My mum recommended this webcam of some nesting Blue Tits, and it’s pretty good alright. If you’re looking for a similar kind of thing only with the occasional elephant incursion, try the National Geographic webcam at this pond in Botswana, which also comes with soothing sound effects.
This is too funny. I don’t know if Stephen Colbert has made any impact in Ireland, but the short version is he’s an extremely funny Bill parody of Bill O’Reilly and other conservative American pundits and you should check him out. Anyway … Tom DeLay is a crooked Republican congressman who’s probably going to jail some time soon, and in his desperate attempts to find supporters appears to have mistaken Colbert’s deliberately bone-headed interview with anti-DeLay documentary-maker Robert Greenwald for a righteous unmasking of Liberal lies and the lying Liberal liars who tell them. So much so that it’s the lead item on the Defend DeLay website.
Well, I thought it was good.
So I’ve got my housing blog up and running. But don’t read that, read something much better - David Alexander Smith’s Affordable Housing Institute weblog, which has funnier pictures and great writing (see his series on New New Orleans). Maybe more housing economists should double as sci-fi authors.
And that’s it for housing blogs, really. So I suppose there’s a niche, and I’m not so much exploiting it as snuggling down in there for a nice snooze.
If, like me, you’ve often yearned for someone to combine the characters and distinctive ligne claire style of Hergé’s Tintin comics with the refreshingly uncompromising political views of militant anarchism, then yearn no longer: Breaking Free, the brilliantly mad transplanting of Tintin and his pals to a grimy mid-80s council estate perpetrated by friendly anarchists Attack International, is now available in full online. Here’s a taster:
Fun as Lordi’s Eurovision victory last night was, it was surpassed by the subsequent press conference, in which Lordi turn out to be a bunch of polite and well-spoken young people. Best line:
It’s a victory for open-mindedness. There are a lot of Eurovision fans that belong to minorities, and you can’t find a smaller minority than Lordi.
They’re a bit behind the curve on this one, but full marks to The Onion for a handy guide to Simpsons Quotes For Everyday Use.
Not sure about the war in Iraq? This’ll cut that lefty nonsense from your head.
So, I recently got a new flatmate. Hurrah, one would think, given the months of solitary confinement. Except for one thing, the gent who moved in is from Kerala in India, and from a very poor family. So poor that the other people from Kerala with whom I work, and who earn very little, say he’s from a poor family.
Straight from the caste system, he moved in and started calling me “sir” and “sahib” and cleaning up after me. I had to ask him to stop, but it’s still happening (not so much sirring, but plenty of cleaning). On top of that, I get paid about ten times what he does, so I feel guilty about that too. I came here to make some money, and I think about quitting and going somewhere else everyday, so now I feel guilty about the only thing that is keeping me here. While I really hate cleaning, and am a very lazy person, I don’t want somebody else feeling like they have to do it for me.
Then, on top of all that liberal sentiment, there’s that hint of classism. I’m not sure about this, since the whole situation is one that was forced on both of us. We were simply told, “he’s living here” (the company owns the apartment), so no choice for either of us. Perhaps I resent the situation, of having no control over my living arrangements, and have been cold and distant because of that. Perhaps, I’m a classist, and resent my flatmate for being poor. Perhaps it’s racism. It’s probably a little bit of everything, but I think a large part of it is simply because we just don’t know anything about each other (and I’m generally a bit of a prick).
I’m afraid of becoming inured to the awful disparity between the rich and poor here. It is so much more marked than anywhere else I have been. And, at times, seems to be a casual racism, since it is always the people who come to Kuwait to work from India, Pakistan, Thailand, and other eastern lands who earn the least, and do the worst jobs.
The experience of living here is a constant pull of moral forces, forcing you to question your actions at all times (the existentialists’ paradise)….I’m still thinking about this one.
Wait, that was all supposed to be ironic somehow.
During my weekly Ghostbusters webcrawl, I came across this really cool (I typed ‘gool’ there by accident, which makes sense, actually) Googlemaps Ghostbusters guide to New York.
I’ll be honest. Most of the good times in my life over the past few weeks have involved CuteOverload.com.
If it was just a blog with lots of cute kittens, I suppose it would still be pretty amazing. But its complete and utter lack of shame in cooing over animals of all species, without being too sickening, is what makes it addictive. Plus, it has some serious quality control.
To be a true internet phenomenon you need to have some community-based add-ons, and the glossary does the trick here. Just stay out of the comments.
Alas, it’s another day in the life of Grubbie McGrubbersons, the soon-to-be-Hawk-moth grub. He’s all: “mmmmmmm, delicious green stems!” [touches stem with ‘paw’]
Up with this sort of thing.
Dublin City Council is to remove a memorial plaque from O’Connell Bridge because it does not know the person commemorated or how the plaque got there.
The bronze plaque, set into the wall on the western side of the bridge, commemorating “Fr Pat Noise” was spotted recently by a Sunday newspaper journalist.
‘Pat Noise’… Sunday newspaper journalist… don’t even have to reach for that one.
The plaque claims to mark the spot where the priest died in 1919 when his carriage plunged into the River Liffey in “suspicious circumstances”.
The council’s heritage officer has reviewed historical records but can find no reference either to the priest or the accident, a council spokeswoman said.
Furthermore, the council did not erect the plaque, was not asked permission for its placement on the bridge and has “no idea” how it got there.
Fr Pat Noise - whose carriage, like that of Trachim B, either did or did not pin him to the bottom of the Liffey in 1919 - I for one will remember you.
Out and about I was yesterday, and walking past the billboard that displays the time and temperature I saw (and felt) the horror of seeing 47 degrees celcius on the sign.
Ghastly temperature, with strange consequences. Being from cold climes, I’m used to blowing upwards to my nose, warming it on cold days, brief though the effect may be. The inverse is true when it gets this hot, the inside of your nose feels cold - your body actually cools the air down. Strange stuff.
More observations on the effect of heat next time. Stay in school.
Dundalk singer Jinx Lennon is my hero right now, and his new album, Know Your Station Gouger Nation!!!, bogwashes Damien Rice with the one paw while administering Damien Dempsey a wedgie with the other.
The previous, thirtysomthing-track album had such gems as The Balaclava Boys and The Next Sad Song You Hear May Leave You Pregnant, but the new CD is more coherent and with better music and backing vocals too.
What more needs to be said about a song that goes:
Will you stop giving out about Nigerians
Ciunas hold your whist look how red your face is
Said your son applied for a council house
And got stabbed in the back
And the only way he’ll get one now is if the colour is black
Well the reason that you didn’t get a house for your son
Was your son was a bollocks from day numero one
Guitar = Magicwand is another rant against singer songwriters, but City Of Styrofoam Cups was, I found, quite upsetting, although maybe I’m just not a morning person.
Occastionally he takes his cue a bit too much from what the latest shock talking point is in the media: too much boozing, speeding ‘Northern pups’, people wittering about house prices, drugs rampant in the Midlands, racism, but if he was from England there’d be memories of ‘66 and £1,000-a-plate suppers with Billy Bragg.
The thing about Jinx is, you have to get over the delivery, which is halfway between The Streets and Christy Moore, in a Dundalk accent. But you soon grow to love it (well, I did. What? WHAT?), and this release on Septic Tiger records deserves more coverage than it’s getting, which is not very much.
So
I know it’s really hard
but if you don’t forgive the cnts
you’ll never find the peace inside you want
But
Ah for God’s sake!
Why did you look outside the window?
They’re after seeing you
There’s going to be crap now
Why did you do that?
The enemy is at the gate
We are the Eloy
The Morlocks are coming
Hmmm, I’m getting a bit carried away with this youtube thing, but here’s another goody: the Virgin Prunes on the Late Late Show in 1979. Enjoyable not so much for the music but for the stage show and Uncle Gaybo pretending to be amused when the Prunes start distributing presents to the audience at the end.
Link via Stunned
