Gloria Steinem can pog mo thoin!!!

Feminism is a big lie. There, I said it. It’s out. I have hesitated to write this post for a while, even though it has been rattling around my head. My hesitation is based on the fact that I have no intention of making this blog a forum for anything else than light social commentary, random thoughts, a little gossip and bitching here and there, keeping the writing wheel greased with my daily 500 words and all that other bloggy goodness.

But I am so annoyed, so let down by the whole “promise to women” and “women’s equality” and all that shite, I need to let it out. I know I am going to piss a lot of people off by this post, but so be it. Hear me out before you comment.

Who wins the Battle of the Sexes? Men. Hands down. And you what they use as their pinch hitter? Feminism. We can cohabitate without the security of marriage, pretend we are wives, cook, clean, put up with the shit, and they can leave without a second thought. All they have to do is pack a bag. Doesn’t really sound like a fair deal to me. Now is the time when you are going to comment about your particular relationship being equal and he does more cooking and cleaning than you do, yadda, yadda, yadda. Nope. I don’t buy it. Girls, we are diet wives – wives 2.0 beta. They learn how to be human beings for the women (younger, no loud biological clocks) who will benefit for all we have taught them. And they will marry them.

Caught between the Pre and the Post Feminist Era This is another sore point or me. Feminism has seen more women in the workforce which you would think would be a good thing from my feminine point of view, right? Wrong! There are women who have no interest in having a career but find themselves in the new post-feminist society which has told them they are scum if they have no ambition in the business world. They find themselves in situations that are wholly unfulfilling but they have to support themselves – remember, no marriage, no male “bread-winner”? You are a backward idiot if your only ambition is to keep a home and raise children so go out there and break your back for just over minimum wage. And you better pull your weight because you ain’t getting married anytime soon.

People, you know these poor women who are caught in between the pre and post feminist world. They work because they are supposed and leave their children in day care even though it kills them. Go past a receptionist or the HR department. Look the framed pictures of children on desks, look at the women with candy on their desk, who make sure they bring in a cake for a birthday on the floor. These women don’t want careers. Real career women will not do those kinds of things. Real career women can't do these things and continue to be taken seriously. At least, that is the thought. So even if I wanted to give into that italian woman instinct of mine to feed everyone, I would never bring in brownies to a business meeting. Not if I really wanted them to listen to me.

But why am I annoyed by these women, even though I do feel for them? Because when they are weak, the women in the office, the ones that sharpen their talons to do battle with grey suits, day after day, suffer. I was told once in a salary review that I was “too aggressive”. If you think that a man would get that kind of feedback, you are totally deluded. It is my job to be aggressive. I am strategist in one of the largest companies on the planet. It is my job to get people to listen to me. Too aggressive? Hmmmm. Men bosses would rather have the candy-offering, birthday-remembering, fuzzy-pencil, flower mug, babies on their PC wallpaper women in the office. They don’t have arguments about salary with these women.

The phenomenon of maternity leave. I have been covering for 2 women on maternity leave for the past YEAR! In Europe, they are entitled to a lot of leave which is great except if you are the one covering for them. So what happens when one of them comes back? She comes back 5 months pregnant. Then she gets a doctor’s note to go out on sick leave 2 weeks after she got back. So she will be out on sick leave until she is due for maternity leave. All paid in full. I did a quick calculation and for her 9 months at the company of which she actually worked, she will be paid for 2 years of not working.

I am not suggesting that becoming a mother is not work! It certainly is and should be treated like a full time job with benefits and entitlements like every other job in the world but tell me how come I am doing the work of 3 people and I don’t get the chance to garner the same benefits. Oh, and I have to do the late nights, all the travelling and the weekends because I don’t have a family. When am I going to have a social life which will lead to me getting pregnant because I sure don’t have one now!!! Also, what if I were sterile? Could I take a maternity leave and “give birth” to a novel.

This is another bi-product of feminism. It has pitted woman against woman who, for whatever reason, have found themselves leading different lives. It has made us competitive with each other, and no longer just for men, for everything – job, money, status, power. It has told us our natural instinct and biological tendencies are old-fashioned and should be suppressed. It has allowed men to get out of once was a shared responsibility to children and for what? The women who wanted careers over family could have had that in the 1950’s. Many, many did. Was it an uphill climb? Sure but it still is! I am not getting paid as much as the men who are doing the same job as me and I can’t win because if I point this out, if I demand it, I am “too aggressive”. As far as I can see, absolutely nothing has gotten easier.

Good with the Bad. Don’t get me wrong – I am in no hurry to get married and have a family. I like being independent and successful. I am glad I own my own house and car, etc. and I certainly do not begrudge maternity leave, even long ones, but I am unhappy about this social engineering that went on without my consent. I am unhappy when I have to contend with a social order which doesn’t feel natural. I don’t feel “empowered”. I do feel stressed, over-tired and lonely sometimes.

I guess mine is the new face of feminism.

Shine on you crazy Diamond

Take the compatibility test, available to you now, on Sucky CD Sunday. Enjoy!

Pog hath murder'd sleep - Notes of an Insomniac

I can't sleep. This is getting serious. I have never had insomnia for this long in my life. I was chalking it up to jet lag after my trip back to the States but it has been 3 weeks and I find myself wide awake at 3 in the morning. Please don't tell me to do any eastern relaxation techniques or to drink tea made of the stuff under my shoes - it won't help, I'm not doing it, Stop.

It isn't all bad. I am writing a lot more, unfortunately is has all been on this blog. I can't work on stories. I guess that I am tired but I just can't sleep. I feel like Lady Macbeth but yet, I am not feeling guilty about anything. I am not being "robbed of sleep" from a guilty conscience but pilfered I be all the same. In addition to writing, I am learning some stuff. For example, did you know that on the BBC after 1 am in the morning, all programming is accompanied by those annoying signers for the deaf. Apparently, the British Broadcasting Corporation has discovered a link between insomnia and deafness, thus effectively targeting all those sleepless deaf people in the UK. Although, I guess the hearing unimpaired can also enjoy the shows without being driven insane by the spastic mime in the corner because the signer is wearing black! We won't notice him because of his disguise. Clever.

Also, the 24-hour news stations just simply give up trying to fill time around 1:30 and they just read the newspaper headlines as soon as they get whiff of them. Have we gotten so bad that I have to watch TV so they can read a newspaper to me? I guess so because, you know, I kind of like it.

I think I have something on my mind. I am not yet conscious of it enough to make that light bulb go on (aha!) but I think I have too much going on in my head. I have too much to do, both at work and at home. I can't relax! I am a very laid back person so you wouldn't know that I am stressed out - I mean, I can't get done what I have to do at home and I am stuck over here.

This is what may be keeping me from sleeping (including rankings of relevance - like Google!):

• I am worried about work (35%)
• I am worried about my house and dog (45%)
• I am worried about my financial situation (35%)
• I am worried about Cookie the Horse not having enough water and it has been unseasonably hot (65%)
• I am worried that I am in my mid-thirties and I am not yet married (70%)
• I am worried that I do not have any discernible maternal instinct outside of dog ownership and I an nearing my infertile years (75%)
• I am worried that I have early-onset Alsheimer's Disease (50%)

Whew! That was tough to get out. One thing you should know about the "real" Pog is that I not only am a Freak Magnet, I am a Stress Sponge - it goes in and doesn't come out unless it comes out in one hellofa downpour. So even considering I am worried about something does not come naturally to me. Its exhausting.

I think I need some sleep.

Wacky Warnings

I wasn't going to post tonight because I have had a long day, I have travelled all over the Greater London area and although I have been rewarded by staying in a much nicer hotel for tonight and tomorrow (God Bless expenses!), I was not going to finish the day as I started - staring at a screen.

But Dim's post reminded me of a site I saw and I wanted to share it with you. When Dim was riffing about warning labels, I had to go and dig this out. I think it is a scream. Check it out.

The waterway map is my favorite. I have one of my own to submit for next year but I have to find it again. It was a label for peanut candy which said Caution: This product may contain nuts.

Well, I hope so, that is why I am buying it!

Not-so-Innocents Abroad

In the spirit of Victorian era travel writers, I have some notes from my travels. They are in no particular order, nor do they have any common theme that I know of at this point of the writing. If one emerges, then bully for us!

I took myself to the movies today. I was told that if it was too hot in the theater (no air conditioning) I could get my money back if it was before the first 15 minutes was over. I didn't even notice the heat but I did notice the presence of body odor. When I went to order popcorn, they asked me if I wanted "sweet or salty"? Imagining what "sweet" was but not wanting to chance it, I let my money lie on "salty" and I told them to hold the butter. They said "we don't do butter." I can never live in this city.

Taxi drivers do not talk in London. In Dublin, you can't shut them up.

Even good hotels are crappy. The place is too old to retro-fit in a lot of luxuries. You have to settle for charming.

(How come on this episode of CSI: New York, the medical examiner arrived at the scene before the guy was dead. That can't happen. Sorry, this one is from my present thought process)

They have this place called Yo Sushi which is a Sushi bar where they put the food on tracks which make there way around the restaurant. You choose what you want and pay according to the color coded plates that stack up in front of you. I like it but the music sucks and there is something unsettling about my food getting more mileage than my car.

English women have the straightest, thinnest hair in the world.

If all tacky souveniers which proudly display the name of some place are made in China ... I don't know where I am going with this, I think a rant against Globalization.

When you go to Hollywood movies in other countries, you forget you are not in the US and are surprised for a couple of seconds when you get out of the theater to be back in another country. Ok, I do. Maybe its just me.

(How come there needs to be a CSI in every major city in the USA? Is Chicago, Atlanta, LA next? Oh, and medical examiners don't wear belly shirts, even if they can.)

Londoners spend an inordinate amount of time planning their lives against train schedules and time tables.

I could never live in this city.

In the unlikely event the cabin loses pressure...

I used to think that travelling under any circumstances was the life that I wanted to lead. I thought the idea of jetsetting was great and I saw myself as some kind of Jackie Onassis, taking to sky and sea, in a whirlwind of fine dining, waking up in different time zones every single day, seeing the world ... you know what I mean. In the beginning it was every bit that. Even zipping around the airport with my neatly packed bag, leaving all those unkempt vacationers with screaming children in a cloud of my young, single, duty-free perfume, gave me a little thrill.

I am not thinking in these terms anymore.

Fast forward to right now. I am sitting in a hotel room in the center of London, about 3 blocks away from Harrods. I passed Buckingham Palace in a black cab to get here and I barely looked out the window. Why? Because I was here on Friday!!! My entire weekend sucked because as soon as I got back from my trip on Friday night at 11:30 pm, I had to book another one to travel here at 5 am this morning (and today's meeting was last minute so I didn't stay because I didn't have clothes, I need to see Fergus, etc.) So I slept almost all day Saturday from the exhaustion of waking up at 5 on Friday and working an 18 hour day. Not to mention the hell that is a post 9/11 airport. Saturday was gone, except for a few pints at the local. I spent a couple of hours booking this trip on Sunday and getting ready for the meeting today.

Jet-setting my ass.

All the glamour is totally gone out of it. Firstly, you have to get to the airport a ridiculous time before check in. 3 hours before international flights. They can kiss my ass. It is all a big scam, they just don't want to be bothered with more than 10 people at a time and I personally think they must get a commission for the amount of junk that bored people waiting for their flight buy in duty free. On my way back from Boston to Dublin, I bought 2 pairs of sunglasses (2 for $20), a bag of raisinettes, 2 bottles of water and 1 magazine. It cost me $82.34.

But I think I have this check in thing all timed down to the second now, especially for these once a week Dublin to London trips, although sometimes the aviation gods are not good to me and I end up watching my flight board and I am not allowed to check in because I am 3 minutes over the time it says in the fine print on my ticket. No luggage, nothing but "sorry, we've closed the flight". The bastards. Then they charge me full whack to get on the next flight.

Post 9/11, gave the aviation industry the right to treat anyone who paid good money for a ride on a plane like pond scum. I am all for keeping the planes safe, I would be the first one to demand it, but do they have to be so nasty? And when the metal detector goes off because of foil wrapper on your chewing gum, what made them think that I want to be patted down by a woman who looks like her nickname is "Butch". I would rather the guy do it. If I am going to feel violated (which I am), I would rather be violated in a hetro exchange.

Flight attendants, or as I like to call them, Sky Waitresses, are mean and nasty and take great pride in telling you that you can't use the bathroom because the captain has switched on the fasten seatbelt light. Why can't they give you the whole soda? Why are the pretzels always a brand you have never heard of and/or past the expiration date? Why do they feel the need to bring 2 tons worth of cigarettes and makeup onto every flight just in case you feel the need to buy 2 tons worth of cigarettes and makeup before they potentially become yet another item that can become a dangerous weapon if we lose altitude? These skinny bitches with their bad skin overly done eye makeup are not going to be instrumental in my living or dying in case of a water landing, so why do they pretend? Why? Why? Why?

So back to me, sitting on a bed that is too hard, in my hotel room, near Harrods. I am too tired to do anything but get something to eat, alone, in the hotel restaurant. I took a newspaper to read during dinner (hard manage paper and use a knife and fork) but the lights were "mood enhancing" which meant, there weren't any except for a single candle on each table. I ended up lighting my paper on fire with the candle (by accident!) and dosing it with my glass of water. The Spanish waiter rushes over to help me not burn down the hotel and flurry ensues. More napkins are brought and he starts apologising like he was the one that set the paper on fire. The only time I like my ass being kissed is when I demand it! Otherwise I hate it and it makes me feel isolated, like I can't have real contact with anyone because they have been programmed to "manage my hospitality experience" or some such shite like this. Crap. I retired to my room. I had to call the front desk to ask how to turn on my TV. The Russian girl that answered the phone said "are you the girl who set fire to the dining room?" Well, no, she didn't, but she may as well have because now I have to sneak around the place to avoid them being extra nice to me. I think they think I am a psycho.

They may be right.

Girl Fights in CBGB on SCDS

You would think that in the New York Punk Rock world, cat fighting akin to the Hilton v. Lohan, or the Hilton v. Richie, or the Hilton v. Simpson, or the Hilton v. Olsen, or the Hilton v. Reid feuds would not exist (do I detect a pattern?) . I mean, the music was cutting edge, the scene was intellectual, everyone was above that, right? Maybe not.

This has little to do with the music that features on Sucky CD Sunday this week and is available for just one click!!! But it has everything to do with how I ran with it. Apologies in advance.

Something in the way she moves

This woman's name is Pattie Boyd. Her name was once Patty Boyd Harrison, as in, the wife or George Harrison. Her name was also once Patty Boyd Clapton, as in, the wife of Eric Clapton.

She inspired, among others, these songs:

• Something (George Harrison whilst he was in the Beatles)
• For you blue (George Harrison, Solo)
• Layla (Eric Clapton, Derek and the Dominos)
• Wonderful Tonight (Clapton, Solo)
• Pretty Girl (Clapton, Solo)

Something...Layla ...Layla! Have you listened to that song recently (the original, not the awful acoustic version)?!? Do you hear the pain in Clapton's voice when he is "begging darling please/ won't you ease my worried mind"?

How do you become a woman like this? I really want to know! She also had a torrid affair with Ronnie Wood of the Stones and Jagger was all over her for years. Huh? Tell me, please, how does a woman who can certainly be characterized as pretty, even beautiful, but not soul-destroyingly so, become the muse of some of the most talented musicians and song-writers?

What qualities does a woman have to possess to drive a man to steal his best friend's wife? Maybe it runs in the family. According to the article I read, Pattie's sister was the inspiration for Donovan Leech's Jennifer Juniper but ended up with Mick Fleetwood. Uh, not quite Layla but seeing as how no man has written a song with me in mind, I will hold back from being critical. And I do not forget the irony of Pattie's situation that she never could bear a child so, it is as if her being remembered in song, disallowed her to continue in the fruit of her loins. Hmmm.

All I know is that I would love to know the secret that captures the male imagination to such an extent that it brings out his best. Sure, hearing Layla on the radio and knowing it is yours would be a dream come true but it doesn't have to be a rock star that finds inspiration in my aura. Will someone paint me please? Capture my je ne sais quoi on canvas forever ... I can be the next Mona Lisa, can't I? If I shave off my eyebrows? No, apparently not because no one is asking me to sit for them. Ok, if I am not oil painting material, can't I appear as a heroine in some novel? Explore the complexities of my character, the depths of my personality and whilst describing my age defining beauty. Scarlett O'Hara? Listen, I am not getting any younger - I will settle for Madame Bovery as long as you don't bump me off with arsenic at the end. That is not my style.

The point is, I think there is some power in the Feminine which is beyond beauty, and I wish I knew what it was. I wish I had it - who knows, maybe I do. I have broken some hearts, have had inspired some pretty heartfelt love letters, but, even if I possess a whiff of it, I am just touching on the precipice of the Power of the Female and if I could trade my knowledge of another area for it, I would in a heartbeat. For instance, I would easily give up my knowledge of how to make a decent spaghetti sauce for it (and for you other Italians, you know that is a value-packed trade!) Everything I know about technology - gone! For half of what Pattie Boyd knows! Would I trade the ability to have a child? I don't know having never had a child.

Guys - are you aware of this intangible "Something" (as Harrison so beautifully put it) that some women possess? Do all women possess it? Some knowingly enough to capitalize on it? Girls - would we recognize this in ourselves?

Maybe I am just with the wrong guy? Maybe I am inspiring but I don't have an artist for a honey? I mean, Pattie ended up with a property developer for 15 years. I am with a property developer... I suppose we couldn't inspire them to build a house ... or could we? Hmmm.

I suppose it only matters if you are that "something" for one person in a lifetime and damn the immortalization in song, paint or story. But take note all you musicians, you artists, you writers - I am available.

Lessons on Love and Karma

It is usually fleeting moments that make all the difference. The biggest, most profound experiences from which I have gained the most wisdom have been epiphanies in tiny moments. I had such an experience today.

The weather in Ireland is incredibly and uncharacteristically warm. In my land of eternal spring, summer has come. It has been in the 90's (not upper) which has meant that it has been the hottest it has been in this country this century! It doesn't get very hot. Right now, it is down right tropical. Seeing as it was such a beautiful day and my 2:30 conference call cancelled, I decided to go to the beach before my 4:00 conference call. I can do that. In Dublin, I live close enough to both a beautiful beach and nature reserve on one side of the road and a huge park which used to be part of the Guinness estate with a 2 acre rose garden on the other. So, Fergus my dog and I jump into the car - I don't even put shoes on - and we go.

The tide was out when we got there and so we walked down the beach. It was more crowded than I had seen it in a while but nothing like the public beaches in the States. I remember when JPD and I used to play hookie from work and go to Hull on like a Tuesday at 2pm. The place was packed. Here, there were maybe 50 people on a stretch of strand that goes on for about 5 miles.

Fergus got distracted by other dogs on the beach. Smelling arses takes a lot of concentration apparently. I started wading out into the water. Fergus does not like the water. He made that very apparent to me the first time I gave him a bath after bringing him home from the pound. He does not go in the ocean, runs away from me when I try to force him out in the rain and generally treats water the same way he treats dry dog food - as little contact as possible. He is a Jack Russell Terrier - Terrier being the operable word here. Terriers, as in Terre, as in of the earth. He digs a damn fine hole.

Anyway, I start wading into the water while Fergus is otherwise indisposed. The water is so warm now, I swear, if this isn't an indication of global warming nothing is! Warm water in Ireland! Most of the time you need a wet suit to keep your heart from stopping but today, today it was like bath water. I couldn't resist! I dropped the sunglasses, the cell phone and the car keys on the sand, went back into the water with all my clothes on and this time, jumped in and started swimming. It felt so, so, so good - I will dream about it tonight. It has been ages since I have been swimming in the ocean and every fiber of my being, every instinctual element of my water-sign persona was telling me it was right! Damn my irrational fear of sharks! Otherwise, I would have been in complete heaven.

While I was basking in the middle of the beautiful warm water with the Dublin mountains rising to the south of me and Howth head rising to the north with a tranquil sail boat in the distance as if it were painted on the horizon completing the scene, I was congratulating myself. I was thinking about all those poor suckers in the office while I was technically, on a lunch break. I was floating in the ocean, staring up at the blue sky, fully clothed and totally wet, I was patting myself on the back on how I "beat the system" in some way and then I saw him! Fergus! Fergus who was looking for me from the beach and had spotted me in the water! Fergus who does not usually swim but who was making his body which only clears 1.5 feet off the ground into over 3.5 feet of water.

He saw me and started coming towards me and I panicked. I couldn't yell to him because he would have taken it as encouragement to keep coming. As I mentioned, it was low tide and I had swam out quite a bit so there was a lot of distance between me and my dog. I saw he started to loose his footing - he would be out too far in a minute. I started to swim like it was the last day of my life and it would have been if I saw that little head go under the water. When I could no longer swim because I was scraping the bottom, I started running in thigh high water. My heart was pounding and about to explode in my rib cage. I was sweating and I was in the water.

I was thinking - if Fergus drowns, I will not be able to live with myself. You may as well pull me under as well too God because I would not be able to live with watching him drown. And yeah, come to think of it, I was talking to God in my head, unconsciously praying I guess.

Here I am, looking at this little dog who is trying to get to me, through water which he hates. He is putting himself in this position because a) he thinks I am in trouble and is being brave or b) he just needs to be near me, no matter what. Either way, I can't believe how this little living thing has become such part of my life and would think that I am important enough to risk the water. And I can't believe how much I love him, partly because I don't know many people who think that I am as important as Fergus thinks I am.

Cats are graceful and beautiful in their aloofness but dogs, man, you want to know what reciprocated unconditional love is? Get a dog.

I reached him before he could tire from swimming. I picked him up and walked him out of the water. When I put him down he started running around in circles which is something that he does when he is overjoyed about something and can't contain it. He dug a couple of enthusiastic holes in the sand. I think we were sharing a moment there - a "hey, look, we are still here together and not in the water" moment. I dug a couple of holes with him because I couldn't contain my joy that he was still with me. And then I thought of how I was a bit too self-satisfied and I thought about Karma. I thought about the bad mood I was in yesterday, and I thought about perspective. And I "get" it a little more now than I did a few hours ago. All this before my 4 pm conference call.

The Little Things Mean a Lot - Part 1

Do you think that little things say a lot about a person? Or is it the big topics and overriding philosophies that people espouse to which decides what kind of friends, lovers, and people they are going be? Maybe it is just action without thinking and talking that measures the man (and woman)? I don’t have the answers. I was thinking about what I used to think could define a person when I was in my teens and 20s and I submit them to you with a fair degree of embarrassment. I am not too embarrassed though because it shows a naivety that I am happy I possessed back then.

I used to think that my eventual husband, the father of my children, my soul mate, would have the same opinions as my on these topics. Hey, could we have been best friends? Could we have been married and lived happily ever after? I would love to hear from each of you regarding all of these.

Who is your favourite Beatle? John, Paul, George or Ringo. Your choice categorizes you are artsy and philosophical (John), easy going, well adjusted and generally all around good guy (Paul), spiritual and a bright spark fading into the background (George) or an oddball, different just to be different with elements of Paul in there somewhere(Ringo). Ringo is the geek off the group. If he had a real job, he would be a software developer.

Pog’s choice – George. I have my reasons. He wrote or sang the best that the Beatles produced, hands down.

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Pog’s choice – The Rolling Stones. It’s like choosing vanilla, the basis of all ice cream but still vanilla, versus rocky road with extra caramel and chocolate shots – messy, dirty, ultra-naughty, delicious.

Dogs or Cats? You all can write this one yourself, its been done.

Pog’s choice – Dogs.

David Gilmore or Roger Waters? Pink Floyd was dramatically different to my ears without Roger Waters.

Pog’s Choice – Gilmore. Give me “Learning to Fly” above “Another Brick in the Wall” any day. BTW, I know this is going to be a point of controversy amongst you hard core Floyd fans which I will not claim to be but I still get an opinion – it speaks to my character which is what this is all about.

Favorite Superfriend in the Hall of Justice – Superman, Wonderwoman, Spidey, etc.

Pog’s Choice – Aquaman. He was the hottest. Everyone knows that.

Baseball caps vs no baseball caps – Do you wear baseball caps? If you are a girl, do you or would you date a guy who wears a baseball cap. I don’t know why this is a category but it is. Boston College guys always wore baseball caps. Boston University guys (my alma mater) didn’t often.

Pog’s choice – no caps. I’ve tried it but for whatever reason, that intangible reason, it never worked out.

Reading over these, I see most of them are music based. It makes sense seeing as how music was a defining element of my youth and has become less of a defining factor of my social life as I have gotten older. Well, it’s a start. Maybe I will come up with a more up to date list, more relevant to my thought processes now. Stay tuned!

Is there a link between pumpkins and bad taste?

I get gloom rock. I get the Cure. I get the Smiths. I never got this band. Ever. This post is a little break from the idea of SCDS where we explore all the music we like, yet we know are completely embarrassing. Some of you may not be embarrassing by possessing a couple of CDs from this band.

You should be.

Sucky CD Sunday is ready for your reading pleasure.

Pass the soap!

I am feeling good about myself today. My self-image just improved 10-fold and I attribute this to the fact that I just watched Coronation Street. For those of you who don’t get BBC America or do get it and avoid it like the plague, Coronation Street is an English soap opera. It is so good, and it is so much more than a “soap opera”. It is on at 7 pm. Men have been known to watch it and like all good English soap operas, it centers around a town pub with poor people unlike American ones that center around a hospital with rich ones. It is up there with my favourite things on TV, which also includes Wife Swap and Cheaters. Just an aside about Cheaters – I really love the ones where the girl hires “I am pretending to care, sorry I can’t hide the sleeze” Greco to stalk her boyfriend of 2 WEEKS as he snogs in the parking lot of Popeye’s with his baby’s momma. That is some quality viewing.

The reason that Coronation Street, or Corry, makes me feel so good is because this show as the ugliest people on the face of God’s green earth as its cast members. Good Lord, Have Mercy! I am a veritable goddess in comparison to the cast members.

Allow me to introduce them to you:

This character’s name is Cilla, don’t ask me the actresses name, I don’t care that much about the show. Cilla is a cow. Literally. She proved herself to be a notoriously bad mother when she and her husband, Les (also pictured, also ugly), abandoned Cilla’s 8 year old son to the neighbors … much like I abandoned my poor Fergus to the kennel! Fergus I’m sorry, mommy’s coming home tonight!

Cilla has a daughter called "Fiz". It is short for something that makes no sense to me. I had assumed they called her that because of her fright wig. This girl has a gap in between her teeth wider than Bill Buckner's grounder position. While I have to admit to a slight gap inbetween my teeth, you can't get an asparagus stalk stuck in it. You're on TV Fiz! Everyday! Braces have made it to England!

There are no good looking people on this show, only slightly not as offense ones. If a young starlet on this show is not responsible for scaring small children, she ends up posing for nudie pictures in the British tabloids because she loses her sense of perspective. I just have to watch it and I think I am Marilyn Monroe. There seems to be a pattern on Coronation Street. If you are overweight with jowls, you get a job on camera. It's just their thing. But I will leave you with one exception and she is my favorite.

This poor woman plays a character named Gail whose big story was that her husband turned out to be a serial killer. I would go on a murdereous rampage too if I had to go to bed with this every night. No jury in the world would convict me! Not only does this woman have no jowls - she has no chin! Where is the bottom half of this woman's face?!? Don't get me wrong, I think it is unhealthy for a culture just to broadcast unattainable perfection and I actually to find the reality of Coronation Street and British television with its plain-bordering-on-ugly TV stars coming into my home every night, refreshing. As I said, I am feeling very sexy looking at this pics. What I don't understand is how Gail gets in front of a camera every day and lets it capture her image! She looks like a goddamn turtle. We often see her in turtlenecks because she is obviously trying to hide that turkey neck of hers. You would think the BBC would spring for a chin implant, wouldn't you?

Maybe when I am feeling crappy about my house, I will blog about the shit holes that these people on "the Street" live in. The best redecorating would be by fire bomb. I love the show though. I will watch the all day omnibus on Sunday to catch up and go try to scare myself up a modelling contract directly afterwards. If Coronation Street is a representation of "real life", I am living the dream.

Speed Freaks

There was a time when I first moved here that JPD and I were on a relationship hiatus. We were trying to make the long distance thing work but it was hard and at the time, he had no plans to move back here (he is Irish) so our future was very much up in the air. At such an interval, I went speed dating with my friends MO’D and L in a hotel here in Dublin.

Speed dating hit these shores full on about 2 years ago, well past its expiry date in the US. It takes a while for things to travel across the ocean. They get shipped freight. Such a bright flash in the pan it was that speed dating was featured as a “great night out” article in the inflight magazine of the national airline for Ireland. Everyone wanted to do it. Married people wanted to do it for the “craic”. It was considered a great night out on a Friday and so, with that in mind and with the secret hope that maybe, just maybe, Prince Charming was also there for the craic too, we made our way to the venue.

The ticket tells us to get there at 7. We get there at 7:30 because they are Irish, therefore always late and I am just always late. It turns out that the thing starts at 9 but the bar opens at 7 so we have plenty of time to get good and juiced up for the chatting. Girls and boys are divided up like a junior high school dance. We ain’t talking to the other sex until they ring that bell – no way. L and I are already staring them down though, trying to see if there are any worth talking to. L has the standard “speed dating” attire on which means lots of cleavage. After all, you are going to be leaning over a table at strange men all night long, you have to give them a visual to remember.

MO’D is hung over like they don’t make hangovers anymore. She had been puking up her guts until a half hour before we dragged her out to this thing. If anyone should be in hospital for potential alcohol poisoning, it was MO’D. The reason she got so drunk the night before? Nervous about speed dating. Well, it worked because she is so out of it that nothing is going to worry her as much as just being conscious.

Dublin is divided into three categories of people. People you know. People you know through other people. Tourists. I run into a girl that I work with which would have mortified me in the States but doesn’t here, because, hell, why the hell not speed date? Its great craic! DB, my work colleague, is already tanked. Her posse got ready for the gig by polishing off 2 bottles of wine – each.

We are divided according to age group: 20-30, 30-40, 40-50. I pick my proper age group which is 30-40. All the guys over 40, we will soon find out, pick the age group 30-40 because they “don’t want to get stuck with any old dolls”. There are no 30-40 year old single guys – every 30-40 year old single girl knows that.

So they get us in the room, seated at these long tables and give us little cards. We are also wearing a number like so much cattle in a market. The bell rings and we are off! Every time the bell rings, the guy needs to switch seats and move. We get a 4 minute conversation and “ding ding” goes the bell. If you liked the guy you just talked to, then you tick him off. If he ticked you off too, they ask both parties permission to exchange your contact details. The rest is history.

Let me tell you about the guys that crossed my path
Smarmy dubs with bad attitudes
These guys are taxi drivers, security guards or builders who just broke up with a woman whom he failed to marry for the 15 years they were going out together. Now he is kicking himself because she won’t take him back.

Farmers whose mothers’ just kicked it
These guys had one woman in their lives and under their roofs and that was Mother. Now that mother has passed away and someone needs to do the washing…

Some other feature that made them totally undatable.
L ended up matching with a guy whose apartment was so perfect, it was featured in one of those “beautiful” homes magazines. He was so incredibly anal about it though, he made her take off her shoes, drink out of the faucet, pee standing up … actually I don’t really know what he made her do other than take off her shoes but she really thought he was gay, despite his protests to the contrary. It didn’t work out.

Here was the seating plan:


MO’D / L / Me / ? / ? / ? / DB
<------ Direction of guys


For the first 30 minutes or so, this was the typical 4 minute conversation I had:

Guy: Hi
Me: Hi, how are you?
Guy: Fine…you’re not from around here.
Me: No, I’m American
Guy: Where in America?
Me: Born in NYC, grew up in Connecticut but lived most my adult life in Boston.
Guy: My [sister/brother/aunt/uncle/cousin/neighbour] lives in [Boston/NYC]! Have you ever gone to [the Black Rose/Scrumpy Jack’s/The Blackthorne/O’Neills/Thady Cons]?

Occasionally I would try to hear MO’D or L in their conversations. MO’D was having the best time because she was just telling everyone to f-off because she was hungover. Typical MO’D conversation was:

MO’D: If you don’t have anything interesting to say, don’t bother talking because I couldn’t be arsed.
Guy: Uhhhh [clearly falling in love]

I forgot to mention that they had drink orders coming right to the tables where the “dating” was going on so everyone became more merry, shall we say, as the evening progressed. At one stage, DB started saying this (please locate DB on the seating chart to understand that she was meeting all the guys first):

DB: In a few minutes you are going to meet this American girl. I know her. She used to be a stripper over there. Dodgy stuff.
Guy: Really? Go on!
DB: She moved over here for a quiet life, a new start - you know yourself.
Guy: Really!

So after speaking with DB, this was the conversation I was having:

Guy: Hi
Me: Hi, how are you?
Guy: Fine…you’re not from around here.
Me: No, I’m American
Guy: Where in America?
Me: Born in NYC, grew up in Connecticut but lived most my adult life in Boston.
Guy: Is it true you were a stripper?


As I mentioned, L met a gay guy, I gained a reputation of being a sex worker with all the 40+ year old farmers from the midlands and MO’D made it through the night without puking. DB got the most matches out of anyone in Dublin Speed Dating history (no joke) because she was telling them all kinds of lies and this seems to work with Irish guys. Lies and giving them shit. She couldn’t remember one of them in the morning. We spent almost half the day at work after that weekend trying to sort out who was who. She never went out with any of them.

It really was great craic.

I wish that he knew what I know now

I wish that I knew what I know now

When I was younger.

I wish that I knew what I know now

When I was stronger.

And "what a drag it is getting old" over on Sucky CD Sunday. Available now!

The Office Wars: UK v US

They have just started to show the US version of the Office over here. I haven't seen it too many times, twice actually and only in fragments, but I can already tell why the US version doesn't work. It may be an ok show as far as sit-coms go but it is not, and I am sure all you Office fans out there will agree, the phenom that Ricky Gervais hit the BBC with a couple of years ago.

Let's explore this a little bit further. Apologies to those who are not familiar with the British Version of the Office. If you are not, rent it. Immediately.

The US version in theory, should work. They lifted so much of the English version including credits, camera angles and story lines. I just saw the American one about Comedy Relief which was one of THE funniest episodes in England. I didn't crack a smile. So how did they mess it up? I have been thinking a lot about what makes something funny and what does not ever since my ill-fated comedic dinner party conversation. Here are some points:

Battle of the Bosses: David Brent v Michael Scott

Michael Scott is really not funny and David Brent is hysterical. I get so embarrassed for him I have to hide my eyes. I think this is because Michael Scott has redeemable qualities - he is not entirely unlikeable or reprehensable so we find it harder to laugh at him. David Brent, on the other hand, is a terrible human being. If, at any time, we even think about feeling sorry for him, Gervais makes sure that Brent does something to pull us back from that sympathetic point. He makes us realise he is a selfish, underhanded, egotistical bastard. Sometimes that is not enough for me not to feel sorry for him but I can easily more laugh at him. The US version does not do that very subtle, thin line well at all.

Sales Rep Rumble: Tim v Jim

This is no contest. Martin Freeman as UK Tim is a man who is entering his thirties, realising that none of his dreams have a hope of coming through and is the ballast for the whole show. We get the pathos of this whole Office, which we need to highlight the comedy. Tim does nothing but comment on what is going on around him, he is the narrator, the chorus. In the American version, Jim, his equivalent, is young, it seems to be his first job out of college and he is actively writing a screen play. It may suck but he is still pursuing something outside the office. Not tragic enough! It doesn't provide the contrast that we need. Again, the devil is in the detail between brilliance and mediocrity.

Office Idiots: Gareth v Dwight

I think the UK Gareth works so much better than the US Dwight because of the opposite reason that the bosses work. I think we feel sorry for Mackenzie Crook's Gareth, just a little bit. He is so obviously out of touch, a bit vunerable and the kind of weak guy that we as kids would pick on because he would get mean instead of cry. He was a nasty mass of insecurities and vulnerablities - traits that kids are drawn to like sharks to chum. I believe it is tapping into that horrible cruelty to which we are familiar and Crook is absolutely brilliant. I think he is the best actor on the show. Dwight is just an asshole. I find him so one dimensional that I don't care about any of the humiliation he suffers at Jim's hand and because I don't invest myself, the laugh pay out is just not as big.

"Gareth Keenan investigates" That slays me.

Smile for the camera

In the US version, I never get the sense of the "mock-umentary" aspect of the show. It feels like a sit-com. In the UK version, the side glances and the presence of the unseen film crew is always there and again, adds to the heightening of the comedy.

This may be a part one of two because I need to see the US version more times to get all the details down. The little things make a lot of difference.

By the way - I have been to Slough. I even stayed overnight for a meeting. I felt special.

Falling off cliffs, getting hit by buses and other social gaffs

Hi. I am either back or I found some time to write whilst in the States. Forgive me if I am a little creaky, it has been a long time. It is great to be back because not only is blogging a great way to discipline myself for writing but it is also a much cheaper alternative to psychotherapy. Ask Annoyed. Although in his case, I don't think its working.

Another great use for blogging is to get a measure of what may or may not be socially appropriate at certain given times - Seinfeld made a hugely successful show just delving into such issues. So I am going to throw myself on the court of the bloggers. You are the judges and jury on what perhaps may be deemed as a social "faux pas".

I was invited to dinner at my oldest friend, JG's new house this past Monday. We have known each other since we were 11. I have known her husband since we were in college in Boston, There is a lot of history there and so I feel pretty comfortable in the environment, even though I haven't seen them in donkey's years. They have invited another friend of theirs, one of JG's husbands work colleagues. He is younger, on the cusp of 30, and is very nice. Maybe too nice to be in the presence of Pog when she gets going.

The evening continues. So far so good. Politics, religion, who is the "real" James Bond - all the important contentious issues avoid and replaced with interesting yet low risk banter. We were talking about the Alive Guys, cannibalism and the grossest thing that you have ever seen - all during dinner. Then the subject of the guy that cut off his arm when it got trapped in the rock came up in conversation. (A little aside, JPD is really skeptical about this whole story even though they found the arm! Argghhh!)

So it turns out that this guy is a climber as well and his grossest story dovetails nicely into the conversations and ties the two threads, gruesomeness and climbing, together so well. I love when that happens! He tells this horrible story about this family on the top of a cliff he was climbing. They were standing there and the father of the family slipped and fell off the cliff. This guy was on the rock wall and saw him go by! He repelled down the cliff as did his friend to find the guy alive but with his head caved in. Terrible. The guy I was breaking bread with ran for help and his friend stayed with him as they guy died. They could hear his family screaming from the top of the cliff.

What a terrible story! And it was. We should have left it there seeing as how he still seemed shaken by the whole thing, as you would be, but I had one more story to tell. You see, another friend of mine, whom I did my Master's at Trinity in Dublin with back in the day, married an English guy. When his parents came over for the wedding - this was in California - they took a trip to Yellowstone National Park. While in Yellowstone, the father of my friend's new husband, falls off a cliff. Slips. Falls. Gone. When I was told this story by my friend, years after it happened, she said it in such a way that it struck me as funny. It must have struck her as funny too because we both kinda laughed nervously. It was an odd moment because the mere fact of us both laughing inappropriately, made us really laugh. Terrible really.

So what happens? I tell this story and start to laugh again! This time I really let it go. And my friend JG, she starts laughing too, God Bless her. Her husband says to me, "Pog! Oh my God" like I am doing something wrong and their dinner guest is now looking at me like my hair has turned into a nest of vipers. So I make it worse by trying to explain the nature of comedy to them through my giggles.

"Some tragic things are just funny", I say laughing, "I mean, people get hit by buses. That's funny!"

At this time, JG is howling laughing and her husband is trying to hold it in because his work colleague is still looking at me in disbelief and he has to work with this guy. I tried to explain, hit by a car = tragedy/hit by a bus = comedy. There is a formula.

Dinner moved on, but the air had changed. JG was delighted with it all which is all that matters really. She has already told me to avoid the busses when I get back to Eire. I have been mildly embarrassed at bad moments when I think back but most of the time I like to evoke the adage, "Screw 'em if they can't take a joke."

By the way...
Check this out. I came across this when I was looking for a link for the Alive soccer team. Whenever you think you may be insane, I think you can gauge yourself against these people - sort of a litmus test for wackos.

My blog trailers

This is the lamest post I am intentionally and knowingly going to publish. I apologize in advance. Since I only have time to sit down and write in 5 minute intervals before my mom, an English bulldog or some other distraction beckons for my time, I have not had the opportunity to read, let alone write, to my blog schedule. But that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about it.

This is a list, a preview if you will, of the up and coming. I have so much to tell you guys, including:

My near-miss with fame. Twice.

Friends that don't make the visitation cut whist I am back in the states - also known as - things I feel guilty about.

Relationships and long distance pressure

Dinner conversation aka putting my foot in it during dinner

Plus, of course, Sucky CD on Sunday - tune in for the jet-lagged episode.

Back in the land o' leprauchauns tomorrow. I will miss all here but at least I will be able to get some bloggin' done!