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So, my personal cell phone was accidentally run over about 15 mionutes ago. Anyone have recommendations for a $100-200 replacement? I am still under contract to my Sprint service plan through October 2005 so I really can't change.
I had the Sanyo SCP-8100 but no longer really use the camera phone or web access, so these features aren't that important. Small is better but I'm open.
Help me ORBlogs, you're my only hope.
/end crappy 3d holographic animation
“A woman came up to me and said ‘I'd like to poison your mind with wrong ideas that appeal to you though I am not unkind’,” John said.
“Where was I? I forgot the point that I was making,” replied John.
“She looked at me, I looked at something written across her scalp and these are the words that it faintly said as I tried to call for help:
There's only one thing that I know how to do well and I've often been told that you only can do what you know how to do well and that's be you, be what you're like, be like yourself, and so I'm having a wonderful time, but I'd rather be whistling in the dark,” John answered.
“I said if I was smart that I would save up for a piece of string and a rock to wind the string around,” replied John again.
“There's only one thing that I like and that is whistling in the dark.”
“Everybody wants a rock to wind a piece of string around,” answered John.
“A man came up to me and said ‘I'd like to change your mind by hitting it with a rock,’ he said, ‘though I am not unkind’,” John said.
“Throw the crib door wide, let the people crawl inside,” agreed John.
“We laughed at his little joke and then I happily walked away and hit my head on the wall of the jail where the two of us live today.” John said as he chuckled.
“There's only one thing that I know how to do well and I've often been told that you only can do what you know how to do well and that's be you, be what you're like, be like yourself, and so I'm having a wonderful time, but I'd rather be whistling in the dark,” said John.
“Someone in this town is trying to burn the playhouse down. They want to stop the ones who want a rock to wind a string around, but everybody wants a rock to wind a piece of string around,” replied John.
“There's only one thing that I like and that is whistling in the dark.”
“If I were a carpenter I'd hammer on my piglet, I'd collect the seven dollars and I'd buy a big prosthetic forehead and wear it on my real head. Everybody wants prosthetic foreheads on their real heads,” answered John as he walked away.
It's been a little while so some of these may be a little old:
↓ My incredible shrinking brain.
↓ Food fights.
↑ Going back to school.
↓ Calamari prices.
↑ Safer and more natural feeling boobies.
↑ Little heros.
↑ Being a cool kid. Memberships are open again.
↓ Optimism.
↑ Thongs with car chargers.
↔ A $400 million Powerball jackpot by Christmas.
Overheard while shopping at lunch:
"So I am supposed to tag all my expenses in categories for this [accounting] software. But what about my porn? Should it be entertainment? Or maybe personal care, because you know it is personal care."
One of the primary reasons I wanted to go to Ireland was to travel to Belfast. I was interested in the conflict between Protestants and Catholics. Coming from a religious studies background and living in a country where religious violence and terrorism were almost non-existant, I was fascinated that it existed. So I knew that if I have the chance to go to Belfast, I would.
After my three initial days in Dublin, I took a three hour bus to Belfast. It was really uneventful, in fact, I don't even remember going through a customs search, which may be true since I was travelling through EU countries.
I was nervous about travelling to Belfast, but I wanted to go. I was travelling to a town that barely a year earlier had experienced a bombing that had killed 9 residents of Shankill Road as well as the IRA bomber himself. Yet, the British and Irish Prime Ministers had since signed the Anglo-Irish Peace Pact and the IRA had declared a cease fire three months before I arrived.
In talking to my fellow students at the University of Glasgow, and others from Northern Ireland before my trip, everyone had a sense of the tide turning and a real peace starting to take hold. I figured I would never have another chance to visit the city and I was determined to not squander it.
Upon arriving at the bus station in Belfast, I had to find a place to stay so I looked for the nearest hotel to find the tourism brochures. I ended up at the Europa Hotel which I found out from the bartender had the distinction of being the most bombed hotel in the world. I found my brochures, got a recommendation for a hostel and was off.
In agreeing to my travelling to Belfast, my mother had only one demand. I was not to tell her I had gone until after I was back safe in Dublin. So naturally, upon my arrival in Belfast, I decided this was a prime time to check in with home. Mom was not as impressed as I was with the Europa Hotel's distinction in the world.
I ended up at the Belfast International Youth Hostel where I made discovery number one about trekking through Europe. There were freaking Australians EVERYWHERE. Seriously, every hostel I was in I ended up with at least four Australians hanging out in the lounge drinking beer. They were all on their "year" away. Evidently, it was tradition for Australian youth to book a ticket to somewhere in Europe, change the return date to open, and just bum around for one to five years. They were the nicest guys in the world, but they were freaking everywhere I went.
Upon dropping off my stuff, I wandered through the city pretty aimlessly just seeing what was nearby. I ended up joining a student protest over tuition hikes at the Queen's University of Belfast where I learned a new word, skint. I felt right at home protesting high tuition and being broke since my travelling funds were disappearing rapidly.
I met a few students and had a few (more) Guninesses before retiring back to the hostel to drink a bit more with the Australians and meet my new roommate. The hostel rooms were two sets of bunk beds and my "upstairs" roommate was a freelance American music journalist.
Over breakfast the next morning he let me know he was in town to write a review of that night's Shane MacGowen show. He invited me along as his guest (guest list woo!) and we made arrangements to meet up later.
I decided to wander again so I took a walk and tried to hit some of the tourist sites. Touring the grounds of Belfast City Hall, shopping at the CastleCourt Shopping Centre, and just wandering through the streets, stopping for a bit to write some postcards for home. I quickly got bored and decided to wander toward the neighborhoods rather than the tourist sites.
Walking across town, it was difficult not to notice the police and soldiers throughout the city. Police stations were virtual fortresses, police on foot patrol in the tourism areas were armed (with cords attaching their handguns to their belts), and armored personnel carriers rumbled through the streets. I quickly realized how different a world I was going into.
I walked over to Falls Road which happened to be the Catholic neighborhood of West Belfast. As I walked through the neighborhood I was struck by the murals I kept seeing. They were (sometimes) beautiful renditions of IRA movement heros and boastful taunts at British soldiers and Protestant militia groups. This was the heart of IRA support in Northern Ireland and I was painfully aware of where I was.
Along Falls Road, I noticed the Sinn Fein Belfast Headquarters and the adjacent bookstore. I browsed through the store and had a very nice conversation with the shopkeeper who gave me a short, albeit slanted version, of the conflict. This was when I knew I had made the right choice in coming to Belfast. Here I was, an ill-informed American kid hearing first hand the story of a (self defined) oppressed people first-hand from someone who had lived their entire life in this environment.
He listened to my requests for other sites to see and places to go and happily pointed me toward the 'peace wall' and Shankill Road telling me that is where I could see "the other side". I thanked him for his hospitality and started walking in the directions he pointed.
As I was walking down the road, I noticed a British soldier seemingly materialize out of nowhere along the side of a building. He was in full body armor and carrying an automatic rifle as he obviously was patrolling the neighborhood. As I kept walking, I began to see the others in his patrol appearing one by one from doorways, alleys, and other places of cover. The soldiers just seemed to materialize and then melt away as they walked down the road toward me.
I knew that tensions had eased with the signing of the Peace Pact, in fact the newpaper that day had mentioned that soldiers on patrol were no longer wearing helmets, just a soft cover beret. But seeing these soldiers with their weapons at the ready, I wondered what it must have been living here a year earlier during the height of recent tensions.
As I approached the gate in the 'peace wall' one of the soldiers stopped me and asked where I was from. As soon as he heard my American voice he smiled and asked if I needed directions to "a safer neighborhood". I thanked him for his advice, and asked if he would let me take his picture as I was trying now to document everything I saw. He declined saying it wasn't a good idea since IRA enforcers took pictures of the soldiers to identify them and their families and he didn't want to take the chance. I thanked him again as I took his advice and walked through the gate and onto Shankill Road, the Protestant neighborhood.
As I walked through the gate, I was amazed by this high wall with wires to stop rocks and other items from being thrown from one neighborhood into the other. I immediately thought that this is what the Berlin Wall must have felt like a decade earlier.
On Shankill Road, I started back toward the city center, again smiling and greeting those who I passed. Along the way, I passed by the memorial to the bombing of a year before and stopped to read the homemade signs recognizing the dead. Continuing my walk I saw more murals, these with a 'never surrender' theme. The mural that sticks most in my mind is a ski-masked man aiming a RPG with the slogan 'UDF Rocket Team - 1992'. These murals facinated me and I decided to come back and spend more time on Shankill the next day.
I got back to the hostel, no more than a 15 minute walk from the 'peace wall', I was amazed to think how short a physical distance I had walked but how great an emotional one it was. Over dinner and several Guinnesses, I shared my day with my roommate before the Shane MacGowan show and he asked to go with me the next day. After several more Guinnesses and a meandering walk, we ended up at the show where all I remember was a dense cloud of cigarette smoke, lots of beer, and very, very loud music.
The next morning over breakfast, we both realized it was Thanksgiving and decided that we had to find a way to celebrate that night. We also were overheard talking about the murals and one of the hostel staff offered us a tour in his car. That day we travelled throughout Belfast, in virtually every neighborhood, stopping every few blocks to take picture after picture of IRA and UDF/UVA murals. (I cannot find the album they are in but this site has not only a great sample of some Loyalist murals and a few IRA murals, but also a comprehensive history of the conflict. If I track down my pictures, I'll scan them and create a photo album of them and all my pictures for the trip.)
It was during this trip I did the absolute most stupid and dangerous thing I have ever done in my life. I had talked to our guide about wanting a picture of the soldiers and he said he would help. So with me in the front seat, my roommate in the back and the hostel guy driving, we did a surreptitious photo driveby of a small group of soldiers on patrol. If they had noticed, I shudder to think what would have happened but I was young and stupid.
After our tour, we ended up back in the hostel, just hanging out and watching more football with the staff and the obligatory Australians. After a few hours, my roommate and I decided to find turkey, or at least something close, so we headed out toward the city center. After an hour or so, we finally realized the closest we were going to get was KFC. So for our Thanksgiving dinner, my new friend and I ended up with two extra cripsy value meals in a KFC in Belfast. It was a dinner I will never forget.
After dinner, it was Guinness and darts in a pub and then back to the hostel as I was heading back the Dublin the next morning.
My time in Belfast was one of those times where I realize upon looking back, what a truly lucky person I was to be in a place and time that I could have such an experience. It has certainly been the most memorable Thanksgiving I have every had, and every year at this time I think back to those three days and give thanks for that opportunity.
Coming Up: Dublin again, where I experience Heaven and get really hungry.
Ten years ago today, I was sitting in a pub in Dublin watching Irish League Football with 30 rowdy, drunken Irishmen drinking pint after pint of Guinness.
I was in Ireland on vacation for ten days during the midst of a semester overseas in Glasgow and the Highlands of Scotland. I was trekking solo for my time off while my other classmates were exploring Paris, London, getting stoned in Amsterdam, or sunning themselves in Morocco. Ireland was my choice as London was scheduled for later and I couldn't afford much else. I had £200 in cash and about $100 left on my VISA, so Dublin it was. Plus, I wanted to visit Belfast and see firsthand the aftermath of "the troubles".
I had arrived three days earlier from Glasgow on the smallest plane Aer Lingus flew. It had eight seats, two pilots, and the youngest flight attendent I had ever met. I prayed the entire time we bounced over the Irish Sea. Upon arrival at the Dublin International Airport, I got off the plane, took my bag and realized for the very first time, I was truly alone.
I had never travelled alone before and once I was through the doors of the airport, it dawned on me that I was in a city I had never been to, in a country in which I did not know a soul, and outside of a return plane ticket, was without a schedule or itinerary for a week. It was a sobering thought.
First priority was finding a place to stay since it was about 8 pm. So I found the first hostel I could find and settled in for the night.
Day one in Dublin was designated the "get-to-know-the-city day" but really turned out to be "I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-I-am-doing-and maybe-I'll-wander-around-and-have-a few-beers day". Realizing this was a grand plan I did just that, drinking Guinness and stopping here and there to read the book I brought.
Day two began with the need to find a new hostel as hostel number one became less pleasant with the addition of the Drunken English Soccer Hooligan™. So my morning involved transferring my bag and other materials to the Dublin International Hostel and then getting my bus ticket to Belfast for later in the week.
Later in the day I went exploring in more detail as I visited the Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin Castle, and Trinity College, with stops of course for Guinness and other essentials.
Day three, ten years ago today, saw me looking for something more sedentary so I found a grubby looking pub that was showing a match and settled in for several hours of football, Guinness, and really, really good food. After a few hours of this, I made my way through town, windowshopping and having a lazy day.
Upon getting back to the hostel, I packed my bags, read more of my book, and decided it was time for a new look. So I went to the local store, bought shaving cream and a razor and shaved for the first time in more than six months. Then I turned in trying to get some sleep before my bus trip the next day for three days in Belfast.
Coming up: Belfast, Thanksgiving, the essential Irish musician, and an afternoon in one of the most dangereous neighborhoods in the world.
I have always been lucky when it comes to winning radio contests. I never create elaborate setups or sneak my way in through back doors, I just seem to be a lucky caller. I have won spa certificates, passes to movies, enough swag to decorate a dorm room, and tickets to more than 10 concerts including Garbage, Everclear, the Divinyls, Depeche Mode, Harvey Danger, Everclear again, and a half-dozen other ones I can't remember.
But what I won in May of 1999 has to be the biggest and most fun concert promotion I won.
I mentioned in a comment to the post, but here is the game plan for upcoming posts here in karmaville.
- "Amsterdam and the Tibetan Freedom Festival Concert" will be posted by weekend's end.
- "10 years ago this month" will be posted by the end of next week.
- "IRA and UDF Graffiti of Belfast" photos will be up by the end of next week.
- "Trends" will be back next week.
- Recipe of the Week debuts this weekend.
- A review of The Incredibles early next week.
Ron Artest of the Indianapolis Pacers was recently benched for two games after he asked for up to a month off so he could "rest" and "work on the release of his upcoming rap album".
Seeing as the season started just a week or so ago, the Pacer's declined his request and his coach Rick Carlisle, said Artest "compromised the integrity of the team". Artest's response delivered without snark or irony?
"I don't even know what that means...I need you to get me a dictionary...what is integrity?" (italics mine and verbatim transcription from ESPN.)
All of this can be ours for $5.2 million a year, which we all know isn't even half-enough to feed a family.
