Harmony Rocket - October 19th, 2007

01:49 pm

Ambitions:

- Buy and restore a clapped out Volkswagen Karmann Ghia (coupe, not cabriolet)

- Be accused, in broadsheet print, of "running a personal fiefdom"

- Wreck Dublin Bus

***

"It was a sobering experience" -Lindsay Lohan on rehab

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Last Night I Dreamt... I met Johnny Marr.

And then I did.

***

Greetings, believe it or not, from the O'Reilly Library.

Yes, it's actually called The O'Reilly Library and yes, it is nice here. It's at least bearable in most places I've been, and because I'm a postgrad I can ignore all the undergraduates who just swan around using 'like' for every second word and saying 'bee-boh' like it's a one-word psalm.

Maybe it is a psalm. I don't really care, but I am grateful that idiots on the northside are less annoying than idiots on the southside. They don't think it's some form of overcast California up here. That much is reassuring.

There are still some towerblocks in Ballymun looking over things. Detestable shitholes, and if ever the journalism students need reminding of the need for social justice, however vaguely termed, all they have to do is look out the window.

My course is interesting, although Research Methods and Media Law are threatening to break my heart for various reasons. Radio is fascinating, despite the fact that I haven't listened to the radio this decade. I like the width of its audience and I like the technology. Our computer lab is well-appointed and I might bring in my guitar one day for messing with Pro Tools. Or not, for that matter.

News Reporting makes one ask where, exactly, the news comes from. Garda Press Office, as it transpires. I'm not sure how good a crime reporter I'll make. It is patently obvious from my reporting style that I haven't read anything other than The Irish Times for a very long time. "Make it snappier!" Poor news article. You're entertainment now.

News Editing is another monster - it's one thing writing an article, but it's a completely different matter putting it on a page and writing headlines and captions. Again, I'm not very good at it. You have twelve characters for the first line and eight characters for the second line. You can't go over the limit. Now write a two line headline summarising an incredibly complex speech, and do it in two minutes.

Ah god.

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My mate Johnny Marr and I (like the sound of that) spoke of black Jaguar guitars, William Burroughs and his assertion that I look like Rowland S. Howard from The Birthday Party.

Now, I think that's amazing. I think I'll add that to the list. The list:

David Walliams

Rufus Wainwright

The singer from Reuben

Howlin' Pelle Almquist

A fuckin' faggot

Blixa Bargeld

Rowland S. Howard

Some more besides

Trouble is, I look like none of them. Except, well... no.

***

Back to newspapers - The Irish Times has digitised every issue back to 1859 and it's a beautiful, beautiful work. Trouble is, it's unlikely to be freely available to anyone who doesn't have a decent library behind them. Pity.

It's a joy to go through the thing. Yesterday I looked up the death of Ayrton Senna, Dave Fanning slagging the shite out of the Manic Street Preachers and also realised that I could have saved about 150 hours' dissertation work if I'd had this two years ago. I wouldn't mind having those hours back. Sin a bhfuil.

***

And speaking of the Irish language, I'd recommend Kings to anyone; it's still in the cinema just about. Colm Meaney and chums down and out in immigrant London and drinking like loons while clinging to their old tongue. Light entertainment it ain't.

Control is superb. But then again, I don't think anyone involved in the film would ever get work again if they'd got it wrong...

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Thoughts? Too busy, really. A few evenings ago I spent hours cutting articles out of newspapers abandoned left, right and centre across room and flat. Some time in the future I'll need to know about obscure Fine Gael politicians or the situation in Luxembourg (has there ever been a situation in Luxembourg?). Maybe I should get a filing cabinet. Are people allowed to own filing cabinets these days, or is it a case for the Digital Police?

I'm pretty much too busy to be bitter or nasty to anyone, which is greatly disappointing and surely can't last. I'd love to put the boot in on quite a few people (Lindsay Lohan and their ilk? See above) for being complete embarrassments to everything, but they're perfectly capable of self-incrimination so that takes care of itself. Also: I wish I didn't care.

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Let's try something new here.

Parliament Street Chronicle?

“Local Snipe Meets Guitar God Among Men”

Embattled amateur guitarist Ruraidh Kanchelskis O'Dubious was “proud, humbled and thoroughly overshadowed” to meet former Smiths hero Johnny Marr, a jury has heard.

O'Dubious, 23, is facing charges of meeting Marr, shaking his hand, being called 'mate' and looking gruesome in a photograph. The Director of Public Prosecutions has agreed to drop the more serious charges of dreaming about the guitar legend on a 5-storey throne and believing that ' Suffer Little Children' is The Smiths' best song, citing lack of evidence.

The incidents are alleged to have taken place in Trinity College over two weeks ago, and arose partly from a security mix-up which allowed O'Dubious and his accomplice to be given free beer.

In his first day in the witness box, O'Dubious made an impassioned speech to the oratorial standards of Robert Emmet, John F. Kennedy and Boris Johnson, in which he described Marr as “the Mohammed Ali of British alternative music” and how trying to play 'Still Ill' makes him feel like a failure and a disappointment and that even though he “can play the notes, they just don't sound the same”.

Bailiffs had to bring the defendant a hamburger after he tearfully broke down, repeating that they “just don't sound the same” for 25 minutes in a breathless rapture.

O'Dubious's speech resumes tomorrow, and is expected to take three days, following which he will begin giving his evidence. The trial may last upwards of three weeks.

Gardaí are still seeking a 5'9” man wearing a hat, white Smiths t-shirt and black jacket in connection to the above allegations and further inquiries that a Dublin 4 stereotype and local hero was called a “fuckin' cunt” out loud. He was last seen heading in the direction of the Luas, and is described as 'extremely poetic'.

A spokesman for Morrissey declined to comment on the case as it was before the courts.

Disturbances On Parliament Street Claim Seven Lives

Seven people have died and 34 injured after claims that celebrity culture is a legitimate and worthwhile component of our cultural tapestry and that “it wouldn't be everywhere if there wasn't a demand for it”.

This provoked a furious response from the Parliament Street Militia, which went around the place cracking heads and generally fucking the place up a bit, attacking people with oompa-loompa orange faces and indiscriminately mowing fuckers down left, right and centre with a whiskey-powered bouncy dog that jumps high into the air and squashes and bites anything that looks like it's having too much fun.

Militia sources have dubbed the new wonder weapon “the Yorkshire Terrier” and say that the area has been wired to detect yuppie and faux-yuppie speech, boorishness, ignorance, over-confidence and state-of-yourselves-ness, and are in a position to dispatch the Terrier within seconds.

In an impassioned rant, the militia's leader blamed everything for the situation and came up with several clever puns about the country “going to the dogs”, referring to his new weapon.

The disturbances began immediately after the leader accidentally read a tabloid newspaper discarded by a painter while waiting for the elevator.

Parliament Street Chronicle Faces Bankruptcy

Directors of the Parliament Street Chronicle meet officials from the Companies' Office and Revenue Commissioners later today in a bid to explain how a new company with no income, no capital, no assets and no expenditure is facing a debt of €534,000.

A spokesman for the Chronicle, who declined to be named, hinted strongly that “creative alcoholism” was one defence the editor would employ, and that the publication's loyal readership – the editor – had nothing to worry about.

Local rivals the Parliament Street Bastards greeted the news warmly before their office was set upon by an over-excited dog.

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Parting shot?

Nah.