'Profolactic' is the Proper Name, Actually!

For the first time in a while I was in the public toilets, the ladies of course, which weren't on the university's campus, and all I could think was how far women's liberation has come and why is it most women's toilets don't have a condom machine!

Yes, that's right this article is about condoms, classy condoms that make you look like trailer park scum!

All us ladies and well everyone else who has ever stepped into the 'facilities' of a pub, restaurant, hotel whatever will be familiar with the customary vending machines of sorts hanging from the walls. If its the ladies, one with sanitary towels, another with tampons and more often than not one with gum and mints. The men's then on the other hand has a condom machine. But I don't understand why in the ladies does Wrigley's get precedence over Durex (excuse the product placement). I mean, I can understand the lack of any of these machines but to install one over the other I don't understand. Now, I know Condoms, and most other types of contraceptive is readily and openly available to both men and women throughout the Western World, with Ireland as no exception, so why have condom machines at all? Well, the embarrassment that many suffer trying to buy them is one good reason and another is ease of access.

They taught you all about it at school, so stop being dick about it!

From personal experience working in a shop I know that many men will get their girlfriends (or whoever the madam may be) to ask if the condoms are behind the counter, but are more willing to purchase them if they can pick them up themselves without feeling as though its some sort of big deal. If they're behind the counter it most be because their a big deal or something, you know. So I imagine guys, in some cases, would rather the anyominity of getting them from the toilets, not having to ask for them and having everyone around think what a dirty pervert he must be having protected sex with someone consenting. Then there's the ease of access issue, so even though they are readily available embarrassment is one thing that makes it a little more difficult but what about time, and as we all know in these situations, timing is everything. condom machines are more oftenly used in pubs and nightclubs than lets say restaurants and hotels, not to say they don't see plenty of fumbling for coins too. But the point here is when you're out with a few friends you mightn't have been expecting to meet someone who sweeps you off your feet and really catches you. You mightn't necessarily have one (or how ever many is wanted) in your back pocket or wallet. And guessing if your out, its late and the local chemist probably ain't opening, and even if it is such a detour could ruin the moment. But wait! The toilets, they'll be a machine in there, ad there is, TA-DAH you're sorted!

Well you would be if you're a guy, but what if its a woman ignititating this encounter? I think its unfair and even quite sexist to assume its a man's responsibility to carry with him at all times condoms, like you know, just in case! But let's go back to our hypothetical situation, he's out for a few drinks with his mates, he had no intention of chatting anyone up and probably didn't expect to be chatted up either, so you come over and he's expected to have everything ready for you

'You' is a general term, I don't mean you in particular, although lately I must say you seem to be going through them, maybe you should get tested or something, just in case, peace of mind and stuff, plus at this rate you could be the downfall of the entire human race!! But its ok, you're pretty sensible and you know what you want, so you have them, and all is right.

Except that's not what happens, is it? Its all very spur of the moment, one minute ye're just talking the next kissing and then you're running into the toilets 'to freshen up' as he's calling a taxi. There's no machine! Well there is but its got disposable little toothbrush things in it! And sorry to break the news but that won't do anything to stop you from catching any of the many disgusting sexually transmitted diseases out there. And that's just presuming that any woman in question uses other forms of contraceptive to avoid becoming pregnant.

A Winner Every Time! Fresh breath and gonorrhea! What more could a girl want?!

So really why doesn't the ladies have a condom machine. Is it that its wholly our own responsibility to ensure we carry condoms with us at all time whereas men will be forgiven for being a little forgetful when they pack for a night on the town? Or is it that people forget the contraceptive pill and almost all forms of female contraceptive are to prevent pregnancy but not disease, that's what the male contraceptive is best at? Or is it just to unlady-like to even consider that a woman might find a sudden need for such things when she should be instead at home knitting sweaters for their husbands and anxiously awaiting their return?

Unfortunately I'm a little more inclined to the last. And I'm not for a moment saying that society frowns on women using contraceptive or it being available to them, but its the old joke that the machines purposely steal your money because you'll be too embarrassed to complain. They're not in the women's toilets because women don't argue their absence.

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère

This is my favourite painting ever:

I saw it, or rather a print of it, when I was young and on an a day trip to the south east coast of Ireland with my family. I wasn't particularly young at the time, but young enough not to know much about art, and it was only when I was doing history of art for my leaving cert. (Second level final exams in Ireland) did I learn its complexities and secrets. Its a sad painting I have always thought and was reminded of it starkly the other night.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of a function room bar, it reminded me of that oh so famous bar maid, a smile flirted across myself. I got my drink, (the second of three whiskeys) before moving back to my seat to watch all the guests dance and drink and be merry. Except those, of course, like me, who were struggling to enjoy themselves and maybe were but completely incapable of showing it as life was weighing heavily on their chest.

This painting is never far from my thoughts and it has always reminded me to regret everything but be happy nevertheless.

And this is my second favourite:

Soft Construction of Civil War with Boiled Beans (Promotion of Civil War) by Salvador Dali, 1936. It is a portrayal of the Spanish Civil War and I just think its cool looking, is all!

Worst Porn Still Ever!

As most people, at least my acquaintances, are aware I really do enjoy demotivational posters and I think for the most part the people who write them are some of the greatest comedy writers out there, or at least on the internet. I mean if a picture is worth a thousand words they've totally got that and added more awesome words to make the overall experience even more awesome. But today, after StumbleUpon emailed me some recommendations, which included this, this, this, this, this and for the point of this particular update this, I have become outraged. As you can probably imagine the last one really caught my attention. After a few clicks through I this:

Now this really could have been better! The thing is, this bothers me because I come from a family of gun and knife nuts, and its not just my immediate family. And so I figure I know a little about guns. I mean not much and my aim isn't great but I understand recoil, and if that lady were to fire that gun she would be blinded. As the force of the gun when shot if held incorrectly can really bust up your shoulder. Yes your shoulder so imagine what it could do to your eye if you decide to act all porn star and pose for a picture like this. I hope to god the barrel is empty and the safety is on!

And also just in case you didn't believe me, here is a picture of my brother hanging out at my cousin's place:

The thing is, as much as it may look like it, that picture wasn't posed, he didn't even know I had taken it until after. And worse still, though you can't see it there are butterfly knives on the floor and a whole assortment of other blades, bullets and pellets for air rifles, which of course are there as well. Basically what I'm trying to say here, and I'm pretty sure I'm failing is, if you want to make guns look sexy, which you know you shouldn't, they are for sport and security, getting some scantily clad big breasted woman to violently injure and blind herself isn't a good idea!

So instead of making the joke that women belong in the kitchen maybe someone could have written big boobs equals little brain, or you know whatever!?

Just A Little Message To Us All

I saw the Dalai Lama today. It was nice and made me feel good.

We are all the same and we should be open to everyone was his basic message but he talked a lot to about hope that we should all have hope and hope for the best.

I agree wholeheartedly

The Well Dried up a Long Time ago Honey!

Okay, so I know my updates have been fairly sparse of late, and the stuff I have put has been terrible, so my deepest apologies. But hopefully this'll turn around by the end of the month or so. This semester has been pretty hard on me because, genuinely I'm no longer used to the standard of work and effort that's expected of me after pretty much a year off. Last semester I was on Erasmus in Poland, and even though I loved it and learnt so much, I didn't find my college work exactly challenging, and the semester before that I hung around UL all day doing nothing, only actually attending one of my classes most weeks, because I didn't get work placement. After that one couldn't be blamed for being lazy. The thing is, I can't afford to be lazy anymore. I'm doing five classes this semester, the politics of the EU; Global Political Economy; history of twentieth century Europe; geography of development; and teaching English as a Foreign Language an as well I've to do work on my undergrad thesis. I know this mightn't seem like a lot, and really it isn't, but I'm broke because this all takes up too much of my time and I don't have a job and any free time I do have is spent learning to drive.

Most of my side projects have, as usually happens anyway, drawn to a halt, with Angrim currently stagnating with Purple Hair Girl looking for Dickie, and my photography collection isn't exactly flourishing at the moment.

I'll be finished my exams by the second week of May (two weeks after the second deadline I set for Angrim) and hopefully I'll have more time on my hands to get a job, and money from such a venture. The only thing to worry about then is having something to write about.

I haven't really reached any interesting conclusions about anything or made some quirky observation in some time now. In fact the most artistically impressing thought I've had in a long time is as follows:

Had a dream I was a duck,
I thought 'Oh Fuck!'
Webbed are my feet
Tender is my meat
Now to go nest in the muck!

Flamboyant duck knows where you live!

Yes, that's right, I was thinking about duck related poetry. The explanation for this one is overly long, and it is as follows:

Was sitting at the table one evening staring at my teeth in the mirror (had a root canal that day *surprisingly pain free*) when one of the Young Sirs asked what the point of learning poetry was. I told him, if he learned poems off, in years to come when he's wooing a young lady he could recite poetry to her and she would become his. It probably wasn't the best reason to give a ten year old but he seemed pleased with and returned to trying to learn it for school the next day (only stopping to point out that is was about going to work and not love). Some time later when I was recounting this to himself, we got onto the subject of poetry, as we have both written some decent bit during our lives. He asked me to think of a poem, and I'm guessing he choose the subject by the first thing he saw, the leftover Chinese takeaway on the coffee table. So that explains the poem and the subject matter. But why is it written as though it was a dream? (often the crappiest way of structuring any piece of written anything, with obvious exceptions) Well Himself has a darling habit of getting into giddy moods and stealing my phone when I'm not looking. At which point he writes and sends text messages to people. Its a harmless gesture, as long as its sent to the right kind of people, otherwise it could lead to my institutionalisation. Here as some examples:

'I had a dream I was an alien eating a turnip'

'Had a dream I was a dog eating an alien, do you think that's odd?'

'Had a dream I was an alien eating a polo mint, but it didn't have a hole in it so it wasn't really a polo, anyway just wanted to tell someone'

All these messages were sent to friends of mine well after midnight, meaning the next day I had no choice to text them again, explain and apologise. The only thing is now, most people know the deal with it, and yes of course I have gotten him back for it.

But really after this, I have not really much to say, anything interesting I've come across has been about international law and Russia, speaking of which much get back to work...

...But first here's a picture so it doesn't seem like too many words

Of course I couldn't let you go without some alien dream food picture, the only thing is my idea of photoshop isn't quite as advanced as most peoples, unfortunately!