Primal Sneeze

Sugar, the Irish Times, GPS Ireland and a big Hairy Baby

June 29, 2008 – 10:33 am

What a digitally delicious weekend it has been for me. All sorts of interesting stuff happening online.

Sugar Britches tried, unsuccessfully, to let her blogiversary pass without fanfare or post. I like Sugar - the blogger not the commodity - where else would I read expressions like it’s raining pitchforks and hammer handles and I am so excited for him I’m fixin’ to pee down both legs, and with that goes the Mother of the Year award I’ve so desperately wanted but never achieved? So I fixed that right up. Yes ma’am, fixed it right up.

The auld fella up the hills (up, not over) was one of a half dozen bloggers to receive an email from the Irish Times, a press release from the press, saying from Monday the paper would be free-to-view online. After years of suffering the paywall this is great news. My challenge now is to find something else to bitch about. I will - believe me.

Isn’t it delicious though that a big company like this would interact with bloggers? That they’d inform six of Ireland’s most influential bloggers? As chosen by the lads in the Irish Times canteen? Or from a list they found somewhere? Or do they actually read blogs? Now wouldn’t that be truly delicious. We may find out in years to come. Until then we’ll just have to rely of the Freedom of Gossip Act for information.

Companies have interacted with this blog too. No messing! They really have! Back in March I was bitching about an undelivered package and Gary Delaney of GPS Ireland jumped in to tell me about how a postcode system his company was developing would solve all my problems.

Now you’ve probably noticed I don’t sell ads on this site. I’m a philanthropic blogger - I dole this junk out free of charge. The Willie Gates of blogging - that’s me. This may have to change though if the price of the pint goes up in the recession, but for now I don’t court the corporates.

But I let Mr. Delaney’s comment through because a) it was very relevant in the context of the post, b) it piqued my interest in a geeky way c) I loved the humour in the company’s suggestion of JG8 1759 for the Guinness brewery, and that they appreciated a visitor to their website suggesting GNY 00US instead. Plus he was commenting personally - not using a spambot.

This weekend, Mr. Delany returned to the same post via a Google search to let me know his system was up and running. Great! No. Hold on. Via a Google search? That meant he wasn’t coming back to update me personally. Was he trawling the web for opportunities for free advertising? Product placement? Was he trying to manipulate Google in the way Donncha explains?

I did a bit of trawling myself and found him on many blogs. On some there was a one line comment as in my case. On others, massive chunks copied and pasted from the GPS Ireland website.

Such comments quite often sparked debate. Mr. Delaney responded to criticism made.

Earlier this month I mentioned the GPS Ireland website on Grannymar’s blog and lo and behold Mr. Delaney turned up there soon after. (I suspect this wasn’t due to the back-link but to the keywords in Grannymar’s post). The banter between him, Grannymar and others ensued. Very witty. Great craic. Genuine interaction.

Then a Pat Donnelly showed up and a slagging match between the two forced Grannymar to close comments.

During my trawl I noticed Mr. Donnelly many times. Always jumping in to knock Mr. Delaney. If the latter were to be considered a troll then the former would be a troller-of-trolls.

I didn’t want that happening here, so I pulled Mr. Delaney’s comment.

I have agonised over this for the last five minutes and have decided to let it through for a number of reasons: I like the system his company have developed, though I see flaws and their web-interface sucks. They aren’t paying me. The comment is relevant. I like the guy’s wit and humour. (If Mr. Donnelly, or his ilk, turns up, I will handle that then).

If I like a system, a company, a product, I plug it on this blog. Just as I do face-to-face. Hey, Molly, you should try that new Immac Extra Strength. In no time at all you’ll be looking like a woman again. There are links on this page to WebMon because I find it excellent.

Equally, if I don’t like something I deplug it here. Just as I do face-to-face. Hey, Matt, that new power washer you got in Lidl is useless. Your kids still smell. You’ve read my complaints about the Argos Ireland website. Matt can tell me that’s how they’re suppose to smell. The Argosians are free to defend themselves too.

To prove this, let me tell you about a company with products and service second to a nun.

I just love the Hairy Baby clothing company. Good quality garments at a reasonable price. But more importantly, fekin hilarious. I mean side-splittingly funny slogans on everything. The latest in their line is a cloth shopping bag. On one side is printed This bag is for the messages, and on the other, Slice Pan, Pound of Butter, Tay Bags, 6 Slices of Hang, Cream Buns.

Have a look around the website. If you don’t wet yourself laughing then you’re dead, or should be, or aren’t Irish, in which case much of the humour will pass you by.

Sometimes I just visit the site for a laugh. Not to buy anything. The one and only time an order got messed up, a customer service guy mailed me progress updates every couple of hours until it was sorted.

This weekend I got another mail from them. A gift coupon.

I suspected something amiss as the sender was using a gmail account and the originating server was similar to Hairy Baby’s in name, but not the same. I let them know.

Within a short time I got another, definitely legitimate, email explaining the situation:

We’ve just realised that one of our website programmers Elliott accidentally sent out an email while testing the coupon section for our new site which is due to be launched next week. We just want to let you know that this was a silly mistake and not the result of spamming or anything mad like that. Elliott has since been put on the naughty step for 20 minutes to think about what he’s done! We’re really really really sorry about this and hope you can ignore the email.

See what I mean? They are funny guys. Not great at punctuation, but very funny. Just like Sugar, they aren’t afraid to use their own dialect. I like that. I really like that.

When it comes to engaging digitally with the customer, Hairy Baby have it sussed. GPS Ireland just need to keep it country to acheive the same. I wonder how the new Irish Times will do now that they’ve taken their first (non-hairy) baby steps?

Primal Sneeze |

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The blogger and the editor

June 26, 2008 – 6:47 am

Sitting next to me in the barber’s was an old sparring partner of mine. Some of the best discussions, debates and arguments I’ve ever had were with this man. A lifelong newspaper man, he is a fountain of knowledge and difficult to trip up. Over the years I seldom won, or even came close.

I enquired as to what he was up to now having retired as editor of a provincial almost a year ago.

Playing golf and sitting on my arse. And enjoying both immensely. I should have retired years ago.

Do you not get bored?

Not at all. I was bored reading the same tat the hacks were sending across my desk in the latter years though. If I had to read one more piece regurgitated for the umpteenth time I would have screamed.

That bad, huh?

Laziness and computers. Copy and paste. Change a line here and there and whack it out.

That’s plagiarism!

Not when the hack filing it wrote it themselves in the first place. Refiling it half a dozen times is laziness.

You don’t miss it then?

I miss the thrill of when one of my reporters broke something before the nationals. And I really miss writing the editorial.

Would you take up blogging? As a hobby. You could write what you want, when you want.

Christ no! I don’t want to be associated with that. You can’t trust the Internet. I’ve seen good journalists make fools of themselves by reporting ‘facts’ they read on the Internet.

Now that’s plagiarism!

There is no copyright on the Internet.

Wrong on this one, Patsy. No matter the publication medium, what someone writes is copyrighted to them.

Humph! It can’t be trusted. Look at Wikipedia.

Wikipedia has been shown to be more accurate than Britannica in many fields. Plus it is right up to the minute. Britannica is only published periodically. For every person who vandalises an important article there are a hundred others who will jump in a correct it immediately.

Humph! I still don’t trust it.

I’m careful with it too, but that’s no to say I ignore it totally. But anyway, I don’t know how we got onto Wikipedia. Back to blogging - I think you’d enjoy it. I really do.

Blogging, Wikipedia, the whole Internet - all the same. Can’t be trusted. Any of it.

Next! The barber called and so one of the few debates I could have won with this man was cut short. There will be an opportunity to resurrect it at some stage I’m sure. I could cite cases of journalists copying bloggers. How bloggers can break news faster. How businesses can use blogs to get their message across without it being corrupted by a newspaper subby. Yes, I’d love to win this one and I’m sure I can. What I’d like even more is to convince him to try blogging.

The rants of an old-style newspaper hack, with ingrained prejudices, published on the platform they all despise, would make very interesting reading. What beautiful irony it would be. We could learn why these, otherwise well informed journalists, lump all aspects of the Web together. Why they fight against it. Why the younger in the business embrace it to a degree, but fail to understand it fully.

I think a phone call to meet up for a pint at the weekend would be in order. All going well there will be a part two to this. If it goes as I want it to, there will be a new link on the side-bar.

Update: It didn’t go well. It didn’t go badly. Let’s just say we are in talks about talks.

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Car salesmen

June 22, 2008 – 6:06 pm

Listen, Sneezy, I was wondering …

I hate it when it starts like that.

That usually means I’m about to asked to do something soul destroying like go to Boots and pick her up a jar of Wrinkle-Eze™. And I can’t find it on the shelf. And I have to get help. And they snigger and ask is it for yourself, sir? And I might get embarrassed. Or I might get mad and think about slapping me lad on the counter saying something like take the wrinkles out of that. But I don’t because I’d get arrested and have to go to court. Mr. Sneeze, you are accused of one count of lad-slapping on a counter at Boots, a pharmacy, on Main Street at a time unknown on Thursday, June 19th. And more importantly I don’t because that isn’t the type I am and anyway there’s always the risk the assistant might hit me and I’d end up in wards one, two and three of the local hospital.

This time was to be worse. Far worse. Far, far worse.

We’re thinking of changing our car and I was wondering would you go look at these for us when you’re out - I’m stuck for time and you’ll be passing all these showrooms, she says handing me a scroll longer than a plumber’s waiting list. Get prices. I’m thinking, brochures, you could get brochures, she says.

Get stuffed, I’m thinking.

I dislike cars. I really dislike sales people. Combine the two and it’s like a green flag to a unionist.

I gave in eventually.

Howya. I’d like to take a gander at the Muzdy 5½ Tiddely Die loadza litres with go faster spots and room for a pony, please.

I just got one in yesterday. (They always “just got one in yesterday”). So what are you driving now?, he asks as we walk between the rows.

A 10-year-old green thing with a tape deck and four new tyres. Any clue where I can get blank tapes by the way?

Tapes?!?! Not the foggiest. Now there’s a reason to be changing for sure. (Big laugh and a wink at the receptionist).

The car’s grand. Just had the NCT. Submissions couldn’t be lower. High distinctions. Great extractions. All sorts of good results. A1s across the board if it was doing the Leaving. No way am I changing it for another ten years - it has new tyres. Now will ya just show me this jallopy so I can move on to the next ad for Windolene™.

Ah, I see. It’s for the little woman then. Better you do the looking - the little women don’t know anything about cars, heh, heh.

She’s someone else’s “little woman”, not mine. And as far as I’m aware she’s fairly genned up on cars.

The Muzdy 5½ Tiddely Die loadza litres with go faster spots and room for a pony is a pretty big car - you must have a large family. Ho, ho, good man yourself. Heh, heh.

Hello! Rewind the tape. (I forgot they don’t do tape anymore). Not my “little woman”. Just show me a Muzdy 5½ Tiddely Die loadza litres with go faster spots and room for a pony, tell me the prices - the list one and the real one, give me the bumph - full specs. not pretty pictures, and let me get going.

Dead right. Shur the little woman would be here all day asking me about colours. We’ll get the job done in jig time.

It was the same story in the other three showrooms.

… Four years previously …

With her car already sold, I volunteered to drive a friend around so she could look for a replacement. No matter how often either of us explained the car was to be for her, to be bought with her money, to be driven by her and that I was only tagging along, every single sales guy addressed the questions to me. If she asked about something, it was to me it was explained. Eye contact score: 90-10. And that was with me staring into space half the time.

Some things never change.

Primal Sneeze |

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No. I don’t like it either.

June 22, 2008 – 3:21 pm

But it has to stay the way it is for now. Maybe until the next night that I can’t sleep and I go about playing with (yet!) another new theme.

At least all that AJAX junk is gone. The verdict in Sneezy Manor on AJAXed WordPress is that it’s “more fekin trouble than it’s worth” - to make sure it didn’t break the blog I had to deactivate nearly all modules and the components of those that I didn’t forced me into hand-coding hacks in the themes.

Gone now, and good riddance. The only thing I really liked was being able to embed
(Show/Hide) this kind of stuff.

And just in case anyone’s disappointed that the auto-scroll-down to comments thing is gone, I’ve compenstated by adding options for you to Email posts and pages, and make printer-friendly renderings. Amn’t I very good to yez?

Okay, the colours are gank. The header images are poxy pansy yokes. And the divisions need a bit of tidying up - I single handedly refined the box-model as bollixed-model. You can tell me what else is wrong. But for now, for today, I am fixing nothing more.

Oh, I nearly forgot: Just to show there are no hard feelings over Lisbon, links to translations in the main European languages are available on the left floating-menu. And if you’re not bothered with Lisbon, then go play with the uppy-downy buttons on the same menu.

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Laughing in the face of death

June 19, 2008 – 5:58 am

A man I never knew passed away the other morning. I wish I had known him.

I know his son-in-law since we were infants. In Infants. Baby Infants. I know his wife almost as long.

The Irish grapevine might get messages mangled more often than not, but if the message is important it spreads fast and clear. In matters of death, the Irish grapevine is 2.0.

As soon as I heard I picked up the phone. “Just heard the news. How’s herself holding up?”

Very shook. But she’s keeping busy. Things to organise. Ya know yerself.

“Was it quick in the end? Eh, I mean easy, painless”.

Well, he knew he was going. Just hours. He called us all together in the night. Family, friends, neighbours, the whole lot. Told the gang to look after their mother. My lads to look after their granny. Told us all he loved us and to look after each other.

“That must have been rough”.

It was. Yeah. Banshees all ’round.

Then the mother-in-law goes and puts a relic in his hands. “Here now, Patsy. Padre Pio is here with ya now. He’s going to take care of everything. You’re going to be right as rain again in no time with Padre Pio looking after ya”.

“Well”, says himself, “he’d want to get the fecking finger out then, wouldn’t he”.

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Irish Times - Exam Times

June 16, 2008 – 9:12 am

Who would write this?

I miss my home, my baroque princess bed, Romeo my iguana and, of course, my family.
Tiffany’s has yet to open a branch in Co. Meath but Mum was kind enough to treat me to a full Irish in a posh café.
Medicine seems like the trajectory for me, but if I don’t like it after a year, I can take my maximum points elsewhere.
I found them on eBay; a divine pair of Christian Louboutim. At $900 (€575) they were practically giving them away.
If you’re going to wear an Aran sweater, you’d better make sure the jeans scream ironic island chic. And the shoes need to be in agreement.
… over muffins and builder’s blend (or mung beans and soy latte - I’m sure the Tesco brigade are as worried about the bikini season as I am), the good grocers …
But they asked me about shopping on the Champs Élysées - and that’s where I spent mid-term! I simply had to tell all.
Phew. Today is the turn of French, a pleasant and civilised aspect of the Leaving Cert that always puts me in a good mood. I’m having a croissant and a bowl of coffee for breakfast and wearing Yves St Laurent for good measure.

You’re thinking rich kid, right? Diamonds on the soles of her shoes type, yes? A straight backed, nose in the air sort. Or as we say around here, a stick stuck up the arse / thinks her shite doesn’t smell sort. If it weren’t for the Co. Meath reference you’d probably have assumed D4.

The last point is a give away - a stick stuck up the arse / thinks her shite doesn’t smell sort who was sitting the school-leaving exams.

This, ladies and gentlemen of the bloggery, was written by Ms. Laura Brady of Enfield, Co. Meath in the Exam Diary column of the Irish Times. (No link to the Times because of their damn paywall, but you can read Ms. Brady republished in full for free on skoool.ie)

I began reading her column on Tuesday last week which was then about halfway though. I was also about halfway though making my dinner and her mention of buying a €575 pair of shoes had my blood boiling hotter than my spuds. A student, a school goer, a non-earner being able to pay €287.50 each for shoes. And she figured they were practically giving them away.

Gobshite that I am, I followed her column from then on and my blood continued to boil. Big things like they way she looked down on the Tesco staff. Small, niggling things like saying she landed the last “punc” in her Irish exam. Ponc, ponc, ponc! Damn it, p-O-n-c! Unless of course she had somehow managed to fit in a quick shag with Sid Vicious between answers.

I asked myself what kind of little world does she live in. Did she not realise that the world she portrayed was alien to all bar a tiny few other Leaving Cert students? That other students could not identify with her? Did the Irish Times realise this? Did the Times not realise they were alienating future readers? Was it too late to drop the column? Could they? Was she selected as a favour to someone on the staff? So many questions. So much boiled blood I was leaving Clonakilty in the ha’penny place.

Only on finding the skoool.ie website did I begin to calm down. I went back through the column to the start and learned more of her.

Third time to sit the Leaving. Second time around she repeated both 5th and 6th years in a boarding school. This time in a points-farm on Leeson Street. Repeating not because of failing but because she needs much better grades to get into medicine.

I began to pity her. Pity her innocence. Her ignorance. What her cocooned upbringing had done to her. Her misplaced self-confidence. She will never hack med-school. It’s tough. Damn tough. Getting in is hard, but with four years studying for the same exam in the best schools of course you’ll get the required grades. Staying in is harder and taking twenty odd years to complete a 6-7 years course will not be an option.

Even if she does get through what a pitiful bedside manner she will have with her attitude to those of us who never mid-termed on the Champs Élysées, shop at Brown Thomas, wear Yves St Laurent?

I am still angry at her: Medicine seems like the trajectory for me, but if I don’t like it after a year, I can take my maximum points elsewhere. Go on then. Take up a place that someone else would die for! Waste it.

I am still angry, but I pity her more. This is all a game to her. It’s not real. Life is not real. She can play with a course in medicine. If she tires of it or finds she can’t win she can find a new toy. Her parents’ money will buy it.

Update (14/08/2008): More of this twaddle. The IT have her back again. And worse - they will have her writing about her college experiences in the autumn.

Update: