Monthly Archives: April 2010

This Week: Top Five American Right-Wing Nut Jobs

by Ben Kritikos

It’s election time!  If you’re British, you’re probably sitting in front of a telly thinking, “Look at David Cameron’s stupid face”.  Fair enough.  But count yourself lucky; at least you’re not American.

In the US, politics is comedy — usually without a sense of humour.  It’s not even very funny.  In fact, it’s less like comedy than bitter irony.

Some lefties are pleased to have such outlandish caricatures of the right served up ready-made.  Not me.  I think it’s unfair to moderate conservatives; and as a socialist, I want healthy, reasonable debate from both sides about how to make society the best it can be.

American conservatism has been hijacked by nut jobs, and that’s dangerous for everybody — just think about the invasion of Iraq for a minute.  Extremism has become a legitimate force in American politics. Conservatism, in its moderate form, is a belief in private enterprise, a small state that interferes with business as little as possible, and an emphasis on traditional values.

While I disagree vehemently with the implications of this sociopolitical philosophy, it is of course a legitimate, moderate and relatively sensible one.  Even the Tories believe there should be an NHS; they’re generally just too rich to understand why anybody would want to use it.

You can have a reasonable argument with a moderate conservative, one that enriches both of you and from which you come away with a broader view.

But popular American far-right commentators are to conservatism what shouting is to normal conversation: at best, an embarrassment; and at worst, a sign of danger.  I feel a tremendous sympathy for moderates of all persuasions, and I think it’s important to make sure the ongoing project that we call “civilisation” remains amicable.

These are my top five raving fookin’ eejits who make reasonable discourse in America like running a marathon in cement shoes. Continue reading

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Filed under Politics, Top Fives

This Week: Top Five Reasons Kids Take Drugs

by Ben Kritikos

Image by Mariclare Cole & Sky Thompson

Disclaimer: I am NOT advocating the use of drugs.  But: I don’t believe that drug users are criminals.

In June, it’ll be three years since I last smoked marijuana — the last vestige of my illicit drug use in adulthood.  Want to know why I stopped?  I just did.  It wasn’t a conscious choice.  I haven’t felt particularly different since I stopped, either.

So much fuss was made about drugs when I was growing up.  Even my mother, who made a virtue of over-explaining things to me when I was little, strayed off the good path and told me the biggest whopper of her whole life.

“If you take drugs, even once, you will DIE.”

The thing about well-intentioned lies like this one, as soon as the kid is old enough to be the slightest bit discerning, they’ll know it’s bullshit.  Some bits of anti-drug campaigning are such bullshit, they’re the stuff of legend:

Of course, loads of people take drugs — loads of normal, functional, healthy and happy people — as well as junkies, alcos, crack heads, nut jobs and Pete Doherty.  And when kids realise they’ve been misinformed about drugs, they may come to one or more conclusions:

1) Anti-drug campaigners don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about

2) Anti-drug campaigners are liars

3) Drugs have improved since their parents’ time

Being so poorly informed, kids run the risk of trying things they shouldn’t, or trying things that are arguably okay but only if you know in advance what to expect, or trying way too much of something that is ordinarily not dangerous.  You’re told that all drugs are bad, in between adverts for booze and coffee and antihistamines.  When you first enjoy a spliff you may very well think, “I bet heroin isn’t as bad as they say, either”.

Hysteria and closed-mindedness are actually more of a danger to kids than the drugs themselves. Much in the same way nobody regards alcohol as inherently “evil”, but everybody understands that drinking tequila for breakfast will, at best, eventually leave you drowning in a pool of your own vomit; or, at worst, turn you into Winston Churchill.

People need to talk to kids openly about drugs.  Take it from somebody who tried just about everything before he shaved.
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This Week: Top Five Reasons You Should Leave The Catholic Church

Image by Sky Thompson

That is, if you are unfortunate enough to rank among its numbers.

by Ben Kritikos

Many people don’t realise that when the Vatican boasts of its one billion believers, many non-believers are included in that figure by virtue of their baptism.  I reckon a good chunk of that billion don’t believe in religion at all; they may even be atheists.  Nonetheless, a decision made for them before their birth will continue to empower what is decidedly a nasty, parasitic institution.

It’s unfortunate, but true: unless you actively leave the Catholic Church by issuing the diocese where you were baptised and confirmed with an Actus Formalis Defectionis ab Ecclesia Catholica, you will still be counted among its members.  I’m guessing you haven’t done that.

Here’s the good news: an Actus Formalis Defectionis ab Ecclesia Catholica is nothing more than a formal act of defection from the Catholic Church.  You can basically write one yourself, or use the help of this website if you live in Ireland, and this one if you live anywhere else.  It takes a whole ten minutes to write the Actus, find your diocese’s address, and be done with it.  These are my top five reasons you should actively do so.

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Filed under Global Justice, Religion, Top Fives

New Year Resolution: Part 3

by Ben Kritikos

I’m going to take a break from talking about books.  All this reading women has caused an eruption of empathy for the female dilemma.

Men are idiots.  Not all men, of course.  But most.  They fuck everything up, from relationships, to economies, to the environment — even bands.  People blame Yoko Ono, but the Beatles broke up because of John, Paul, George and Ringo: not anybody else.

Lately, I’ve noticed how intolerable so many men are to be around.  Maybe it’s because of this project; maybe in 2011 I’ll be back to normal, all grunts and chuckles and punches in the arm.  But at present, I find myself cringing about five times a week in the midst of conversations with male acquaintances.

Whether it be the description of a woman simply by referring to a piece of her anatomy, or bemoaning the inability of women-at-large to perform some simple task (like driving, or playing drums for example), or whether they jabber mercilessly about something they know fuck-all about — ach, men can really make me sick.

Don’t get me wrong, some women are capable of the same degree of stupidity.  After all, people are people, and a doughnut is a doughnut no matter if it’s sugar-coated, glazed, filled with jam or a talk show host.

Ann Widdecombe - not a good example of what I'm trying to say

It’s men’s hubristic predominance that makes them offensive.  Their stupidity seems impenetrable.  When faced with a stupid man, you know the situation is most likely hopeless; he’ll almost certainly not level with you, or listen to reason, or be swayed to think about what he’s doing.

Men are like robots.  Could you imagine Gordon Brown or David Cameron in the middle of a parliamentary verbal punch-up pausing to hold back the tears after a particularly scornful tirade?  I doubt they ever even listen to each other.  Even Margaret Thatcher, who is more unusually-tall-evil-munchkin than human, was caught on camera weeping when her party turned on her (and, incidentally, gave the world John Major, who lost his lips in a tragic arse-licking accident).

Why are men so thick?  Just the other day I  tried to put spaghetti into the kettle.  I caught myself just in time, as I was laughing about some other man trying to cook a sausage by running it under hot water from the tap.

If you’re not convinced, just think of Jackass.  Better yet, think of Dirty Sanchez — the Welsh equivalent.  You won’t find women stapling their genitals to wooden planks, will you?  No, I didn’t think so.

When the shit really hits the fan, and the guilty come out from their skyscraper hiding places to beg the government for multi-billion dollar (or pound) bail-outs, you’ll notice it’s a bunch of cocks doing the begging — literally and figuratively.

The only political party in England with a female leader is the Green Party; Caroline Lucas also happens to be the only party leader talking sense.  The men seem to descend further and further into mudslinging as the election draws near.

Here’s my suggestion: give women 10 years to take charge of the world and fix the mess we’ve made over the course of history.  That’s 10 years to put right what men have had an eternity to fuck up.  I bet they could do it.  So long as nobody invites Ann Widdecombe.

Who’s with me?

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Filed under gender, New Year's Resolution, Women Authors

This Week: Top Five Irish Bands

by Ben Kritikos

Jinx Lennon


Jinx Lennon is no stranger to this blog.  I write about him so often because I think he’s a living legend.

The first time I heard him, my initial reaction was: what the fuck?! There stood this stocky guy on stage wearing knock-off wayfarers with “Free State Nova” written in Tipex on the lenses, banging out single notes, sometimes chords, sometimes thrashing noteless strums on his guitar, bellowing like a man somewhere between madness, inspiration and Motown.  If nothing else, it was the dictionary definition of remarkable.

Jinx Lennon is hard to describe.  He’s somewhere between a punk rocker, a poet, a soul singer (or soul singer gone Baptist minister, à la Al Green), an early 20th century labour movement folk singer, and a nutter with a synth.  It’s like divinely crazy music with its feet on the ground.

I know of no other artist who can hoot and howl so melodically.  At his finest, he spits the best poetry in Ireland today, to the accompaniment of cracking beats and acoustic punk.  Jinx Lennon live is a unique experience: in between songs he’ll put down the guitar and lambast the audience with a tirade of inspirational sermons.  I don’t know when the man breathes.  He’ll scream you full of positivity, peppering his pep-talks with sudden bursts, like a saint with Tourette’s.

High points include: Know Your Station Gouger Nation (Septic Tiger Records)

www.jinxlennon.com
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We Love… The Savage Eye

David McSavage - The Savage Eye himself

by Ben Kritikos

David McSavage was known and feared on the streets of Dublin. When I used to busk for a living, I saw him in Temple Bar all the time, surrounded by a flock of masochistic onlookers. His fiery, insulting brand of humour proved appealing, almost addictive to the punters — until, of course, he turned his “savage eye” on them. Suddenly, you could see them bricking it.

McSavage’s talent to offend almost anybody didn’t really impress me at first. I guess when somebody is that good at something so negative, it seems more like a chip on the shoulder than genuine talent.

It wasn’t until I saw The Savage Eye, in one long sitting on YouTube, that I fully understood the extent of the man’s talent. Perhaps it needed that bit of physical distance from the material; or perhaps the constraints of time, budget and what RTÉ will put up with really forced him to get especially creative. At any rate, The Savage Eye is the best comedy to come from Ireland since Father Ted — it’s even got some of the same actors.

The series watches like an anthropological documentary about the Irish.  It’s replete with exaggerated characters who you could totally believe exist, many of whom you may know personally.  Some of my favourites are: the publican obsessed with sex, “quee-urs” and Louie Walsh; artists who think that drink will make them talented; two farmers finding their way in the modern world; as well as voxpops from people you’ve almost certainly met on the streets of Dublin.  Each episode centres around questions of the Irish identity — made up primarily of ridiculous stereotypes.  The first episode asks the question, “Why are the Irish so influential in the world of arts?” — and it just gets more acerbic from there.

Celebrities get some brilliant treatment: I’ve never seen some one take the piss out of Sex and the City better than The Savage Eye.  Nobody is safe from the show.  Fianna Fáil are lampooned as viciously as they deserve to be (as the Minister for Laughing Inapppropriately, the Minister for the Use of Three Similar Words, the Minister for the Understanding of Problems, and the Minister for Breathlessness to Appear Earnest).  Ireland’s “President for Life”, and her significant other, “My house-bound, It”, is not terribly far off the Mary Robinson mark.  There are also subtle digs at local Dubliners who you’d know if you’ve ever spent more than 15 minutes in that town, or drank a pint now and then in Grogan’s.

This show’s crowning achievement, however, is the bit of every episode dealing with the Catholic Church.  The introductions alone had me in stitches: they each begin with new and clever ways for priests to steal children from under the very noses of their parents.  Truly classic.

The Savage Eye employs a brand of humour not unfamiliar to British audiences; it’s not a million miles away from the quick character-based sketches of The Fast Show or The Smell Of Reeves & Mortimer.  The amazing thing is that nobody has done this in Ireland.  Not only have McSavage et al brought freshness to an old format, giving it a new lease on life; but they’ve managed to both capture and absolutely decimate the whole notion of “Irishness”, without the pooped-out crutch of stale, bushwhacking zaniness in sit-com format.

The biggest two complaints I’ve heard about The Savage Eye have been 1) from people who featured in the voxpops and subsequently regretted it; and 2) people who didn’t know it was on television until it wasn’t anymore.  Look it up on YouTube; it’s all there.  I implore you to watch it, whether you’ve ever been to Ireland or not.

http://www.rte.ie/tv/programmes/the_savage_eye.html

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