arrives at the airport in plenty of time, checks in, strolls leisurely to the departure lounge and relaxes with a beer or a cup of coffee until boarding. The second arrives at the check-in desk with minutes to spare and heads directly for the boarding gate, often being the last one on the plane. Well so it is with moviegoers. I know people who detest watching trailers and insist on entering the cinema after the lights have gone down and finding a seat at the very last minute. Me, I prefer to be in my seat with my popcorn \ drink etc ready to hand before the lights go down. My coat off, and seated comfortably eager for the start of the show.
So to the couple who came in late to the cinema last night, walked down the row and gestured at me to stand up so they could sit in the two seats directly to my left I say FUCK YOU. The following 10 minutes were pure hell as they plopped coats, drinks, bags and popcorn into their seats, and arranged themselves comfortably. It didn’t stop there, gentle reader. Of course it didn’t. Halfway through the movie SHE started the old ‘girlie-doesn’t-understand-the-plot’ trick.
‘Honeeeey, who’s that?’
‘Honeeeey, is that the same guy from the first scene?’
‘What’s happening now?’
This accompanied with yelps, screams and hiding under her jacket. Of course she was also an arm-rest burglar which is just the rudest thing, especially when I was the first one in the seat.
The movie itself was alright. It’s a French thriller, which resulted in lots of static shots, pregnant pauses, interminable silences while people performed meaningless stage business and Juliette Binoche sans make-up. Okay look, I’m being harsh here, the plot of the movie rests on the fact that the main character Georges is receiving video tapes which show nothing more than the street outside his house. The director has entwined these video’s with scenes where his characters do nothing much at all so that as a viewer you are no longer sure where the voyeurism ends and the movie begins. As for the ending, well, lets just say I am not a fan of the Frank Stockton school of plot-writing. Not that I’m the type of person who requires an definite ending to a movie or book, I’m not saying that I need to be TOLD how I should think a story ends. I’m all for leaving a plot open to interpretation, but generally I like the director to have his own interpretation on what he thinks the real story might be, and to tip his hat in that direction. I’ve read reviews of the movie this morning where the director admits he hasn’t a clue what the real story is. Erego the lazy ‘Lady or the Tiger’ ending. It’s a step up from the ‘And then she woke up’ conclusion, which itself is a cop out. Saying that I now have to go and eat my words as the only time I have ever seen ‘And then she woke up’ work was in ‘The Wake’ Neil Gaiman’s final arc of the Sandman series. But I digress.
Anyway, even with all this negative thought on the plot I have to say the leads were impeccable in their portrayal of a middle-aged couple undergoing the stress of something they don’t fully understand. It’s one worth seeing on the big screen, only because trapped in the cinema you are forced to sit and confront some truly horrific images. If you wait a while and rent it on DVD or catch it on late-night telly, you’ll probably be bored rigid with the terrible silences.

I may have mentioned to a few of you, but for those who don’t know I’ve bought myself a new camera. Yep, another one. Those of you who have seen some of my kit are probably wondering WHY I bought another camera. After all at this point I actually own more camera’s than I have workable limbs. So what on earth possessed me to buy yet another one? Well, this one is different.
The last couple of years I’ve been working mostly with 35mm SLR’s, and while I like the results I’ve been getting I just needed something more. Sometimes I worry that I’m some sort of techno-junkie geek grrl hybrid. So I started looking around to see what was out there and found the lomo. But a lomo is still a 35mm camera and it is damn expensive too, out of my price range at the moment. The lomo would have been nice but I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to afford a new camera right now until that is I found a link to the Holga. The Holga is a medium format camera that is so cheap it’s laughable.
It’s from the 80’s, built by the Chinese and it’s er, plastic. That pic looks pretty cool yeah? You look at it and think it’s a relative of a Leica Rangefinder, big and sturdy, with a good lens. Well, you’re wrong. It weighs 200g and the lens is plastic. As is the case, the flash and all the buttons. Plastic.
Ok, saying all the buttons is wrong too, as there are pretty much exactly eh, no controls on it. Remember that fisher-price camera you had as a kid? Well technologically that’s probably a step up from a Holga. There are two main ‘features’ on the Holga 120GCFN. The first is a button to change the aperture from f11 to f8 (marked with a sun or a cloud) and on the lens ring are painted some vague shapes resembling people to gauge your focus. (One person equals close, group of people equals far away, mountain equals infinity.) Of course as this isn’t an SLR when you look through the viewfinder it’s hard to tell exactly what the camera lens is seeing, and until you process the film it’s impossible to tell the lens quality. Which, added to the known problems with the camera regarding light leaks, variation in shutter speed, lack of sharpness etc means that it’s a total crapshoot as to whether anything comes out at all.
Despite all this, or perhaps in spite of all this I bought the camera which arrived, boxed and plastic wrapped last week. The next day I went down to Gunns and bought a few rolls of film to get me started. Since then I have been snapping away as the mood takes me. One interesting thing I’ve noticed is that people are much more natural around the Holga and it’s easier to take their picture. Because the camera looks and feels like a toy, they don’t feel half as self conscious as when I’m pointing a Nikon with 200mm telezoom in their face. Another bonus is that because the camera is made of plastic I don’t have to worry about it getting knocked about in the bottom of my bag, so now it comes pretty much everywhere with me.
It’s cheap, it’s fun and I’m looking forward to seeing what I’ve captured on film.

Holga goodness on flickr.