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July 25, 2008Like a portal in the space time continuum has been opened up straight back to the late ’90s.

Like a portal in the space time continuum has been opened up straight back to the late ’90s.

Many years ago I was in Dublin for some reason or another, and I strolled into the main square of Trinity College. There was a fair amount of commotion going on, and on closer inspection I saw a giant three-sided layout of tables around the perimeter of said main square. At each table were people extolling the virtues of various college societies and groups and whatnot via the use of pamphlets, witty posters and large breasted girls in tight t-shirts. Political parties were represented too, with eagle eyed scouts trained to find the kind of soul-less demons who join political parties whilst at college. There were all sorts of things; wall climbing clubs, jujitsu clubs, etcetera etcetera. I strolled about trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who would try to get me to join their cults. I did decide, however, to engage the lovely people over at the anarchist society’s table. I can’t remember why now, but there is a high possibility they had strategically placed an attractive women at their desk and I wanted the chance to awkwardly talk to her for a few moments before scurrying off.
I loitered about, reading their pamphlets (or at least pretending to) and generally made myself known. I decided to jump right in the deep end and asked if I could join.
“Sure! Just sign your name here”
“OK”
“And put your Trinity student number here”
“Ah, I don’t have one”
“Oh, that’s OK, when you get one you can join”
“Oh, I won’t be getting one, I am not going to college here”
“You can’t join without a student number”
“I can’t join the ANARCHISTS SOCIETY with out a student number from TRINITY?”
An uneasy silence followed. They all looked at each other in vain for one of them to come out with a suitable reply. All of the assorted Anarchists then sheepishly looked down at their shoes.
“er. No”
“why?”
“………….its the rules”
I stayed around long enough just for the absurdity of the situation to sink in. Then strolled off, fueled by my own smugness.
Incidentally, many years later when I did indeed become a student at Trinity College, I decided against trying to join the group. By that stage I had realised what a complete waste of time that would be. I did however walk past a sign one day, advertising an Anarchist’s Book Fair and entertained thoughts of going in and just talking all the books and walking out without paying. Or setting fire to them with a lighter/deodorant-can concocted homemade flame thrower. And by them I mean the anarchists.

Time for another knowledge bomb from Mr. Alan Watts. I heartily recommend you watch it.
Alan Watts - The Myth of Myself.
In other news, Wall-E is just O-K. Don’t see the big hullabaloo myself.

Oh my. If you have no idea what Watchmen is…go directly to Amazon, type in Watchmen and buy it. The best flippin’ comic ever (discounting the Beano Annuals of 1984-89) This looks really good…I still have no idea how they are going to get it all in in one movie, the source material is so good there’s a high chance for disappointment here…but it looks accurate enough. If they pull this off then “The Dark Knight”, as good as it may be, won’t be the big daddy for long.
WordPress (as usual) won’t let me embed:
ALSO..SUPER BONUS: Terminator 4 Trailer!
This is one of those teaser choppy things that gives you no clue as to what it’ll be like. You’d like to think Christian Bale wouldn’t pick a stinker, but he was in that one film about dragons attacking London. Also the dude who’s directing it directed Charlie’s flippin’ Angels. Who flippin’ knows.

One of my favourite pubs in Dundalk is McManuses. It had a brief moment of fame a while ago when former US president Bill Clinton gave it a big up in his speech from Dundalk’s town square. Aside from being the place that introduced me to the wonders of pub drinking many years ago, its chief appeal is the variety of characters you get inside. There’s nothing worse than a pub that houses only one brand of humanity; give me a melting pot of people any day. In Macs you can see a greasy haired, black clothed metal head in a Cannibal Corpse t-shirt, rubbing shoulders with a tracksuited knife wielding drug dealer. In another corner you might see an old traditional Irish musician trading stories with a former pop star, who is waxing lyrical about the illuminati and the New World Order. Nothing really raises an eyebrow in this cornucopia of human life.
One time I was in Macs enjoying some good pints and some even better banter. Then out of the corner of my eye I spied something. As it moved into focus I became transfixed, as if time itself had opened up and a wormhole to the future had appeared. I saw a man walking towards me with a television on his chest. A fully working television. It transmitted some kind of advert…but I really wasn’t taking in what was on it, the concept itself had floored me. I thought to myself, my god! are we doing this? Is this what we are doing now? Wearable televisions? This was fashion 2.0, the arrival of the oft promised age of ubiquitous computing, where every man woman and child would become a self sustaining media node, transmitting from their own bodies their own video diaries, in a world of 6 billion 24 hour reality shows. Was this man a pioneer in the same vain as Neil Armstrong, Michael Jackson or Tim Burners Lee?
Turns out he wasn’t. He was in fact a promotions person working for Diageo, and about his person he was wearing a touch screen that housed an interactive trivia quiz.
Still, one correctly answered question about the Great Wall of China later and I was the owner of a free t-shirt and pint of Guinness.

As economic turmoil continues to envelope the globe, we here at OTM are always on the look out for any chance to make a quick euro amidst the chaos. As such we employ a round the clock team of analysts to monitor the worlds news, media and business outputs with an eye to catching the trend on which we will surf our way out of the sewer that is Ireland in the year of our lord, two thousand and eight. Today we’d like to share one of these hot tips with you in the hope that you, our humble reader can also avail of our upward mobility. Think of it as our way of giving back for your years of support.
So, today’s Off The Meatrack Hot Stock Tip of the Day is : KNIVES. That’s right. If you have turned on Sky News in the past couple of months you will know that children being stabbed is THE big thing at the moment in our esteemed neighbour, the United Kingdom. So, OTM says this: as everyday commodities such as bread and iPods become increasingly hard to purchase due to hyperinflation you can bank on the paranoid, unloved youth of Britain to hold firm in their resolve to wield sharpened implements for killing. Thus, drop all existing stock you have and plow all your funds into knives. As chaos continues to seep into all walks of life you can bet your bottom dollar that knife sales are just going to grow and grow. Don’t worry about the increased threat to your life as a result, your new found wealth will allow you the rare opportunity to move to more “affluent” (read: security monitored) surroundings. The only draw back may be that the wheel of karma will see fit to punish you for monetary gain off weapons dealing by having you return in your next life as some kind of slug. God’s speed.

Although my tennis playing career only stretches to some hard fought beer soaked wins in Wii Tennis, I do enjoy a good watch of it. Today’s Wimbledon men’s final between Roger Federerer (who has won 5 million things in his life) and Rafael Nadal was a fantastic spectacle of sporting achievement. The longest men’s Wimbledon final in history had everything; players, racquets and balls. All the necessary components for a game of tennis. But it also had drama, skill and excitement. Mix them all together and you have a fantastic sports event. Nadal, dressed like an arctic ninja on maneuvers, took on cardigan-wearing dandy gentleman Federererer in a clash of opposing styles; and ultimately Nadal’s flagrant disregard for sleeves proved decisive over Ferererererer’s 1920’s sartorial tastes.
The day before the sister’s Williams put on a pretty good final too. Sadly though, Wimbledon must now end. With Euro 2008 fast becoming distant memory (which I forgot to blog about as I was too busy gorging on it, but as we all know was the best football tournament ever), it leaves a giant gap in the TV schedule until the Premier League gets under way. Liberal doses of RTé’s Monday Night Soccer will have to tide us over, as well as continued support for my beloved Dundalk F.C., lest we spend all our time obsessing over the increasingly ridiculous stories that are coming out of the European football transfer silly season. It has reached its apex; a black hole of news has formed from which truth cannot escape and all logic is skewed. This vortex of nonsense will not pass over until the new Premier League season kicks off, and we must all suffer the bile it vomits daily. Think i’m over dramatizing?
Michael Schumacher to play Champion’s League football with Murata?
Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

I recently discovered the music of Mogwai, a band of Scottish fellows who make wonderful instrumental sounds. As I disagree and take umbrage with most people over most things instrumental music suits me best as I can add my own lyrics, which mainly consist of me commenting on the people around me and shouting at traffic. Look for me wandering around the Christchurch area.
Well, Mogwai are coming back with a brand new album of musics, called “The Hawk is Howling” in September. And to celebrate this they have released one track for frees, called “The Sun Smells Too Loud” which is bout as good a song title you will hear this year. That is until Mogwai beat this with other titles from the album such as “I’m Jim Morrison, I’m Dead”. The true winner for song title of the year if not the decade though, might also belong to Mogwai when before the album they release an E.P. called Batcat which features the intriguingly titled “Stupid Prick Gets Chased by the Police and Loses His Slut Girlfriend”. I have no idea what Coldplay title their songs, but I rest safe in the knowledge those titles are 6 million times better.
As for the music, “The Sun Smells Too Loud” is very good, mixing traditional Mogwai sounds with an injection of electronic stuff. Go download it and write your own review god damn it.
LINKS:
Download the track
Mogwai’s official website
Mogwai’s MySpace
A Picture of Don Conroy
Kudos to Alex for alerting me to all of this.

William Smith in quite good film shocker! Well pull down my pants and shriek in horror; “Hancock” is a hoot. I don’t know exactly what a hoot is, but I think “Hancock” might be one.
Although I enjoyed the trailer, I had my reservations going in to see this. As I said before re: Mr. Smith:
whilst Smith can be a good actor he also has the ability to single-handedly ruin a film (step forward, I, Robot). Basically, Smith can play two characters - the fast-talking smart-ass or the moody loner who doesn’t trust toasters.
Worryingly, in ‘Hancock’ he is a big blend of both; fast-talking smart-ass AND moody loner. Distrust of toasters is not discussed here. But crucially here there is a third trait: Whiskey swilling super-man. The result? A fast-talking smart ass moody loner whiskey swilling super-man. Such a radical blend of concepts helmed by Smith has the potential to spiral out of control into Shit-films-ville. So it is with a pleasant surprise that “Hancock” does not do that, but quite the opposite, and parks itself neatly in Quite-enjoyable-borough.
Much of the credit must go to the Fresh Prince, who gets the role more or less spot on. But he is also helped by the presence of never-shit Jason Bateman, and a pretty funny script. One of the joys of the film is that it addresses what the majority of superhero films neglect; that this stuff is happening in the real world. So as the superheroes whizz about destroying cars and buildings and peoples faces, we get to see the public’s reaction to what is, in reality, excessive destruction. And the concept of a foul-mouthed drunken superhero is great to begin with.
Needless to say I am not going to go into the gory details as “Hancock” is just a big heap of fun, and to dissect it to any degree would be a waste of our precious time. Suffice to say its very funny. It does suffer from a bloated midsection when it tries to shoehorn in some mythology, and the finale flirts with cheesey-seriousness as well as some silly plotting, but thankfully “Hancock” knows where its strengths lie and keeps up a good ratio of jokes and ridiculous violence. And threats to stick head up other peoples rectums.
Ladies can oogle Will Smith, fellas can oogle Charlize Theron and we can all pinch the cheeks of Jason Bateman. Everyones a winner! I’m off to do a congratulatory lap of my living room, I welcome you to do the same.

I am delighted to tell you that despite the current economic flange that we find ourselves in, there is still a ray of hope for our race. Recently I lamented the apparent death in our culture for a bit of creative mathematics at the till; people are no longer willing to waver a 1 cent. Well today I was pleasantly surprised to have an entire 5 cent sliced off my bill in order to save me and my friend behind the counter the hassle of doling out 95 cents worth of change. This has warmed the cockles of my heart and offers us a renewed hope for the future. Hats off to you, Londis shop keeper man. Hats off. If there was any justice you Sir would be put in charge of our economy. Your altruistic nature and daring economics would be welcome in the blackened cesspit that is the capitalist’s lair.
It has also come to my attention that there is a section on Wikipedia for ‘Fictional Dwarves‘. This also pleases me. I will investigate further.