Well after a week of modern dance, site specific street theatre, audio-visual installations and other 'meaningful' Orts Festival delights it was time, yesterday, for some light entertainment. Some mass-produced, lowest common denominator, part-of-the crowd entertainment.....no not Die Hard 4.0 (that I saw last week)
....no at midnight on the 20th to the 21st July it was time for Harry Potter VII - The Deathly Hallows (oooooohhhhhh)
I first caught 'JK Rowling-ophilia' back in 2003. I was doing my MPhil in Trinity with some Potter-philes over studying from the States. Natalee and Ruth had been hooked from the start and their incessant debate, argument and speculation on the topic drew me in. I knew it had gotten serious when we spent the entire day after the Trinity Ball lazing around Nat's flat each taking turns reading aloud from a HP in as silly a range of accents as we could muster with our monster hangovers. (It was an MPhil in Theatre studies and, yes, we were all drama queens).
By 2005 I was a confirmed addict pre-ordering the latest book (The Half Blood Prince) in a bookshop in New Delhi and reading it in it's entirety on a weekend trip to Agra, home of one the recently voted 7 Wonders of the World, the Taj Mahal. There are, in fact, pictures of me sitting in a cubby in the side of the Taj reading it quite oblivious to the wonder of Mughal architecture around me. Well I had to see if Ron and Hermione would get together!
I find it hard to describe what's so compelling about the Harry Potter series. Rowling is no Proust (not that I've actually read Proust). She writes in very simple, straightforward language and repeats her metaphors ad nauseum but what she does do well is create vivid characters in a fascinating alternative universe. I think she has a good understanding of the human condition and human relationships and the later books contain some biting satire on Blair's Britain; media spin, class divisions, racism etc.
What has really made the HP series absorbing, however, has been the sheer success and hype that accompanied it. Being able to discuss your latest read with pretty much everyone is a real thrill. Reading in general is such a solitary occupation. So many times I've finished a book dying to discuss the issues raised with someone, anyone, but by the time someone else has read your recommendation (if they bother) you've forgotten whatever it was you wanted to talk about. I loved the midnight openings and the media hype that accompanied these books. I hope the public imagination can get caught like this again; not to make some other author a billionaire but to get people reading and talking about reading.
Last night the atmosphere on Shop St in Galway was electric; witches and ghouls ambled about, parents desperately tried to control ridiculously excited kids. I saw home-made "Harry is a horcrux' t-shirts, Hogwarts hoodies and teenagers on the summer holidays wearing school uniforms proud as punch. Eason's was a bit too crazy; queue went around the block several times so I chose to patronise Dubray Books for my copy.
Declan (reluctant companion and HP lookalike) and I had been on a bit of pub crawl for the evening taking in The Crane, O Connell's and Rowing Club (arts fest hangout) so we were nicely tipsy by 1am. In the queue we chatted to some excited Americans and soaked up the general mayhem of surroundings. Once the queue had entered the shop Declan perused some Pablo Neruda and Bukowski (Note to general public: do not bring Declan to a bookshop while drunk) and antagonised the crowd saying stuff like "Hermione dies'. I was lucky to get him out of there without at least a Crucio Curse being aimed at him. Clutching my very own copy (kid's cover--adult covers are for Muggles) and smiling from ear to ear I went home ready to get stuck in for the last time.
Don't worry-there'll be no plot spoilers here but having finished it a few hours ago I will say that it's a very satisfying conclusion to the series. Well done JK Rowling-you succeeded (probably unintentionally) in making reading a hobby for the many as opposed to the few and you made reading a shared experience between young and old alike. May you live a long and curse free life!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Modest Adventures of La Belle Ms. Bones
There has been much activity in the Ms Bones camp over the weekend what with the being filmed for RTE news, the Film Fleadh, parade rehearsal and a visit to see the exquisitely funny David O'Doherty at the Comedy Club. Killer joke:
Q: Who are the most decent people in the hospital?
A: The ultrasound people.
But let me start at the beginning.... Thursday's interview in Dublin went well, I think. The Suas people kept me chatting for over 40 minutes and didn't call security to have me removed so I reckon I sufficiently managed to disguise my wanton laziness to them.
I had travelled up to Dublin the previous night for a bit of swing dancing (had already forgotten all my wonderful new moves from Sweden) and as the interview wasn't till 3pm was in no particular rush in the morning. I primped and preened for a good 2 hours and was completely ready to go by midday; punctuality drilled in by control freak mother still as strong as ever.
I decided, since I hadn't done it already, to maybe research this job a bit and the people who'd be interviewing me. I duly went online, found the website and went straight to the staff section. No. 1 interviewer didn't look familiar and had only been with the organisation a short period of time. No. 2 interviewer on the other hand I did recognise. Where had I seen that face before? Was she on the programme when I had done it in 2005? No, somewhere else then...
The cold hand of realisation slowly settled on my shoulder. Oh dear.
That party.
The Suas crowd had arrived late. I had started drinking early. I couldn't remember talking to her but I had definitely been introduced. Idiot Ms Bones! Flash back after flash back hit me—the piggy back rides up and down the stairs, the iron stomach contest in the kitchen. This woman's only experience of me is at my absolute worst. Pink-cheeked with mortification I realised it was time to go. There was only one way to get through this: set charm and bullshit levels all the way up to 11 and never stop smiling. Second round interviews are in August—it'll be a miracle if I get one.
That evening I drove to Galway with a friend who works in Filmbase. Five lucky filmbasers were getting to stay at the Ms Bones' family spare student house for the duration of the Fleadh. The phone rang en route and my secretary took the call.
“Would Ms Bones like to help Macnas out by doing a shoot for RTE the following morning?”
“Um....”
“She'd be delighted. 9am call for make-up and costume? She'll be there.”
“Um...”
At noon the following day I'm dancing around Quay St in a bright pink dress, full Commedia Del Arte style make-up, 1940's hair-do as Jim Fahy stands in front of a camera near-by doing his annual 'Isn't Galway great?!' report. Joe O'Shaughnessy is snapping away, the Sunday Independent make us pose with flowers and take what feels like a million different shots. I've a whole new respect for models and performers; bloody hard work keeping a smile on your face for hours.
No sign of it on the news that evening – phew! I spend the weekend volunteering at the Fleadh, spotting celebs, sneaking into movies, drinking down the Rowing Club. After Parade rehearsals on Sunday I finally make it home for a home cooked meal with the parents, sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law. A delicious roast and mountains of mashed spuds is consumed in seconds and we all kick back with tea and dessert. The telly is flicked on to catch the sports results.
“The Galway Arts Festival kicks off tomorrow with it's usual pomp and ceremony.....” Aghhhhh! There I am lindy hopping outside Neachtains.
“Jim Fahy. RTE News. Galway”. Cut to my dance partner and I dipping right in front of the camera. The whole family ,in a burst of uncharacteristic unanimity, explode laughing and don't stop till well after the weather forecast.
Thanks a lot guys.*
For anyone else who'd like to be similarly entertained the Macnas Parade takes place in Galway city on Sunday 22nd July at around 3pm.
*See it for yourself here: http://www.rte.ie/news/2007/0715/6news_av.html Although they've cut out our dip at the end which was in the original report :(
Q: Who are the most decent people in the hospital?
A: The ultrasound people.
But let me start at the beginning.... Thursday's interview in Dublin went well, I think. The Suas people kept me chatting for over 40 minutes and didn't call security to have me removed so I reckon I sufficiently managed to disguise my wanton laziness to them.
I had travelled up to Dublin the previous night for a bit of swing dancing (had already forgotten all my wonderful new moves from Sweden) and as the interview wasn't till 3pm was in no particular rush in the morning. I primped and preened for a good 2 hours and was completely ready to go by midday; punctuality drilled in by control freak mother still as strong as ever.
I decided, since I hadn't done it already, to maybe research this job a bit and the people who'd be interviewing me. I duly went online, found the website and went straight to the staff section. No. 1 interviewer didn't look familiar and had only been with the organisation a short period of time. No. 2 interviewer on the other hand I did recognise. Where had I seen that face before? Was she on the programme when I had done it in 2005? No, somewhere else then...
The cold hand of realisation slowly settled on my shoulder. Oh dear.
That party.
The Suas crowd had arrived late. I had started drinking early. I couldn't remember talking to her but I had definitely been introduced. Idiot Ms Bones! Flash back after flash back hit me—the piggy back rides up and down the stairs, the iron stomach contest in the kitchen. This woman's only experience of me is at my absolute worst. Pink-cheeked with mortification I realised it was time to go. There was only one way to get through this: set charm and bullshit levels all the way up to 11 and never stop smiling. Second round interviews are in August—it'll be a miracle if I get one.
That evening I drove to Galway with a friend who works in Filmbase. Five lucky filmbasers were getting to stay at the Ms Bones' family spare student house for the duration of the Fleadh. The phone rang en route and my secretary took the call.
“Would Ms Bones like to help Macnas out by doing a shoot for RTE the following morning?”
“Um....”
“She'd be delighted. 9am call for make-up and costume? She'll be there.”
“Um...”
At noon the following day I'm dancing around Quay St in a bright pink dress, full Commedia Del Arte style make-up, 1940's hair-do as Jim Fahy stands in front of a camera near-by doing his annual 'Isn't Galway great?!' report. Joe O'Shaughnessy is snapping away, the Sunday Independent make us pose with flowers and take what feels like a million different shots. I've a whole new respect for models and performers; bloody hard work keeping a smile on your face for hours.
No sign of it on the news that evening – phew! I spend the weekend volunteering at the Fleadh, spotting celebs, sneaking into movies, drinking down the Rowing Club. After Parade rehearsals on Sunday I finally make it home for a home cooked meal with the parents, sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law. A delicious roast and mountains of mashed spuds is consumed in seconds and we all kick back with tea and dessert. The telly is flicked on to catch the sports results.
“The Galway Arts Festival kicks off tomorrow with it's usual pomp and ceremony.....” Aghhhhh! There I am lindy hopping outside Neachtains.
“Jim Fahy. RTE News. Galway”. Cut to my dance partner and I dipping right in front of the camera. The whole family ,in a burst of uncharacteristic unanimity, explode laughing and don't stop till well after the weather forecast.
Thanks a lot guys.*
For anyone else who'd like to be similarly entertained the Macnas Parade takes place in Galway city on Sunday 22nd July at around 3pm.
*See it for yourself here: http://www.rte.ie/news/2007/0715/6news_av.html Although they've cut out our dip at the end which was in the original report :(
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Aaaahhhhhh!
Job interview tomorrow; first one in 3 years.
*nervous*
Hopefully it won't go as bad as some of these -->
*nervous*
Hopefully it won't go as bad as some of these -->
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Too tired, point format
* Yawn
* Somehow I got back to Ireland--thank you to the guys for leading me through the various airports today.
* Not much sleep, lots of dancing.
* Cabaret Night - Best sketches (as voted for and selected by, well, me):
- I'm a Lindy Hop and I'm ok - I sleep all day and I dance all night....
- Solo Charleston guy
- Guy who played Chopin piece with each hand playing a different tempo--yowza.
* One of our number braved the stage and pulled off a sketch involving Vikings and Pirates (pretty good combination you'll find)....sadly all we choose to remember was his complete failure to do the Shim Sham with the rest of the performers at the end of the show. Shim Shame.
* Extra big yawn.
* Last night--we partied like it was 1982 - lots of florescent lycra, short shorts and dancing, dancing, dancing.
God bless the Blue Moon Cafe's Brownies--keep you going when your body's about to give up. I reckon the secret ingredient is adrenaline or maybe benzedrine.
* Did I mention I'm tired?
* Wait it's over? But I just got here!
* Some old cabaret acts from Herrang in the vid section for your perusal. Photos are up on Facebook.
* Bed now.
* Somehow I got back to Ireland--thank you to the guys for leading me through the various airports today.
* Not much sleep, lots of dancing.
* Cabaret Night - Best sketches (as voted for and selected by, well, me):
- I'm a Lindy Hop and I'm ok - I sleep all day and I dance all night....
- Solo Charleston guy
- Guy who played Chopin piece with each hand playing a different tempo--yowza.
* One of our number braved the stage and pulled off a sketch involving Vikings and Pirates (pretty good combination you'll find)....sadly all we choose to remember was his complete failure to do the Shim Sham with the rest of the performers at the end of the show. Shim Shame.
* Extra big yawn.
* Last night--we partied like it was 1982 - lots of florescent lycra, short shorts and dancing, dancing, dancing.
God bless the Blue Moon Cafe's Brownies--keep you going when your body's about to give up. I reckon the secret ingredient is adrenaline or maybe benzedrine.
* Did I mention I'm tired?
* Wait it's over? But I just got here!
* Some old cabaret acts from Herrang in the vid section for your perusal. Photos are up on Facebook.
* Bed now.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
The Blues - Herrang Style
Well I've reached the half-way point of my week at swinging summer camp in Sweden; the legs ache, the sleep deprivation has hit chronic levels, whenever I'm not actually listening to jazz I still hear it ringing in the music chambers of my brain....
Gee whiz this is fun!
There's dancing all night, every night here at Herrang and last night was the first of the theme nights--Blues Night. After 3 days of manic, bouncing and leaping Lindy Hop a night of slow, gentle swaying to the sorrowful tones of Billie Holiday and Edith Piaf was just what Dr Rhythm ordered.
How to describe Blues dancing—hhhhmmmm I have to quote the Shangri-las for this one—
“Is he a good dancer?”
“Whaddaya mean is he a good dancer?”
“Well- how does he dance?”
“Close”.
Basically it’s like grinding only slower and marginally more dignified. At first I was a little prudish (that Catholic upbringing rears its head when you least expect it) but after one or two numbers I was hooked. It's easy really; you rest your head on your partner's shoulder and drift along wherever he brings you.
Now if only I can convince myself to brave a proper Swedish Sauna.
Being in an international dance camp I didn't think I'd get exposed to much Swedish culture but in fact the Swedes thoroughly dominate all proceedings. A damn good thing too - they're fantastically well organised, have a great sense of humour but are quite laid back in attitude also.
They really are comfortable with nudity too; on the beach, in the communal showers and in the sauna (so I hear) nobody takes a blind bit of notice of whether one is wearing clothes or not. I never realised how prudish Ireland still is but we really do have issues with our bodies still.
And so I run out of time yet again (it's in short supply here)--the video up now is a 1950 recording of the amazing Tip, Tap and Toe that just have to be seen to be believed.
Gotta dance!
Gee whiz this is fun!
There's dancing all night, every night here at Herrang and last night was the first of the theme nights--Blues Night. After 3 days of manic, bouncing and leaping Lindy Hop a night of slow, gentle swaying to the sorrowful tones of Billie Holiday and Edith Piaf was just what Dr Rhythm ordered.
How to describe Blues dancing—hhhhmmmm I have to quote the Shangri-las for this one—
“Is he a good dancer?”
“Whaddaya mean is he a good dancer?”
“Well- how does he dance?”
“Close”.
Basically it’s like grinding only slower and marginally more dignified. At first I was a little prudish (that Catholic upbringing rears its head when you least expect it) but after one or two numbers I was hooked. It's easy really; you rest your head on your partner's shoulder and drift along wherever he brings you.
Now if only I can convince myself to brave a proper Swedish Sauna.
Being in an international dance camp I didn't think I'd get exposed to much Swedish culture but in fact the Swedes thoroughly dominate all proceedings. A damn good thing too - they're fantastically well organised, have a great sense of humour but are quite laid back in attitude also.
They really are comfortable with nudity too; on the beach, in the communal showers and in the sauna (so I hear) nobody takes a blind bit of notice of whether one is wearing clothes or not. I never realised how prudish Ireland still is but we really do have issues with our bodies still.
And so I run out of time yet again (it's in short supply here)--the video up now is a 1950 recording of the amazing Tip, Tap and Toe that just have to be seen to be believed.
Gotta dance!
Monday, July 2, 2007
Boom-Herrang!
From the Savoy Ballroom drift the bluesy tones of Louis Armstrong, from the Alahambra the voice of a Lindy Hop teacher: "a 5, a 6, a 5,6,7,8; kick ball change Shorty George, Susie Q and break!".
It's 11pm and still bright out; people are still attending dance classes and in the next hour the dance halls will fill for social dancing till dawn (3am) and well after.
It's hard to describe Herrang Dance Camp because there's not alot to which I can compare it. It's a summer camp in a campsite by the sea with mosquitoes, cold showers and a very Swedish sauna. It's also the biggest centre for swing, jazz and boogie-woogie dancing in the world with the only, truly American art form blasting from speakers at every location. There are nightly meetings that remind me of being a teenager in the Gaeltacht, an ice-cream parlour and a 24 hour bar, that definitely doesn't remind me of Connemara.
Basically it's Kellerman's from Dirty Dancing but without the rich twits getting in the way of the dancing. There's even a Patrick Swayze here--Ricard from Stockholm--wait till you see the pictures--we think he even cultivates the hair style on purpose.
Also there's a 14 year kid from Switzerland attending classes called Satchmo and, no, it's not a nickname.
More later in the week.
It's 11pm and still bright out; people are still attending dance classes and in the next hour the dance halls will fill for social dancing till dawn (3am) and well after.
It's hard to describe Herrang Dance Camp because there's not alot to which I can compare it. It's a summer camp in a campsite by the sea with mosquitoes, cold showers and a very Swedish sauna. It's also the biggest centre for swing, jazz and boogie-woogie dancing in the world with the only, truly American art form blasting from speakers at every location. There are nightly meetings that remind me of being a teenager in the Gaeltacht, an ice-cream parlour and a 24 hour bar, that definitely doesn't remind me of Connemara.
Basically it's Kellerman's from Dirty Dancing but without the rich twits getting in the way of the dancing. There's even a Patrick Swayze here--Ricard from Stockholm--wait till you see the pictures--we think he even cultivates the hair style on purpose.
Also there's a 14 year kid from Switzerland attending classes called Satchmo and, no, it's not a nickname.
More later in the week.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
La Vie en Rose a Galway
So my fantastic new blog was meant to be totally anonymous and abstract and thought-provoking but frankly I've already run out of ideas so I think I'll just write about what's happening in my life right now....
I'm back living in Galway and, aside from the weather, it's great. Enjoying, as I am, ridiculously long secondary teacher holidays I've lots of free time for meeting people for coffee, lunch, sushi, whatever's going really. The streets buzz with buskers, shoppers, loungers and posers; everyone's open and friendly and already I've signed up to volunteer at all the festivals, perform in the Macnas parade and have been made the City Arts Officer (Ok I'm kidding in that last part-note to self-don't joke about the dream job). It's so different to Drogheda I can't even begin to explain to Galway people just how much of a contrast there is.
I lived in Drogheda for 3 years and when I first moved there I emailed every theatre company and arts group volunteering to get involved--nobody ever took me up. The only professional theatre company there does all it's rehearsals in Dublin because that's where the actors live. It's a thriving, developing town but it has no soul; at least not one I could grasp.* If you said you were from Galway to a Drogheda person they'd look at you sideways wondering what could have brought you there; in Galway if you meet a person from Timbuktu at a party you're a) not surprised and b)usually somehow related to them......They came to study for a semester 5 years ago and wound up staying, getting married and now have an Irish accent. I don't know what it is that makes one town so different from another but I'm really questioning whether I could/should ever go back to Drogheda, job or no job.
In the meanwhile my swing dancing is coming along nicely and I'm keenly looking forward to my upcoming trip to Swing Camp in Sweden. Yes you heard me, swing camp. In Sweden. Joke and snigger all you like but I'm going, I'm going to dance many pairs of socks off and meet many good-looking men (with rhythm) some of whom might even be straight. Herrang is a tiny village somewhere near Stockholm that's only claim to fame is a once a year one month long Dance Camp featuring lessons in Lindy Hop, Boogie-Woogie, Balboa, Jazz steps - basically it's the world's biggest Swing Dance Camp and since it was founded in 1982 it's expanded enormously. This year being the 25th Anniversary it's attracting massive crowds from all over the world esp America, Australia and Europe. The legendary Frankie Manning (aged 92) will be along as a teacher. Check out the video bar to the right to see him in action.
Next report from Herrang Home for Loony Lindy-Hoppers :)
*Before all Drogheda people write in to correct me let me amend by saying that there were elements of Drogheda I loved: Clarke's Bar, Carberry's, Monk's cafe, the crazy back lanes and steps to secret valleys, the Drogheda sense of humour, the accent (Shakes-pee-yur...you haven't lived till you've heard Macbeth in a Louth accent), Bettystown strand. If you've grown up in Drogheda it's probably a great place to live but it's a hard place to crack into as an outsider.
I'm back living in Galway and, aside from the weather, it's great. Enjoying, as I am, ridiculously long secondary teacher holidays I've lots of free time for meeting people for coffee, lunch, sushi, whatever's going really. The streets buzz with buskers, shoppers, loungers and posers; everyone's open and friendly and already I've signed up to volunteer at all the festivals, perform in the Macnas parade and have been made the City Arts Officer (Ok I'm kidding in that last part-note to self-don't joke about the dream job). It's so different to Drogheda I can't even begin to explain to Galway people just how much of a contrast there is.
I lived in Drogheda for 3 years and when I first moved there I emailed every theatre company and arts group volunteering to get involved--nobody ever took me up. The only professional theatre company there does all it's rehearsals in Dublin because that's where the actors live. It's a thriving, developing town but it has no soul; at least not one I could grasp.* If you said you were from Galway to a Drogheda person they'd look at you sideways wondering what could have brought you there; in Galway if you meet a person from Timbuktu at a party you're a) not surprised and b)usually somehow related to them......They came to study for a semester 5 years ago and wound up staying, getting married and now have an Irish accent. I don't know what it is that makes one town so different from another but I'm really questioning whether I could/should ever go back to Drogheda, job or no job.
In the meanwhile my swing dancing is coming along nicely and I'm keenly looking forward to my upcoming trip to Swing Camp in Sweden. Yes you heard me, swing camp. In Sweden. Joke and snigger all you like but I'm going, I'm going to dance many pairs of socks off and meet many good-looking men (with rhythm) some of whom might even be straight. Herrang is a tiny village somewhere near Stockholm that's only claim to fame is a once a year one month long Dance Camp featuring lessons in Lindy Hop, Boogie-Woogie, Balboa, Jazz steps - basically it's the world's biggest Swing Dance Camp and since it was founded in 1982 it's expanded enormously. This year being the 25th Anniversary it's attracting massive crowds from all over the world esp America, Australia and Europe. The legendary Frankie Manning (aged 92) will be along as a teacher. Check out the video bar to the right to see him in action.
Next report from Herrang Home for Loony Lindy-Hoppers :)
*Before all Drogheda people write in to correct me let me amend by saying that there were elements of Drogheda I loved: Clarke's Bar, Carberry's, Monk's cafe, the crazy back lanes and steps to secret valleys, the Drogheda sense of humour, the accent (Shakes-pee-yur...you haven't lived till you've heard Macbeth in a Louth accent), Bettystown strand. If you've grown up in Drogheda it's probably a great place to live but it's a hard place to crack into as an outsider.
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