In-Vision Video Art Festival: a Review

This Silly Little Lady went along to a night of creative short films, by the name of In-Vision. In-Vision is a Dublin video art festival, and the brainchild of an ever-enthusiastic Sinéad Keogh. It prides itself on being a non-profit grassroots festival run by artists for artists. The night consisted of screenings of 10 short films, some of which were introduced by their creators, followed by a panel discussion and brief Q&A session. Thoroughly enjoyable, In-Vision provided a rare opportunity to experience an eclectic variety of video art on the big screen, with each of the pieces varying greatly in style, era, and content.

First in the line-up was 'Limitless' by Aoife Dunne (2016). The piece is a fusion of retrofuturism, whacky Japanese influences (think Kyary Pamyu-Pamyu videos), colourful retro fashion, and a DDR-esque gaming experience. Dunne plunges you right into a digital world where you try and try again to reach the next level, in order to convey our relentless self-criticism and continuous re-invention of self. Bold and extremely fresh, I was left not quite sure what I'd witnessed but somehow glad that I had witnessed it anyway. Check out Dunne's quirky-as-you-can-get website for an insight into that feeling (www.aoifedunne.com).

Follow this link to see Limitless: https://vimeo.com/173543163

All was not so original as Dunne's work though, unfortunately. Into Gold (2018) by De.es had such promise being inspired by DreamTigers (Jorge Luis Borges) and its incredible descriptions of

a mirror as an 'impossible space of reflections' which 'prolongs the world' where 'everything happens and nothing is recorded'. However, the video consisted mostly of the much over-used imagery of a fairy-like woman (long hair, white dress - the works) wandering through a forest (because that's never been done before) carrying a mirror. 

Laura Spark's piece Cygnus (2016) proved to be atmospheric and evocative. Ciana Fitzgerald's video Reprimere (2016) didn't appear to have any connection to its intended design, the private versus the public self, and meandered so far from that stream of consciousness that it lost all meaning entirely. A piece called Shedding (2018) by Ricí NíChléirigh attempted to explore the human condition using yarn, but would the idea would have been better served as performance art - the medium didn't aid the impact in any way, rather hindering it instead.

Sorcha Kenny's piece Oh, My Roads and Their Cadence (2017) was thought-provoking, portraying a woman with her dog trekking from Dublin to her grandparents old home in Roscommon, as a form of therapy. The crunch of gravel, and the awkward greetings when passing a fellow traveller evoke powerful memories of life in the Irish countryside, and waves of nostalgia within this Cavan-raised girl (me). Oh, My Roads and Their Cadence suggests that Kenny has a promising future in film-making ahead of her. A very different piece by Kurb Junki (segments from a longer film) was made up of Hi8 recordings, whacky, comical editing, and a heck of a lot of skateboarding. Entertaining and very enjoyable, the piece might have been a bit to skate-heavy for non-skaters like me. 

Another noteworthy work was None of it Matters (1999) by Pauline Cummins. This work was made in response to live coverage of the bombing of Serbia in 1999, and to the growing phenomenon of shocking news being used as a form of entertainment. Cummins questions our increasing desensitisation to the suffering of others, using clips from movies (Tarantino was well in there), a voice recording which was originally performed live, and historic footage from WWII. One startling line from the audio recording stated: "Care? I'll show you care. I took the remote and I said let's stay in tonight and watch people die". Hard-hitting, this piece highlights the apathy of contemporary society, and drags us out of our uncaring mindsets for a few short moments. Disappointly, though, Cummins didn't appear very willing to participate in discussions, practically begging Keogh to stop asking her questions. 

Breda Lynch on the other hand, maker of The Kiss (2009), was all chat, providing insightful commentary and proving very knowledgable within her field. Lynch's piece explored censorship and queer visibility in a gothic style, with the most classic approach to experimental film of the night. 

The highlight of the night was undoubtedly Johannes Gerard's piece Dark (2017). Featuring a naked dancer improvising movements, alongside her 'dark self', set to an atmospheric soundscape, the work was entirely hypnotic. Gerard delves into the secrets, worries, and sorrows we carry around every day, invisible to those around us, whilst simultaneously exploring the impact of the concepts past, present, and future on our lives. Dark stood out above the crowd in a league of its own and entranced its viewers.

Keogh curated a fascinating and deeply satisfying evening of video art, which provided viewers with a rare and wonderful opportunity to fully experience what creative film has to offer. The festival was indubitably a success, and I eagerly await its second year - we can only hope it'll be longer, even more diverse, and as inspiring. 

The Road to Happiness the Dalai Lama Way - 5 Things I Learned from His Holiness

One of the main things the Dalai Lama emphasises from the very opening of The Art of Happiness is that the pursuit of happiness is natural, positive, and common to all humans, and that it is possible to attain the ever-illusive state we call happiness. So far so good. As books go, this one has challenged my thinking a great deal, throughout, making it a worthwhile read - however, in order for it to truly help you, you must think about what the Dalai Lama is saying, deeply. You have to pause and contemplate all through the book, and try to apply his tactics and reasoning to your everyday life instead of letting the concepts float over your head like a lonely balloon. For that reason, I wanted to write about what I personally learned from this book.
Perhaps you don't have the time to read the book, or you want a taster first, or perhaps you are being put off by the Buddhist theme, no matter - sink your teeth into this.

1. The Importance of Self-Education
Now we aren't talking about strict academia here. We're talking about reading books about other cultures to reduce racism, visiting impoverished areas to increase your compassion, reading texts and talking to people to help increase your empathy, learning how to meditate, thinking deeply and analysing why we are feeling angry or hateful and applying tactics to eliminate these feelings. The Dalai Lama repeats over and over again that the main enemies to our happiness are anger and hatred, and his solution is to combat these harmful states of mind with understanding. When you understand that anger and hate are negative not only to those around you but to yourself, and even your health, then you can truly start to reason with your emotions and challenge them.

2. Pleasure vs Happiness
One of the first things I found helpful and easy to apply to my own life was the Dalai Lama's decision-making question: Will it bring me pleasure, or happiness? In order for this to mean anything you have to first understand the distinct difference between the two. Happiness is what we all strive for, it's more than a momentary feeling, it's a state of being, a goal. We're talking long-term here. Pleasure, on the other hand, is momentary. It's extremely short-lived and often shallow. So for example, let's say you are eyeing up a piece of cake in a cafe. You want that piece, you know it'll taste so good. But should you get it? Well, would eating that slice give you pleasure, or help you in any way along the road to happiness? Pleasure of course. Adding it to our waistline won't get us that nice body we are working towards, nor will forking out the money for it add to our savings account. Now this is basic logic, but the reason it's so useful is that it's simple, and can be applied to anything from that slice of cake, to weighing up whether or not to marry someone, or take up that job offer. Just ask yourself: Will this bring me pleasure, or happiness?

3. Your Enemies are Valuable
This may seem hard to swallow at first but give it a chance. Generally we surround ourselves with friends and loved-ones that add to our happiness, and because we have a natural aversion to those who mistreat us, we don't have many people in our lives that we could call enemies. But we all have a few. Maybe it's a condescending boss, an annoying classmate, a bully, a relative that you can't seem to agree on anything with, or even a parent. These people are so often the cause of our anger and hatred, and perhaps even our envy. All negative emotions. However, these enemies can play a major role in your spiritual journey to happiness. Just think of all the opportunities these people provide us with to practice our patience and tolerance on! If you can learn to appreciate your enemy and show them compassion, you can be sure that you can do the same to an ally. Now it's difficult, I know, but that's why it's so important! Our enemies evoke so much negative feeling in us, imagine if we could eliminate that. If you think of it as practice towards your journey, that can help. Or you could think more closely about this enemy and realise that their sole purpose in life is not to annoy you. They have friends, family, their own troubles, and they in many ways are good people. Once you find some positive qualities in someone you just can't stand, you're a step in the right direction. I've even used this myself. This thought that my enemies are still humans, who also only want happiness, and are obviously very lost on their journey really softened my feelings of anger and hatred towards them. And even those little annoying things the ones you love do are good practice for developing patience! I think this is the most important thing I've learned from this book, it's invaluable.

4. Suffering is Universal and Unfair but we're not Helpless
The Dalai Lama spoke quite a bit about suffering and how it is a part of life that every human must endure but we can severely reduce our suffering by changing our negative perspective on it, and our self-destructive habits. For example, what most people have an issue with is how utterly unfair suffering is. It's sporadic, it's random, and we don't deserve it. But the thing is, there is no 'deserving' suffering. It's inbuilt in life. Look at death for instance. Every single person on earth will have to mourn someone they cared about, it's a universal fact. You may say things like 'why should I suffer but not him?' or 'why should I help him if it means I'll suffer instead?', which all boils down to: What makes him more important than me? And here's the answer: He is not more important than you, no. But he is also no less important than you either. This evens the playing field. We're both just humans. If we think useless thoughts like how unfair suffering is, or ruminate over events and stresses, it only increases our suffering tenfold. And this part of the suffering we can eliminate. If we look at suffering objectively, and take suffering as what it is, we can get out a lot less wounded.

5. Patience and Tolerance are Key
These two babies are not only the antidotes to hatred and anger, they are crucial to maintaining peace of mind and can heal events of the past that still haunt us. Being patient and tolerant, as opposed to confrontational is often seen as a weakness, in Western society. This is so wrong, and it's so easy to see why. If you are patient and tolerant, you are not only refusing to fuel any already heated situation, but you are actively preventing any disturbance to your own personal calm, and peace of mind - which, let me tell you, is not easy folks, and is the definition of self-disciplined. This is not the same as being too terrified to confront someone, or some situation - this is knowing you could confront it, but choosing not to. Patience and tolerance, according to His Holiness, also creates and nurtures forgiveness. As you become more and more patient and tolerant, you naturally are more forgiving. Patience, tolerance, and in turn forgiveness are key to helping you let go of any negative feelings you may have associated with past events, helping you to leave the past in the past and finally move on.

These are only a small portion of the things I've learned from this book, and I plan to add to this list in my next blog post. This is the first proper Buddhist/personal growth book I've read, so I'm very open to suggestions for more titles like this! Thoughts? Opinions? Comment below.

Peace, love, light <3

Unique Drawing Challenge May 2016

Drawing and reading are my two all time favourite hobbies, as anyone who has met me will know, but I have a terrible habit of neglecting art for long periods of time. Since the run up to the Leaving Cert, I have been rudely ignoring any drawing impulses, and I've decided to turn that around! By doing a drawing challenge for the month of May, that goes a little something like this:

1. Self-portrait
2. Favourite animal
3. Favourite food
4. Favourite character from a book or song (no help from movie adaptations)
5. A couple
6. An elderly person
7. A baby
8. Flowers
9. Something sentimental
10. Something sad
11. Design a tattoo
12. Something consisting of only 2 colours
13. Sexy/handsome man
14. Sexy/beautiful woman
15. An embrace
16. Something loud
17. Favourite author or artist
18. Obsession
19.Something you can't resist
20. An animal that freaks you out
21. A blast from the past
22. Something ridiculously colourful
23. Something Japanese
24. Love is love
25. Dancing
26. Draw from a photo you took
27. Something completely un-you
28. [Day off]
29. Musical instrument
30. Family portrait
31. Make a comic of your day


So far, we're on day 12 of my personalised drawing challenge, which means le boif and I have numbers 1 through 11 completed. Fancy a peek?

Self-portrait

Favourite animal: Octopus

The first few were pretty straight-forward, and not too strenuous, although I am a major newb/baby when it comes to Adobe Illustrator, so from day 1 I've been trying to learn the tricks of the trade. I've been testing out different styles, trying new techniques and basically trying to get the computer to do what I want it to. It takes time but honestly it's really fun.

Favourite food: Strawberries!

 The character from a book or a song was suuuuuch a difficult decision. As a major reader the obvious choice was a character from a book, but I just couldn't call any strong imagery to mind, so I had a think about the songs I knew that featured a main character. I've been a Johnny Cash fan since I was a baba; my dad used to play his songs around the house, and they would always make me cry. The song Big Iron came to mind, a song Cash only covered, and the Arizona Ranger, the extreme underdog of the tale, really stuck out in my mind, and it's such a fantastic story of a song that you just must listen to it. I cannot do it justice.

Character from song (Big Iron by Johnny Cash)

A couple: le boif and moi!

An elderly person

A baby

Flowers (sakura)

When it came to the flowers I always knew I'd draw cherry blossoms but I hadn't really decided on a medium. I didn't want to use *just* Illustrator for my drawings so I thought I'd give watercolour pencils a go - which makes up the branches, and then I found a stain in my sketchbook left by a Promarker (they have a habit of seeping through the page), that looked like a perfect petal. So I played about with all of this on the computer and came out with a very mixed media type of image. 

Something sentimental: my old ballet dress

When it came to something sentimental I was really at a loss. I don't have any 'ones that got away', I don't have any dead relatives or friends that I was close to, nothing really to go all mushy over. Rooting through my room, I eventually found my old ballet dress and ballet slippers, in perfect condition, from when I was just 4 years old. I used to love ballet back then and always got extra excited to go to class every week. Unforch the ballet school moved away just a year later, and I was left ballet-less, and have been ever since. Now I feel far too old to learn, and seeing my little outfit did make me tear up a little.

Something sad: a lost mitten

The bench and lost mitten drawing is probably my favourite so far, because I honestly don't think there's anything more sad than seeing a lost mitten, in the snow, no less. I love mittens. I just want all the mittens to find their owners.

A tattoo

So that brings us just about up to date on the challenge, and to the present moment, where I'm sitting trying to figure out what on earth to draw for today's challenge, something using 2 colours only. I'm also maaaayyyyybeeeee working towards an Etsy shop... And it maaayyyybeeee is live at www.etsy.com/ie/shop/korknykreations ........
If you want to keep up with my drawing challenge, my Instagram is @korkny and le boif's Instagram account is @surfbluestudios 

I'm open to requests, and I'm quite friendly so feel free to message on Instagram or comment on here! 

Snobby Little Me reads the Fault in Our Stars (Finally)

Artwork courtesy of le boif, check out his Instagram
@mrgeraghty to see more of his mad skillz

After a brand new copy of The Fault in Our Stars lay undisturbed on my bookshelf for the guts of, say, 2 years, I finally admitted to myself that I would never, voluntarily, pick it up merely to satisfy my curiosity as to what all the fuss was about. After all, YA (young adult) fiction is far from my comfort zone, and I'm ashamed to admit I always thought it below me - less stimulating, less challenging, compared to my beloved classics. Even apart from that, it's popular literature after all, about a teenager with Cancer who falls in love for goodness sake - seemingly so cliché. The usual PS: I Love you/The Notebook style 'tear-jerker'. Bleh.

Our paths were fated to cross eventually however, The other day, whilst going through the lengthy process of cleaning my room, the thought of listening to an audiobook occurred to me (as I haven't gotten quite so good at reading that I can do it without looking yet). However, I would never settle for just listening to a book I'm actually excited to read (because it feels impersonal and, frankly, like cheating), I decided to stick on a YouTube video of a lassie reading the first chapter of The Fault in Our Stars - just for curiosity's sake, and to make the time drag by a little faster.

I spent the first little while marvelling at what a fantastic idea it was, and how much of the story I was absorbing, unconsciously, without any effort whatsoever, while the boredom was stowed safely away. A few minutes in, I actually found myself smiling at a few of the witty remarks made by Hazel (the protagonist, and narrator). I slowly developed a slight interest in the characters, but mostly, a new-found, wholly unexpected respect for the author, John Green. It impressed me that he could write on behalf of the teenagers of today, without being condescending, tiptoeing around taboos, or being too annoyingly teenager cringe-y. But as my tidying task was nearing its end for the evening, and chapter 3 was brought to a close, I was quite happy to put an end to the whole thing, and dismiss it as quite an entertaining teenage book. As in, entertaining for, y'know, YA.

A Fault in Our Stars-esque pic of  what appears to be
 a cloud producing factory. 

That night I snobbily returned to my usual sort of book, but found my mood to clash drastically with it. I entered into diagnosis mode and prescribed myself a comfort book. On the journal to grab one of my Fifty Shades books (blatantly unashamed), I caught a glimpse of The Fault in Our Stars... I grabbed both and settled back into bed. Faced with my heavy decision, I decided that I had over-indulged my beloved Fifty a tad too much, what with the new Grey book, the movie, etc. So I gave The Fault in Our Stars a test-drive. And then I kept reading. And kept reading... Before I knew it I was reading late into the night (a thing my brain rarely lets me do with classics after midnight). It was entertaining, I won't deny. Entertaining enough to make the hours whir by and for a lie in to be needed to recover.

With a plot twist I saw miles ahead, a rather cute life goal, and some complex ideologies about death and the universe, I softened to the genre. They even stuck in a ceci n'est pas une pipe reference - major brownie points. Hazel is intelligent, if a little self-sacrificing for my liking; meanwhile Augustus is charming, open and very boyfriend-material-y. Hell, I even started rooting for the young lovers.

Did I shed any tears? Well, no. But I did well up at one point if that counts. Green called to mind the closeness you can have with one particular person (whether it's le boif, le girlf or le bff). A connection you share only with them. You tell them everything, they become an integral part of your life, and then - they're gone. And in their place - well, nothing. Your own private interactive diary, missing. The one person you share all your hopes, fears, and secrets with isn't around when you face your biggest plunge - to paraphrase Green - the scar they've left behind for you to bear.  The only person you want to talk to about how you feel can't indulge you. The thought of that raw loneliness in an encouragement to all the rest of us to cling to those we care about and relish what time we have with them.

So while I may not have broken down in tears whilst reading Green's best-seller, I did get something from it. Namely, I got that same childish glee, the reading frenzy feeling that I haven't felt in years. More importantly it was a little reminder to me to appreciate those closest to us. Because an infinity of time with the one you love is never enough, and one day that infinity will come to an end, and the two are forced to part.

I also learned a valuable lesson: don't judge a book by its genre.

One word review: surprising
Star rating: 3/5

Semester One = Done

As semester one draws to a close, I believe it's about time to reflect on my initial college experience. Over the past 3 months, I've witnessed the vast majority of the initially over-zealous, intensely studious folk around me crumble with exam stress and fret about whether they have chosen the right course, whilst binging on Reece's Pieces and ready meals. Oh and I'm one of those, by the way. College has hit hard, and we're all struggling to keep on its good side, but we stand united. There's nothing more comforting than hearing the words "I haven't started yet either" from a fellow student, or lying in bed missing your 10am, knowing your also-still-in-bed roommate is doing exactly the same. We thought this would be easy, now that the dreaded Leaving Cert has been conquered. It's the hardest thing you'll ever have to do, they say. College is a walk in the park after that nightmare, they tell us. Lies and deceit.

Let's take this one step at a time. Attendance for example. First few weeks - perfect, 'golden weeks' all round. After that, people start missing their 9ams because they were out the night before - I'm baffled and even appalled, I mean think of all the vital information they are missing out on!? Eventually a night out breaks my streak, and next lecture I realise I haven't missed anything much at all, no harm done. Then the essays and sleep deprivation kick in and we get a little lax on the 'golden week' idea. 12 weeks deep and there's only one person turning up our Irish language lab (not me), and the debate to go to a lecture or stay in bed or Christmas shop is a valid, heart-breaking one. Now those of you who don't go to college may judge us, but we know what we're doing. If a college student feels a wave over productivity coming on, and is so in the mood to make a start on that essay and get shit done - we know full well that this is a rare blessing, one which much be respected and rolled with, even if it means sacrificing some note-taking practice. And if it's one of those days when we really and truly can't drag our ass out of bed into the cold, ever-raining outside world without crying, we give ourselves that time to recuperate, mentally. In other words - we got this, we've been playing systems for years now, college is no different.

Except college is so different. Not even the course itself, but the very idea behind it. This is what we have chosen to do for the rest of our lives, like as a career... Or at least it's what we have committed to doing for 4 whole years of our valuable, unrefundable youth. So if we've made the wrong choice, we're to blame, and we're pretty much stuck here. Yes, yes, change of minds, I hear you say - but the deadlines for that kind of stuff is pretty early on and once they are gone, the deal is sealed, and short of dropping out and paying full fees to do something else (every mommy's dream, right?) we're sealed in tight. So we are all one by one coming to terms with the consequences of that decision, and eventually accepting and dealing with it, in as positive a light as we can muster.

Also, college is the place where straight A kids start to see the value in just passing - a concept which filled us with horror a few months back. One must bear in mind that it's a Trinity experience I am telling here, and that I spend my days surrounded by the contents of the extreme right of the bell-curve. You need to be smart to get in here - that's a given. But you need to work your little tucus off and possibly sell your soul to the devil to be one of the smartest of the smart kids (most of the time we can agree that having a vaguely active social (and/or sex) life is more important).

All of this, coupled with the actual experience of living away from home is pretty overwhelming, I'll admit. One never realises how costly it is to get around, or to feed oneself until they move out (parents, we now appreciate you raising us, but question why on earth you signed up to this in the first place #didyouchecktheexpirationdate?). Not to mention that the prospect of having to make dinner day in day out is frankly preposterous and I refuse to believe anyone actually goes through with it. Pasta is dinner - we have spoken. Don't underestimate its power to fill bellies in minutes.

With all of the above sounding quite on the ranting side of things, it's understandable to assume college is terrible and we all want to drop out, but that's not entirely true. These are the things we have all had to come to terms with, and grow accustomed to in the past few months. Valuable life lessons are being learned, yada, yada, yada, and we have our (almost) fair share of fun. And the most important thing of all: we get to claim the #studentlife as our own, an extension of ourselves, if you may, adding to our legacy.

Sláinte, Sickness and Student Affairs

Remember when I said I wasn't missing home? Well scrap that. And about that sore throat I referenced in my last post, well, it turns out that it's most probably tonsillitis. What wonderful news to hear three days before lectures start, right? So now I'm just one week into living in the big bad world of independence, and am faced with sorting out doctor's appointments and medication, frantically, on the last day before the weekend, in order to try to survive next week's lectures, which I've been looking forward to for months. Right now, I want to run home to mummy, let her work it all out, and mammy me by bringing me soup, and tea, and stroking my probably feverish head (what college student actually has a thermometer?).

But alas I sit in my empty apartment with no salt, no honey and no cuddles. My housemates are all either gone home for the weekend or out partying arís (mar is ghnáth), which means I'm admittedly a little on the lonely side (bad health does that to you), but at least I'm enjoying the most peace and quiet I've had in over a week. Main concern though: I really didn't buy enough ice-pops to quell my darn tonsils' tantrum.

In less self-pity wallowing news, I've now attended both of my course meetings, and I'm more than psyched to get down to it. The lecturers have explained explicitly that while yes, us art students may have a ridiculously low amount of lectures per week (nine, not even kidding), we are expected to put in a 40 hour week, what with reading, studying, writing etc. I've already gone on the search of English books - and I care not if you think it's a waste of money, the library only has a limited amount of copies, and do not want to feel under pressure to hand them back in, nor do I want to settle for retaining less information just to save a few bucks by getting a digital copy. Third year students are a fantastic resource, with many unwanted second-hand textbooks that they are willing to part with for a very reasonable price, but some books you just have to go all out and spend that large wad of money to attain them, sadly.

Agus mo chúrsa Ghaeilge? Buel, bhí an course meeting ar fad as Ghaeilge (just as I feared), ach thuig mé gach rud a dhúirt an léachtóir (pleasant surprise). But yes, tá sé fíor - tá gach duine (almost) atá ag déanamh an cúrsa sin after coming out of an Irish secondary school, has many Gaeltacht experiences under their belt, or at the very least has gone to a Gaelscoil primary school. But I could keep up thankfully, bhíomar ag caint as Ghaeilge ar feadh cúpla nóiméad tar éis the course meeting, and it was such a refreshing, but strange experience, to have that opportunity, and to feel safe enough to break in and out of Irish as I please gan bhreithiúnas (without judgement), with people who crave that opportunity too. I've been very concerned that I'd be completely out of my league, or that it would be just like the Irish oral practice we did in school, but now I've realised that mo chuid Ghaeilge isn't too rusty after all, and that the Irish Leaving Cert oral preparation was so restrictive and confined, not to mention leadránach and intimidating.

Until next time (probably not too far away if I keep this frequency up), I wish you (and me) dea-sláinte.

Can We Skip Freshers' Week Yet?

College is strange. But what's stranger is this modulating point between holidays and actual lectures. As a Trinity student (yes I got in - no I won't develop a D4 accent, don't worry), I'm obviously a bit of a nerd. I mean it's practically a prerequisite. So I'm in an awful state over here dying for lectures, essays, tutorials, studying - you name it, to take over my life. My waiting continues to complicate things further, whilst I spend my time living in Trinity Hall, the home of nearly all the non-Dublinese Trinity freshers, who are throwing their heart, soul (and livers) into clubbing, and 'prinking' (predrinking). To sum it up: it's loud, and nobody sleeps. Not even this little nerd - who tried to club, I swear, but after two nights, realised it had made her physically ill, and pretty miserable - can curl up in bed and read her latest Hardy book without having to reread each sentence at the very least ten times to combat nearby chattering/screaming.

Yes, I do have a roommate. I'll admit I liked the idea. Y'know, you see it all the time in American college movies, people rooming with one another, bonding, having not-so-secret signals to indicate that the other is 'getting lucky' (that tie though, sooo discrete lads). I wanted a roommate, so I got a roommate. What confounds me is what exactly I must have said in my application that inspired Halls to throw me and Roommate into each others lives. Roommate is lovely, I don't deny that. She's bubbly, kind, not too messy (so I don't have a nervous breakdown), not too tidy (so I don't feel like a slob) and we don't clash at all. But as far as people go, we couldn't be more unlike one another. Even on first glance you can tell we'd been put together by an outside source. She's tall, blonde, and beautiful in the celeb-hot style way - while I would probably fit better in the short, brunette, cute in the looks-like-she-is-still-in-primary-school category. Even our heritage stands on different sides of a fence. I've been raised in such a patriotic, Irish family, that I cannot possible allow myself to study English in uni without studying Irish as well - while Roommate is as Bheal Feirste. Not to mention  hobbies: clubbing vs reading, socialising vs writing, I think Trinity's computer got lazy. But Roommate and I are good, we get on, it's just really not what I had expected.

Everyone else in my apartment could also be placed on one of two poles. The three of us English lit scholars take up the quieter pole, while Roommate and the two others operate on a much more demonstrative level, which frankly exhausts me just to watch them - no idea how they do it. People talk a lot about Hall not feeling like home. Some think we have to adjust, others think it'll never be home. I'm of two-minds. While I have no routine as of yet (meal-wise, arising-wise, exercise-wise, or even reading-wise) here, which doesn't exactly provide a feelings of being adjusted and settled-in, I don't miss 'home'. I'm drained, from the extreme amount of socialising that goes hand in hand with freshers, and hand in hand with sharing an apartment, not to mention my throat is sore, from two nights of clubbing. So I'm not exactly comfortable. But I went back to Cavan today, for a couple of hours, had lunch with my mom, and chatted, and I felt even more out of place there than here. It's like I'm taking up residence in a town called Purgatory. Not fully immersed in college life, but so done with life at home.

Coming back to Dublin afterwards led me straight to my first ever Dublin city sunset. I have a terrible habit of missing the sunset by a few minutes, or getting too impatient to wait for it to start, so I needed this. It reminded me that home is much larger than we seem to classify it as generally. Sometimes all it takes is a peek out at a blushing horizon to bring you back to earth.

Book Review 3: The Time Machine

The Time Machine, by HG Wells, is worlds apart from my usual read (I'm not a sci-fi kinda gal) but it was a nice little breather from the heavy reads I so love. Why, Silly Little Lady, what on earth made you choose such a book? I hear you ask. Well, my lovely inquisitive audience, I'll tell you why. One Christmas many moons ago, an even littler Silly Little Lady strayed away from her crowd of festive relatives in order to fetch something or other. She happened to glance at the TV, and found herself lost in the most enchanting tale of Eloi and Morlocks and the ever lovely Weena. She could hardly tear her eyes away from the Time Traveller's antics, and lost most of the afternoon engrossed, while her family was nearly about to file a missing persons ad. I do believe that a story that can tear a child away from her brand-spanking-new Santy presents on Christmas morning is one worth taking a little time to get to know. That, and I had a 'book set in the future' box just begging to be ticked off on my 2015 Book Challenge.

The Time Machine is simply about a unnamed time traveller (unless Time Traveller was a popular English name in the late 1800s) who begins to tell his sceptical acquaintances (can you blame them?) all about his awe-inspiring experiences in the year 802,701.

As a piece of literature, this is pretty basic. The writing style is simplistic, the characters undeveloped, but it's the plot that saves this classic. It's this novel that is alleged to have made the idea of time travel popular, and Wells even considers some interesting philosophies about future civilisations, and muses the purpose of intellect in nature: "It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change." It's thought-provoking ideas like this that many futuristic novels and movies today lack, and instead stick to the tried and tested. Y'see, time travel, I can take it or leave it, but when you turn time travel into a hypothesis of the future of humanity, count me in.

Overall, I did enjoy this novel, as silly and little as it is. As far as recommendations go, if you're looking for a nice little 2 hour read that'll give you a short break from tragedies and tearjerkers, and don't mind a kids book type read, go ahead and give The Time Machine a go.

Book Review 2: Tess of the d'Urbervilles

Book 2 of 50 ladies and gentlemen, and one I've been dying to read for quite some time now. Tess of the d'Urbervilles is by an English writer, Thomas Hardy, who was around in the 1800s. He's one of the greats, and he ticks off the 'book by an author you've never read before' box for me on my book challenge. Tess of the d'Urbervilles was quite unlike anything I've ever read before and has immediately become one of my favourite books of all time, if not my favourite book of all time (The Picture of Dorian Gray is pretty hard to top). The book is about a young lady by the name of Tess Durbeyfield, who lives in rural England, with her poor family who dabbles in agriculture. Mr Durbeyfield discovers that he is a direct descendant in a line of wealthy noblemen, the d'Urbervilles, and from this discovery, Tess's life and future is completely altered.

One of the first things I noticed about Thomas Hardy's writing style, was his ability to romanticise any seemingly mundane sight into such beauty and delicacy. An example of one such description was that of the deceptively simple shadows of cattle, "Thus it threw shadows of these obscure and homely figures every evening with as much care over each contour as if it had been the profile of a court beauty on a palace wall; copied them as diligently as it had copied Olympian shapes on marble façades long ago, or the outline of Alexander, Caesar, and the Pharaohs." To make such an observation, hinting at nature's neutrality, and suggest that in essence something so powerful as the sun should treat a cow with as much respect as it would a Pharaoh, is so inspiring and enlightening, and I praise Hardy highly for it.

Hardy's descriptions of nature and the sun, also seem to create a gap between his description and reality, the former seeing somehow embellished. It opened my eyes to the beauty around me. I was inspired to wake before dawn and witness what Hardy describes so vividly, yet somehow the muse doesn't compare to the artist's interpretation, "In the twilight of the morning, light seems active, darkness passive; in the twilight of evening it is the darkness which is active and crescent, and the light which is the drowsy reverse."

It is not only his descriptions of nature which appear to embellish reality, however. Hardy managed to add more beauty, wonder and character to that which is thought to be perfect and unparalleled: love and passion. On seeing "the desire of his eyes"  Clare cannot control himself and simply has to give passion its way and hold her in his arms, "Resolutions, reticences, prudences, fears, fell back like a defeated battalion." Looking at Tess through Clare's eyes: the women who has stolen his heart, was such a thrilling experience, and one so rare. It made me wonder about the extent of today's men's love and desire, which appear to dull in comparison to how Hardy envisions them, and begs the question: are their hearts lacking or merely their tongues? Do men feel this same level of passion, desire and love that Hardy did? Down through the ages women have maintained their interest in love, it's easy to see how much we hunger for it by merely taking a look around a bookshop or a DVD shop and seeing all the romances, but when did men stop writing about love? Did they stop feeling it the way we do?

Hardy does address the idea that time will bring a loss of feeling and emotion, echoing my musing that men in today's society may not feel love in the same extremity, or perhaps it has adapted. In the line "It was probable that, in the lapse of ages, improved systems of moral and intellectual training would appreciably, perhaps considerably, elevate the involuntary and even the unconscious instincts of human nature."  I am reminded of HG Wells' futuristic society in The Time Machine, which I shall be reviewing next.

On the final note of Hardy's philosophising, I particularly enjoyed his touching on the idea of a contained universe and personal reality: "The universe itself only came into being for Tess on the particular day in the particular year in which she was born."  This emphasises Tess's tendency not to over-analyse or muse about the abstract, and reinforces her character as a homely, stubbornly simple country girl, who desires to be nothing more.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles touches on the hypocrisy of men in society, and their demeaning, belittling attitude towards women, and women's pitiful devotion to their male counterparts. Tess takes on the role of a self-sacrificing, self-loathing woman, stereotypical of her era. Hardy portrays Tess as both an embarrassment to the female sex, and yet one so lovable. He paints a picture of a woman severely lacking self respect and perspective as the main character in his novel, yet I do not feel offended, as I often do when a man tries to use a female protagonist (often without success). This to me is a unique talent of Hardy's, and one that I do not myself pretend to fathom, but can appreciate its brilliance.

In relation to his characters, Hardy makes them alive with faults. Tess lacks pride and self respect, while Clare lacks compassion and has a narrow-minded, hypocritical mindset, typical of the time. Faults in general make a character human, but these faults are so drastic, that it makes the characters seem dramatically more human than we are today. Perhaps this is why this novel is so successfully tragic. It is so bittersweet and heart-wrenching, yet somehow I am left with a sense of peace, amongst all the warped justice.

What more can I say but: read it. Just read it, and reread it if you have some more time on your hands. I can praise Hardy no more; instead I sit, and bask in his brilliance.

Dear Extroverts... A message from us ever illusive Introverts

Dear Extroverts, 

 

As an Introvert, with close friends, family members and even a boif who are Extroverts, there are some things I feel you should know about us. 

1. We need time to refuel.

The nature of an Introvert is one who gets their energy from their alone time, and that baby is vital for us to function in everyday life. Don't get us wrong, we love spending time with you guys, but we just can't function on socialising alone. For example, last summer I spent 2 weeks in London with le boif. During the lead up the the holiday, I was super excited. 2 weeks of boif-time? Bring it on. However, I did have to warn my charming Extrovert of a boif beforehand that as excited as I was about spending time with him, I was going to need some alone time. A weekend without refuelling, we can do, but 2 whole weeks... could you go without sleep, food or water for 2 weeks? Umm... no way José. Anyway, I loved my holiday, but le boif had to understand that I needed space sometimes, and I read 2 whole books during those 2 weeks to keep me sane. Conclusion: we love you, but don't be offended or hurt when we tell you to give us time to ourselves. 

2. We think, a lot. Seriously. 

We're perpetual ponderers. If we go quiet, we're not upset, we are thinking. We don't feel the need to talk constantly, or fill all of those 'awkward' silences. In fact, we often don't notice them at all. So next time you see one of us staring into space, or closing our eyes for a moment, take a breather, we're fine, I promise!

3. We like to party, just not with strangers...

I love dancing, and I love parties, but I cannot even consider attending a party without asking the famous question: "who else is going?" It's not that you, Mr/Ms Extrovert aren't entertaining enough for us, we just know that you like to mix, and socialise, and we don't share the same passion for strangers. We have our friends, and we love them dearly, and we aren't constantly on the lookout for potential new ones. We're happy with our lot, and we don't particularly enjoy the whole meeting new people thing. 

4. We feel super bad about holding you back.

When we actually do go to that party with you, we want you all to ourselves, and we feel über guilty for stopping you from doing your thing and making new friends. But we only came here to be with you, and our other besties. We're sorry!

5. We like to listen.

Y'know that thing you were going to tell us but stopped because you thought you'd bore us, or that we wouldn't understand? Please tell us. We're avid listeners, and we care. Not to mention, one of the perks of being an Intro, is that our empathy skills are pretty brag-tastic. We don't have many close friends, but the ones we do have we take care of, and we have time for. So feel free to lighten your load and share. 

6. We can get pretty intense. 

We have so many feels. Honestly, we have feels all over the place. We Introverts are sensitive, and I, personally, can hardly go through a week without crying at least once over a piece of music, a book, a thought, that thing you texted us, anything. We remember most of the things you tell us, and can be easily hurt. We also love having deep, intimate conversations with you, and always want to get closer to you. But we're always that little bit scared of scaring our friends away with our feelings for you guys, or not being light-hearted enough for your taste, so we try not to let ourselves open up too much. 

7. We're secretly affectionate.

Most introverts are shy, and often guarded. But often what we can't say, we'll find some way to show it. We love you guys, you are our closest friends, and super dear to us, but instead of sounding over the top, like we feel, we'll share this by being physically close to you, smiling at you, reading that book you recommended or remembering to wish you luck the day of your exam. We don't want to frighten you guys away, but we just wanna give you all giant bear hugs.

8. We love one on one.

As much as we love hanging out with all our friends, in one bundle, we kinda like some alone time with you all. There are certain things we wouldn't share with everyone at the same time, or with all of our friends in general, and also, we like it when you open up to us, which usually happens in one on one time. We especially hate society's view on male-female friendships, and how one on one is nearly synonymous with a date, and we disagree with it strongly. We like our mates, and we want you all to ourselves every now and again.

9. We need to be handled with care.

Please don't push us into socialising because it's 'good for us'. Yes, we do appreciate your help in reaching out to someone new, and we are glad that you can bridge that gap for us. But at the same time, we don't need to socialise as much as you do, and we don't want that. Don't make us feel bad if we turn down that invite, or don't go overboard trying to befriend that person you introduced us to. 

10. We happy being who we are.

While we do envy you Extroverts from time to time in your ease of making friends, your way of breezing through social situations and your confidence in the matter, we actually don't want to be you. We're happy being the ever illusive Introverts, for the most part. We don't need pity, or help to become more like you. We enjoy your bubbly, outgoing nature, and we wouldn't change it for the world, but we love that we are what we are. 

So Extroverts, you've heard it, straight from the horse's mouth. I can only speak from personal experience of course, and we Introverts are by no means identical, but this has been my interaction with Extroverts over the years, and these are the things I feel you should know about us, in order to fully understand and accept us. 

Love, 

A Silly Little Introvert.

P.S: Disagree with me? Have anything to add? Feel free to leave me a comment.

Book Review 1, A Classic Romance: Pride and Prejudice

Cliché, I'll admit, but having neglected my duty as an avid reader of frequenting the classics, I thought I best begin my reading challenge by catching up on my fellow bookworms.

To start with, Pride and Prejudice by the ever lovely Jane Austen may follow a quite predictable pattern, but one must remember that this isn't just another rom com following the herd. Austen paved the way for all those terrible rom coms we love today, and therefore any claims of the plot being old hat and unoriginal are, in my humble opinion, mistaken. Also, personally, I was still kept at the edge of my seat in certain parts of the novel, even though I called the ending after reading the first chapter (and as usual, I called it correctly).

The plot centres around Elizabeth Bennet, a sensible young lady from a unique family, to say the least. Elizabeth's sisters are a bit off the wall, all apart from Jane. Her mother is a character and a half, who strives to get each and every one of her daughters married off to eligible, wealthy young men as fast as possible, while Mr Bennet is content watching all their schemes unfold. Elizabeth hates Mr Darcy from the first time she encounters him, and finds him arrogant, proud and prejudiced. Darcy's feelings towards Elizabeth are slightly more complex... The real question of the novel is: who is proud and who is prejudiced?

Characters, to me, make or break a book, and I can't fault Austen one bit in her personalities. Elizabeth, as a protagonist is sensible, responsible and warm, and life through her eyes is easy to accept and grow to love. At times I grew frustrated with little Lizzie, but that's the nature of romance, and I suppose it wouldn't all seem so obvious if we weren't passively observing the events unfold. Mr Darcy, was however my favourite character in this novel. Even through Lizzie's hatred I found a fondness for him, and his uniqueness was apparent from the outset. Ever composed, ever superior, Mr Darcy brought a touch of class to a world so full of desperation and coveting.

Along the journey that is this novel, I encountered many more an intriguing character, and although Austen did not succeed in making me "LOL", I did have some silent giggles to myself at Lizzie's cheeky wit, and found myself seriously fangirling over and crushing on highly eligible bachelors at several points in the novel. While the concept of personal gain, greed, envy and ambition taint this tale ever so slightly, there is so much sincere love and warmth at its heart that one can't help but look upon it with tender fond feelings. It's definitely one of the few read-ten-times-over books you encounter in your book-ish travels, and if you haven't read it yet, get with the programme.

Embrace the rom com classic, and find out for yourself where Bridget Jones' Diary stole its plot...

2015 Book Challenge with the Aid of a Shiny New Kindle

Absences the romantics say, make the heart grow fonder, or as the pessimists say, absences make the heart wander. So romantics, did you miss me? Unfortunately the Leaving Certificate grows ever closer with each passing moment of 'spare time', but in a few months I'll be all yours.

More to the point: book challenges. What better a way to force ourselves to eat chunks out of that 'to read' list, and force ourselves to make time in our ever busy lives for that pastime we miss so dearly, than to succumb to one of those new years resolution style lists, in which you pretty much read everything in sight, and end up with a book in your hand constantly?

Allow me to share my chosen Book Challenge:

Let me tell you, it's not easy to find an author with the initials C.B. though (thank goodness for My Left Foot). Anyway, as an extra challenge, and to motivate me a little more, I'm going to review each of the books I read, starting with Pride and Prejudice which I just finished.

Also as a motivating factor, I very recently purchases a brand-spanking-new Kindle, which I adore with all my being. Now for all you ebook sceptics out there keep your pants on; I accept your arguments, and I have lived amongst you for years, as my stubborn book-smelling, paper-feeling, sentimental self. BUT. Wait for it. After weeks of 'To Kindle or Not to Kindle' musing, my mind has recently been opened to the idea of le Kindle for numerous reasons:

1. My main reason is, books that are out of copyright, (if the author has been dead for 70+ years) are free to download from Amazon. That's soooo many books, and oh the classics *contended sigh*

2, If you haven't tried a Kindle you have to. I have the new Kindle Touch, which has no background light, meaning, just like your hard-copy, you need light to read it. Kindles are anti-glare, they have a paper like display, and are practically so clear they may as well be printed. Not to mention the added bonus of the search function, the percentage of how far you are through the book, the amount of time it'll take you to finish the book (although I don't find that entirely accurate so far) and the ability to highlight passages.

And finally:

3. Going Kindle doesn't mean snubbing paper. As soon as the novelty of your shiny new toy becomes, well, less of a novelty and less shiny it's just a cheap, handy means of doing what you love to do: read. You can still read your prints, I promise they won't evaporate or anything. And you're not betraying them either. I still love my ridiculous amount of books for an 18-year-old to have with all of my heart.

So lassies and fellows, join me in book-ing it up this year, and embrace the shiny new pieces of technology that live to serve. Even Mr iRobot got over his aversion to technology, you can do it too.

Also feel free to share your thoughts with me on Kindles (don't hurt me) and book challenges, or share your lists!

You stay classy bookworms.

Hello Again! Books, books, books, Garp!

Me, greeting you all:

Well everyone, I'm back! I've been back ages now but I've been on blogging holiday as well as actual holliers.

Now, where did I leave off...

No idea. Anybody? Oh well.

Books! I've not been writing, but I can't say the same about reading. I've been devouring lumps of books at home and away, and struggling to make myself stop staring at paperbacks all day. In England I read The World According To Garp by John Irving, which definitely goes on my top fave books of all time. Not to mention inspiration for wanting to write! It's about Garp, who has always wanted to be a writer, his life and such, so a lot of the text talks about churning out novels, short stories, and a writer's life in general. I have never really read a novel about writing novels, but what better book for silly little me? The little lassie who buries her head in books all day and wants to write for living (yes I know I need a steady job mom, yes, yes, I will, I promise... *sigh*). Anyway, after reading Garp and never wanting to put it down, but having to reluctantly because it's time to go see Big Ben or something, I want a typewriter so bad. No kidding, I really want one. I used to have one when I was little but I foolishly gave it away. Now I wanna write novels on a typewriter all the time.

There was one line in Garp that had an impact on me. He was talking about a character who is one of those people who just don't finish things. Y'know, they start loads of new projects, but never ever persevere until the end. We all know someone like that (some silly little ladies are like that too...). So Garp comes out with this: "You only grow by coming to the end of something and by beginning something else." His point is, if you wanna be a novelist, you have to strive for an ending, as much as you enjoy the process, the middle, the start, you have to live for the end, and let that drive you. Novelists want to finish, so they can finish their next. For someone who has a nasty little habit of being interested in everything, therefore starting everything, not having enough time, and finishing nothing, it made me think. If you restart and restart, each time coming up with a better beginning, what happens after that? Say you have the ultimate start, after so much practise, and then what? You never practised the middle, maintaining the plot, developing the characters, tying up the plot, and the most important bit, the end. Isn't it better to churn out a non-masterpiece novel so you can grow and learn from it, rather than never coming to an end?

Aaaaaanyway, in conclusion, The World According To Garp has definitely been my favourite book this summer. As much as I loved Wild Swans, and as much as I enjoyed English Passengers. Not that I'm finished reading for the summer, or anything. I'm nearing the end of the Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell trilogy by Susanna Clarke, and I have enjoyed it but I really think they are dragging their feet nearer the end. I mean I just want the plot to wrap up already, it's getting stale. Clarke could have easily, and should have ended the book at least 100 pages earlier than she did.

In other news:

I'm still trying to find the balance between reading, portfolio (to get into an animation course), bass, chores, teaching my little sis piano, and y'know, seeing people. There really aren't enough hours. Please. Please increase the hours. I beg.

And I'm gone vegan, so there's quick and easy meals out the window. It's not half as hard as I expected though, I only am very apologetic to, and sorry for, anybody who has me over on a regular basis... Pizza without cheese here I come, even if it is an abominable idea, it'd probably still be tasty. I'll never touch raisins though, that'd be criminal. I had to touch one the other day to remove it from the top of the toaster (cinnamon and raisin bagels, yuck) and I nearly died. It was horrif.

Over and out.

P.S. Back to my normal every other day blogging routine, until school starts... ugh... school...

I'm Off To England, and a Review of English Passengers!

Last post before England! As le boif keeps reminding me. I'm still struggling to heal myself of this fun-filled cough, before I away, but time is running slim. And yes, I'll be a good girl and do as granddad tells me: "be careful of pickpockets, they're rampant there" (in London). It's such a hassle changing currency. "That's why we have the Euro" yeah, I know, I know. But I'm just moaning, I'm not for us little Irish having Euro really. Being a part of the EU, sure, but the Euro is a bit much. Saying that, do they make wallets bigger in the UK? The feckin' £20 notes barely fit in mine. Pickpockets, come at me bro. Even before my granddad's warning, I was already expecting thieving folk, I mean, I've seen Oliver. It's not like England has changed since then or anything... In fairness, the accent hasn't. As I've said before though, I'm a sucker for an English accent, so I'm not complaining. As long as my Irish little self doesn't go around bursting into fits of giggles every time anyone speaks... It's such a funny accent like... Le boif will have to control me, if I can't manage to restrain. That, or make some sort of excuse that I've got an illness, or a mental disorder or something. You can't blame me like. For a silly little lady who thinks accents are hilarious to go somewhere foreign, what do you expect me to do?

Anyway, I finished reading English Passengers by Matthew Kneale today (I was determined to get it done before England). I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the mixed narrative and hearing all the different accounts of things; it kept it interesting, even past the plot, as the book, in my opinion, is all about the characters. Whether you love them or hate them (mostly the latter), it's very entertaining to read. The plot was interesting itself, what with its close association to the truth, but what I probably enjoyed the most, apart from the very unique, polarised characters, was the way in which Kneale connected everything. You know from the beginning it's gonna happen, but it's just the way he ties it all up in a ribbon, the perfect linking up of characters, plots etc. It actually made me say "aahhhhhh!" out loud a couple of time, in a 'that's how it relates' type of way. The story unfolds very neatly, no strings left untied, and by the time you're finished, you're at peace with it all, everything making perfect sense. All in all it was a very cleverly written novel. Very quick and witty. There were a couple of small parts where I lost enthusiasm slightly, and read less, but these were very slight, and towards the end, after reading 50 pages, you barely notice and you want more.

I'd say my favourite character was Renshaw, which I felt I sadly didn't get to hear enough of. However, my favourite narrator would have to be (after a lot of thought) Reverend Wilson, because (no spoilers, I promise) the way he put things is just fantastic. Not the English he used, just his way of looking at and thinking of things. He has an amazing talent for making something so ordinary out as something extraordinary (you could argue it's a religious thing, but to a point; Wilson is way past that point). For anyone reading this, who hasn't read English Passengers, I'm flattered, but I'd strongly advise you to read it.

Mainly, to summarise, I'd have to say it's a story about a journey, while there is a more exact plot, it's the journey that steals the show, and within the journey, the mixing of characters, that often would usually never mix by both choice and lack of opportunity shines though. I'm a sucker for good solid characters, even more so than for a good solid plot, and this book didn't fail to deliver. I may sing praises, but trust me. Or don't. Either way, read the book.

Team America, or Should I Say Team Stupid (My least Favourite Movie)

Today, as you can see from the title, I've decided to share with you all what I think is the worst movie ever. Now I'm a silly little lady, so anybody who assumes Team America is too silly for me may assume again. If you knew me, and knew my choice in boyfriend, you'd understand that I have nothing against ridiculously silly. But just plain stupid is a whole other story.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of the plot of the movie. Team America: World Police is "an American satirical action comedy film" which centres around the lives of these purposefully stupid and badly worked puppets. The director and writers of this film are also responsible for the series South Park, which is a bit more bearable. It basically takes the mickey out of high-budget action films, and plays up stereotypes, and clichés for giggles. I never thought I could hate anything so much, even though I don't mind that type of satire. In essence, it's all about Team America, a sort of police force who employ an actor to help them take down Kim Jong-il.

Now let me tell you why I was forced to sit through this garbage. It was le boif's birthday, last summer, and he had a little get together with some friends. It was winding down time (in other words, movie time) and everyone gathered around the TV, allowing the birthday boy to choose his flick. You get the picture... To my horror, every terribly stupid (stupid being the optimum word to describe this movie) joke or badly worked puppet scene had le boif and his bromantic friend in stitches, while all I could manage was to stifle a growl. The look on my face during this abomination was one of such fury and despair that le boif thought I was angry at him, and I couldn't even manage to speak from the shock. And now my explanation and slating begins...

Firstly, I didn't even know if I could bring myself to share any links from this movie, as the language is so vile and so is everything else, but I will share a couple to illustrate my point: this movie sucks.

Let's take these video as examples. What even is there to say?

The first video: So much disgusting, so much lowbrow, very stupid, so damn much stupid. And it takes so long too. Good Jesus. Help me. It physically injured my soul. How is this funny? Why must they hurt me like this? The prolonged horror is just... What? How?

The second video: Even worse that the first. Nothing even happens! Yes they make fun of the "here's the offer, and here's the door" choice where everyone chooses the offer, but it doesn't work! Just because you mix it up doesn't mean it's good! I know, I know, "it's satire, it's supposed to be stupid, that's the point", but people actually find this funny. That's what confounds me. It's so painfully bland and tasteless. How can boring and bland be entertaining? And the vast majority of the movie is like this.

I'll share with you one more video, that's the intro to the movie, and it illustrates my annoyance in regards to the "puppetry" in the fighting part, and the lame, unintelligent, trying so hard to be witty, and to show off a shoddy budget ($32 million to be exact, don't ask me how they managed to spend all that, or where it's all gone to). The entire thing is a masterpiece of abhorrence. It's genius at its best, and by genius I mean idiocy, and by best I mean worst.

Enjoy! And pity past me for having to sit through hours of this nonsense.

Packing Dilemmas, Holiday Excitement and English Boys

Packing is hard. It's not natural. How is a silly little lady like myself supposed to know what she'll feel like wearing every day for the next more than two weeks? C'est impossible! Nílim ábalta! I know some humans out there get their clothes ready days in advance, or at least the night before, and some of those inhuman humans can somehow pack confident in the knowledge that they aren't forgetting anything and have everything they need, but I'm not of these people. Yes, occasionally I know what I'll wear in advance, for an occasion! Not a whole fortnight... But usually I spend at least 20 minutes staring blankly into my wardrobe, completely dazed and incapable of choosing. There's never anything to wear. As a female, the words "I have nothing to wear!" being screamed every time I look for an outfit, are acceptable, and it is my right, as a lady, to have a mini tantrum or breakdown every time alongside this exclamation. Saying all this, le boif seems to think he's a lady in the clothes choosing department too... But no matter how many "should I bring a shirt and tie"s or "I don't know what shoes to bring"s he gives me, I have enough of my own packing dilemmas, I cannot play mummy and pack for him too! I don't mind his little clothes interjections every few minutes though, he is le boif after all, and a lovable one at that.

So, how about I help all you packing people out there with a few tips I came up with all on my own?

1. If you're going on a plane, pack at least 3 big bottles of nail polish remover, shampoo and conditioner, along with your machine gun, hand grenade and blades, just in case customs start giving you any trouble.
2. Also if you're going on a plane, don't bring your passport, nobody cares about them anymore, I mean technology has taken over, your iPhone will suffice.
3. Bring as many suitcases as you want, it's not like they charge you extra to bring another.

That's how aeroplane packing works, right?

Anyway, as you might have guessed, I'm not going on an aeroplane - oh, and the destination is England by the way - because ferries all the way. My favourite bit will be the 5 hour car journey in the Nissan Micra with us three kids in the back. It'll be so roomy. I can't complain though, le boif's family are pretty much treating me to a holiday, and even surprised me by extending the holiday so we can go to a Japanese festival (wannabe Japanese nut over here). Aren't they so cute?

Even if it's only across the water, to England, we're all still very excited. I have never been, believe it or not, and my fears of going are trying to remember which side of the escalator you're supposed to stand on, and which side to walk on (Ireland doesn't have any of these silly little rules that make sense, we don't like social unspoken rules, we like Guinness), that I'll get extremely lost and accidentally die, and that I'll fall in love with every single person there with an English accent. I'm a sucker for a cute English boy, ask le boif, and even he is worried about silly little me cooing, giggling and fangirling every time I meet a young fellow with a cute accent, especially his silly little friends! I'll try to restrain myself but I am a girl after all, you can't blame me. I will end up with an English accent after being there for a while though. Camouflage and all that jazz. Gotta be careful so I won't get the "no dogs or Irish" response my granddad did... I kid, it's not the 60s anymore. But I do tend to develop an English accent when chatting undilutedly to English people (and by undilutedly I mean only). My Japanese friend has ordered me to Skype her when my accent reaches its peak. Even Japanese girls love an English accent... I'd say le boif will get a top up on his little London-Irish accent (the Irish part obviously, I jest, I jest) and that'll keep me entertained for at least the rest of the summer. He'll just be stuck saying the words dance, France, girl and bad-ass for my giggles, but he's aware of these terms and conditions.

Just as I'm aware of the terms and conditions relating to le boif's clothes shopping, and over-excitement. I will be playing in suit shops all day, and I will be given at least one headache from rapid loud nonsense speak. But such is love, eh? I put up with his silliness, while he puts up with mine. Happy out.