n o t R u a i r i

India Trinket #1

2012-02-04T06:23:00.000-08:00

Press Conference

2012-01-31T05:16:00.000-08:00

90 decibels is the sound of a loud room; an environment full of educated, chatty and observant individuals were spinning theories on just why they were there. Liverpool Football Club had played their cards very close to their chest on this one, on the January transfer deadline day. There were simply two seats at the desk, no names present, no indication of what was going to be announced, just that the news would be big. The attendees spied around. Guardian, Mirror, Echo, Mail, Times, Indo - someone from every one was here, speculating with their neighbours as to what brought them to the media room on a pivot day like today.

The wait was not long. At 2pm sharp, Kenny Dalglish, Reds manager, emerged stage right and marched towards the middle of the stage. His expression glum, the clicking of cameras replaced the noise previously made by the theorists. Following behind the Scot was notRuairi, devout Liverpool fan since before there was hair on his head. Notably absent was his lack of red clothing, as well as his trademarks LFC slippers. Both men sat at the table and faced out into the crowd. Dalglish lifted up a single A4 sheet and read aloud.

"Liverpool Football Club have prepared a statement on a loyal fan and brother. We are sad to announce the imminent resignation of notRuairi from his position as a supporter of this great football club." His voice was sombre, timbre never waving. A few deep breaths penetrated the icy air. "notRuairi has provided unwavering fanaticism, support and love to this club for over a quarter of a century. Still in Pampers the last time Liverpool won the league title, notRuairi has been there through both the highs and the lows. He has overseen the transfer of nearly 250 players in his lifetime and has seen over 1300 goals scored by players of this club. However, both parties have agreed it is the right time for a change and as such, notRuairi will leave the club by the end of the day to seek pastures anew." 'King' Kenny relaxed back in his seat, lowering the sepulchral document. "notRuairi will now take your questions."

A barrage of hands was thrust skyward. Ollie Holt's voice was heard first. "notRuairi, what is the reason for this sudden, shocking piece of news? What changed?"

"Nothing changed. Well, nothing snapped, as such. I believe there's been a general malaise in the sport. In top level football, at the very least. Liverpool is a great club. I believe the greatest, which is why I love them so, but I realised over the last year that it's been a long, long time since English football actually brought me any joy. There's no magic, there's a greatly-reduced romance here. Combine that with the fact I've been flirting - heavy petting - with other sports lately and it just makes sense for me now."

"Do you think you'll ever watch football again, notRuairi?" David Prentice shouted.

"Of course I will. You don't just quit the game. I'll still watch matches, although more at a lower level. I'll still play FIFA. I'll still plan glory on Football Manager and play fantasy football with my mates every season. All I've done is relinquish my grip on a club that will no longer force me to follow matches which aren't to my liking or my choosing."

"Kenny, what are your feelings on this?" Nick Collins was always on the fringes of the room.

"Well, I'm obviously saddened by notRuairi's decision, but I feel it's a sensible one. It's always nice to see someone challenge themselves. Even if that means moving on. I can understand his consternation over the last few years, last few weeks. notRuairi was telling me that, over the last year, Liverpool have played football as good as any he's seen at Anfield. However the rumours that Carlos Tevez may yet join the club or that José Mourinho may well come replace me in the summer are both disturbing and insulting. Though I'm sure notRuairi's decision was not just made on hearsay and conjecture. I wish him all the best in the future."

"Then what are your plans for the future, notRuairi?" Gregg Roughley queried. "Are you going to start supporting another club elsewhere?"

"As a matter of fact, one Italian club came in with a bid last week and I've decided to accept. I wanted to support someone with less of a history. Someone that makes me feel less like I'm glory hunting. Someone ultimately crapper than Liverpool."

"And who was that?"

"Chievo Verona. I've decided to accept their offer of a six-month contract with an option for a further 25 years in the summer." notRuairi brushed his hair back with his hand. "As of today, you may consider me a flying donkey."

With that, the two men exited. 90 decibels was the sound of a loud room, but the silence resulting from this story was overwhelming. The packed group of scribes were left scuttling for their phones and tablets, tweeting the news as fast as possible, slipping quotes into various RSS feeds to let the world know. Many many words would be written and many tales told about what really went on to make events unfold this way, but one thing, and one thing alone was clear:

notRuairi is a flying donkey.

India Travel Diary - Day 2

2012-01-16T04:05:00.000-08:00

We started off early on the second day, taking the road south to Alleppy. Notable were the many men along the way wearing togas. It turns out that these are simply the local dress of Kerala, which don't really look as silly as one might think and are quite fashionable, as well as functional should one need a quick trip to the lavatory. More notable was the steadily increasing amount of Communist imagery that was becoming visible.

Kerala, has a powerfully strong following of the Communist party, CPI. The state has almost zero unemployment. Interestingly enough, begging is illegal, but there is no sense of desperation here. Social welfare pays in food and everyone has a gigantic extended family, leading to a support structure so strong that there are no traces of homelessness, hunger or desperation. Communism works?

Left to ponder such things as we sped on, we came to a sudden stop by the river and boarded a boat named Rajivji, the honeymoon boat of former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. We sailed south and arrived at an island resort, surrounded by lakes or paddy fields (more on this location, Day 7). The place was a paradise, no sooner did we arrive than fresh coconuts were thrust into our hands, straws within, as a refreshing treat. After a brief break in the lobby, we boarded a houseboat and embarked on a cruise through Alleppey's many waterways. Seeing locals living in houses built on strips of land no wider than 5 metres, buffalo tied to trees, resting in the water and fishermen selling lobsters caught seconds earlier, directly from their boats was genuinely bewildering and brilliant. And Communists too.

The houseboat had personal chef, who excelled in cooking way more delicious food than the 8 of us on board (3 customers, 5 crew) could possibly eat. After 6 hours of sweet nothing but the breeze, fried bananas, beer and sun, we docked on the edge of an enormous lake, going to the land's end to watch the sun set over Alleppey. The boat drivers had gathered nearby to take part in a local volleyball league for sailors only. As the sun went down, we trekked back to the boat and enjoyed dinner and an early night, away from the mosquito swarm. And Communists.

India Travel Diary - Day 1

2012-01-16T02:17:00.000-08:00

To galavant halfway around the world is not undertaken on a whim. Lots of preparation is involved, familiarisation with location, direction, the plan, foods, illnesses - anything to brace for the potential culture shock. So it was only natural that one should blanket oneself from any kind of research into the destination in order to embrace India by jumping in at the deep end. The first problem is that it happens to be very bloody far away.

Ignoring the magnificently unhelpful Google directions, we boarded a plane for Birmingham at 6am on the second of January, landing just over an hour later to enjoy a 7 hour wait for the next flight. While exploring the area around the very-cold-indeed airport, I was concerned that the highlight of the entire trip, before it had even begun, was a complimentary one-minute monorail between Birmingham airport and its nearest train station. While not ideal for filling the time gap between flights, it was nonetheless excellent at filling up the heads of any Simpsons fans' heads with that song.

The next flight was to Dubai, an 8-hour journey featuring lots of lapsing in-and-out of consciousness, Brad Pitt being alpha male, flying over Iraqi airspace and landing into a port that could have been mistaken for a mile-long Brown Thomas at Christmastime, such was its busy nature at 2.30am. I'm told this is normal for Dubai. Contenting myself with a chicken sandwich and a view of the Burj Khalifa, the next flight arrived quickly. A 3 and a half-hour flight saw us land in a bustling Kochi/Cochin airport. Emphatically not (thought not in a wikitravel sense) a tourist destination, other arrivals were either locals, ex-pats returning home, aid workers or 50-something German women trying to "find themselves".

Suresh, our mate/guide/local hero met us in the crowded arrivals lounge, it now being 8am on the 3rd of January. Our driver Musthafa rolled up in his impossibly white jeep and drove us to our hotel in town.

CONCERNING INDIAN DRIVING

There are some things you must understand about this journey before I proceed. Over 10 days, we spent approximately 24 hours driving. There are already many established preconceptions of the haphazard state of driving in India - let me assure you they are all true. Musthafa claimed there was a driving test, though no one is quite sure how you pass, even if there are only 2 rules of the road in India:

1. Not crashing is for pussies

2. You must overtake AT ALL COSTS

Cars bumping, slamming against the kerb, overtaking on the hard shoulder on the wrong side of the road, winging pedestrians, hitting buildings, breaking off wing mirrors, going off road and many, many more incidents were witnessed along the trip. India has one of the highest rates of road accidents in the world, but one of the lowest rates of fatal accidents, owing to the low speed at which they occur. Seeing them on a daily basis was jarring, to put it mildly. The standard reaction to one of these incidents was to slow down, check no one was dead and drive on. As regards the second rule, it was a regular enough sight to see a bus overtaking a van that was already in the process of overtaking a motorised rickshaw, when the driver is talking to a cyclist. Furthermore, motorcycles never have just one person on them. Ususally, a man is driving, his wife is riding side-saddle (saris don't make for a flattering view with legs spread) on the back, and she is holding her baby against her bosom.

The first day was effectively a write-off, though we did see some Chinese fishing nets which had been in operation for around 1500 years, the former grave of Vasco Da Gama, an ancient temple for snake worship and a 4-storey windowless building that had nothing but the word "CLASSY" emblazoned upon it. The day was rounded off by drinking a berry-flavoured energy drink which was so out of date, it began foaming as soon as I poured it into a glass. I retired to the hotel bed and tried to address the jetlag. I failed miserably and ended up watching soaps in the Malayalam dialect, which are all melodramatic and filmed by Michael Bay, soundtracked by an orchestra of drums and featuring more silent contemplative staring than a game of chess between two Dragonball Z villains. All of these shows star a guy who looks like an Indian David Tennant.

Photo of the day:

Top 11 Songs of '11

2011-12-25T06:16:00.001-08:00

I'm doing a top 11 songs of 2011 because I didn't listen to enough albums (in any case) that I felt were fantastic. I found myself listing a great amount of albums that came in the latter part of 2010 and struggled to wrassle up a decent list for this year. I'm more of a singles person anyway. So from 11 to 1:

Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues

Just a beautiful song that evokes America so much. In a year where I spent so much focusing on the USA, getting there, being there, planning the next visit, I was always going to be over-encumbered with songs twinged with Americana. This was one of them and it was stunning.

Rhapsody Of Fire - Ad Infinitum

Symphonic Metal is ridiculous. It's not clever, it's bombastic and it is far too popular for its own good. I found this record in a roundabout way and was beyond happy upon finding out that Christopher Lee (yes, that one) offers his vocals to this band. Have a listen to something that wouldn't be considered out of place in Eurovision.

Saul Williams - Dance

Saul Williams' latest album Volcanic Sunlight may have been a bit of a mis-step (or at least steady recovery considering Niggy Tardust), but the man can still bring the tunes when necessary. A genuinely unique artist, no one sounds like him and won't again for an age, so it's especially easy to enjoy him right now.

Tom Waits - Bad As Me

Hobos don't come any groovier than Tom Waits. Or they might. I don't know many. Mr Waits' 17,362,948th album has a title track which slumpy-drunk walks past you, shaking with a rhythm normally reserved for the meanest of jazz bars.

The Soul Rebels Brass Band - Sweet Dreams

Nile Rogers and co's brass-and-drum ensemble transforms an already-remarkable pop masterpiece into a fantastic pop masterpiece. With horns.

Caligula's Children - Sexy Sister

If you want to turn this into a top 10, feel free to strike this from the record. I'm too narcissistic not to put my own band on this list. It's been a pleasure playing with these boys and I don't know for how long it's going to last, so I'm enjoying it as much as I can for now.

Preservation Hall Society Band & The Del McCoury Band - I'll Fly Away

Bluegrass meets Jazz and comes up trumps. Mega, mega trumps. Just shut up and enjoy it, you turkey (or quorn)-guzzling cynic.

The National - Exile Vilify

Video games really stamped their authority on the gaming world as the champion entertainment medium this year. Instead of film soundtracks, game soundtracks will ultimately become more popular in both the short term and the long term. The amazing Exile Vilify was on the soundtrack for Portal 2, which is a fittingly amazing game.

Eric Church - Creepin'

I love country music for its unashamed presence, personality, humour and accomplishment. The greatest and most definitive of country songs have pretty much already been written, so it's most welcome when a beer-swingging headcase like Eric Church comes along and pushes the genre out a little further. Creepin' is a serious, serious tune.

Mastodon - Curl Of The Burl

This one is almost insultingly simple. Mastodon make a balls-stomping, goat-strangling belter of a tune. The Hunter is a great album and it was a difficult choice between this and Black Tongue. Curl Of The Burl just features that little bit more groove and swagger.

TV On The Radio - Will Do

This year I fell in love with TV On The Radio all over again. Their music can be overwhelming at times and Will Do is a perfect example of a song that can disarm you and make you want to play it over and over and over again. My favourite song of 2011.

I Spoke With Representatives of The Moldovan Government Today

2011-12-08T10:11:00.000-08:00

It was a wonderful, enriching experience. We talked about Ireland's financial woes, how the world will cheer on Moldova as they pummel England in the World Cup 2014 qualification campaign next summer. We laughed, we retweeted. We bonded.

Whichever rung of the ladder the person behind the portal may be on, it's refreshing to know that in the more barmy countries at least, one can directly contact members of the parliamentary system through social media.

One recalls Ian Birrell's hilarious discourse with Rwandan supremo Paul Kagame recently, among others.

So I propose that we make something of a celebration of this ability and mark a day to do something about it.

I declare tomorrow (that's today to the avid readers of this blog currently residing in Tonga) International "Take-A-Politician-For-A-Spin-On-Ye-Olde-Twitter-Roundabout" Day. Feel free to target any antagonist you like and encourage your friends to twitter-bomb them as well. Let's make the first annual TAPFASOYOT day the success that it clearly deserves to be!

The Poo Tragedy

2011-11-20T15:09:00.000-08:00

There's a lot to be said for brave executive decision-making. Like Steve Jobs deciding that an iPod may actually be a good idea, or like Napoleon before him charging headfirst into Christianity's finest Austro-Russians at Austerlitz, armed with nothing but a smile, a horse and the pointed tip of heterodoxy. Following in the footsteps of my fellow polymaths, I decided it was time to start regular consumption of Bran Flakes, good and proper. The initial results were outstanding! Much more conclusive than anything those Swiss bread-thieves at CERN could ever manage. I daresay there hasn't been a more efficient processing of number 2s since William T Riker gained promotion.

Alas! Whilst consulting the porcelain throne yester'even, a tragedy befitting Kelvin MacKenzie's liemongering occurred. My lavatory activities resulted in what was surely the most impressive stool since Phil Jupitus' support furniture from Never Mind The Buzzcocks; the greatest work of art since Da Vinci himself blathered "Cor, miss Lisa, you are but fit! Yet trust in my easelshopping skills for a wee sec and let me see ensure your eyebrows do not detract from such an ample bosom." Fate, however, has a unique way of uniting beauty and tragedy in a way that can scarcely be described by this mongrel utterance of grunts and methane we dismissively refer to as language. All the while I was sat, trousers around my ankles, phone in hand describing each moment in excruciating, excruciating detail on twitter, I unknowingly had an audience. A tiny fly, called Maurice.

Curses! The fault was mine! Smothered by my own pride, I held my breath, taking in the new arrival, when Maurice decided the time was both HERE and NOW to get a closer look. I swear that I witnessed the whole catastrophe in slow-motion, frozen in time like a T.A.R.D.I.S. with a broken clutch. Maurice descended gracefully, utterly unaware of the inherent danger below, like a naive sort of inverse Icarus musca domestica. "No, Maurice!" I bellowed in the faint hope that, though I was paralysed with a pre-emptive PTSD, my shrieking would awaken my elderly neighbour, who might yet zimmerframe his way through the front door, charge up the stairs and deftly thrust a gentle, but firm hand between Maurice and the watery abyss, just in time! My cries evaporated unheeded, for my aerial counterpart was beyond the point of return. I tried to look away. I knew how it would end, but my gaze was arrested. Maurice impacted the toilet water with a plop as stirring as a verse of Candle In The Wind surgically grafted onto the key change in Con te Partiro, carried off with the anaesthetising vocals of a Tom Waits and Jessie J duet.

Maurice my friend, you watched me poo - a more intimate experience than I have been through with at least 50% of my most immediate inner circle. I feel there was so much we didn't know about one another, so much that will remain unachieved, all because you had to chase your dream. But you died chasing your dream. Not someone else's, not some phoney ITV-sponsored 15 seconds of bastardised fame dream. You lived how you died. And you died doing what you loved - laying prostrate on a piece of poo.

My poo. You honour me.

Farewell, sweet Maurice. May your flush find Valhalla.

Shola Ameobi In The Players Lounge

2011-08-02T03:20:00.000-07:00

Presumably before it burned down

notRuairi's Copa America XI

2011-08-01T05:08:00.000-07:00

Should anyone at there be asking

Human Revolution

2011-07-31T05:21:00.000-07:00

It seems silly to suggest Deus Ex taught me more about adulthood and growing up than anything else since ever has, but it's true. Aged 12 and a bit, my brother picked it up for me, informed by the clerk that our social lives were over. In a similar way to Bioshock recently, it took me a full year before I started playing the game. I was in a different school, I was full with hormones like 50cent was full with bullets. Before long, I was using sonar vision and installing a more efficient heart in my protagonist. It's a thrilling game filled with conspiracy plots, standout characters, ethical dilemmas big weapons, intelligent gadgets, excellent writing and lessons that teach you that you don't have to be good to get what you want.

The fact that you can choose whether to get through the game without firing a bullet at anyone or you can become history's greatest monster makes for compelling choices. Everyone's game is the same, but the way you play it through will never ever be the same as anyone else. You may find yourself trying to save poison-spitting abominations that live in sewers and later applying a strong dosage of mace to the eyes of a child (in my defence, a more annoying child you will never meet). You can trust that your pilot knows what that ticking noise is. You can kill by uttering a word. The game presented utter freedom and choice in a way that's not been matched since.

Eleven years later, Eidos Montreal have delivered a true successor (Deus Ex 2 came out in 2004, but that's a poorer game and a completely different blog post altogether). With PC Gamer calling it the best game released in four years and having played a bit myself, I'm inclined to agree. Initially worried that producers Square Enix would mess up what is about to become a legacy (my hatred of the Final Fantasy series blinds me) it seems I am shortly to bow apologetically before them. Deus Ex: Human Revolution will push the envelope further than any previous game when it hits on August 26th.

I Did It Late #1 - Bioshock

2011-07-22T17:35:00.000-07:00

"I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? 'No!' says the man in Washington, 'It belongs to the poor.' 'No!' says the man in the Vatican, 'It belongs to God.' 'No!' says the man in Moscow, 'It belongs to everyone.' I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose... Rapture."

A quote that has run through my head for almost half a decade, reverberating, stylishly written and delivered, perfectly timed and trim. It marks the beginning of an overwhelming adventure that I began and then there was hiatus and silence. Like the book everyone claims they're going to write but never seem to get around to, Bioshock was the game that I never finished. My quarter century-old self would do well to go back in time, grab my 21 year-old self and kneecap him for not doing so earlier, because Bioshock is magnificent.

The game begins with an introductory dialogue which makes Napalm Death songs look long by comparison. A plane crash thrusts you into a bizarre submarine Utopia-turned-Hell, introducing you to an ever-lengthening list of sinister and insane characters. Bioshock teaches you to fight, then encourages you to be cunning as you take on the city of Rapture's many crazed denizens, ranging from doctors in Eyes Wide Shut masks to weird tag teams of stench-soaked monsters in gigantic diving suits (Big Daddies) and bare-footed young girls (Little Sisters) with slightly vampiric tendencies interested in harvesting a mysterious compound from dead bodies known as Adam for their own power-hungry need for self-preservation.

What makes the game immediately compelling is the almost Lost-style enrolment you go through, the stunning artwork, sense of immersion you take from little things like audio tapes or destructible environments and the satisfying gunplay. What keeps you engrossed are the ever-present feeling of tension, issues on morality, thrilling and intuitive Big Daddy battles, and the demi-superpowers bestowed on you in the first few moments which are crucial to your success.

That and you can shoot bees from your arms

There are so many beautiful moments that haven't really been replicated in games or otherwise since, like the disbelief you suffer when learning the truth about Rapture from your Oirish-assistant Atlas, or where the game peaks at the climactic encounter with Rapture-founder Andrew Ryan. I finished Bioshock for the first time today, having bought it for Christmas 2007 and now I'm going to start playing it again, just so I can get into that submersible one more time.

*Hopefully this is the start of a new thing I do, seeing as I'm always the last to do stuff or find out about anything really.

notRuairi's A-Z Travel List OR 26 Destinations I WILL Visit In The Next 26 Years

2011-07-03T11:22:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in everyone's life when the need to get away rears its welcome head. More often than not, it's annual and is better known as a holiday. Since the completion of college and the end of what feels like a thousand years worth of work, strife and poverty, things start to look up. I find myself in this little purgatory where I can choose what to do and where to go.

So I made this little list of destinations subject to a few personal rules: Nowhere that actively abuses human rights, nowhere currently in open war (international or civil), nowhere doing as much as possible to separate wealthy and poor and as few places as possible I've been to before. With those in mind, I begin at:

A - Antarctica

I like bleak and expansive places - I find them inspiring. I like tundra. I like being wrapped up against the extreme cold. Plus, I'd have to wear sunglasses the whole time I'm there. In essence, Antarctica would be a quite unique and beautiful place to visit. Plus, I want to make sure The Thing is definitely dead.

B - Buenos Aires, La Plata, Argentina

Looking oddly like Liberty City in that picture, word has it that the Argentine capital is the source of the best steaks in the world and that's all I needed to convince me this would be a good idea. And if not that, then the football, the atmosphere, the wild west scenery... Just a short ferry ride from Montevideo too, which narrowly missed out on this list.

C - Cape Canaveral

The home of NASA, tours and history of the space race and humanity in space in general. Beat out Christmas Island by |-this-| much. Throw in the possibility of a shuttle launch and I couldn't say no.

D - Dusseldorf, Germany

Never have I ever been to Germany. I know, a crime, I know, I know. Nevertheless, for a first port of call in the country, it's not a half bad one. You can visit the Esprit Arena (where the most recent Eurovision was held), taste the local Rhenish dishes and see any number of sights in the old town.

E - Easter Island

If you don't already know that Easter Island is famous for its massive confusing stone heads, then allow me to be the first to tell you that Easter Island is famous for its massive confusing stone heads.

F - Faroe Islands

Why are the Faroe Islands on this list? Because fuck you, that's why. It's my list and I'll bloody well go anywhere I want, no matter how depressing, sodden and filled with ugly grass igloos it is.

G - Gent, Belgium

Because I need to go to a place in Belgium that isn't crap (this is all your fault, Brussels).

H - Honolulu, Hawaii, USA

It's always struck me as one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Even on television, the water on the beach appears bluer than should be possible. As if that wasn't enough, you can at any point just pretend you're on Monkey Island. That and I have a compulsion towards places with volcanoes.

I - Istanbul, Turkey

One previous visit was nowhere near long enough to enjoy the Turkish capital. First stop, Topkapi palace, which is a building made pretty much entirely out of jewels and every object inside made of jewels. Even the jewels are made of priceless jewels. Then, off to any of the kebab restaurants for a meal that Michael Moore couldn't finish. One for Ustinov fans.

J - Jyvaskyla, Finland

Finnish have the youngest average age of death in Europe, partly due to the fat-heavy diet. Reindeer milk is 22% fat, 6 times as much as what you've got in your fridge. And almost certainly 6 times more delicious. Gimme some of that.

K - Kazan, Dagestan, Russia

BOOM! First UNESCO World Heritage Site on the list belongs to Kazan (well, technically second after Topkapi palace, but that was a sub-site) in the form of its Kremlin. A cultural metropolis of Russia, sporting capital of a country soon to host a World Cup.

L - Lisbon, Portugal

Seat of an empire, continuously sunny, vineyards everywhere, origin of Columbus' voyages and they're passionate about their football. And who wouldn't want to see the Estadio da Luz or the Cristo Rei?

M - Mystic, Connecticut, USA

Admittedly, I didn't know Mystic existed until a fortnight ago. Now, I'm staying there as a stopover point in a wedding later this year. I hear it's got the best lobster restaurants this side of Bikini Bottom.

N - New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

A centre of Blues, Jazz, Cajun food and Superb-Owl champions. Also the setting for Left 4 Dead 2. Yes, things like that make me want to go to places as groovy as New Orleans.

O - Oslo, Norway

The most expensive place on this list, but only a dead swinging cat's throw away from Ekebersletta, location of the world's biggest football tournament, with around 25,000 participants. How could I not go for that?

P - Pompeii, Campania, Italy

Apologies for the creepiness of the above image. Home to an old Roman city that succumbed to a disastrous volcanic eruption, but remained perfectly preserved throughout nearly two millenia. Just about survived a Pink Floyd concert too.

Q - Quebec, Canada

Quebec is the most beautiful place I've ever been to, hands down and I'll do everything in my power to get back there as much as possible between now and eventual armageddon, whenever that may happen. Hopefully not Tuesday.

R - Reykjavik, Iceland

The truth is, someone needs to go to that country and give its volcanoes a good telling off. I'm not the man for the job, but I want to be there to see the guy who does it when it happens. And subsequently when Eyjafjallajokull belches his retort.

S - Santiago, Chile

Chile's capital, a huge city that is distinctly Latin American. Chile is known as the country of poets for its history of Nobel Literature Prize winners. All the more reason to learn Spanish too. Just when you think that building in the picture couldn't be more awesome, it's named the Building of Heroes. Chileans are badass, man.

T - Texarkana, Texas, USA

A city at the triple point of 3 states, and with a large line cutting through the above two, Texarkana is within spitting distance of some of the USA's most famous geographical landmarks. Just down the road from Bill & Hilary's hometown Hope, as well as Homer, Paris and (I'm not making this up) Arkadelphia.

U - Ushuaia, Terra del Fuego, Argentina

The southernmost city in the world, home to penguins and sea lions. It is the starting point of the gigantic Terra del Fuego national park's trails. It also has two rival public houses known as the Dublin Bar and the Galway Bar. I wonder which one is better? What? Yes I would travel to the end of the Earth and still go to Irish bars. What's wrong with you?

V - Valletta, Malta

Christmas is huge in Malta. Possibly held with more importance than anywhere else on the planet. They celebrate for a week (without James Bond films) and make the kind of delectable edible treats that you can't get anywhere else in the world, like chocolate-covered, honey-filled pastries. No, they're not called Maltesers.

W - Wellington, New Zealand

I talked about New Zealand and beer at length recently with a radiologist whilst receiving an x-ray, but that's another blog post altogether. If you get bored of the natural beauty on the Lord Of The Rings trail, you can just spend the whole time there possum-hunting.

X - Xochicalco, Morelos, Mexico

Xochicalco is a 1500-year old city almost perfectly preserved. I've always wanted to see a place that's awash with Aztec culture and design. The sort of place that looks like Indiana Jones has yet to make it there.

Y - Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, USA

Yogi Bear would have been resident here, were it not for a clerical error. Probably. At least there's still Mt. Washburn to climb. And the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone to see. Not to mention a Jurassic Park-level of wildlife, with the possible exception of dinosaurs.

Z - Zealand, Denmark

If there is a NEW Zealand, it stands to reason that an OLD Zealand exists and indeed it does, in Denmark. The location of one the largest naval battles in history, as well as being the provincial setting for Hamlet (and Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead, if you're into that sort of thing).

Right, that's my 26. How about yours?

Inspirational Mike Tyson Quotes

2011-06-14T08:48:00.001-07:00

"My power is discombobulatingly devastating. I could feel his muscle tissues collapse under my force. It's ludicrous these mortals even attempt to enter my realm."

"I can sell out Madison Square Garden masturbating."

"I just want to conquer people and their souls."

“I want to throw down your kid and stomp on his testicles, and then you will know what it is like to experience waking up everyday as me. And only then will you feel my pain."

"My main objective is to be professional but to kill him."

"I'm on the Zoloft [an antidepressant] to keep from killing y'all."

"Well, [contemplating suicide] goes through everyone's mind, I'm sure. And if it doesn't I really must be crazy. Everyone thinks about that because sometimes, you know what I mean, it's just tough being a nigger and it's tough being a bad nigger."

"The one thing I know, everyone respects the true person and everyone's not true with themselves. All of these people who are heroes, these guys who have been lily white and clean all their lives, if they went through what I went through, they would commit suicide. They don't have the heart that I have. I've lived places they can't defecate in."

"I'm not Mother Teresa. But I'm also not Charles Manson!"

"Fear is your best friend or your worst enemy. It's like fire. If you can control it, it can cook for you; it can heat your house. If you can't control it, it will burn everything around you and destroy you. If you can control your fear, it makes you more alert, like a deer coming across the lawn."

"I really dig Hannibal. Hannibal had real guts. He rode elephants into Cartilage."

"Lennox Lewis, I'm coming for you man. My style is impetuous. My defense is impregnable, and I'm just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat his children. Praise be to Allah!"

Oh My Heart Is Aching

2011-06-08T05:18:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I'm listening to Take That's Patience, eating some chocolate digestives and have a wet labrador sitting across my feet. May/June never seems to be that productive a time for me, with exams/friends' birthdays/holidays all contriving to stop me from doing that which I most want to do, really. I mean I love people. I love a lot of people, but there's just not enough 'me' time most of the time. Tempting as it is to faff it all off on Twitter or Facebook (a practice I have recently seen diminished. Granted, it may be a miniscule goal, but it's still a goal achieved, damnit) I shan't.

Now rather than clutter your screen and time with a rambling apologetic post of unreached, irrelevant achievements, I'll quickly wrap this post up (because if you can't say what you want to say in three paragraphs, it's probably more of a letter or an article than a blog entry). I'm alive, I'm back, I'm good. Tomorrow, for no special reason, I should be better than good.

I should also like to wish Andy Gaffney a happy birthday (yesterday) and say I will be writing a lot of songs and stories, playing a lot of computer games and eating a lot of food in the sunshine. Radio Ga Ga is on now, so that's my cue to leave. Hello again, world and welcome back, summer!

Eurovision Liveblog

2011-05-14T11:55:00.000-07:00

Follow all the action as it happens:

Eurovision - as it happens

Mexicaraneae Standoff

2011-04-04T08:07:00.000-07:00

It was a tricky scenario and I was in check. Having woken up, covers down to the belly button, I felt the niggling tap-tap-tapping of an 8-legged do-badder strutting across my chest. Allowing for the fact I like spiders, I have no wish to maintain one on my person. I don't like to let anything within even touching distance of my body. Clothes, shower water, chairs, a very specific sets of beds and that's all. This spider was rifling through my (modest) chest hair like a teenager through his brother's gentleman's magazines collection.

He was one of those strange spiders with the stubby legs, but the fat body who hadn't quite lost his Christmas weight. In this position, I was convinced that any movement would anger Mr. Shelob and would result in a bite. He became disinterested in the contents of my upper torso and started to navigate towards my navel. True to form, he went into the cavity and seemed to like it in there, leaving me with 2 options.

1. leave it be and hope he departs quickly enough
2. scream girlishly for help, regardless of the fact no one will hear
3. sit up and crush the miscreant like Agent Strahm in Saw 5

Henceforth, let it be known that should any motherfucker deem it necessary to put any part of their anatomy in my belly button, they're going to end up like Agent Strahm in Saw V.

Except for Mr. Shelob, who bit me and ran away. On the plus side, I look forward to procuring my new super-powers imminently.

Last One Out, Please Close The Door Behind You

2011-03-29T02:42:00.000-07:00

Anton Hysén, the son of former Liverpool defender and Swedish international Glenn Hysén, is currently walking very much alone. This month, the left-sided midfielder came out as Sweden's first openly gay male footballer. He is only the second high-level footballer to come out in the world, ever. The first, Justin Fashanu, revealed he was gay in 1990, found himself shunned by the footballing world, including his brother, John, and hanged himself eight years later.

Source

In one paragraph the reality of declaring oneself to be gay in almost all walks of life is very vividly defined. Sure, in some places, people expect you to be gay. Some actors are going to be gay. Some politicians are going to be gay. Some scientists are going to be gay. Some authors are going to be gay. Some of your old classmates are gay. It follows that some footballers are going to be gay. Italy regularly celebrates its footballers who are gay icons (even though most of whom, it can be reasonably assumed, are not gay). In most places in the world, it is finally totally acceptable to be homosexual and Sweden is particularly modern when it comes to this concept. In others you find quite the opposite situation, and homosexual acts and declarations are punishable offences (we're looking at you especially, Africa and The Middle East).

Yet somewhere as painfully first-world as England cannot seem to get its head around the fact that its sportsmen might be so-inclined. The understood Home Of Football should be the standard bearer for equal rights, new policies and openness. The FA scrapped a campaign against anti-homosexuality in the sport, because no footballers would back it. Is this the fault of the Football Association for failing to provide strong support for (statistically) probably 10% of its employees? Or maybe the government for lacking any initiative on the matter? Or perhaps the parents for telling their kids it's not alright, forever inserting a knife of fear in the back of a child that cannot be removed? If, as the article suggested, the son of tough-tackling, leg-over, affair-guzzling England and Chelsea Captain John Terry came out in the future, the country would herald it as the greatest tragedy since Diana's untimely crash. The Royal Wedding would be cancelled. Remembrance Day would be forgot. Why, exactly? Why indeed.

There are still gay-beatings and there will be for quite some time in the future, but can anyone who would like to consider themselves morally decent actually stand by the perpetrators of such a crime? Hating someone because of who they are and not what they've become? These folk are not uncommon, but are to be found in the deepest trough of humanity's cracks. They are grossly outnumbered by the millions who, for better or worse, could not give a fuck whether you like men or women. There's already a "Kick Racism Out Of Football" campaign that has been slowly working its way to success for almost two decades. Why not amend it to "Kick Discrimination Out Of Football"? If FIFA is bringing the World Cup to Russia and Qatar in order to impact the issues of race and sexuality directly and bring some compassion to the regions, then it's a gambit that I hope pays off, because there's no other sensible reason to have the biggest event in the World there. But that's another post for another day.

We should live in a world where Anton Hysén is not getting any more praise for coming out than your non-famous gay mate for when s/he did. Even better, it should be a non-event. In case anyone can't tap into the empathy required to see the total wrongness of the intolerance active here, copy this post into a word processor, press Ctrl + H and swap every instance of the words 'gay' and 'black' and try and convince yourself that it reads better. The world adores Didier Drogba for being an awesome footballer. For being a peacemaker. For Not for him being both a footballer and black. That's just part of who he is.

Love Made Visible

2011-03-29T01:13:00.000-07:00

Getting a new mp3 player is always an unexpectedly emotional experience. The capacity is just bigger, so you naturally end up trawling through more music than you ever have before to get into it. Your mind awash with thoughts like "Shit, did I really used to listen to them?" and "Wow, there's the first song I ever had a sexual encounter to!" which always reminds you not of the act itself, but of the resolution that it's probably a good idea to soundtrack your sexual encounters, whatever that term may mean for you.

"I'm deleting that, never liked that album... oh man, I never got around to listening to that, even though I promised that I would. I'll stick it on the new player... haha - my mates' band that never quite made it... that charity single for that cause... what the hell is that?... ah, I remember my hairstyle when I got that album... I'm going to keep that, in case my player gets plugged in at a party and I need to impress somebody, even though I don't really like it... I remember them! I really liked them! Whatever happened to them?... oh balls, they split... am I at Z already?"

You can never have enough music. It's worthwhile listening to something new every day. There's plenty of free music out there, whether it be from the boys in the garage down the road or an old classic now in the public domain or something you nicked from youtube. It's not music that enriches the soul, it's music that creates it.

I've Not Been Myself Lately

2011-03-25T18:38:00.000-07:00

To tell the truth, I've been really out of sorts. Uncomfortable. Irritable. Struggling to get up in the morning. The exact beginning of which can be traced back to the point where I realised this pinch was not going away. So I inspected myself and found a lump where a lump should not occur. You hear bad things about lumps suddenly appearing where they are not welcome all the time. Not a pimple. Not a scratch. Under the skin and unidentifiable to my eyes. A... lump. Normally when something's wrong, we all have a compulsion to do nothing and see if it goes away eventually, but my soul was about to leave me through my arse at that moment, leaving a note simply saying "We had a good run, didn't we?". The secretary at the local clinic gave me an appointment in a week's time. Being left for a week to wonder "What the fuck is that on my ********?" is not a healthy thought to be left with for 7 days.

Who the hell is Pap Smear?

"It's not cancer." The doctor said, thank John W. Henry. "Take these antibiotics and it should be gone in a couple of days." I kicked myself over all the stupid conclusive ideas I had put through my head over the last week. Was I even old enough for something like that? One of my favourite defenders has just had a tumor removed from his liver at age 31. One of my schoolmates recently conquered throat cancer at the age of 22. I felt stupid for thinking the way I did and, should something like this ever happen again, y'know, a lump appears somewhere else and presume it's the same thing, would I go to the doctor or just sit it out? The former, absolutely. Initially I was tempted to write something about this that was outright funny. Haha, notRuairi has corrupted nethers etc, except eventually it's not funny in any perspective to me. I was also tempted to write nothing at all, but somehow that didn't feel right either. The mascot my generation had to encourage testicular cancer awareness was Robbie Williams. Which he did whilst wearing a fake pair of breasts.

Nothing like being scared shitless to start getting you out of bed in the mornings.

A Black Swan

2011-03-11T21:47:00.000-08:00

My heart goes out to the people of Japan. Perhaps it's a testament to the rarity of such a thing that I didn't hear about this until last night. My cousin is in Japan, but I called his brother to see if he was alright and thankfully, he is. You don't hear this happening in the first world.* It's difficult to imagine a benefit concert for this sort of event. Only you do. An event so shocking it rocks the equilibrium of the planet - something unexpected, terrifying and extranormal. Something that can be described as:

The disproportionate role of high-impact, hard to predict, and rare events that are beyond the realm of normal expectations in history, science, finance and technology
The non-computability of the probability of the consequential rare events using scientific methods (owing to the very nature of small probabilities)
The psychological biases that make people individually and collectively blind to uncertainty and unaware of the massive role of the rare event in historical affairs

What we saw in Japan over the last 24 hours can be described as the physical manifestation of the Black Swan** Theory as described by Dr Nassim Nicholas Taleb; an event so unlikely and unpredictable majorly and unforgettably affects the world forever after.

A natural disaster
September 11th, 2001
A sudden shift of the Earth's magnetic poles
An increase in distance between the Earth and the Moon.
A stock market crash

All of the above are considered Black Swans on a major scale. An argument in Taleb's book suggests that such events are avoidable in hindsight. For the sake of the dead in Japan and the thousands missing on land and at sea, I hope so.

It has been suggested that Fractional Calculus can be used to predict Black Swans.

*Japan has not yet asked for international aid, but should it come to that, you can support that Irish Red Cross and the money will immediately go to supporting the relief effort thaere.

**The name Black Swan comes not from Swan Lake, but the discovery of a black-coloured swan, which remained undocumented and unobserved until the 18th century.

I Dedicate My 222nd Post To Jason Donovan & Marti Pellow

2011-03-09T03:08:00.000-08:00

This post is composed without a lick of embarrassment. Not a hint of irony, nor a flicker of sarcasm will be shown. Why not? Because I saw both of the titular gentlemen in War Of The Worlds and The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde respectively over the last 4 months and enjoyed both of their performances. Damnit, I was even impressed, if not by famed labia-separator Pellow's enviable, endless vibrato, then by actually-very-tall-indeed Donovan's accomplished falsetto. Or as a musical knob would say: "They sing good!"

Marti Pellow looking more dapper than usual.

To mention the name of either of these men in recent times could invoke laughter. Two late 80s / early 90s has-beens known for their power balladry or poor choice of hairstyle. They were past it. They were relics. They had no further bearing on art and culture. They were done. It would seem musical theatre is the best method with which to reinvent oneself.

Jason Donovan as the elastic-larynxed Artilleryman

After all, in how many days of your life can Jason Donovan ran at you with a gun or you saw Marti Pellow screaming to an even bigger Marti Pellow without the use of experimental medicines? Markedly few. Too few.

I also feel I should mention that the hair situation has improved while Jason Donovan sports a rocking British turn-of-the-century moustache and Marti Pellow has sideburns that could skin a goose, as well as a brow that would make a Lucasarts character jealous.

Sorry Ben. It's back to the piss factory with you.

War Of The Worlds should be back in the 02 before the end of the year and The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde is in Grand Canal Theatre until Saturday.

How To Have Right And Do It Fun

2011-03-08T05:02:00.001-08:00

You rarely see inventive promotion for an album/EP/single release, let alone for a gig. Friend? and Overhead The Albatross have a few ideas on the matter. The video for their upcoming gig in the Workman's Club on April 1st being a prime example. Containing violence, Delibes, partial nudity, astonished faces and enough slow motion to debilitate an army dove from a John Woo film.

And not a brick wall in sight.

See you there.

It Was A Delicate Moment or Failure Classism In The 21st Century

2011-03-07T04:57:00.001-08:00

The era is January 2005 and I am still a teenager, grossly inexperienced in the ways of womankind. I had fooled around before and had already had what may be considered, in the most generous of terms, sex, but that was a long time ago. Too long for anyone of that age, and never anything as exciting as this. She was very attractive - smooth dark hair, golden cats' eyes, soft and shiny lips, a different accent to the girls I knew. I laid her down on my sofa and put my hands under the straps of her top. She closed her eyes and smiled as our clothes began to find their way to the floor.

We began our tryst that evening after a failed world record attempt at the largest water balloon fight in history. The actual number exceeded the required amount; the failure came due to the impatience of those who could not wait for the Guinness representative witnesses to arrive. Stick a water balloon in every pair of hands of a thousand slightly-to-majorly inebriated students and someone is going to deliver their payload prematurely. She was totally doused by the time I arrived on the scene and declared herself thankful at the fact she wasn't wearing white. I was late to the party and found myself impossibly dry. She emptied a Volvic bottle over my head to sort that out. There was romance in that water.

My hands moved around her back and pure chance placed my thumb in the luckiest of positions and opened her bra with a single flick. "Professional", she giggled. I stuttered for a heartbeat as a gentle whiff of her perfume caught me unawares - so so subtle and made from strawberry. Real breasts, I thought, not the unblossomed bosom a young lad encounters growing up when messing around with a girl of the same age, but a real woman. A real woman, happy, seduced, aroused, lustful, looking at me with those eyes again. My hand slalomed down to her hips and I pinched the side of her underwear and slowly began to remove it. The room was warm and encouraging. My confidence was so detectable, it could have registered on radar. This is really happening, I kept telling myself. Enjoy it.

We made it to one of Dublin's hip collegiate bars for a few drinks. Her friends joined us and we danced to the alternative sounds of bands I now cringe to at the thought of enjoying them once upon a time. The night drew closer and the others dropped off one by one. We were alone and she kissed me. Initially I pulled back - she had a boyfriend back home and I didn't want to be the guy responsible for breaking the heart of a man I'd never met and (to my knowledge) still haven't. She shook her head, pulled herself closer and I held her tight. Was she a bad person for doing this? Was I? It didn't matter. From that point on, there was no one else.

images courtesy of weheartit

The single lamp in the room and the ambient glow from the streetlight outside illuminated her body elegantly and perfectly. This was the greatest and most terrifying moment of my life. She was on top of me now and took off my shirt with admirable speed. Unzipped trousers. Denim riffed past thighs. She put her hand in places I would not care to describe in great detail. The girl was pulling my underwear down. Showtime, notRuairi. Don't disappoint.

She screamed.

It was a delicate moment.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

notsizesurelynotsizepleasedon'tsaynotsizeI'veneverevenseenanotherman'sdigeridoobeforesoI'vereallynothingtocompareittoohGodifshesayssomethinginrelationtosizeIdon'tthinkIcouldeverrecoveritslikebeingaccusedofrapeandthenyougetprovedinnocentbuteverythingschangedandeveryonestillthinksofyouasthatoneImeanthat'sneverhappenedtomebutthiscouldbeathousandtimesworseimaginenotbeingabletoproperlyperformforanywomaneveragainI'mtooyoungtodealwiththatsortoftraumayouhavetobekindherefuckityouscreamedhowcanyoupossiblymorehorribletomenowwe'vehadabeautifulromanticeveningandnowyoudoTHIStellmewhat'swrongandforbabyJesus'sakepleasedon'tsayanythingaboutsizeifyoudoI'llhangmyselffromtheceilingfanwiththelacesfromyourdecadeoldconversewhat'swrongfortheloveofallmankindWHAT?!

"I-" she pointed towards my ginger pubic hair and choked "-I thought everyone was black down there."

I could best describe my feelings at that particular second as becluxed.

"Is... that a problem?"

It was a delicate moment.

"No."

There was a huge, lengthy and unsettling pause; the sort of pause where you expect your Malcolm In The Middle (not a euphemism) to turn to the camera and say something panicked, funny and relevant. There was no such relief. This was just horrible. There was no trace of hope in her answer. I always believed that, should the point come when the female of the species first cast its eyes upon my Malcolm In The Middle (now a euphemism) that the subsequent emotions of awe, shock, staring and thoughtful consideration would be complimentary: Rejoice, ye multitudes and fear - bestow on me your love and your honour and ye shall be rewarded most prolifically! There was nothing complimentary here. I swear I could hear her lugubrious thoughts. Her breasts seemed to sag in horror and she began to sweat furiously. At no point did she realise how she was successfully emotionally destroying me and eventually looked back at my eyes. Those eyes finally broke the silence with a peace offering:

"Is it ok if we just go to sleep tonight?"

Fail.

Two Door Cinema Club And The Adventure Of The Great Choice Music Prize Swindle

2011-03-04T17:38:00.000-08:00

I won't pretend to like awards ceremonies. I declared as much recently. The Choice Music Prize is no different, but I do enjoy the amount of furore the award has caused this year, going as it did to Two Door Cinema Club, arguably the biggest act on the list. Whence revealed once upon a time, the list itself brought plaudits from all around Ireland's various music press and bloggers as truly showcasing the diversity and high standard of quality of current Irish music. I'm not in a position to disagree; the sum enjoyment I took from this list is greater than that from previous years.

Through cracking teeth, I concede that not all awards are inherently soulless and evil and this Irish one is here to celebrate the best Irish album released by an Irish band in Ireland in the year 2011 in Ireland by an Irish band in Ireland with an Irish album and so forth. The list is very good, but flawed - as any list would be. After all, no album is perfect, so why should a sheet with 10 arbitrary names be? This year's winners were Two Door Cinema Club. The crux of the argument of whether they deserved it or not seems to centre on the fact that they've already made it. There are other artists who deserve it more. There are other artists who could use it more. 'It' being the €10,000 prize fund allocated to the judges' selection - because of course that's the first thing anyone thinks about when they set out on their musical writing odyssey.

Have they made it? Yes. Are there other bands who could use it more? Most definitely. Do they deserve it? Yes. Their album is inoffensive and thoroughly enjoyable, well-structured pop. They're signed to a major label! you cry! Yes, but so are Villagers. It's not original! you froth! Adebisi Shank are probably considered the most original act on the shortlist but the only difference between their current and their debut albums is the inclusion of the word "Second". The songs weren't written in a bedroom! you bluster! No, they more than likely were written in a bedroom, Two Door Cinema Club were just prudent enough not to record their album in one. As such, the album sounds fresh and shiny. Everyone abroad already knows them! Please stop garroting me. Newsflash hotshot: music from Ireland is a joke to most outside this country. Ask yourself if any of these records would make the end of year lists of most English ears. It's no great surprise - a prolonged introverted culture of backslapping, combined with a lack of ambition has given us a (mostly deserved) reputation as a musically-inept and creatively-withered nation.

So why not give acclaim to the album that most successfully showcased Ireland's music "within Ireland and overseas" in 2010?

On the "fair-play-to-them" matter of donating the prize money to charity (and thankfully not to one or all of the other acts as a few desperate tweeters last night suggested) instead of taking it for themselves, yes they deserve some smiles and nods for that one. Sure, they have a bank of resources to draw on anyway and the loss of €10,000 they didn't have, while not insignificant, is certainly not going to hurt them fiscally. Though it should be mentioned that any band in their right mind should do this anyway. There are kids in Temple Street who needed charitable donations for sight-saving operations. There are thousands in Libya who need aid during the crisis. There are emergency food and medical supplies needed to combat famines, droughts and evil regimes plaguing other parts of the planet. There are unpaid carers who need a means to feed disabled children in Belarus still suffering the after-effects of Chernobyl and we're giving €10,000 to a band? A fucking band! Really, Ireland?

Now here's the throwdown - yes Two Door Cinema Club, your accolade is merited and your donation admirable, but next year it's hard to imagine a repeat of this same situation, so I challenge (and I don't want to appear graceless here) whichever band/singer-songwriter/musically-talented-post-Neanderthal wins the Choice Prize next year (and every subsequent year) - someone who could really use the money as a means of self-support or for paying off debts or for recording another album - to give the money to a charity too. Now that, just maybe, is a good reason to write music with the intention of winning something more than a pat on the back from your peers.

Take The Candy

Call Yourself A Fan?

2011-03-03T05:18:00.000-08:00

Incredible scenes in Brazil as adverse weather conditions may not have resulted in the match between Sao Paolo and Palmeiras being called off, maybe because the crowd were having too much damn fun. I'd talk more, but pictures really do say a thousand words.

To make it all the weirder, Adriano scored. Yes, that Adriano.

Thank you to Ms. Maeve O'Regan for this wonderful find.

Away Goals