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November 05, 2005
Physics Vs. Biology: THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN
Wednesday 26th October
Arriving late for the 5.55pm train from Hueston Station is never a good idea. It guarantees you a place at the very back of a very long and disgruntled queue. You don’t have a hope of getting a good standing place, let alone a seat. So that’s why today I was extremely fortunate to be informed that Hank and Nicola were not only in the queue already but were very near the front of it. Now I must admit wholeheartedly that I don’t endorse queue skipping in any circumstance. Not in bank, not in an airport and certainly not a train station. But I’ll tell you this for nothing, the overwhelming satisfaction that engulfed me when I skipped a queue the length of the entire platform was nothing short of glorious. Seasoned commuters are all villainous at heart really. We know all the loopholes in the system. We exploit the inexperience of newbies on a daily basis and gain immense contentment in doing so. In any case when the train arrived, the basic fundamentals of what a queue is supposed to do went to pieces as a mosh of people (me, Hank and Nicola included) stampeded down the platform to get a seat. Thankfully we did. On our journey though I was witness to a most extraordinary droll bickering act between Hank and Nicola. Don’t even ask how this argument gained fuel because Heavens knows I have no idea but they we’re quarrelling over which was the better science. Hank was all for physics having studied it and Nicola, being a Zoologist, was in defence of biology. "Physics is all numbers," quips Nicola. "Without physics," says Hank, "you wouldn’t have the tools to dissect animals. Physics is the only real science." Indignant, Nicola takes a drink from her bottle of water as Hank continues. "That bottle was made out of physics, not out of taking notes on mating deer." "Who has the degree in Biology?" says Nicola. "Who has the degree in logic?" replies Hank. "You don’t have a degree in logic," continues Nicola. Hank pauses. "I might as well have because physics is the only thing that makes sense." Defiant Nicola says "Physics is not a science." "You’re not a science," says Hank. And there the argument ends leaving the journalist present worried about the future of science.
Thursday 27th October
It was announced today that a stray cow caused almost €100,000 worth of damage to Iarnrod Eireann’s new €10m Spanish-built luxury "super trains" after the train hit the cow during a test run. Just when you thought the madness of Irish Rail couldn’t escalate a train from Spain plays Matador to what was more likely to have been a bull. Lucky for Irish Rail, they won’t have to fork out a cent towards repairs as the train technically still belongs to the manufacturers. The Spanish company who built the train obviously had not factored in the possibility of such an event taking place. Nor, I suspect did the cow.
Friday 27th October
Went to the cinema today. Ran half way across Dublin, darted in and out of people on Henry St. Was briefly stopped on by a charity mugger who said she’d only keep me thirty seconds. "It’s not the thirty seconds I worried about," I said. "It’s giving you my bank details." I continued my run all the way to CineWorld on Parnell St. The movie was on a 4pm and it was already 3.55pm and I really hate missing the start of a movie. When I get to the second floor to purchase my refreshments I realise to my horror that my wallet is now inhabited by moths. I’ve only enough to afford either a coke or some popcorn. Not one of both. Even I went for a small coke and small popcorn I still couldn’t afford it. I had to choose. If I go for the coke I’ll be refreshed by it’s likely to cause me to want to visit the loo during the film. If I go for the popcorn I’ll be happier but I’ll be parched, especially from the salt. It’s nearly 4pm so I just go for the popcorn. In the screen I’m eagerly awaiting the film but instead of opening credits what I get is half an hour of blasted adverts. So I spend the half an hour shouting at the screen as if the advertisers could hear me. "No I don’t want to join you’re damn mobile network company." "I want a deodorant that works, not one that claims instant attention from every women on the planet. Is that even legal to advertise you’re product as being able to do that?" "And for the love of all that’s Holy, I will never ever be interested in seeing a film that sees Colin Farrell playing Captain John Smith with a Dublin accent."
Trains, Buses & Automobiles by Liam Geraghty appears every week in the Kildare Nationalist (pg.6)
Posted by LiamG at 10:13 PM
An American Psycho in Dublin: Meeting Bret Easton Ellis
You wait months for a literary surprise and then three come at once. And on the same day. That day being last Tuesday. For those of you acquainted with the melancholy works of the elusive Lemony Snicket, Tuesday marked the global release of the second last book in his Series of Unfortunate Events. Up until now even the name of the book hadn’t been released, with PR people choosing to call it The Nameless Novel. It turned out to be the gloriously titled "The Penultimate Peril." Myself and Hank (Lemony Snicket obsessive) were eagerly awaiting the arrival of this book for months. But on Tuesday it turned out there was a world-wide embargo on the book until 3pm which infuriated the now Snicket-starved Hank. He was told by Waterstone’s that they’d be selling the book from first thing in the morning which was a lie that cost Hank the train fare to Dublin. I, on the other hand, was in college until 4pm that day, nervously twitching anxiously waiting to grope the book. When I finally did it was worth the wait.
The second in literary surprises that day came in the shape of Terry Pratchett, the famous fantasy author of the seemingly never-ending Discworld novels. I can’t say I particularly a fan of his work but I never refuse the chance to gawk at some well-known writer. So gawk I did on the ground floor of Eason’s on O’Connell St. Pratchett was busy signing his latest book. He was wearing his trademark hat with his greyish, white beard. About 60 seconds staring at him satisfied my curiosity and I made for The Dubray Book Shop on Grafton St. where I would meet Stu for the third and finest of the day’s literary surprises. I find Stu in the new fiction section leaning against a book shelf like James Dean in Rebel Without A Cause. We’ve met here so I can purchase the new book of the author we’re going to meet. Bret Easton Ellis. The internationally acclaimed author of Less Than Zero, The Rules of Attraction, American Psycho, Glamorama and most recently Lunar Park. The odd thing about Lunar Park is that it’s all about a character whose name is Bret Easton Ellis and his written books such as American Psycho. It’s a work of fiction that boasts the author as it’s main player.
So after making the purchase, paperback obviously, and having an hour or two to spare we headed for Pizza Hut where my general aversion to their main courses led me to order three starters instead. For dessert Stu suggested the Hagen Dais ice cream restaurant nearby. I’ve never been to an exclusively ice cream only menu restaurant but I’m convinced it’s the only kind of restaurant I’ll ever want to go to again. I had the Strawberry Sorbet with Mango and Cream. Beautiful. Stu makes the observation that people are starving in other countries and Hagen Dais actually has a "new Autumn range of ice creams." Coming close to seven, we make our way over to Trinity and to the Edmund Burke Theatre where Bret Easton Ellis is going to read from his latest book. When Ellis arrives in front of the huge crowd he’s greeted with an appreciative applause.
A tweed jacketed Professor of English first takes to the mic to say spout some nonsense about how Ellis’s new book has all sorts of intellectual meanings and commentaries on every facet of life. Ellis, to his credit, denounces these pretentious babblings by saying "Wow, you make my book sound good!" Ellis is known for describing his books as being emotional rather than intellectual. After a reading from his new book he says, "As this is the last English-speaking country on the book tour a friend of mine has dared me to read a certain two pages from the new book so here goes." He then proceeds to read, what to some people might just be the most offensive material they’ve ever heard. But for most of us in the audience we’ve been desensitised enough to find it hilarious. After the readings finish up Ellis is signing books. Me and Stu are right up there in the queue asking for a photo with him to which he graciously obliges by saying "Sure! Get either side of me."
We’re on a high after this and are about to leave when we realise we’ve already missed our train so we might as well stay. We watch the lines of people get smaller and smaller until there’s only around ten people queued up. Suddenly Stu gets the idea that maybe we should get back in the queue. So thirty seconds later we’re back in the queue. I’m taking off my coat and Stu is zipping up his jacket, both in an effort to disguise the fact that we’ve queued up already. With four people to go, we’re panicking as to what we should say when we’re face to face with Ellis again. Three people. Two people. One people. Us. Ellis looks at us. He immediately recognises us and is wondering to his assistant if he’s finished now. Not about to miss the opportunity we launch into conversation mode asking him for a few minutes of his time, again to which he grants us kindly. Stu says to him, "What was the deal with the ending of American Psycho? I didn’t get it." To which Ellis dons a mischievous grin and shrugs his arms and shoulders - "You don’t have to get it," he says. "I don’t even get it!" Then in what I thought would be a sure-fire no, Ellis says yes when we ask if he’ll record in introduction to me for the Reading Series. He says "Geraghty" a few times to get the pronunciation right as I whip out the camera. "And now here’s you’re host Liam Geraghty!" He bursts out in laugher. "That is going to look so great!"
Trains, Buses & Automobiles by Liam Geraghty appears every week in the Kildare Nationalist (pg.6)
Posted by LiamG at 10:08 PM
The One with Bed Wetting Alarms
"God Damn It!" From the footpath I can see the 7.07am pulling into Newbridge Station. "F**k it!" I have to make this train. The alternative is standing on the platform in the icy morning chill cursing the world and all involved in the conspiracy to make me continually late. There’s no way that’s happening. I then proceed to run like an athlete who hasn’t trained in some time. For several years in fact. As I run furiously through the station car park I try and console myself that since it’s a train it’ll be stopping for that little be longer. I mean if it was an Arrow it’d be come and gone in five seconds flat. I swear those Arrow drivers get kicks out of leaving people panting on the platform. After jostling several other late comers out of my way I step aboard the train in a state of exhaustion verging on death.
Zombie like I stumble through the carriages one by one making my way to the front and to the seat that awaits me like a loyal dog to it’s master. Sitting down’s the easiest part. All that running has made me feel dizzy though. My head is, indeed, spinning like a whirlpool - it never ends. Every time I close my eyes to rest the dizziness gets worst. Like after a night out in Coffey’s. You’re fine walking home until you hit the pillow, close you’re eyes and then it’s as if the whole house is being tossed around amid a hurricane. I try to read a book but the words keep blurring. I’m never running to catch a train again. To Hell with it. When we get to Hueston Station I’m feeling a little better. I try and take it handy on the number 90 to O’Connell Bridge but by God if there isn’t the loudest businessman on his mobile sitting in front of me. "Yes, our sector is BOOMING! Deals being sealed left right and centre." Sometimes I wonder if people on mobiles on buses are just faking it to make their lives seem interesting. At O’Connell St. I stroll along the path to the Spire and then turn down into Talbot St.
It’s actually a bit of a walk to get to my new bus stop. Everyone else seems to be walking towards the city and me away from it. Waiting for the bus I notice a pharmacy across the road. The LCD sign in there window is flashing "Bed Wetting Alarms - works for 7 out of 10 kids." Now there’s an invention if ever there was one. A bloody bed wetting alarm. As soon as little Mike begins to tinkle a WWI siren begins wailing in sync with a flashing red light. If the science behind the contraption doesn’t work, the mortification will. The bus eventually arrives. I take my seat on the upper deck and sometime later we’re in that bastion of Northside towns - Coolock. I can’t really say much for the place. It mainly consists of estates, although so does Newbridge. Inside my college I head to the canteen for a nice cup of tea to pick me up after the mornings travels. I’ve learned from the very first day to not get the hot chocolate anymore.
Usually when you go into a café and ask for a hot chocolate it takes a couple of minutes, but in my college canteen you can have it in less than five seconds. Mainly because it consists mostly of boiled water with a dash of powdered chocolate. Delicious. Classes soon come and go. I learn that touching lighting equipment after it’s been on for a while isn’t such a clever idea. Especially when it’s the bulb. And also that I don’t know the names of every character in The Godfather: PART II like the rest of my class. At the end of the day though I learn that commuting back home is infinitely more enjoyable than commuting in the small hours of the morning. Unless you end up on the 5.18pm Arrow that is. Sigh.
Trains, Buses & Automobiles by Liam Geraghty appears every week in the Kildare Nationalist (pg.6)
Posted by LiamG at 10:00 PM
When the Reading Series Returned . . .
The words "Oh God" whispered softly became something of a mantra for me last week. In fact they took on this role for Paul Winters too. For whenever we thought about the Riverbank Reading Series and what we planned to do at it, it made us terribly nervous, weak at the knees and generally put us off eating. Last year we created the Riverbank Reading Series that was to stand for everything that traditional boring literary evenings didn’t. In short we had to inject a little life into the dying dog, not to mention banning wine and cravats.
Last year’s short series of reading’s were the assurance we needn’t that the audience would welcome a new format. One that didn’t involve three hour’s of readings. One where audience member’s needn’t be worried that they might contract economy class syndrome. So this year we decided to give pretentious literary events another stab in the back. It was agreed that the Reading Series would indeed return to the Riverbank monthly from Sept to December. And last Wednesday return we did. Dublin author Claire Hennessy and Kildare novelist Martin Malone were to headline the event. Local up and coming scribes in the form of Clare Herbert and Liam Power we’re also going to be gracing the stage. Several months earlier, surely in a brief moment of lunacy, myself and Paul decided we’d open and close the show musically with a blues band. The band in question being our own - Roderick Tuesday.
It was decided that Paul would sing the opening song and that I, for my sins, would sing the closing one. Sufficed to say we we’re both filled with a most terrible dread at the very prospect but also filled with a kind of stupid ideology that we would do this as a matter of principle. Oh God. On the day in question, leading up to 8pm, we found it quite difficult to concentrate on worrying as the usual technical hiccups we’re beginning to rear their mischievous little heads. On top of that, one by one, our guests - the authors, we’re arriving. Time was speeding along oblivious to the fact that we had a lot more to do. So it was that in the most fantastic moment of panic, myself and Paul we’re sitting in the dressing room backstage. I was trying to jot down some author introduction notes when we heard an all too familiar piece of music. The piece of music that played just before the Reading Series began. In a frenzy, Paul and I raced out the dressing room door and darted down to different end’s of the corridor. Paul had to be standing by off stage but yours truly had to be up on the balcony ready to make his entrance when he was introduced by a pre-recorded voice that wouldn’t be waiting. I legged it up the stairs, wheezing and puffing, jumped into the gallery and headed for the door of the balcony. And who should pop his head out through the door but only the Great Paddy Melia who, and I swear to God this is true, says to me "Have you got a minute?" a mere ten seconds before I’m supposed to run down the stairs in my grand Reading Series style entrance. And this is what I did.
Flustered beyond belief and in quite some shock at the fifty strong audience members staring out at me I began - "Welcome to the Riverbank Reading Series." This continued on for some time until Paul wandered out on stage, guitar in hand and playing like no Liverpool musician had ever played before. Well, maybe Paul McCartney but he doesn’t enter our story just yet. For now, yours truly runs off stage, grabs a guitar and is then joined back on stage by Rich Clifford on drums and El Kató (Neil Sheehy) on bass to which the Reading Series returns in the most fantastic way possible. The writers are fantastic. Clare Herbert reads her story of a child’s view of heaven. Liam Power reads a scrumptious story about being addicted to chocolate. Claire Hennessy reads a chapter of her new book Afterwards and finally Martin Malone reads a very dark and a very funny story about going crazy - very appropriate for the Reading Series.
Then the end comes. The bit I’ve been losing sleep over. The bit where the band come back onstage, where I stand up to the mic and where The Beatles’ song "HELP!" is about to be sung. Oh God. In the lie that performing this song has social significance for the future of Reading Series’ everywhere we belt the song out like there’s no tomorrow. Near the end we struggle to get everyone on their feet which they eventually do and they’re clapping and smiling. And when I seen IMPAC nominated author Martin Malone to be one of the first on his feet and leading the clapping vivaciously I know we’ve achieved our goal of creating an entertaining reading series. As Claire Hennessy so charmingly put it - "it’s a bit mad and quite brilliant."
Trains, Buses & Automobiles by Liam Geraghty apears every week in the Kildare Nationalist (pg. 6)
Posted by LiamG at 09:51 PM
