The National Lottie

Looks shit right.

Unimaginative graphics on the cover. A title that sounds like a computer programme or a sexually transmitted fungus.

And it stars He who should never be nominated for a Golden Globe, Jean Claude Van Damme. I mean total shit. Right?

But claw out my eyes, scald my ears with hot oil and call me ma a whore, I really enjoyed it. God damn it all to hell anyway! Turns out there’s this big secret that Jean has been hiding for so many years – he’s funny and he can actually act (a bit).

It’s an action comedy drama kung-fu documentary and so far he most surprising movie I have watched this year. Or maybe I just had too much wine. You decide.

Get your Movie line up for 2009 from Darren.

Robert has some exciting  Red Dwarf news.

Sinead needs your non-blogger friends?

Good news, The National Lottie and The Blog Pound have been nominated for a Blog Award. Thank you to anyone who nominated us.

An ode to my new favourite word, shadenfreuede:-

Fashion Indie reveal The Mad Hatter.

And then there’s this:-

Glasses Concerto – The most amazing bloopers are here

Full of snot and tears we cried that we would always be friends. That after everything how could we not be. But friendship didn’t work. It was contaminated with secrets and lies and egg shell mines. I had fallen out of love while he remained there.

Our meetings  became less and less frequent. We couldn’t speak as we once did. He could only talk of pain and loneliness where I was happy and falling in love with someone new. Years passed and finally there was nothing. Silence. A silence I am ashamed to say that I found relief in.

Occasionally I hear word of him. I hear he has a new life and a new love.  I wonder if someday we would give the friendship a try again. But something in me tells me to let that sleeping dog lie.

I was supposed to be going to The Bodies Exposition in Dublin this evening but tiredness and lethargy has gotten the better of me. And it’s cold outside.

I looked online into the great wise, wide vastness of the Internet and for some more info on the installation and found these:-

Maybe next time around.

Some people panicked, some rushed to his assistance, others carried on eating, oblivious or uncaring. I looked blankly at my companion as he nudged my leg, a look of indignation on his coleslawed face.

“Lottie! – Go on!”

“I don’t know what to do. ” My eyes bulged for him to be silent. “And stop kicking me”

You see, like most people who attended Transition year, I took a First Aid course. I renewed this experience in college but administering CPR to a soft plastic dummy named Joan is far different to going mouth to mouth with some stranger in a coffee shop.

Valuable seconds passed.  The waiter grabbed for water and the big man continued to splutter for air. Then moments before I was to be thrown from my chair by my soon to be ex-friend, a ray of light emerged from the corner table in the form of a tall fair headed man. He strode forward with confidence, placed his arms around the now purple diner and with one swift thrust saved the day.

Thankfully, Mr. Chicken Wing survived but with no thanks to me. But should you be faced with a similar situation and can’t find a tall German the following may be helpful:-

The Heimlich Maneuver

Precautions

Incorrect application of the Heimlich maneuver can damage the chest, ribs, and internal organs of the person on whom it is performed. People may also vomit after being treated with the Heimlich maneuver.

Description

The Heimlich maneuver can be performed on all people. Modifications are necessary if the choking victim is very obese, pregnant, a child, or an infant.

Indications that a person’s airway is blocked include:

• The person can not speak or cry out.
• The person’s face turns blue from lack of oxygen.
• The person desperately grabs at his or her throat.
• The person has a weak cough, and labored breathing produces a high-pitched noise.
• The person does all of the above, then becomes unconscious.

Performing the Heimlich maneuver on adults

To perform the Heimlich maneuver on a conscious adult, the rescuer stands behind the victim. The victim may either be sitting or standing. The rescuer makes a fist with one hand, and places it, thumb toward the victim, below the rib cage and above the waist. The rescuer encircles the victim’s waist, placing his other hand on top of the fist.

In a series of 6-10 sharp and distinct thrusts upward and inward, the rescuer attempts to develop enough pressure to force the foreign object back up the trachea. If the maneuver fails, it is repeated. It is important not to give up if the first attempt fails. As the victim is deprived of oxygen, the muscles of the trachea relax slightly. Because of this loosening, it is possible that the foreign object may be expelled on a second or third attempt.

If the victim is unconscious, the rescuer should lay him or her on the floor, bend the chin forward, make sure the tongue is not blocking the airway, and feel in the mouth for foreign objects, being careful not to push any farther into the airway. The rescuer kneels astride the victim’s thighs and places his fists between the bottom of the victim’s breastbone and the navel. The rescuer then executes a series of 6-10 sharp compressions by pushing inward and upward.

After the abdominal thrusts, the rescuer repeats the process of lifting the chin, moving the tongue, feeling for and possibly removing the foreign material. If the airway is not clear, the rescuer repeats the abdominal thrusts as often as necessary. If the foreign object has been removed, but the victim is not breathing, the rescuer starts CPR.

Risks

Incorrectly applied, the Heimlich maneuver can break bones or damage internal organs. In infants, the rescuer should never attempt to sweep the baby’s mouth without looking to remove foreign material. This is likely to push the material farther down the trachea.

…it seems is to have a monopoly.

“Fuck it all anyway. Got the confirmation this morning to pack up my desk for Friday after next. Fuck. I don’t know what to do. i feel sick. fuck. fuck. fuck.

That’s all going through my mind now. How are we going to pay the rent? The bills? The thoughts of moving back home are too much to contemplate right now. Fuck. I want to cry.”

One more friend feels the bite of the big R but despite the country having gone through yet another painful week for the economy and job market it seems that the good folks in the ESB are immune.

Last week a 3.5% pay rise for ESB workers was announced. Now you might ask how it is that they can afford such generosity in these hard times. As I see it, the trick is he who has the power, has THE POWER. If you’re a private household in Ireland, it’s hard to get by on rubbing two twigs together and barbecue cooking so you look to our electricity suppliers to make life a little easier.

Correct me if I am wrong, but as an individual the only choice of private suppliers at present are The ESB. The same ESB who have raised their prices again and again, offer abysmal customer service and make no apologies for screwing us where it hurts.

I live in a modest apartment with a Gold Shield energy rating. I leave the house at 7.30am in the morning and return at approximately the same time in the evening. For over 12 hours a day there is no-one at home (apart from a vicious rottweiler and our high-tech state-of-the-art laser beam security system that is). We use the most minimal of power during these hours and just as little throughout the night and yet our last ESB bill was over €240. So what can we do to reduce our costs?

We have the power usage charts, I have the chastising tone when my lovely other half occasions to leave a light on, I have that extra geansai at the ready and we have more tea-lights than can be deemed safe.

In prosperous times for the ESB, instead of alleviating some strain on their hostages customers they have increased their expenses, a rise which will no doubt be reflected in my post box shortly. When over 100 thousand people lost their jobs in 2008, unemployment is over 6% and predicted to hit 10% by year end. Such a pay rise in the public sector is nothing more than insulting.

So as I wait to hear if a pay cut will effect me, I ask the government to look to rescind a distasteful ill-timed decision and demand a pay freeze within the ESB.

After all, what’s another U-turn?

Most people have heard about the Roscommon case of Incest and child abuse in which a mother was convicted of incest, abuse and neglect and sentenced to 7 years in prison. It has dominated the news in the past week and caused outrage and calls for reform.

In obiter comments, the court stated that the community had failed these children by not doing more to help. Later last week The Gerry Ryan Show discussed this issue of an alleged failure on the part of the local community and Ryan made some very haughty remarks stating that it was his belief that neighbours could have done more to help. What I would like to know is where they get off casting aspersions and judgments like this?

An upset member of the community contacted the show to say that they had done what they could. That the matter had been reported again and again and it was the State and the HSE that had failed this family.

Without a doubt, Ireland is losing that sense of community which we once had but having lived the latter part of my adolescence in a rather rough housing estate, I can imagine what this town experienced. A concerned neighbour becomes that nosey cow who gets a flaming rag through the letter box. A caring glance becomes an invitation for a torrent of abuse.

How many times did the HSE social workers visit this house? How often was the welfare of these six children brought to the attention of authorities? Why was the disgracefully apparent neglect neglected by those charged with protecting our youth? Why are our government and leaders trying to pass the buck onto a community in shock?

Later on the day of The Ryan show I stood at Tara Street Dart Station watching a father, Lucozade bottle of Dutch Gold shoved in his rear jean pocket, teach his sons how to spit down at people coming up the stairs. I watched his dilated eyes as he almost walked himself and his child backwards off the platform into an oncoming train. I watched the mother beat a toddler around the head for dropping her bottle. I watched and I thought to myself what should I do? For fear of vicious reprisal, I kept my mouth shut and boarded the train.

Some minutes later I listened as the father raced up and down the train screaming abuse and lashing out at everyone and anyone. Apparently someone had approached him with regard to the children and had felt his drunken wrath.

We live in an age of fear. We go to work, pay our taxes and we do our good deeds when we can. These taxes are then turned towards subsiding the habits of scum like this who neglect and abuse their families and get away with it. And now we have a state and people with the ear of a nation that wish to wash their hands of accountability and point the finger at private individuals.

Sounds about right.

The end justifies the means. It’s a tad long and perhaps could have done with some tighter editing but the acting is marvelously riveting throughout.

Michael Sheen shakes off his Tony Blair image and Frank Langella bats away any Oscar competition with the raise of an eyebrow.

Definitely worth a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Ask me who my favourite musical artists are? Go on. I’ll say Jack L, Nick Cave, Delorentos, Camille O’Sullivan and so on.

But my dirty little secret is that I love pop. Anything with a good beat and lyrics that my five year old nephew could have written during a sugar high. Britney, Justin, Christina, Beyonce, Rihanna and now Lady GaGa. I can’t get her new song Poker Face out of my head today. Tell me I’m not alone.

And then there’s this.

Fine Day by Jane – most people probably know the silly remix dance version but I heard the a cappella version on the radio last night on my way home. Yes, it’s a little quirky-weird I couldn’t turn it off and the tune is now permanently imprinted in my head.

Have you ever found that when someone starts a sentence with the phrase “No offence, but” there is little doubt that what follows won’t offend? That no offence is more often followed by a shower of racist, sexist, bigoted drivel.

No offence, but aren’t you a little too curvaceous to be wearing those skinny jeans?

No offence, but you’ve looked better.

No offence, but your whole family is a slut brothel of skanks and whores.

No offence, but I’d rather eat my own faeces than spend another minute talking to you.

And as I spoke, confident, informed he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “No offence, but aren’t you a little young? I just mean isn’t…“and then he said it “one of the boys available?”

No offence, but fuck you too.