The Bright New Minds of Tomorrow

Almost forgot, heartiest congratulations to my M.A. class who all graduate today; Dave, Una, Mary, Aaron, Clare, Stephen, Eamon and honorary 20th Century Irish visiting academic from the planet Gork, Damien Shane, whose blog you can check out here. Alas I wont be joining them on the podium, and I shall look forward to being slated for having less letters after my name than they have. These bright young minds were ever-present throughout the best year of my life, and for that I am forever indebted to them. In their honour...I love pink!!

Reclaim The Letters Page

Below you'll find a letter entitled 'Reclaiming' The Streets' which was published in yesterday's Irish Times. We here at Urban Ramblings are currently tracking this man down, with a view towards having him spayed. Read on.

'Madam - I see that the capital's citizens are about to be subject to needless disruption once again on foot of this risible 'Reclaim The Streets' rubbish.
Even the title is arrant nonsense. What exactly are these people trying to achieve, other than inconveniencing the rest of the populace, for some nebulous reason best known to themselves? The term 'street' stems from Latin, meaning 'paved road' and is defined by the Encarta Internet Dictionary as 'part of the road between sidewalks' and 'used by vehicles' Therefore, given that streets, by definition, were always designed with the express purpose of conveying vehicular traffic from A to B, how exactly does one go about reclaiming something that one never had any claim to to begin with?'

I've been troubled since reading this regarding what exactly antagonizes me the most about the gimp of this ginnet. It could be any one of the following:

1. Reclaim the Streets is held on the May Bank Holiday. Considering most people are off work and the city is generally emptier than a usual day, how exactly is this inconveniencing the 'populace'?

2. The writer's tone; He clearly enjoys playing the lawyer, but his argument is fallacious. He bases his claim that protesters have no right to reclaim something that never belong to them in the first place is based on Encarta's definition of a street!! Now, I'm no fan of the law, but if you're going to dabble in it, and use lofty terms such as 'populace' surely your complaints should be based on a more solid legal foundation, like eh, the Constitution, or better yet, where Joe Duffy stands on the issue?

3. Perceiving a street to be solely for allowing vehicular access between A and B is precisely what drives(!) the movement onwards. Reclaim the Streets is a response to the abominable level of traffic that chokes our city. It is about giving the streets, which Urban Ramblings defines as societal highways belonging to each and every inhabitant and tourist, back to the 'populace.' And if we are talking about inconvencing citizens, how about having a go at the thousands, no, tens of thousands of lazy bastard punters who drive to the city centre every day from Donnybrook, Rathmines and Ranelagh, to name but a few suburbs that are within easy walking distance of the streets that we are trying to reclaim.

4. Dublin has come on leaps and bounds in many respects since I arrived here five years ago. After creating a decidedly commendable replica of Beirut, the Corpo is finally coming up trumps and giving us a city that may, just may, be able to hold its head up high with other European capitals. But the entire ambience is devastated by the absurd amount of traffic in the city centre. Reclaim the Streets seeks to create spaces that allow the Arts to flourish, while families play and lovers frolic without being poisoned by pointless car fumes. It represents an attempt, if you like, to breathe new life into the decaying lungs of urban life.

5. What bothers me most of all, though, about this writer's intolerance and bigotry - he's from Kenilworth Park, incidentally, and probably drives to work. I'd also venture as far as to say that he's not particularly popular at parties - is that his argument is commonplace. Reclaim the Streets occurs once a year, just once, and exudes a carefree, ebullient celebration of human life in a city that has come to value convenience more than citizenship. It hardly impinges upon the public psyche, except when the guards decide to beat the shit out of the most vociferous of the protesters, and yet the greatest emotion aroused within most Irish people when confronted with this genuine attempt to make the city a better place for everyone is derision. This town drags me down. So please, go along on Monday and give support to the campaign. A vibrant city centre would benefit us all, as anyone who has visited Covent Garden in London, or the Tuileries Gardens in Paris will know. Reclaim the Streets! And if you're at a party and you meet someone from Kenilworth Road who is boring the life out of you, let us know. We have ways of dealing with his type.

'Only after the last tree has been cut down
Only after the last river has been poisoned,
Only after the last fish has been caught,
Only then will you find that money cannot be eaten.'
Indian Proverb.

Eggs Benedict

The Pope. The Hype. The Cheers. The Jeers. Well, like it or not, Papa Ratzi is here to stay. It's ironic that a man hitherto noted solely for possessing all the tolerance and understanding of a Moral Majoritarian at a Pro-Choice rally is now identifying himself with the forces of love and compassion. At any rate, I am not particularly interested in passing judgement on the man himself; there are already more than enough punters vociferously getting their point across. In fact, between myself and yourself, the only real feeling aroused within me when I heard the news was self-pity. Weeks ago I had noticed that the rabid German with the deep-set eyes was an outsider at 20/1. The reckless gambler that dwells within me began to toss and turn, and I began to consider my options. However, having lost a nice sum on the Irish National, I decided against such folly.
I learned of the new Pope's assumption of power without ever having to be told. It was a Wednesday afternoon. The Cardinals were in conclave. I was standing outside Easons. The rain was coming down in bucketfuls, and I was waiting for someone who was to arrive at 5.45. Hearing church bells, I figured that my date was late. Checking my watch, I saw that it was actually 5.40 and that I was early. Then it dawned on me. We had a new pontiff. I knew at that moment that I was out of pocket. I knew it was Ratzinger. The reckless gambler awoke with a start and was not amused. And neither was I.
As I have stated, there has been much pontificating - huh huh - on the pros and cons of Catholicism Inc's new corporate C.E.O. But there has been very little talk about 'God.' This to me is the nub of the issue. The Roman Church, and indeed all Christian Churches, seem to be predicated on a narrow, unthinking spirituality which presents the adherent with an unhealthy image of a paternalistic deity. This eternal being has little to do with either love or lasting happiness. Fear and prejudice, on the other hand, generally loom large. Over the last few weeks, the media have saturated us with religious imagery and coverage of massive crowds engaging in riotuous celebration. What exactly are they celebrating? I ask this question not to belittle or to sneer, but I do wonder what exactly the election of a new pope can bring to people's lives.
Another thing that struck me during the events of the last few weeks was the omnipotence of technology. Photos of the Popemobile crawling through crowds of delirious Catholics were characterized by a veritable orchestra of digital cameras, phones and camcorders being waved at the new man of the moment. The first world grows more and more affluent, yet the signs are not on its citizens. In order to find meaning, or substance, in this life, hundreds of thousands gathered in Rome to celebrate the ascendancy of a new pontiff that can only give a vague, inherently problematic promise of happiness in the afterlife. The frenzy of these people, directed towards a man who publicly, publicly contends that homosexuals, whose sexuality has been scientifically proven to be natural, are inherently evil creatures, might have even the most cynical of observers convinced that they are onto something in the quest for happiness. I have but one concern; If Catholicism leads to spiritual fulfilment, why all the flashy technology? Why all the fancy clothes? Have you ever stopped and thought that the most materialistic people in society generally also believe in a spiritual afterlife devoid of possessions?! Stop trying to fill the hole people! Just learn to laugh at the hilarity of the human condition and stop worshipping the false gods of consumerism and catholicism. You'll feel better.

Coincidentally, I've been asked to monitor a funeral today at work. The use of incense has no place in a House of God...and fire alarms. Maybe I'll finally see what all the fuss is about.

Also, thanks to Stephen and Karl who have posted a link to this blog on their own sites. Next time we meet, I'll buy the peanuts.

"How should we know? We should not question! Our stay on earth is not for long. Let us rejoice and believe and give thanks."
Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises (Delivered not without irony)

Your Days of Plenty are Numbered!!!

When a film not only entertains and intrigues viewers, but also informs and affects their perspective on life, it passes from the cluttered corridor of decent flicks into the realm of greatness. Hans Weingartner's The Edukators is such a film. The threat always looms over leftie productions that the dialogue will lapse into pointless sermonizing and inevitably lose the casual viewer to the demons of indifference and contempt. But this is doctrine with a difference. It explores, questions and highlights both the nuances and the anomalies of idealistic socialism and the cancer it tries to cure, while also delivering a powerful and at times touching discourse on love's vaunted role in the human condition. Daniel Bruhl excels in the lead role as the brooding anti-establishmentarian brought out of his shell by the beautiful but debt-haunted Jule (Julia Jentsch). Jan (Bruhl) and Jule's boyfriend Peter (Stipe Erceg) are anarcho-situational terrorists who simply break into the houses of wealthy fellow citizens, 'rearrange' the furniture and leave haunting messages. Their aim is to awaken within these vulgar materialists both fear and insecurity, as they believe that the rich in society dominate the masses through the inculcation of fear. A taste of their own medicine, if you like. It works. However, while Peter is in Barcelona, Jan decides to let Jule in on the scene. She decides she would like to 'edukate' the man who has ruined her life; a seriously rich businessman whose Mercedes she crashed into while uninsured. However, all goes horribly wrong when they are caught in the act, and forced to kidnap the fat cat. The three heroes retreat to the mountains with their hostage - who turns out to be of socialist vintage himself - and during their time together a discourse prevails between the eager youngsters intent on changing the world and the child of '68, who has been there, done that, bought the t-shirt...and burned the fucking thing. Much fat is chewed. And Jeff Buckley gets an airing too. Halleluiah!
The film asks some hard questions of idealists who get older and plump for the widescreen telly instead of the May Day rally. The advent of children in one's life, it seems, dilutes the desire for a different approach. All is sacrificed in the name of protecting your little ones from the horrible world you once sought to change. If the radical left is to evolve and provide some credible answers to the morons who say there is no other way, this problem has to be comprehensively tackled. Every generation has its task.
Because the challenge remains to convert those who have accepted the capitalist way of doing things. I'm no challenge for the left. I agree with socialist principles. It's those who believe that happiness must be attained through fumbling in the greasy till, every person who honestly believes that the new leather suite, or the right brandy glass will lead to fulfilment, who provide the real challenge to those seeking change. Not the elite, or wishy washy sympathizers like me. Our minds are already made up. Let's start gnawing away at the billions in between. The Edukators represents a good base from which to proceed, mainly because it is extremely funny and quirky and presents socialism from a human perspective as opposed to the archetypal image of the trundling statist behemoth that dominates public perception of the left. Ten out of ten to Mr. Weingartner, the man with with vision...and the sense of humour. Now go and see this film. Tell them I sent you.

"Don't let them ever fool you,
Or take you by surprise.
The Dirty smell of the politician
And the man with the greed in his eyes
One big union, that's our plan
And the IWW's your only man
The flames of discontent we'll fan
For the cause that never dies."

Andy Irvine Never Tire of the Road

The Evil Weed

Three weeks off the smokes today. Feel like I'm being strangled with a rusty guitar string over a period of months. Not a particularly consumer-friendly means of introducing myself into this hitherto unfamiliar world of blogs and people I don't know, but the nature of the task in hand means that all else is darkness. I'm sure all fellow quitters can empathize.
Giving up the fags is the toughest challenge facing every smoker. And it's about far, far more than simply not smoking. It's about abstaining from doing so after twelve pints, when lighting up seems like the forbidden ice that will complete the social cake, instantly turning you into James Dean, razor-sharp in the company of your fellow man and irresistable to every lady. It's about strength in the face of weakness: nothing exudes comfort, respite and light at the end of the tunnel more than a cigarette, just as nothing succeeds so well in turning the smoker into a shadow of their former selves more than the thousands of hideous coffin nails that will inevitably follow that one single, solitary, beautiful drag.
But, funnily and perhaps sadly enough, its about saying sayonara to one of your oldest friends, a friend that added to the mischief of childhood days, that followed you through the minefield of adolescence, never once mocking or judging.
Most importantly of all though, its about life, and living it. Smoking cripples every alcove of your being, physically and emotionally, and the dependence it inculcates within you makes everything harder. Even smoking. Rarely will you see a non-smoker almost bonelessly slumped upon the couch with the effortless ease and nonchalance of the throaty forty-a-day soldier. A decisive break must be made.

But onward to brighter things. The weekend is waiting in the corridor, impatiently waiting for us all to finish work so we can bask in each other's collective glow. Mountains will be climbed, fat will be chewed, and music will be played. For any Irish readers, Andy Irvine, late of Sweeney's Men, Planxty, Paul Brady and De Dannan, embarked last night upon a tour of the country with Patrick Street a 'Superstars of Irish Music' troupe that gets together from time to time to dazzle us with their heady mix of flighty reels and rollicking songs. Check them out! And now for the quote of the day, from Balzac. Slán for now.

'He who intends to dominate the times he lives in is entitled to take all and risk all, for all that is belongs to him.' (Lost Illusions).