And so it is polling day again, almost one month since the Dail was dissolved by our President Mary McAleese on the advice of the Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern TD. The sky is grey (normal), the traffic is fierce (normal) and everyone in Ireland is complaining about something (it's in our blood).
Our Taoiseach of ten years, Bertie "Average Joe" Ahern, has spent the majority of his time trying to defend himself (the personal finances crisis of last September has only now lowered its ugly head)--and the reputation of his party, Fianna Fail, against attacks regarding the quite profound state of our health system (Ireland is a developed country, did you know?)
Defending, indeed, is what Bertie has been doing. He has, however, failed to answer questions directly, beating about the bush and charming his way out in a fashion resembling a pop star after excessive media training.
Perhaps, it is this charm that has sent a considerable amount of the Irish population into a love-sick state. Bertie has once again charmed us, and we are putty in his fingers. And like a romantic relationship, we are completely blind to what is truly going on.
It takes someone externally to enable us to realise that we are indeed, acting like a very large bunch of pre-pubescent girls. And we cannot deny, this has occurred, more prominently in the later stages of this year’s election campaign.
The media, not the independent broadcasters, with a tendency to border on bias, but our national public service broadcaster, RTE, and our most popular print institution, the Irish Independent, have been pushing the envelope, and the concept of voting for an alternative government--Fine Gael, coupled with…actually, almost anyone who can pull in the figures will do--upon our public.
No-one needs to be told that when an admired film critic recommends a new picture highly, one is far more likely to flock to the cinema with friends, but is the same true of a political journalist--or in the case of this year, any journalist at all--recommending a certain political party?
Perhaps, there are people of our green island who don’t exactly love the idea of being told a film is a “must-see”, and it is those people, who in many cases don’t know their politics from their polo-neck, will trot to their local polling place and give their vote to Bertie Ahern, the man who can do no wrong, even when he does.
It is, I might suggest, also some of these people, who are fond of the comfort zone, who, upon finding a job whilst isn’t particularly satisfying, though pays a stable wage, will close the door, and in turn their minds, on the potential possibilities change can offer. Some call it sensible, others call it safe.
Change, you see, brings nervousness, though nervousness should almost always be embraced, for as soon as we become satisfied, we become complacent, and complacency can only lead to a decline in success.
The question it comes down to is: “Are you satisfied?”. Are you satisfied that our health system, specifically our resources (unused, ignored) for cystic fibrosis, allow sufferers to live until on average the age of 21. In Northern Ireland, sufferers can live until 33. In the United States a patient can expect to live into their late forties. It is the primitive conditions in our hospitals that kill our Irish children.
Are you satisfied that the person who is supposed to make promises for our votes is instead claiming we should congratulate him on the matter? I have to wonder, does this sound like a man who intends on making improvements?
Unfortunately, being the rebellious and cantankerous nation that we are, the kind who whinge endlessly about politicians, journalists, taxi drivers and the weather, we will give our votes to Ahern instead of the slightly “advantaged” media, and the media, in turn, will move on to rebelling against someone else.
We can be thankful that the publicity stunts, the relentless canvassing and the colossal media coverage has ended, but will we play it safe, and allow Bertie to lead Fianna Fail for another term, a little like Ireland’s highly-rated and highest-paid journalist Kevin Myers remarked, is not entirely different than being the leader of argumentative headhunters in Papua-New-Guinea, or will we take our feet off first base in order to reach second?
Like the clichéd tones of our leader might announce, “only time will tell”.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Imaginary Boundaries
Being friends with only one type of person hinders ones growth as a person themselves. Cliques--that’s right, groups of people who refuse to broaden their horizons by letting those who are so-called ‘different’ into their social circles--are cheating themselves out of being bigger, more interesting people.
“Different from what?”, I find myself wondering. Different from normal? What constitutes normal? Does normal mean traditional? Who or what defines traditional? Are there a number of different ‘traditionals’ depending on your social class? Of course, if you even try to suggest to a person that labelling someone or something ‘different’ is completely offensive in itself, you run the risk of being labelled a crazy person.
The same goes for people who label themselves ‘different’--plenty of people do it--but I’ve always wondered, are they labelling themselves to lessen the chances of others doing so? It hurts less to acknowledge parts of ourselves that we’re uncomfortable with than having them pointed out to us by someone else.
Take a look at some of the world’s comedians. Jo Brand has more than once labelled herself fat. It doesn’t stop people calling her such names but it is fair to say that many find it hysterical that she does this herself. For Brand, it means the attention she receives is more “she’s so funny” than “she’s so fat”--surely exactly what is desired, and intended.
Labels are such a big part of life, no matter where in the world you live. People want to be able to identify other people as part of a genre, whether it’s “working-class”, “preppy”, “camp”, “butch”. Why is this? Because we just love familiarity. Why else do we go to see the same movie disguised as a new movie several times every year? Why else do some people become aggravated when a movie dares to do something different?
Whilst it’s fine to acknowledge that most people fit into a genre, surely it’s completely wrong to expect for someone in any genre to replicate all of your connotations with the label. Does a working-class person have to live in a council estate and wear sports clothing? Do “preppy” boys have to date “preppy” girls and play polo? Do gay men have to wear clothes two sizes too small for them and act like women, and do gay women have to pierce their bodies and wear black?
No, they do not. It is indeed a case that people in each of these genres, and others, decide to play polo or to wear black, and once a person sees this of a similar type person on more than two or three occasions, they assign a label. At the same time, when we choose our friends, we look for similarities to ourselves.
We want to be able to share good conversation. We want to have people laugh at our jokes. We want to be able to sit in silence with our friends and for it to be the most comfortable thing in the world. We want not to have to explain ourselves and feel that our friends are working against us when they should be helping us. In truth, we want it all, which is why we are so careful about who we let in.
It would be untrue to say that genres can’t be mixed, and that they can’t compliment each other. But it’s difficult to get along and connect fully with someone who has different beliefs and different ideas of life, and so in our lives, we settle for the same, because we are afraid.
Afraid and lazy, to step out of the box. “What box?”, I find myself wondering. The answer is, there is no box, and there are no boundaries, only those which we set for ourselves.
“Different from what?”, I find myself wondering. Different from normal? What constitutes normal? Does normal mean traditional? Who or what defines traditional? Are there a number of different ‘traditionals’ depending on your social class? Of course, if you even try to suggest to a person that labelling someone or something ‘different’ is completely offensive in itself, you run the risk of being labelled a crazy person.
The same goes for people who label themselves ‘different’--plenty of people do it--but I’ve always wondered, are they labelling themselves to lessen the chances of others doing so? It hurts less to acknowledge parts of ourselves that we’re uncomfortable with than having them pointed out to us by someone else.
Take a look at some of the world’s comedians. Jo Brand has more than once labelled herself fat. It doesn’t stop people calling her such names but it is fair to say that many find it hysterical that she does this herself. For Brand, it means the attention she receives is more “she’s so funny” than “she’s so fat”--surely exactly what is desired, and intended.
Labels are such a big part of life, no matter where in the world you live. People want to be able to identify other people as part of a genre, whether it’s “working-class”, “preppy”, “camp”, “butch”. Why is this? Because we just love familiarity. Why else do we go to see the same movie disguised as a new movie several times every year? Why else do some people become aggravated when a movie dares to do something different?
Whilst it’s fine to acknowledge that most people fit into a genre, surely it’s completely wrong to expect for someone in any genre to replicate all of your connotations with the label. Does a working-class person have to live in a council estate and wear sports clothing? Do “preppy” boys have to date “preppy” girls and play polo? Do gay men have to wear clothes two sizes too small for them and act like women, and do gay women have to pierce their bodies and wear black?
No, they do not. It is indeed a case that people in each of these genres, and others, decide to play polo or to wear black, and once a person sees this of a similar type person on more than two or three occasions, they assign a label. At the same time, when we choose our friends, we look for similarities to ourselves.
We want to be able to share good conversation. We want to have people laugh at our jokes. We want to be able to sit in silence with our friends and for it to be the most comfortable thing in the world. We want not to have to explain ourselves and feel that our friends are working against us when they should be helping us. In truth, we want it all, which is why we are so careful about who we let in.
It would be untrue to say that genres can’t be mixed, and that they can’t compliment each other. But it’s difficult to get along and connect fully with someone who has different beliefs and different ideas of life, and so in our lives, we settle for the same, because we are afraid.
Afraid and lazy, to step out of the box. “What box?”, I find myself wondering. The answer is, there is no box, and there are no boundaries, only those which we set for ourselves.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Affluenza - The 21st Century 20-Something
Once upon a time, it was all about keeping up with the Jones’s. For today’s generation of Irish 20-somethings, however, it’s all about keeping up with the Gilsons, the O’Driscolls and the Davisons.
Unlike their idols, Ireland’s current generation of twenty-somethings have no real interest in working for the money. Having been supplied with all that their little heart’s desire, so much as a thank you to their suppliers—their parents—would be considered a favour.
They spend their days in college, attending sparse lectures and filling the time in between lunching, something the mother’s of these big babies had to wait sometimes up to ten years to devote themselves to.
Add to this a list that reads like a Jennifer Lopez request sheet: a car, nothing less than a VW Golf for him, a petrol-guzzling SUV if you’re anyone; designer clothing (changed seasonally, at very least)—and no, you don’t get away with this one if you’ve “got boys”. Haven’t you heard, whether you’re little Oisinn or Ciaran is a music lover or a sports enthusiast, there’s an image to be portrayed.
There are icons. For the girls there’s the string of Assets models, and for the boys there’s the Irish rugby team, who seem to spend more time in Krystle and Renards than on the actual pitch.
Then there’s Kate Moss and Victoria Beckham and the men who buy them salad. The bottom line is, the twenty-somethings of today are not so much influenced by their neighbours, but by the celebrity idols of their time, the real opinion leaders.
“Kate mixes designer with high street and vintage pieces”, says your darling daughter—meaning she’ll get by on a €10 vintage top, €50 high street jeans, and naturally the designer shoes and bag—Chanel or similar—price: excess of €300 for the shoes, and €500 for the bag.
To her majesty, they’re priceless. “They’re not just shoes, they’re Jimmy Choos”, she says, in an accent that sounds more Orange County than South County.
The social lives of the South County crew are another cause of concern for their parents. While mummy and daddy pay college fees and expenses, their little babies are out having the time of their lives, sipping Cosmopolitans, all the while rubbing shoulders with accomplished thirty-something’s who they aspire to follow, but without the hard graft.
Trips around Europe are entirely essential. Paris, Milan, Moscow, the places that would have been a holiday and a half to their parents are seen as a mere mini-break by these designer-wearing demons.
One might wonder, does providing for your children to such unrealistic extents provide a pedestal for them to fall from when they finally have to do it themselves?
When this time comes around, it will be a great disappointment to realise that MasterCard is not a charity for 25-year-old children who are experiencing “vast social opportunities without the financial resources”.
Perhaps, it is already too late, for the tone of this decades twenty-something has already been set, and it is one of expectance, not acceptance.
Unlike their idols, Ireland’s current generation of twenty-somethings have no real interest in working for the money. Having been supplied with all that their little heart’s desire, so much as a thank you to their suppliers—their parents—would be considered a favour.
They spend their days in college, attending sparse lectures and filling the time in between lunching, something the mother’s of these big babies had to wait sometimes up to ten years to devote themselves to.
Add to this a list that reads like a Jennifer Lopez request sheet: a car, nothing less than a VW Golf for him, a petrol-guzzling SUV if you’re anyone; designer clothing (changed seasonally, at very least)—and no, you don’t get away with this one if you’ve “got boys”. Haven’t you heard, whether you’re little Oisinn or Ciaran is a music lover or a sports enthusiast, there’s an image to be portrayed.
There are icons. For the girls there’s the string of Assets models, and for the boys there’s the Irish rugby team, who seem to spend more time in Krystle and Renards than on the actual pitch.
Then there’s Kate Moss and Victoria Beckham and the men who buy them salad. The bottom line is, the twenty-somethings of today are not so much influenced by their neighbours, but by the celebrity idols of their time, the real opinion leaders.
“Kate mixes designer with high street and vintage pieces”, says your darling daughter—meaning she’ll get by on a €10 vintage top, €50 high street jeans, and naturally the designer shoes and bag—Chanel or similar—price: excess of €300 for the shoes, and €500 for the bag.
To her majesty, they’re priceless. “They’re not just shoes, they’re Jimmy Choos”, she says, in an accent that sounds more Orange County than South County.
The social lives of the South County crew are another cause of concern for their parents. While mummy and daddy pay college fees and expenses, their little babies are out having the time of their lives, sipping Cosmopolitans, all the while rubbing shoulders with accomplished thirty-something’s who they aspire to follow, but without the hard graft.
Trips around Europe are entirely essential. Paris, Milan, Moscow, the places that would have been a holiday and a half to their parents are seen as a mere mini-break by these designer-wearing demons.
One might wonder, does providing for your children to such unrealistic extents provide a pedestal for them to fall from when they finally have to do it themselves?
When this time comes around, it will be a great disappointment to realise that MasterCard is not a charity for 25-year-old children who are experiencing “vast social opportunities without the financial resources”.
Perhaps, it is already too late, for the tone of this decades twenty-something has already been set, and it is one of expectance, not acceptance.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
