It's funny, despite today being the first day that I didn't do anything since Christmas -- and I mean that, I've been shockingly busy -- I didn't have time to write. I spent my day chilling, trying to write an essay on Walt Whitman (bisexual god of American poetry. Fond of the ladeez.) and I'm currently curled up on a sofa watching Ruby Sparks, which I'll probably review tomorrow or the next day. This isn't a hugely important or imaginative blogpost, I know, but we all need our recharge days, don't we? For getting to the end of this slightly dull post, have some words from the man himself;. This is one of the poems I'm studying for my essay and I think it's interesting, if a little off-kilter. When you consider that it was written in 1822. I'd like to be friends with Walt, I think.
ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.
Also, here's some Lana, becausep she's all I've been listening to lately. She's the queen of my heart.
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Friday, January 4, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
My top 5 of 2012: movies
Yes, yes, I know that it's 2013 and that I'm a week too late with this post. Nevertheless, I shall persevere, because I like lists and I like movies and god knows I didn't read enough books this year to justify a top five. . Well, unless you count "The Origins of Modern Germany". Banter. I saw an awful lot of films this year, actually. Maybe it's being in Dublin every day or maybe it's dating a film student : either way, I saw far more than I have any other year. Anyway, without further ado, I give you my top 5 of 2012. Sorry to Lawless and Argo, which I really wanted to put in, but a top 7 just doesn't work.
Number 5: Skyfall, dir. Sam Mendes, October
Before 2012, I had never seen a Bond film before. I have discovered since that I've missing out - big time. From the sumptuous opening credits with Adele warbling over them, to the gorgeous cinematography (particularly the underwater shots), the plot was almost secondary to my enjoyment. Which isn't like me! Daniel Craig is an excellent Bond, equal parts suave and scarred. He plays of the villain, the terrifying, camp Javier Bardem brilliantly too. Action films aren't my thing, but the social-media aspect of the plot kept me interested Certainly makes me want to see more Bond. Blimey.
My Oscar: Supporting cast of the year. Judi Dench, Ralph Fiennes and Ben Whishaw all made this film at times poignant, exciting and hilarious. Simply stellar.
4: The Dark Knight Rises, dir. Christopher Nolan, July
It's a testament to how good a year 2012 was for film that a Christopher Nolan film comes in at no. 4 on the list. If you had asked me in October or even November, I would have placed this film at number one, no questions asked. So what has it so far down the list? Well, it's largely David's fault, who hasn't stopped criticizing it since July. I have to face facts: TDKR isn't a perfect film. In fact, there are quite a few holes in it. Okay, okay, it's kind of dull apart from the bits with Bane and when Batman's in prison. You got me. That said, Tom Hardy puts in a performance and a half as Bane, a villain so menacing that part of you wants to keep away from planes for the rest of your days. And it's got Ann Hathaway in it. I fucking love Anne Hathaway.
My Oscar: Opening scene of the year. The deeply menacing Hans Zimmer score. The image of a small plane disintegrating before the viewer's eyes and some very intense Bane dialogue. "Crashing this plane...WITH NO SURVIVORS!"
3: Life of Pi, dir. Ang Lee, December
I saw this film with my family on Christmas Eve and if there was a prettier film this year, I didn't see it. life of pi isn't a film to make you believe in God but it's one to make you believe in cinema. Set almost entirely on a tiny lifeboat, Ang Lee brings the ocean to life. This is often done to harrowing effect -- the film is intense and certainly not a feel-goodie in parts. But then again, you're an idiot if you go into a film about a shipwreck expecting a heartwarmer. OH WAIT, that's what the trailer practically promises.
I cried. Don't go unless you're steeled for scenes of sheer desperation and less hope than the trailer implies. That said, it is fascinating to watch and takes you into it's world, hook, line and (er) sinker. My Oscar: Most visually stunning film of the year. The twenty minute boat sinking scene. The opening credits. The flying fish. It's pure ART. 2: Silver Linings Playbook , dir. David O Russel, DecemberIt kills me not to put this at number one, it really does. 2012 was J. Lawrz' year. While I loved her in The Hunger Games, her performance in Silver Linings Playbook was simply astounding. Playing a young widow with seriously intense mental issues, she bonds with the equally unstable Bradley Cooper. The two begin to dance together and over the next two hours, they fall in love. I did too -- what I love about SLP is how real it is. The two fight, they scream at one another and then they make up. Robert deNiro is an awkward dad, uncomfortable with the blossoming relationship. The film looks lovely, the soundtrack is fab and it leaves you filled to the brim with happiness. Wonderful stuff.
My Oscar: Best performance of the year in anything for J Lawrz. Yes, ok, I have a slight crush.
And finally...
1: What Richard Did, dir. Lenny Abrahamsson, September
What can I say about this film? It's as close to perfect as you're going to see, trust me. I went to see this with David on a whim -- I'd read the book it's adapted from but wasn't even aware of the film. It's perfect. It opens with a group of lads in a Tesco buying cans. It shows teenage Ireland almost exactly as it is: not like a Skins style freakshow, but a silly, sometimes terrifying way to live. The story takes a dark turn when a crime is commited: the scene of the beating pulls no punches (sorry!) and leaves the viewer gasping. Literally. I've never witnessed such a powerful, horrifying moment in a cinema. What Richard Did is my film of the year becuase it's all around me. It's an Ireland anyone can connect with, and an Ireland everyone should fear. I've never seen anything like it and I don't think I will again.
My Oscar: Most accurate portrayal of teenage Ireland ever
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Busing it
In case I haven't spoken to you for more than five minutes lately, here is a small fact: I take a lot of buses. Twice a week, I take a Dublin Bus to work and up until recently I took a Bus Eireann one home. Having done this for the past several weeks, I have to say; I tip my hat to you, regular commuters on the 14, 15 and 27b. I didn't think anything could make me like Bus Eireann, but here we are. On a bus, as it happens.
I get the 27b (nervously) at Amiens Street or Eden Quay, clutching my bag for fear of the junkies that hang out at bus stops. I've never seen a bus stop quite as bad as Amiens Street for junkies - not the "sorry love, have ye a spare euro for a hostel?" Kind, but the fighting, I'll-kill-ye-for-your-chips kind. Genuinely scary. When the bus finally arrives, I jump on, only to be met with an angry driver who doesn't want a student asking how much it is to Fairview. They want to go for a smoke and a coffee; which they often do.
Can someone explain to me the phenomenon of changing buses? At Eden Quay (a stone's throw from Busaras, so the temptation to leave and
retreat to the country is always there), buses switch drivers. Which is fair enough. But more often than not, passengers are forced to switch buses for reasons that seem lost on even the driver. A few weeks ago I got on a bus had to get off at Eden Quay and THEN wait fifteen minutes, only to get back onto the original bus. All this and I'm charged 2 euro to be late for work!
Charges are not my biggest problem with Dublin bus, though. I'm a huge fan of the Leap card, which allows me to bop around Dublin with my student ID - and it's a bit cheaper than a regular fare, too. No, Dublin bus isn't expensive. Not when one spends so much on Bus Eireann: specifically the 120. A bus route of majesty and sadness. Let me tell you, the sight of a double decker bombig it down the quays at 80 mph is quite something. This sight is a familiar one -- the queen of the Bus Eireann Fleet has become my second home since September. In fairness to Bus Eireann, it doesn't have the scary junkie or angry driver problems of Dublin Bus. Sometimes it has wifi and more often than not, it's lovely and warm. I have two very different issues with bus Eireann: first, the cost. Do you know, dear reader, how much my bus costs? It's 50 euro a week. Fifty euro. For some context: a flat in town is double that. For 100 euro a week I can go out, walk to college and NOT spend my nights staring at the grey and red seat in front of me, wondering who's idea that itchy, scratchy material was. Bus Eireann has a monopoly on the countryside and by god does it abuse that. Which brings me to my second issue with bus Eireann. You know the dinky orange signs you Dublin folk have to tell you when the bus is coming?
In the country, we don't have signs. We have faith. We spend hours every week oping that the 9am will arrive before half. When half comes
And hoes, we shrug, sigh and hope that the 10am will be on time. at night, We crane our necks at the Ha'Penny bridge, watching for the big neon 120 to loom out of the dusky dark of the city and carry us home. And when it does arrive, we rejoice! I have never once seen a bus Eireann passenger berate a driver for being late. Never once did I consider it myself, overcome with joy at seeing that bus arrive. Such is the complex relationship we culchies a have with our national bus service.
All this commuting was a holy terror, and to be frank, it got to me. I don't hate waiting in the cold for a bus, but I don't relish it either. No, what I really hate is running from a lecture (full-pelt, with open laces and a laptop) to my stop, praying that I haven't missed the bus. The infrequency of my bus drives me mad! So now, after a mere term of commuting, I have moved to Dublin. I've chosen junkies over waiting around and leap cards over ten-journey tickets. Though a small, slightly mental part of me will miss the banter of Bus Eireann, I'm mostly glad I won't have to hear the words "Setanta
House"* over a scratchy tannoy every day
*for the uninitiated: Setanta house is one of the few announced stops on my bus route. No one ever gets off there and it's a horrible halfway point between town and home. It's the most depressing place on earth.
I get the 27b (nervously) at Amiens Street or Eden Quay, clutching my bag for fear of the junkies that hang out at bus stops. I've never seen a bus stop quite as bad as Amiens Street for junkies - not the "sorry love, have ye a spare euro for a hostel?" Kind, but the fighting, I'll-kill-ye-for-your-chips kind. Genuinely scary. When the bus finally arrives, I jump on, only to be met with an angry driver who doesn't want a student asking how much it is to Fairview. They want to go for a smoke and a coffee; which they often do.
Can someone explain to me the phenomenon of changing buses? At Eden Quay (a stone's throw from Busaras, so the temptation to leave and
retreat to the country is always there), buses switch drivers. Which is fair enough. But more often than not, passengers are forced to switch buses for reasons that seem lost on even the driver. A few weeks ago I got on a bus had to get off at Eden Quay and THEN wait fifteen minutes, only to get back onto the original bus. All this and I'm charged 2 euro to be late for work!
Charges are not my biggest problem with Dublin bus, though. I'm a huge fan of the Leap card, which allows me to bop around Dublin with my student ID - and it's a bit cheaper than a regular fare, too. No, Dublin bus isn't expensive. Not when one spends so much on Bus Eireann: specifically the 120. A bus route of majesty and sadness. Let me tell you, the sight of a double decker bombig it down the quays at 80 mph is quite something. This sight is a familiar one -- the queen of the Bus Eireann Fleet has become my second home since September. In fairness to Bus Eireann, it doesn't have the scary junkie or angry driver problems of Dublin Bus. Sometimes it has wifi and more often than not, it's lovely and warm. I have two very different issues with bus Eireann: first, the cost. Do you know, dear reader, how much my bus costs? It's 50 euro a week. Fifty euro. For some context: a flat in town is double that. For 100 euro a week I can go out, walk to college and NOT spend my nights staring at the grey and red seat in front of me, wondering who's idea that itchy, scratchy material was. Bus Eireann has a monopoly on the countryside and by god does it abuse that. Which brings me to my second issue with bus Eireann. You know the dinky orange signs you Dublin folk have to tell you when the bus is coming?
In the country, we don't have signs. We have faith. We spend hours every week oping that the 9am will arrive before half. When half comes
And hoes, we shrug, sigh and hope that the 10am will be on time. at night, We crane our necks at the Ha'Penny bridge, watching for the big neon 120 to loom out of the dusky dark of the city and carry us home. And when it does arrive, we rejoice! I have never once seen a bus Eireann passenger berate a driver for being late. Never once did I consider it myself, overcome with joy at seeing that bus arrive. Such is the complex relationship we culchies a have with our national bus service.
All this commuting was a holy terror, and to be frank, it got to me. I don't hate waiting in the cold for a bus, but I don't relish it either. No, what I really hate is running from a lecture (full-pelt, with open laces and a laptop) to my stop, praying that I haven't missed the bus. The infrequency of my bus drives me mad! So now, after a mere term of commuting, I have moved to Dublin. I've chosen junkies over waiting around and leap cards over ten-journey tickets. Though a small, slightly mental part of me will miss the banter of Bus Eireann, I'm mostly glad I won't have to hear the words "Setanta
House"* over a scratchy tannoy every day
*for the uninitiated: Setanta house is one of the few announced stops on my bus route. No one ever gets off there and it's a horrible halfway point between town and home. It's the most depressing place on earth.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New year, seventh beginning
You know, within a week of starting college I stopped blogging. I remembered that every so often -- on the bus home from college, staring out the window at the dim lights of Celbridge -- or in a particularly boring lecture. "I could go back to it", I'd murmur to myself. "It's only been a few weeks". I'd check back every so often, reading over my CatMo post and promising to start again soon. However, college had other ideas. It's amazing how much time a ten hours a week degree takes up. Hint: more than ten hours. Weeks turned into months and pretty soon both my Project 365 and my blog lay forgotten. It's been a busy few months, I'll give myself that. But I missed it! Of course I missed it! I've been blogging sporadically for the better part of three years! DAMMIT, I WASN'T GIVING UP THAT EASILY!
So here I am again. Inspired by a friend who blogged every day for 2011, I'm going to attempt to write a small blog post every day. I won't lie. That's going to be bloody difficult. And unlike Meg, my posts probably won't involve interviewing Enda Kenny or winning an iPad. The question is, and will remain: what do I write about? How much can an English and History student have to say? Well, I'm hoping it'll improve as time goes on. It's probably going to chronicle my first full year at university in all it's messy glory. By "messy", I mean in the sense that I'll be writing surrounded by handouts, clothes and half-eaten pizza. Though I'm sure I'll chronicle a few ~messy nights~ too. I can write about living in a tiny flat in Dublin, working in Centra on the (very) northside, a small puppy, terribly cooking and movies. I can write about new friends, new experiences and (hopefully!) travel. I can write about my other New Years' Resolution: I'm not going to eat chocolate for the month of January and I'm going to brave Trinity gym. Hopefully I can write about serious things too.Trying to save money, which is something Insomnia hot beverages has made me terrible at. Feminism, something I care quite a bit about. Love. Various other topics. The world is really my oyster for the next 365 days.
This sounds like a serious mission statment, as though I'm giving up the next year to type thought provoking blogposts -- I promise you, I'm not! I'm sure plenty of posts will involve Youtube links or photographs I've taken. But I'll try my best. I can promise that.
Here's to carpal tunnel from too much typing x
So here I am again. Inspired by a friend who blogged every day for 2011, I'm going to attempt to write a small blog post every day. I won't lie. That's going to be bloody difficult. And unlike Meg, my posts probably won't involve interviewing Enda Kenny or winning an iPad. The question is, and will remain: what do I write about? How much can an English and History student have to say? Well, I'm hoping it'll improve as time goes on. It's probably going to chronicle my first full year at university in all it's messy glory. By "messy", I mean in the sense that I'll be writing surrounded by handouts, clothes and half-eaten pizza. Though I'm sure I'll chronicle a few ~messy nights~ too. I can write about living in a tiny flat in Dublin, working in Centra on the (very) northside, a small puppy, terribly cooking and movies. I can write about new friends, new experiences and (hopefully!) travel. I can write about my other New Years' Resolution: I'm not going to eat chocolate for the month of January and I'm going to brave Trinity gym. Hopefully I can write about serious things too.Trying to save money, which is something Insomnia hot beverages has made me terrible at. Feminism, something I care quite a bit about. Love. Various other topics. The world is really my oyster for the next 365 days.
This sounds like a serious mission statment, as though I'm giving up the next year to type thought provoking blogposts -- I promise you, I'm not! I'm sure plenty of posts will involve Youtube links or photographs I've taken. But I'll try my best. I can promise that.
Here's to carpal tunnel from too much typing x
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Meeting Caitlin Moran.
It's 9.15am on a Friday morning. Trinity College is in the midst of Freshers' week, and I am on the floor of Trinity Hall, wrapped in a sleeping bag and trying not to move. I have a very bad hangover. I am awake very early. This is not good. However, I have a lecture at 11am, so I suppose I'd better get up...very slowly. I don't feel too bad as long as I don't move too much.
I get up, put on a jumper and make my way to college, sipping a bottle of water and trying very hard not to get sick all over the lower floor of the 140 to Rathmines. By the time I get to college, I feel slightly more alive -- though still not very good. I collapse into my lecture and proceed to stare vacantly into space for the next hour, scarcely taking in a word the lecturer says due to the spiky headache building behind my eyes.
Fast forward six hours, several cups of green tea, some shopping and a hugely welcome bag of Doritos, I am in Easons', waiting to meet Caitlin Moran. Incidentally, Doritos are the best hangover food. Carbs, fat, salt and a lovely flavour I can only describe as blue. Remind me to write a blog about Doritos. Anyway...Moran is a feminist writer and columnist who manages to be a) important and b) funny at the same time. I read her book back in January and I've been (somewhat accidentally) turning into her ever since. We have similar hair, similar eyeliner tendencies (read: we both wear lots) and, joyously, Moran has a big round face. I've said it once and I'll say it again -- what celebrities have round faces? If I google "round face celebrities" I will get Kirsten Dunst, who has a face that is as round as...an oval. Anyway. I like Caitlin Moran, and at the moment my hungover self is clutching three books by her (I have bought two copies of "Moranthology", her new book) and I am very, very excited.
Moran arrives late, but that doesn't spoil anybody's enthusiaism -- especially mine. All squicky hangover feelings are forgotten as she starts speaking. I hate to fangirl, but come on: this is a self-confessed strident feminist. She's funny, she writes, she looks strikingly like me. She used to be fat. Caitlin Moran gives me hope for my future. When she starts speaking, she's like a truck with no brakes: she's all whirling hands, swearwords and giggles. She speaks about celbirites, about her book and about feminism (and how important it is). I am either laughing or nodding in silent agreement for the entire hour she's speaking and then -- wonder of wonders! -- she takes questions from the audience.
I'm lucky that I'm a confident kind of person. When I say hello, Caitlin compliments my eyeliner and then wryly notes my "familiar looking hair". In June, I dyed a blonde-y streak into my dark brown hair, partly because I did it for a Ceilí last summer and partly because "it looks good on Caitlin Moran, thus it will look good on me!". Moran requests that I give her a pound. I'm not sure if she's joking or not. Next, I ask Caitlin about male feminists -- she's all for them. "Everyone is invited to the feminist party!" Excellent. I have (hopefully) ended an argument with David that has lasted about six months.*
At the end of her talk, we get our books signed. Caitlin writes "you have my face!" on the inside of my battered copy of How To Be A Woman, before defacing the cover of it with an arrow saying "YOU!" pointing to her face.I get my photo taken with Caitlin and we both do "the Muppet face". I also hug her, which is nice.
I've heard on and off that you should never meet your heroes -- that they'll nearly always end up being a disappointment. I'm not one for "role models" myself, tbh, but Moran is as close as I get. Obviously I was terrified that she'd be arrogant, or rude, or much taller than me. Moran is a wonderful, funny, clever, averaged heighted woman with a face just as round as mine.
Worth the hangover? I think so.
I get up, put on a jumper and make my way to college, sipping a bottle of water and trying very hard not to get sick all over the lower floor of the 140 to Rathmines. By the time I get to college, I feel slightly more alive -- though still not very good. I collapse into my lecture and proceed to stare vacantly into space for the next hour, scarcely taking in a word the lecturer says due to the spiky headache building behind my eyes.
Fast forward six hours, several cups of green tea, some shopping and a hugely welcome bag of Doritos, I am in Easons', waiting to meet Caitlin Moran. Incidentally, Doritos are the best hangover food. Carbs, fat, salt and a lovely flavour I can only describe as blue. Remind me to write a blog about Doritos. Anyway...Moran is a feminist writer and columnist who manages to be a) important and b) funny at the same time. I read her book back in January and I've been (somewhat accidentally) turning into her ever since. We have similar hair, similar eyeliner tendencies (read: we both wear lots) and, joyously, Moran has a big round face. I've said it once and I'll say it again -- what celebrities have round faces? If I google "round face celebrities" I will get Kirsten Dunst, who has a face that is as round as...an oval. Anyway. I like Caitlin Moran, and at the moment my hungover self is clutching three books by her (I have bought two copies of "Moranthology", her new book) and I am very, very excited.
Moran arrives late, but that doesn't spoil anybody's enthusiaism -- especially mine. All squicky hangover feelings are forgotten as she starts speaking. I hate to fangirl, but come on: this is a self-confessed strident feminist. She's funny, she writes, she looks strikingly like me. She used to be fat. Caitlin Moran gives me hope for my future. When she starts speaking, she's like a truck with no brakes: she's all whirling hands, swearwords and giggles. She speaks about celbirites, about her book and about feminism (and how important it is). I am either laughing or nodding in silent agreement for the entire hour she's speaking and then -- wonder of wonders! -- she takes questions from the audience.
I'm lucky that I'm a confident kind of person. When I say hello, Caitlin compliments my eyeliner and then wryly notes my "familiar looking hair". In June, I dyed a blonde-y streak into my dark brown hair, partly because I did it for a Ceilí last summer and partly because "it looks good on Caitlin Moran, thus it will look good on me!". Moran requests that I give her a pound. I'm not sure if she's joking or not. Next, I ask Caitlin about male feminists -- she's all for them. "Everyone is invited to the feminist party!" Excellent. I have (hopefully) ended an argument with David that has lasted about six months.*
At the end of her talk, we get our books signed. Caitlin writes "you have my face!" on the inside of my battered copy of How To Be A Woman, before defacing the cover of it with an arrow saying "YOU!" pointing to her face.I get my photo taken with Caitlin and we both do "the Muppet face". I also hug her, which is nice.
I've heard on and off that you should never meet your heroes -- that they'll nearly always end up being a disappointment. I'm not one for "role models" myself, tbh, but Moran is as close as I get. Obviously I was terrified that she'd be arrogant, or rude, or much taller than me. Moran is a wonderful, funny, clever, averaged heighted woman with a face just as round as mine.
Worth the hangover? I think so.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Electric Picnic: the five best moments from the best weekend
Those of you who read my twitter will know that I won tickets to Electric Picnic in June, and last weekend I got to swap those lovely lovely tickets for an equally lovely wristband. I had the best weekend of my life, without doubt, and it's really hard to pick five (musical or otherwise) moments from the festival. How am I supposed to pick just five from a festival where naked hott ubs shares space with banter with Ryan Tubridy? How do I choose between some of the coolest bands in the world and free granola? It's difficult, certainly, but after nearly a week of sleeping thinking about it, I've decided on the following...
#5: The Depaul tent
At Electric Picnic, a whole area is dedicated to speakers and learning. It's called Mindfield, and I could have spent the whole weekend there -- yes, I am just that uncool. There were poets, politicians and a "puball Gaeilge" (sorry, I just love alliteration) but by far, my favourite tent in Mindfield was one named "Life's No Picnic On The Streets". Sounds fun, right? Run by Depaul Ireland, a homelessness awareness group that provide help to people who need it. The tent had posters detailing the stories of some homeless men and woman Depaul worked with, which were fascinating and really made me think twice before complaining about my tent. However, I have to say that the best part of this tent were the lovely, smiley volunteers who made hungry, broke punters cups of tea or coffee. Coupled with free bars of chocolate, this tent quickly became my favourite place. The Depaul tent gets a special mention because I saved about a tenner on green tea and Dairy Milk over the weekend, it had a wonderful atmosphere in it and it did a damn good job of raising awareness for life on the street. Also, did I mention the free tea?! Check out Depaul here.
#4: An awful lot of running
The trouble with festivals is that you'll never see it all. No matter how late you stay up or how early you get your tent up, it's next to impossible to experience all Electric Picnic had to offer. For instance, I didn't get near the Spoken Word tent, I missed Heathers and Metronomy and by the end of the day, I was far too tired to even think about raves in the woods. The flipside to this is the adrenaline rush of running between bands, however! It sounds like an odd thing to say, but it makes you terribly appreciative of a band when you've ran to see them. Seeing bits and pieces of sets sounds crap, but when you've run from The Killers to Hot Chip, hearing Ready For The Floor becomes exponentially better! In the space of four hours, I managed to see star-gaze to Elbow, dance to James Murphy, sing along to The Killers and jump around to Hot Chip. Seeing, doing and hearing as much as possible is dizzying: See, kids, sensory overload can be fun (and it makes you appreciate your tent at night)!
#3 Ryan Tubridy
Remember my waxing lyrical about Mindfield earlier? On Sunday morning, I found myself parked in the front row of the Levithan tent waiting for a Breakfast brunch with Ryan Tubridy, Miriam O'Callaghan and several comedians. Not expecting much, I was delighted to take part in a hilarious, silly and informative hour, where topics ranged from 50 Shades of Grey to the Sunday Business Post. My morning was made afterward, when I had a chat with the one and only Ryan Tubridy! I asked him did he want his own "Bishop and the Nightie" incident and he tried on my big, floppy sunhat. I won't lie, I was a little bit starstruck, especially when he called my "look" attractive. As someone who doesn't really have a look, I was delighted with this, as you can probably tell in this photo:
#5: The Depaul tent
At Electric Picnic, a whole area is dedicated to speakers and learning. It's called Mindfield, and I could have spent the whole weekend there -- yes, I am just that uncool. There were poets, politicians and a "puball Gaeilge" (sorry, I just love alliteration) but by far, my favourite tent in Mindfield was one named "Life's No Picnic On The Streets". Sounds fun, right? Run by Depaul Ireland, a homelessness awareness group that provide help to people who need it. The tent had posters detailing the stories of some homeless men and woman Depaul worked with, which were fascinating and really made me think twice before complaining about my tent. However, I have to say that the best part of this tent were the lovely, smiley volunteers who made hungry, broke punters cups of tea or coffee. Coupled with free bars of chocolate, this tent quickly became my favourite place. The Depaul tent gets a special mention because I saved about a tenner on green tea and Dairy Milk over the weekend, it had a wonderful atmosphere in it and it did a damn good job of raising awareness for life on the street. Also, did I mention the free tea?! Check out Depaul here.
#4: An awful lot of running
The trouble with festivals is that you'll never see it all. No matter how late you stay up or how early you get your tent up, it's next to impossible to experience all Electric Picnic had to offer. For instance, I didn't get near the Spoken Word tent, I missed Heathers and Metronomy and by the end of the day, I was far too tired to even think about raves in the woods. The flipside to this is the adrenaline rush of running between bands, however! It sounds like an odd thing to say, but it makes you terribly appreciative of a band when you've ran to see them. Seeing bits and pieces of sets sounds crap, but when you've run from The Killers to Hot Chip, hearing Ready For The Floor becomes exponentially better! In the space of four hours, I managed to see star-gaze to Elbow, dance to James Murphy, sing along to The Killers and jump around to Hot Chip. Seeing, doing and hearing as much as possible is dizzying: See, kids, sensory overload can be fun (and it makes you appreciate your tent at night)!
 |
| A rather shadowy James Murphy. Never in my life have I seen so much dry ice! |
#3 Ryan Tubridy
Remember my waxing lyrical about Mindfield earlier? On Sunday morning, I found myself parked in the front row of the Levithan tent waiting for a Breakfast brunch with Ryan Tubridy, Miriam O'Callaghan and several comedians. Not expecting much, I was delighted to take part in a hilarious, silly and informative hour, where topics ranged from 50 Shades of Grey to the Sunday Business Post. My morning was made afterward, when I had a chat with the one and only Ryan Tubridy! I asked him did he want his own "Bishop and the Nightie" incident and he tried on my big, floppy sunhat. I won't lie, I was a little bit starstruck, especially when he called my "look" attractive. As someone who doesn't really have a look, I was delighted with this, as you can probably tell in this photo:
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| Yeah, I'm lame, I went to Electric Picnic and one of my highlights was meeting the man who presents the Late Late. What can I say, I'm a culchie! |
#2 The Cure
There was never really any other reason for me to be at Electric Picnic other than one big-haired, middle aged man who writes songs "about being in love or being depressed. Or both." The magical moment arrived at 9pm on Saturday night, when a sequin-clad Robert Smith strode onstage, accompanied by the smiliest keyboard player on Earth and a greaser-type playing bass. Opening with the gorgeous Plainsong, The Cure proceeded to bang out thirty eight songs, from heartwrenching soundscapes to straight up, glorious pop music. I'm telling you, it was NOT an easy gig -- I had to leave the barrier around halfway through and spent the rest of the gig cocooned in the crowd. The Cure's second encore was one of the happiest moments of the weekend -- after playing a dark, dark "The Same Deep Water As You", the band seemed determined to get Electric Picnic dancing. Between "The Lovecats", "Close To Me" and an absolutely banging "Why Can't I Be You?" , they certianly achieved that. Without doubt, an absolutely life-affirming gig and something I can check off my "things to do before I am boring with a job and children" list.
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| Would I ever take photos of The Cure in anything but black and white? |
#1 The craic
It seems clichéd to say, but I couldn't have had the fun I had at the weekend without the people I was with. Once again, Conor and I took a festival and through him, I discovered The Jezabels, who are absolutely fantastic -- I can't stop listening to them! Paul, pictured above with Tubbs and myself, was a star when Conor and Áine disappeared -- we ate granola together, explored the festical together and quoted The Simpsons...a lot. Áine was my Queen of EP, between her leaf-covered hair and her neon paint and David...well, David bought me chips and waited for The Cure for three hours with me. Could I ask for a better boyfriend? I think not. These four, coupled with some enchanting randomers over the weekend, amde the festival for me. Notably the three guys in yellow raincoats who asked Áine and I for a threesome, people from the internet that I actually got to meet, and the Stereotypical Festival Couple that took pictures of me and David for most of James Murphy. Oh, Electric Picnic. You can't say it doesn't attract a diverse mix of people...
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| Nudes... ;) |
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| Christy Moore - I'm an official Kildare person now! |
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| THIS IS YOUR BAPTIZM |
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| Me and my Dave at James Murphy. <3 |
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| Lots of posing took place over the weekend... |
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| ... exhibit B! NEON PAINT! |
So yeah, in short, I had an amazing weekend. I'm saving up for next year already!
Friday, August 24, 2012
Probably the best rock song in the world...?
From first year discos to the day after I got accepted to college, this song never fails to make my heart rate speed up a little bit. I heard it around earlier today -- I have loved Appetite for Destruction since first year. That's an achievement, especially when you consider that
- I have never listened to anything by them that isn't on this album
- I like no other bands remotely like G'n'R
- I was in first year SIX YEARS ago
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