Panadola Diction

Hello! Blogging is shit.

Seriously. But you all knew that. It’s an indulgence, which I like to dabble in every now and then, but it is largely inconsequential and pointless.

Oh, but it’s writing, it’s great to be writing, you say. Yes, well, no. It’s an excuse not to write anything worth writing. I find that prolific blogging periods correspond with zero proper-writing periods, and vice versa. Q E fucking D.

But there’s nothing wrong with the odd indulgence. A rogue cigarette, a glass of A Winter’s Tale, an episode of Emmerdale (Farm), a game of Wii Tennis. Actually, there’s an analogue - blogging is to writing, as Wii is to exercise. Sure, it’s doing you no harm, but you’re deluded if you think it’s genuinely a form of exercise. But what about Wii Fit, you say? Well, all I can say is that it’s marketing genius - the  Jap who said “lets sell people a weighing scales that can count your push-ups for €100″ is truly a clever Jap.

Is saying ‘Jap’ offensive? Doesn’t seem offensive to me, it’s merely an abbreviation. Hello Japs.

Oh, but it’s a gateway to the world of critical media. It’s only a matter of time until I’m invited to write a column for the Sunday Independent, or guest as an expert on a radio show. Or maybe I’ll get a book deal, and become the Loo Read of 2009, you say.  

Oh, but it’s an outlet for my feelings. Woe is me, you say. Yes, woe is you. Woe betide, I’m leaking feelings.

Oh, but it’s a fine soap box for my poorly-formed polemics and amusing rants, you say. Aye, ’tis. 

Have you ever tried standing on a soap box? Your average box of Daz won’t support your average man. I’d suggest one of those foldable footstools available from “The Book People” - those folks who leave ‘books’ in your office once a month - the latest selection of TV tie-in cookbooks, some children’s books, a sportsperson’s autobiography (for the men) and some other gimmicky gimcrackery. Never a novel. God forbid.

So, yeah, what’s my point. Blogging is like Wii? The Book People are cucksockers? Your blog is even shitter than mine? I’ve got Blog-bulimia? I hate books like “Overheard in Dublin“? I’m looking for attention? I am high-i-i-i-igh on emotion? I frown upon enjoyable and vaguely rewarding pastimes? I’m ok with mild xenophobia? I like sherry? No, no that’s not it at all.

And for god’s sake, if you have read this, please don’t feel the need to justify your blog, or, heaven forbid, mine. Or do, it might amuse me. I might kill you though. Ooh, I’ve just threatened the world. Does that make me a terrorist? Relax, Americans, it’s going to be Ohkay.

I didn’t win the Hennessy New Irish Writer award today. Well, I didn’t enter, but, after reading the winning story, I’m thinking maybe I should have. Maybe we all should have. Come to your own conclusions here.

Another competition, which I did enter, but, alas, didn’t win either, was the Francis McManus RTÉ Radio competition. Joe O’Donnell won, details here. Joe has written and directed extensively for Glenroe, so I don’t mind losing out to him - what a legend. Sunday nights haven’t been the same since it (and Where in the World) left our screens. Bring them both back! But ditch Stephen Brennan, jees, what a moaner.

Here’s a classic clip of Dick: Glenroe

And here’s a must-have book for fans of geographical TV quiz shows. That’s Theresa up there with the big earrings, in case you were wondering.

I wonder what I won’t win tomorrow.

If looks could kill, Seamus Heaney would have injured me yesterday. I passed the old codger on Nassau St, and he tried to look the face off of me.

Perhaps he was in a bad mood, due to a lack of turf to lean on, or some other poet-specific complaint.

Or, more probably, he was annoyed about the Americans who stand waiting for instruction beside their coaches and completely block the footpath, whilst staring across the road and saying things like, “Oh look Hank, Kilkenny is in Dublin, isn’t that neat.”

Or maybe he just doesn’t like the look of me.

(edit) Note - the following paragraph contains no useful information. Don’t bother reading it.

This post was looking fine in work in Explorer, but looked messed up in Firefox when i got home. This is/was partly because HTML makes no sense, and largely because I don’t understand this template. Old Seamus seemed to be interfering with the picture of boys from Son of Rambow in the next post. The only way I could find to keep him confined to this post is to write more, thus enlengthening the post, and allowing Mr Heaney ample room. What an elegant solution. I deserve a Nobel Prize for skillz.

I have no inclination today. Inclination to do what? Exactly.

Here are some of the things floating around on the millpond of my brain:

• Why are Queens of the Stone Age supporting Linkin Park?
• Why do people buy novelty or retro bicycles? For example, the orange ‘high-nelly’ ones that used to be sold in that pointless shop on George’s St, which is now a pharmacy I think. Or, those San Diego style ‘cruiser‘ bicycles, which have no proper brakes. These both cost more than your average bicycle, they offer no advanced functionality (in fact they commonly offer reduced functionality), they make you look like a pretentious ‘tard, and they make people like me aware that you have no common sense. I’m all for novelty and retro in general, but not with bicycles.
• I won the Spanish lottery for the 2nd time yesterday. This time, I won €785,120. I have to call the nice lottery man on the premium telephone number later.
• Why won’t Stinging Fly hurry up and send me a rejection letter in response to the story I sent them? I need closure. (I know, it’s not even been two weeks…. I have no patience.) 
• It’s work-drinks tomorrow night. We accidentally invited a government minister who’s email is similar to that of one of the chaps here, he can’t make it, shame. He did ask us (via his personal secretary) to let him know how it goes though, as he was amused by the twelve “reply to all” emails that followed the group-invite, written in pirate-speak.
• Prague on Saturday.
• I have purchased a day-ticket to the O2 Wireless Festival in Hyde Park, for July 4th. Morrissey, Beck, The National, Guillemots, Siouxsie Sioux, Dirty Pretty Things, New York Dolls and Lightspeed Champion will be on show. I’ve never seen Morrissey live, and haven’t seen Beck since Witnness 2000, so, yes, good.
• I am definitely not going to Oxegen this year.
• I hope they add some more quality to the Electric Picnic lineup. But I’ll go for the pies anyway.
• Shouldn’t deodorant actually be called ‘odorant’?
• Is eating a whole block of cheese in one sitting worse for you than eating the same amount of cheese over the course of a week?
• Robots can ride bicycles (see above).
• I’ll stop this now.

A few weeks ago, I submitted a story to the Francis MacManus RTÉ Radio 1 Short Story Competition. I have never entered a writing competition before, so even posting a hard copy of my story away was strangely satisfying. As mentioned previously, I have recently finished the third of three creative writing courses, and now find myself without a weekly deadline for both reading and writing (I struggle with self motivation), so this competition proved to be a useful exercise in editing, and provided a much needed deadline.

The courses (Beginners Creative Writing, Intermediate and Advanced) were run by the Irish Writers Centre on Parnell Square. I would highly recommend them to any would-be writers, especially if the short story and essay formats interest you. There are also other courses tailored to suit those more interested in the novel, poetry, travel writing etc.

While the course is called “Creative Writing”, in reality, it is as much about reading as writing. Each week you are expected to read two or three classic pieces, by a wide variety of both modern and long-dead writers. These are then discussed in class the next week, from a writer’s point of view, in the hope that they will enlighten and inspire. For someone as poorly-read as I am, this was a fantastic eye opener. Over the three ten-week courses, I have been introduced to the work of at least fifty authors, most of which I had never read, and probably never would have read. Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Chekhov, Gogol, Kafka, Woolfe, Barry Hannah, Denis Johnson, Thom Jones, Bukowski, Dillard, Beckett, Cioran, Tim O’Brien, Mansfield, etc etc etc. A shameful admission? Or, more probably, just literary ignorance on my part. Anyway, some of them I loved, some I liked, some I appreciated, some I didn’t like at all. And it’s not even that I was reading rubbish before that either, I just wasn’t reading much at all.

So, yes, I’ve submitted my story Heartbreak on the Weighbridge - a tale of paranoia and playfulness set in a barley mill. There are some nice cash prizes, plus the winners and some of the shortlisted stories get aired on RTÉ. Happily, I’m not quite deluded enough to expect to be shortlisted, but I look forward to seeing the results in the new year.

A friend and I were helping each other with some last minute proof-reading/editing for the competition, and while running through the rules and regulations, we wondered if foul language was appropriate for a radio competition. Would our stories get binned at the first sight of a BAD word? The guidelines for the competitions stated that the piece “should be written for radio”, but what does that mean? In the end, instead of perhaps asking the organisers for clarification, I just submitted the piece in its original, semi-foul-language-smattered, form. Fuck them. I’d like to hear more filth on the radio.

“Hello world!”

Thanks Wordpress, for opening that old wound.

Welcome to Panadola Diction.

As an ex-computer science student (I am not a computer scientist! (Though I have a degree (somewhere) saying I am)) , “Hello World!” was one the first things I encountered in college. I think it was Day 2. And then again, on the first day of each of the following three years, as they introduced us to yet another programming language, despite the majority of us having never fully grasped the last. As a result of this thorough education, I can programme a useless pop-up window to say “Hello World!” in Java, C++, Lisp and some other obscure language. That’s about the limit of my programming ability. (Potential employers - feel free to get in touch.)

I’m also an ex-geography student, an ex-multimedia technology student, and an ex-student. Just so you know.

So. . . here we are. . . . my first date with Wordpress, and an awkward silence already. I’m sure soon the awkward silences will be replaced by contented silences.

I’ve recently finished a creative writing course (well, three of them actually), which I started by accident. I went along with a friend about a year ago, expecting to feel like a fish out of batter, but ended up liking it. I have no background in English or literature (in fact English was my worst subject in both the Junior and Leaving Certs), and I’m not very well read at all, but these courses have really opened my eyes to good fiction, and good books in general, and given me some useful delusions of mediocrity. More on these courses in a future post perhaps. In the meantime, don’t you dare correct my grammar.

Anyway, my literary renaissance (haha) has occurred, and I’ve just been discharged from hospital without a birth cert. Strangely, a similar thing happened to me with music about seven years ago. It seems, that unlike the lucky few kids who somehow grew up with refined tastes and an interest in the arts, I’m quite a late developer. But at least my parents weren’t alternative. Thank [insert favourite deity] for that.

I’m going to have to cut down on all these brackets and parentheses.

So, as you may have read (in more succinct form) in the “About” section, I’ll be writing about writing, music, nerd stuff, and other things I claim to know enough about to have an opinion on, such as sport, Dublin, travel and toast.

I hope at least three of you (world), find this of some interest.

jusk