SEPTEMBER 2010 - STUDENT ISSUE
WORDS OF WISDOM PHOTOGRAPHY ART & DESIGN COUNTER CULTURE STYLE / FASHION ELECTRONIC MUSIC
For the last few years the bad guy in town was Bin Laden. Before that it was the boogie man. Who is it now? NAMA. For years now all over Dublin, people have been shouting about NAMA. Do you want dinner son? “Na Ma!”. Are you going out tonight Kevin? “Na Ma!” Did you clean your room? “Na Ma!”. Now it’s some sort of crazy bad bank. This is perfect for Halloween. Banks are the biggest villains of the year, and now NAMA is the biggest, baddest bank of them all. Seriously scary stuff, I’m shaking just typing about it. Imagine the scene, its Ghostbusters back in the cinemas for Halloween 2009. The opening credits roll and the voiceover kicks in… “You’ve lost your job and the bailiffs are chasing you, the stock market has crashed and you’ve lost your life savings, you built a billion euro worth of crap apartments in Cabra and now the property market is fucked…. WHO YA GONNA CALL? NAMA! DEEENA DEEENA DEEENA DEEENA DENDENDUDULA, DEEEENA DEEENA DUUUUUUUUU….. Sorry. Got carried away there.
Without daytime television, students would have an awful lot more time on their hands. They would have enough time to wash themselves and cook nice meals and study more and sit around camp fires singing songs about carefree squirrels and stuff. Maybe the world would be a better place. In fact, the world would definitely be a better place. But no fun whatsoever, and who needs that? So fortunately daytime TV will never go away, and for the good of the world we have have scoured the earth to find you the best possible way of accessing it. And its with UPC, hands down. UPC can sort you out with digital telly, with recordable plus box. They can sort you with super fast broadband and they can even sort you out with insanely cheap phonecalls too. At the moment they have a superb student deal on, with 4 months free saving you over €200!
Born and raised in the city that birthed house music, Tevo Howard caught the mixing bug at an early age via his older brother, taking advantage of easy access to his decks throughout his teenage years and securing residencies at local clubs by the time he was just sixteen. What with his father Rick—who also provides his earthy, downtrodden vocals to some of Tevo’s music—having a career as a blues artist, music has always been in... his family. Keen to learn more about the technical side of things, Tevo went on to get a degree in the subject, but it wasn’t until 2005 that he started to get into production. Lerosa is the alias of Italian producer Leopoldo Rosa. Born in Rome, Leo developed a love of electronic music through Italian pop music of the 1980s, before discovering hip hop and acid house . He began djing in the early 90s and in 1995 moved to Dublin where he got heavily into darker, deeper electronica and electro by the likes of Autechre, Drexciya and the extended Detroit- inspired musical underworld. Both re delighted to play for PHONiC this coming Sat 18th in The UNderground @ Kennedys. We cannot wait....
THE BLAGGERS GUIDE TO COLLEGE Cash, squid, moula, dollars, a few bucks, ten spondulas, €12.50, a score. Students need cash. College is all about getting an education, but what good is an education when you just jumped off a cloud-licking building from manic depression? Everybody knows all work and no play makes Jack a miserable bastard. Here at iNFLUX we highly recommend spending your college years in the pub, at a concert or even just sitting in a wet field in the middle of Mayo with nothing but three college buddies and bin-liner full of booze. Maybe even catch a movie before you go. Oh, and don’t even dare embarking on the journey if your not kitted out to the finest in the latest autumn range from topshop, with a new generation iPod packed to the max with your favourite tunes, and a solar powered docking station so you can shake your lil’ booty while you drink the field dry. Unfortunately, all these things all cost money. What with sleeping and pretending to study all day and partying and riding all night, you’re left with zero hours for a job. No job, no dough. No dough, no social life. No social life, sad bastard. Therefore the artform that you must learn in order to survive is that of the blagger. So students, let the blagging begin… One of the things that will immediately suck up a lot of your spare cash is food. Eating is a bit of a necessity and its one of those things you’re just gonna have to shut up and get on with. Don’t worry though, there are ways of filling you belly without breaking the bank. Head to
your local Tesco and walk around the shop looking for products with promotions such as “33% extra free” and just eat the free bit, leaving the rest. Fuck it, if you’re gonna try that, never mind tesco, head somewhere expensive! This requires leaving the house, something which stands against everything a student should believe in. The better option is to sit at home and pray for food. Some people may be sceptical, I say give it a go. Sure what do you have to lose, except a bit of weight? Another great belly-filling idea is to call Dominos and order enough food to last you and your flatmates a week. Before doing so, take a little wander outside and “accidentally” cover all the street signs with bin-liners. While things are happening accidentally, the number may as well fall off your front door. Remember now, accidentally! Domino’s promise to deliver your food within 30 minutes or your order is free, so if the delivery guy can’t find the place, he’s going to be delayed. Make the call during rush hour for extra effect. If he calls looking for directions, put on your best Chinese accent and make things interesting. If he doesn’t deliver the food because he can’t understand you, sue him for discrimination. Either way, it’s free food or free cash for you. You sexy little blagging so-and-so.
Your biggest bill each month will almost certainly be the rent. There are a few ways around paying this. A job is simply not an option. A good student should spend 92% of college life sitting on the toilet reading
magazines, you dont have time to work. Here is your plan. When rent day arrives, just don’t pay it. The landlord will arrive at the door looking for his cash. Explain to him your student grant doesn’t arrive for another 6 days and could he please wait? Doesn’t matter if your male or female, bat your eyelashes at him and pout those lips, landlords are suckers for a bit o’ flirting! When he agrees, tell him you would like to bring him for a beer, just to say thanks. Drag his money thirsty ass to the pub and on arrival, order two pints of Vodka. Tell him it’s what the real men are drinking. “Your not a real man if you don’t drink pints of vodka”. Landlords, aside from being suckers for a bit o’ flirting, are also bitches for reverse psychology.He’ll be chugging that vodka faster than Linford Christy with a fear of buns in a bakery! Don’t however, drink yours. It’s a pint of Vodka, you don’t want to die. Order a few pints instead, but make sure the landlord pays. You forgot your wallet. Once you have your newly found friend “gee-eyed” to the max, bring him down to the local friendly solicitor and have your names changed by depoll. Change your name to his and have him change his name to yours, it’ll be easy – he’s drunk. If he’s a bit iffy about the swap, use the reverse psychology trick again. Once the dastardly deed is done, send him packing. He’ll awake in the morning with no recollection of the previous night’s antics, a thumping headache and pockets full of embarrassment. This will allow you to keep him at arms
length and full of excuses for about three or four months, rent free! When he finally turns up with a copy of the lease and an eviction notice, demanding his money, tell him about your lil’ identity swap and re-read the lease. It now turns out you owe him nothing, but he owes you four months rent! Free rent, a few free pints and cash in your hand, you’re definitely getting the hang of this… Bills wise, if you install a giant hamster wheel in your sitting room you could save a fortune on ESB! If fact, you could probably ring them up and tell them to fuck off completely! Rig it up to a motor and get your flatmate, boyfriend, girlfriend or scrawny little brother to get inside. Never mind the yellow pages and the whole “let your fingers do the walking” crap, make sure your newly found little slave jogs their plump lil’ asses off! Nothing but a constant sprint is acceptable. While they’re keeping the wheel a’ spinning you need to take your sociable little ass to the pub and make some new friends. Eventually, whoever is in the wheel is going to need a break, and your going to need replacements so use all your best anecdotes and push the charm to the max. If for some reason you strike a bum-note at the pub and come home empty handed then you have yourself what we here at iNFLUX call a big problem. A bit of a pickle even. A problem I, as usual, can fix. Run next door and steal your neighbours dog. Once you have the canine safely back at yours, crack open a crate of energy drinks and start feeding the dog. You can bet
A GOOD STUDENT SHOULD SPEND 92% OF THEIR COLLEGE LIFE SITTING ON THE TOILET READING MAGAZINES
your ass after six or seven cans of pink cow (or similar) that the dog will be in the mood for a bit of a jog. This is all about money saving though, so you don’t want to be splashing out on expensive sugary drinks all the time. You’ll need to break out a pen and paper and write a letter of complaint to an energy drinks company. Tell them one of the residents in your house drank some of their fine beverage but has for some reason fallen very ill. These companies have huge complaints departments to handle these sorts of things and they panic at letters like these, so they’ll just send you out loads of free drinks to keep you quiet. Don’t worry though, you won’t actually be lying. With the amount of it you’ll have to be force feeding the dog to keep him running 24 hours a day he’ll definitely be sick all over the place, so you were a truthful little monkey all along. Become a master of reverse psychology. It’s one of the steps any serious blagger must take. When paying for your new flatscreen tv, challenge the lady at the till. Start off with a remark that you heard she is a bit useless. Then throw down the gauntlet. “I bet you can’t cash this invisible grand”. Pick someone insecure enough, and she might just take the bait. I’ll show them, she thinks, before handing you your change (which you may now spend in the pub, ch-ching!). Standing at the till in your favourite clothes shop moaning “Ooooh, I hate free clothes, I hate free clothes” could also go in your favour. If that doesn’t work, avail
of their offer of a 10% discount with a student card. When the lady behind the counter asks for your student card, just pull out ten of them, flash a smile, and tell her to do the maths! 10 times 10% equals free shit for you. This may get you thrown out or barred. If this happens I may feel slightly at fault, so drop me an email and ill get my secretary to delete it for me.
If you really want to up the ante you could always move to a society with a barter system where cash doesn’t exist. All you need to do here is swap till you drop. If you can somehow manage to move there with a container load of premiership stickers and charity bracelets, you will almost certainly become the Richard Brandson of the land within days. Everybody knows if you’re going swapping, premiership stickers and charity bracelets are the order of the day. If you can find yourself some POG’s, all the better. Whatever you do in this situation, don’t forget that the shinys are worth double… All these things combined should make your college year easier than a drunk wannabe IT girl in Lillies on a Saturday night. Don’t just stop at the methods shown here though, make sure to improvise. Take it to the next level and you may well never have to put your hand in your pocket again (unless you’re a scratchy so-and-so!). The world is out there, sitting at your feet. Blag well enough, and it just might be yours…
13
THE STUDENTS GUIDE TO SICKNESS HOW TO BE A PROPER STUDENT In between all the partying, making friends and doing a miniscule amount of work you will have to do to scrape a pass in your degree, you will also have your time taken up with a thing called “being ill”. Once you are taken out of the sterile test tube of the family home and are exposed to the myriad health risks that university lifestyle throws up, you’re really going to have to start to look after yourself properly. Uni is a big festering, dirty shit pit of student digs, going out every night for weeks on end, eating food that isn’t really fit for human consumption and gorging yourself on bad drugs and cheap vodka. If you ever bother to go to your lectures, sitting in a big room with your fellow students and having germs pumped around a confined room by dirty air conditioning doesn’t help too much either. In short, going to university is going to make you ill. Here’s what you can look forward to. STDs With the brave new world of the first year free-for-all fanny-buffet that cheap drinks and awful pop music in the student union brings comes new danger. In theory, every one goes at it like rabbits at university, but in reality after the first few months most people end up chained up in relationships or are put off sex having caught a hefty dose. There is more chlamydia going around your average uni than in a brothel, probably because hookers get checked more often. There were 121,986 cases reported across the UK last year, an impressive 150 per cent increase since 1998. While the symptoms are hard to spot and occasionally border on non-existent you may start pissing fire and passing gross discharge. A|so watch out for the American exchange students because they are the ones who are most likely to have genital warts (we don’t know the reason for this but Yank students have higher levels of genital warts than Brits. Fact). Once you get warts you
have the virus for life. Treating them involves a lengthy, repetitive and painful freeze/burn combo on your genitals. There are a tonne more STDs you can get and none of them are good. The best advice is to just keep it in the bag.
MUMPS More people are getting mumps in 2008 than ever before. Due to lower immunity levels among young adults there was a five-fold increase in cases of mumps from 2003 to 2004. It’s a virus and spreads nicely when you have 200 dirty, room-bound 19-year-olds living in a hermetically sealed block. If your glands swell up and your balls follow suit, you could end up infertile or deaf, so when the halls administration freak out and make everyone report to the dining hall to get a jab just go and do it. It’s probably the only thing you will see executed efficiently during your three years of university life. Mumps is spread by micro droplets of gob in the air from coughs and sneezes, so there isn’t much you can do to avoid it, except refraining from liking sick peoples’ spit, and washing your hands a lot. You may look like Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets but at least you won’t be frothing like an extra in a Romero movie. DIET People’s excuses for eating woefully for three years are usually something to do with good food being “too expensive”. This is utter bullshit. It costs a lot more to buy takeaways, sweets and shitty microwave ready meals than it does to go to the local greengrocers once a week and buy a load of fruit. It sounds a bit gay, but the whole five-a-day thing really works. Similarly, things like vegetables and wholegrain rice and pasta are pretty affordable, especially en masse. Not eating like a Glaswegian dole monkey will help stave off most minor ailments and may even go some way toward giving your skin some sort of colour, rather that the typical waxen student pallor. Eating well is the best way to avoid getting ill and takes zero effort. Try it. If you are
cripplingly lazy then just buy smoothies and have a glass a day. Good luck with the heartburn though
MENINGITIS This is a biggie. Meningitis is probably one of the most dangerous things you can catch at uni. There were over 1,000 cases of meningitis in the UK diagnosed last year with a 10 per cent mortality rate amongst sufferers. Considering that Meningitis UK believes the disease to be rife among students and without your mum there to fret over you and check you for rashes every time you have a headache you will probably just assume you have flu for the first week. It’s worth looking like a pussy and asking your flatmates to check your back for rashes if you feel really ill, otherwise you could end up with your brain swelling and a nasty case of being dead. If you have a killer headache, a fever, stiff neck, and you are chucking up you may want to rush to the doctors. But remember that not all sufferers develop the infamous rash, so if your other symptoms match, get moving. SPORTS INJURIES If you are good enough / care enough about playing extremely competitive games of rugby then you can join your departmental team. You get to wear a special tracksuit and say things like, “Dude, those wankers from the geography 2nd XV are going to get totally annihilated tomorrow, yah.” But the whole uni sports thing really comes into its own when you hurt yourself. The people at the hospital give you crutches and you can hobble into lectures drawing extra attention to your sporting prowess as well as upping the chances of getting your dick into a sporty girl. Sports girls are sluttier than any other female student demographic, they like to go to parties with the rugby team and end up being filmed on camera phones sticking beer bottles in their asses. Crutches are like an aphrodisiac to them so, use them well. CONTINUED...
13
THE STUDENTS GUIDE TO SICKNESS
PILES People don’t like to talk about these much. They are one of the most unglamorous ailments you can have and come with zero sympathy from anyone but they are a very real ailment. You see, what most people don’t know is that something like one in four men get them at some point in their lives. Kids don’t get them much, but once you go to uni you had better stop trying to force shits out before going clubbing or farting on command, otherwise you will end up with painful little blood filled lumps popping in and out of your arse all day. These are exacerbated by spicy food, alchohol and sugar (aka your diet). Your best bet is to shit leisurely, hold back on the curries and avoid sitting on cold concrete, or radiators. Seriously. Piles suck ass. DIARRHOEA One of the real downsides of living on bad food and drinking vast quantities of cheap lager is the infamous “beeriod”. Fun as it seems to be downing pints all day, see how much fun it is pissing out of your arsehole for three hours the morning after. Uni is where a lot of people get into using stuff like Imodium. These are spiteful bombs of hate as far as your colon is concerned. In spite of the wondrous advances of modern science it seems there is still no such thing as a anti-diarrhoea pill that stops you pooing but doesn’t give you shit-block for four days. Taking Imodium means you will have to take a laxative later. Therein starts the never-ending cycle of chemically altered crapping. Best thing to do is just take it easy for 24 hours and resign yourself to a day in the toilet. No big deal. You might even actually get some reading done. WEED PSYCHOSIS About a fifth of dedicated weed smokers start freaking out at around 19 years old. We’re not talking about guys that have a cheeky spliff at a party now and then, we mean those kids who wake up and reach across for their vaporiser before rolling out of bed every afternoon. Those who made it through sixth form will either start losing it soon after freshers’ week, or they will be fine forever. The fragile ones start out getting irritable, jumpy and not being able to deal with the “green hangover” and end up walking around halls at 3 AM staring at their feet and scarpering into doorways if other sentient beings approach. An increasing number of students are ending up in therapy due to smoking skunk all the time. Cannabis users are 40 per cent more likely to develop a psychotic illness than non-users and heavy users are more than twice as likely to suffer mental illness. It is predicted that by 2010 25 per cent of all cases of schizophrenia will be cannabis related. This will lead to things like “long-term social interaction issues”, so if you don’t want to end up being the guy who spends the rest of his twenties in his room repeatedly checking that the windows are locked and that the oven is turned off then take it easy. MENTAL HEALTH People who suffer from mental health issues tend to keep them quiet at school. Similarly, it pays not to be too blatantly insane when you are looking for a job. But at uni the crazies love to party. They all come loony leaping out of the madhouse and head down to the bar for all to see. Usually they sort their shit out and become functioning human beings, but there’s always going to be one who you’re going to find nailing bacon to the bathroom walls. I knew a girl who ate ketchup in a bowl for her three meals a day and talked to her dead grandmother every night. As fun as it seems in halls to have an “eccentric” buddy, moving in with mad people can be tiring. If you are someone with issues: think carefully about whether three years in what is effectively a madhouse is right for you.
13
HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT HOW TO SCORE A STUDENT 8.00pm: First step, Off-Licence! Lads, get yourself a big crate of beer and get it straight back to the flat. Crack open the crate and down a beer, its 100% confidence in a can. Ladies, Grab a few bottles of wine and a pack of easysingles, its time to get sophisticated. 9.00pm: Boys. When you get home stick on an episode of sex in the city, all the characters are full of waffle and after this you will feel far smarter than the average female. Psychologically this gives you the upper hand. Now stick a few Gwen Stefani tracks on your mouldy pizza covered stereo. They will drive you absolutely mental (drink an extra few cans to numb the pain) and will ensure that when you hit the club you will be more than pissed off at the fairer sex and wont tolerate any of their bullshit! Meanwhile you ladies will probably have cramped 15 of you into a bedroom to get ready. Now is the time to get all your bitching out of the way, if you can do this before leaving the house you have doubled your chances of scoring! 9.50pm: Wash time! Let’s be honest. If you’re the typical male student stereotype it’s a quick hands, face and genitals in the sink job. If on the other-hand you study at Trinity, just let your butler scrub you down as usual. All females must spend this 10 minute period complaining that they have nothing to wear. It’s a tradition. 10.00pm: Time for an outfit. Lads, don’t worry about anything too fancy, whatever’s on the floor will do, you don’t want one of these new age MTV women who are just with you for your wardrobe. Tonight you’re relying on drunken charm alone. If in the quite likely event that you have no clean boxers, rinse a pair in the sink with some Tesco brand washing-up liquid and dry in the microwave. No self respecting landlord gives a student a tumble dryer, you’re lucky to have radiators. Now down a can! Girls, keep on working away in the bathroom, I’m not quite sure what you do in there but as long as I hear sawing, drilling and the kangohammer I know you’re getting ready. 11.00pm: Get ready for the finishing touches boys, I’m not gonna advise you on your hair, the funniest part of
my nights out is laughing at peoples stupid hair and im not spoiling a good thing so do you worst! Every woman loves a sweet-smelling man so make sure you put in the effort. At best, steal some of your flatmates expensive aftershave, otherwise empty a half can of lynx onto yourself or try rubbing in some of that tesco brand washing up liquid from earlier, just make sure it’s a nice lemon flavour or something. Ladies, its time to get out of the bathroom. You’ve had a few hours in there now, its time to give up. At this stage you look like either an episode of pimp my ride or scrapheap challenge, either way, the lads are all pissed by now and well on their way to shag-tagging meatloaf. So you’re in with a chance... 12.00pm: Hopefully you lads got the hang of the drinking thing around 8.00 and have now drank all your cans, this means its time for the traditional pre-club vomit. Get that out of the way and brush those teeth. You are now either very drunk and full of false confidence or have been smarter than that and have only drunk a few cans! Lads, you don’t need to be drunk to talk to ladies, they hate that. Be yourself (unless you’re a loser) and you’ll do fine. I just wanted you all wasted to increase my chances of scoring. Result! Girls, its time to get a taxi. If at this stage your skin is the colour of Fanta, stay at home! You’re not scoring tonight.
01.00am: Time to hit the club. Fellas, all going to plan, your drunk, badly dressed, your underwear smells like burnt lemon and you smell like a mix of vomit and lynx. The word for you is irresistible. The minute you burst through the doors of the club, hit the dancefloor. Every woman wants a man who can move and the more you stand out, the better! It shows that you’re a confident individual and the ladies will love you for it. So when you’re shaking it, think of Mr. Motivator from GMTV back when you were a kid. While you’re reminiscing of your childhood it wouldn’t hurt to pull out a few moves from your first communion, real extravagant stuff like powerslides and the sweaty fanta-fuelled air-guitar! These moves are rare on Dublins dancefloors and will guarantee you are the centre of attention. Girls, the majority of you will have fallen into familiar territory
purely out of habit and will be standing in a circle gyrating your asses as if in a snoop video. My main advice here would be to remember that you have feet, legs and arms and it would be no harm to use them, otherwise you just look like you’re trying to shake out a poo. 02.00am: You’ve been ripping up the dancefloor for an hour now. Your friends are asleep, except one (who’s swinging out of the roof making cowboys noises) and you’re left dancing with some sweaty Greek bloke or a group of topless lads you’ve never met before. The nightclub is emptying out and you’re wondering why the fuck you sat at home watching sex in the city till nearly 1 in the morning or why you spend 5 hours getting ready for 2 hours of clubbing. All the lookers are gone, so its time to panic and begin minger patrol. Tonight, you’re gonna make some ugly-betty a very happy person! It’s the doggy-faced lotto and you’re about to play the numbers game, so hit on as many people as possible. If chat up lines aren’t working, try diving mouth open into groups of needy looking first years. 2.30am: The night is over and even though you’ve had my world renouned sex advice, you still haven’t pulled. Hang your head in shame. The lights come on and the club plunges into absolute hell and depression! That last ditch attempt you had your eye on in the corner now turns out to be a ginger albino busy drooling on himself. Resist the temptation and leave. 3.00am: Standing/leaning up against a chip shop counter you see your last chance, your heart knows that he/she is an absolute bottom of the barrel two-headed pig minger, your head knows nothing. You fall/slide over to them and with a sexy, quarter pounder with cheese filled alcohol whisper you say.... 10.30am: You wake up, suddenly realising you exist. Your head hurts and your mouth tastes like a kebab shop owners fart. Then you spot the beast. The bed is broken and it looks as if instead of having sex, they went on fire and you tried to put them out with an axe. Doesn?t matter. You scored a student! - MM
THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LIST THE STUDENT ENEMY LISTLIST THE STUDENT ENEMY You're a student. A nice little person. You don't mean any harm. If it wasn't for you, thousands of publicans would die from hunger every year, unable to make a living without the cash you so eagerly spend in their lovely watering-holes. Masses of employees in the ready-meal industry would be let go, unable to feed their families. BellX1 wouldn't sell any albums and they would be starving. You're the whole reason we all have food on the table. Sure wasn't Walter Raleigh a student in UCD – and he gave us the potato. Everyone should love you. Everyone should be thankful! Watch out though, for this is not the case. We have a long list of enemies…
LANDLORDS
The first thing you may have to do when you hit the "big sccccmoke" is get yourself somewhere to live. This involves dealing with the lowest form of human on earth, bouncers not included. In order to get yourself a pad, you're gonna have to deal with a landlord, indeed probably many landlords until you find somewhere acceptable enough to lay your head. Landlords were born in hell and want nothing but money, money, money. I constantly have nightmares of an ugly grey haired man standing in a long black trenchcoat with a shovel in his hand, surrounded by filthy brown 80's wallpaper and Shetland-pony sized rats all huddled around the central heating system, otherwise known as a "Superser". This man kept whispering about €200 per week, €200 per week, €200 per week… even the rats were shaking with
fear! I didn't hang around to ask what the shovel was for. Landlords are no teddy bears. A good tip when signing a lease with these people is try not to drink any alcohol or take any pain-killers the day before as this thins the blood. You'll most probably be required to sign on the dotted line in blood, as is standard practice with most landlords. If your blood is too thin you'll probably bleed to death, and that's just giving them exactly what they want…
TICKET TOUTS
Ticket touts are the scum of the earth, we all know this. One of the best things about your college years is spending all your cash on clothes, booze and going to gigs. How though, are you expected to have any cash for booze or clothes if some smelly bastard in a dirty Febreeze smelling jumper charges you €400 for a ticket? Now capital punishment isn't something we agree with here at PHONiC, but for the ticket tours we're more than willing to make an exception! Standard kit when you start working at Ticketmaster should include a black sack with the eyes cut out and a big rusty axe. When the aforementioned smelly bastard shows up at the counter looking for 26 tickets to Electric Picnic because, "The wife wants to bring a friend," you should pull a Superman-in-a-phonebox style move with the sack and start swinging that axe. If the wife wants a ticket she can go on ebay and pay a grand like the rest of us…
THE GOD SQUAD
Have you heard the good news? Fuck off…
BOUNCERS
Imagine if when Humpty-Dumpty fell off the wall, he didn't actually break. He just got a bit cracked and bent out of shape, and in turn got all pissed off with the world. Then he went to Penneys and bought a cheap leather jacket before hitting a series of cheap and seedy strip clubs where he got drunker than Paris Hilton on a driving test. When he arrived home he "made love" to the King's horses and had a scrap with the King's men, before passing out in the hallway. A few months later the King’s horses gave birth to range of baldy egg-headed creatures which we today refer to as "bouncers". People think bouncers are stupid people, this is simply not the case. Beneath that hardened exterior lie very inquisitive, insightful and spiritual people. Constantly wondering what life is all about, why we're here and have we all been re-incarnated from a previous life. They want you to ponder these things too, as you can see when they ask you questions like, "Where have you come from?" and "Have you been here before?". Too often these people refuse us entry to a pub or club for no good reason, giving silly excuses like, "Regulars only", "I don't know your face," and , "You don't bring me flowers anymore…". We don't like bouncers. Doormen, on the other hand are totally different. Doormen are lovely…
CHARITY MUGGERS
They don't want a minute of my time, they want to smile me to death…
LANDLORDS ARE NO TEDDY BEARS
MOBILE PHONES & PHONEBOXES
They hate me. I'm guessing they hate you too. You would think they would be rivals, working against each other, but no, that's what they want you to think. You could be running through the street trying to get out of the rain - you said you would meet your mate at the Molly Malone but the unreliable bitch is nowhere to be seen. You tried to call her but predictably, your trusty Nokia has gone dead. So now you're running for a phonebox to call the wench and find out where she is. You get to the phonebox and nearly need a tractor to get the bloody door open. Once inside you have to dance around the mix of Dutch Gold cans and Abrakebabra bags while trying not to choke from it's welcoming smell of urine. You lift the receiver only to find for some reason that it's quite… greasy. At least you hope it's grease. The phone is telling you it wants a euro. A full bloody euro for a few seconds on the phone. You fiddle around in your pocket and manage to uncover two 50c pieces. The last of your change. You slide the coins into the slot marked, "Cassie luvs Dicko" and wait for it to register. Only nothing happens. The phone starts clicking (Most people think this is the machine trying to swallow the coins, but it's actually the phone laughing at you) and flashing "enter minimum 1.00". The bloody thing is broken. You hang up and try to get your money back, but the phone just keeps on clicking. Ha Click Ha. Even if it did drop your money down the shoot the flap seems welded shut anyway. Your friend probably
turned up at the Molly Malone after you left, she was only running a few minutes late. You weren't there and it was lashing, so she left in a huff. Your friend is raging with you, you've no way of calling her, your money is gone, your hands and face are greasy, you're soaking wet and you smell like piss. Fucking phones…
THE WEATHER Duu…
THE KING OF NIGERIA
Ok, I have a funny feeling he's not the king of Nigeria, but if my friendly local credit union approve a loan of €250,000 and I lodge it in his bank account, he'll come and visit me. He'll give me my share of the profits he has stored in his vaults, and ill find out then. Only he won't, because he's a big bad spamming bastard. Every day I have a constant flow of unwanted emails arriving in my inbox, all trying to sell me Viagra, Valium or tell me my wife is cheating on me. Most people hate this because they're being spammed. I hate it because I'm being discriminated against! I'm far too young to need Viagra. In fact, I need to find tablets that do the opposite. As for my wife cheating on me, she hasn't even been born yet. I certainly don't need tablets to put me asleep, if anything I need tablets go get me out of bed! God bless the spammer that actually wants to sell me something, because that smart man will almost certainly send me drink vouchers, dinner coupons and a blow up doll. The doll is for a friend…
THE PYJAMA PARADE
Shopping in town is great. Plenty of variety, loads of bargains, a bit of talent wandering around….. and smash! You're lying on the ground, face down, with buggy tyre tracks all down your back. You and about seven others. There goes the pyjama parade. "Heeerrree yung-one, ger outa de waaaaay". The pyjama parade are the hardest gang in Dublin. You'll recognize them by their distinctive gang colours, pink tartan. They get up out of bed and instead of donning the normal jeans or maybe even a t-shirt, they just leave the house in their pyjamas. Cool as cucumbers, they just don't give a fuck. That's what makes them so scary, it's their recklessness. Match that with a supercharged buggy and you have a recipe for death. Some people say that one day computers will take over the earth and kill us all. I say shut up about your computers and get out of the way of that speeding pram or you'll be dead sooner than you think…
“LANDLORDS WERE BORN IN HELL AND WANT NOTHING BUT MONEY, MONEY, MONEY” 16
13
THE THE END IS END NIGH Right now I look like a complete and utter spa. What expression does a complete and utter spa have? Exitment, shock, terror, determination, worry, happiness and sadness… all at once. Well, in this case anyway. A cocktail of facial expressions 100% guaranteed to stop clocks, possibly even time itself if I’m not careful. You see, I should be dead. Squashed under a giant lump of debris from space or sitting in a corner somewhere with my arms falling off. But I’m not. I’m sitting here writing this in my boxers, with a giant fresh cream bun and a big mug of champagne, watching people in tracksuits from Newcastle kicking the shit out of each other on daytime television. “Its nooo ma baby ya bitch!”. So I’m still alive. This is obviously great news, and it’s what’s causing the happiness and the shock. I feel like celebrating because of it, so I am getting quite exited. I can’t believe I got myself so worried, and I’m determined not to do so again. Although, in this day and age with a world full of pain, natural disasters and worldwide disease, the Grim Reaper is always just around the corner waiting to dish out a swift kick to the balls before laughing in your face and dancing on your freshly culled corpse. With that thought, along comes the terror, worry and sadness. The fact is, the human race is completely doomed. We’ve been doomed every few months now for as long as I can remember. Switch on the telly if you don’t believe me. TV3, weather looks grand. Discovery Channel, Bear Grylls eating his own poo. Sky News, YOU’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! Surprise, surprise.
IS NIGH!
Every few months, the latest threat emerges. A world killing disease or the nuclear threat that will finish us all, one last giant ecological disaster to wipe out the human race for good or an email virus that takes away your happiness and makes kids pregnant.
According to the experts at the time, they’re all dead certs. 100% guaranteed pandemonium within the week. Board up your windows, lock up your granny and unplug the TV, death is at the door and he wants to dance. We’re constantly being told we’re on the way out, through the fast lane in most cases. But we’re still here and we just keep on breathing. Why the hell aren’t we dead yet? Who’s baby is it? And how can I fix my face?....
BIRD FLU
Ever seen a chicken sneeze? Have you fuck. Back in 1997 the world’s media announced the newest strain of avian flu that was to kill us all. It would spread from poultry to humans and wipe us off the face of the planet within months. 11 years later and it seems not even birds can get bird flu, never mind us. To date, there is not one case of bird flu in Ireland. Or America for that matter, north or south. Same for Australia, New Zealand and Canada. The list goes on. In fact, its actually only reared its ugly head in six countries in total so far. Sure, both birds and people have died from it but I’m sure if you checked the facts you would find that people have died from things like smothering themselves by falling into a laminator, only to be found lying dead on the other side coated in a layer of shiny plastic.
I know the odds of catching the flu if it’s going around are slightly higher than you falling into a laminator, but if the little fat fella in the red jumper from Power City jumps on the telly tomorrow announcing a laminator sale and everyone runs out and gets one, does that mean we’re all going to die? Doubt it.
MOBILE PHONES
Has everybody forgotten mobile phones are supposed to kill us? Five years ago the media were going crazy over the explosion of mobile phone use. Apparently, using a mobile phone made your head explode open with all sorts of tumours and radioactive animals falling out and laughing at your silly 1 mega pixel camera phone. What happened? Pretty much every single person in the country has at least one mobile phone these days, homeless people included. The only people who don’t have phones are either deaf, Amish or freshly mugged. I thought the masts were supposed to have people keeling over in the streets from electromagnetic waves? I don’t know anyone who has ever keeled over in the street from using a mobile phone. Except my mate Ponie but that was more to do with the fact that he had just smashed open the battery and drunk the contents to see what sort of buzz you’d get off it. The answer to the question, shit buzz! These days the networks are offering thousand minute packages every month, along with text bundles and the internet. Add to that the fact we use them all day as MP3 players, Cameras, Calculators…. They’re never out of our hands! I REPEAT, WHY ARENT WE DEAD YET?
THE APOCALYPSE IS IN YOUR SITTING ROOM DRINKING TEA AND WAITING FOR YOU A GIANT METEOR
Ah, the old reliable. Every few years some beardy lad with a telescope for a personality appears on the telly banging on about how he’s found a meteor that is headed directly for earth within the next few years. “Mmmm yeeess, it’s the same size as two of our moons and is similar in both mass and velocity to the meteor we believe wiped out the Dinosaurs”. Who’s we? You and your ma? Everyone knows Bird Flu wiped out the Dinosaurs. Anyway, apparently every second politician in the Middle East has a giant nuke sitting in their back garden along with the power to blow up earth at the push of a single button. Surely we can take care of a meteor a fraction of its size? And if we can’t, we’ll just have to do the Armageddon thing. Fill a load of planes with foreigners and pickaxes and get Ryanair to fly them to the meteor for cheap. A few months and they’ll have it well whittled down. All they need to leave is room for a runway. Although, I suppose if the Meteor is heading back to earth anyway there’s no real point in sending the planes back to pick them up. We’re not made of fucking money.
HOLD ON, DID SOMEBODY SAY NUKE? Is it a man or a woman? Flip, flip. Does he have a Moustache? Flip. Is he a bit contrary looking? Flip, flip, flip. Is he from Iraq, Iran or bordering countries? Flip. Is it some evil nuclear-wielding politician that is about to finish us all with one clean blast? Apparently so!
Ah, Guess Who. Nuclear fun for all the family.
Between the maniacs in the Middle East, the loony-bins in America, the mad-yolks in North Korea and everyone’s favourite communists in Russia, someone’s bound to push the button, right? Either that or they’ll probably set the fucking thing off by accident. I can see it on Sky News now, during the ads for a change. Years of research, 16 million euro. A world destroying nuclear weapons system, 55 million euro. One of your cleaners slipping on a freshly mopped floor and setting it off by accident….. Priceless! This isn’t going to happen, take our word for it. Think positive. You will not get blown up, you will not get blown up. You will not get blown up…
THE WRATH OF GOD
Every ten minutes a new “radical leader” from somewhere around the world declares that the end of the world is next week, Wednesday, around three o’clock. Obviously, they’re always wrong. Yet somehow, the next madman that comes along gets just as much coverage. Repent, for the end is nigh. The bible states that on Judgement day a battle between heaven and hell will signal the end of the world, and everyone on earth will be judged on that day. The end of the world as we know it. This is absolute bollox, for many reasons. First off, God hates fighting and is against these wars, so we’re told. The only judging he’s going to doing will be flower arranging competitions or an apostle dance-off. Secondly, it’s only a made up book, you’re not
supposed to take this stuff too seriously. Thirdly, even if it does happen just pop out for a quick confession before you get shot or whatever and you’re guaranteed an immediate place in heaven. You even get to meet Paddy Englishman, Paddy Irishman and Paddy Scottishman in the queue. And they say the end of the world is a bad thing!
SHAPE UP KID, YOU’VE AGES YET
Never mind what “they” say. The world isn’t going to die tomorrow, the human race will live to tell another tale. Yes, death is waiting outside the door. And yes, he does want to dance. Just not with everybody at once. This ain’t no street party, its time to die but the dancefloor is full baby! Besides, you’re too good looking to go yet. Take my word for it. Whoever I am… Mikey
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A CHICKEN SNEEZE? HAVE YOU FUCK.
13
STEREOTYPICAL CHAMPAGNE
You are a champagne drinker. You are convinced if RTE ever make an Irish “Sex in the city”, you’ll be in it. You’ll probably be Carrie. You love Lillie Bordellos, orange men and the reverse cowgirl. You set up a second Bebo account just so you could send yourself some daily “luv”. You adore a good day at the races, especially because you get to wear a “look at me, I’m an arsehole” feather hat. You have no money of your own. Daddy secretly hates you…
GUINNESS
You are a Guinness drinker. You are an elderly man or a butch lesbian with a point to make. Either way, you have a beard. You take the bike everywhere. Although you only ever push it along, actually cycling it is for girls. You think the price of everything is ridiculous. You’ve done the lotto every week since it started but you’d hate to win it. Nobody needs that kind of cash. Greedy bastards…
CARLSBERG
You are a Carlsberg drinker. You consider yourself relatively normal. You think anyone who drinks Budweiser is a pussy. When they
get offended over this and call your favourite tipple “a load of shite”, you think it’s hilarious to reply that it’s probably the best lager in the world. This makes you a knob-jockey. You once had a fling with *Mick McCarthy.
BUCKFAST
You are a buckfast drinker. You are either a homeless person in a long grey jacket or a student from the country, long grey jacket optional. You love nothing more than going “buck’ wild”. You think it’s funny when you punch yourself in the face. So do we. Your sitting room contains three inflatable beer coolers, inflatable goalposts and an inflatable couch. And a road cone. But a nice one, not the dirty ones you see some slobs with...
ABSINTHE
You are an Absinthe drinker. You’re not from round these parts. You look like you got dressed in the dark and it seems nobody has told you that tie-dying is dead. Sure it’s been dying for ages. Your left eye is constantly bloodshot. You scare the shit out of kids. You scare the shit out of animals. You scare the
shit out of me…
PERNOD
You. Are. Very. Strange.
YOU THINK ITS FUNNY TO PUNCH YOURSELF IN THE FACE. SO DO WE.
*The Mick McCarthy mentioned in this article is an unemployed 62 year old bi-curious Guinness drinker from Cork. Asides from Guinness, he is partial to a bit of pain at the weekends. He has never met the former Irish football manager of the same name and does not wish to. Nuff said.
13
ARS NEXT TO STR ANGERS C
Recently, I had the pleasure to chat with Carl W. Heindl; a graphic designer, freelance photographer, musician (his albums are now available online for free: eroder.com), and often naked Canadian. I was originally exposed to Heindl's work through chance when I stumbled upon his online Flickr.com portfolio - a massive, manic archive jammed together from his last few years of work, spanning some hundreds of page deep. A terrible beast. Within his portfolio lies a wild night-ride through the weird and far spectrum of photography; raunchy party scenes smear against the camera lens, portraits suspend belief and cop feels in uncomfortable places on my body, and the rest is a frightening medley of freelance work that you'll just have to see and experience for yourself. In this months PHONiC Student issue, we have the great fortune of showing to you his amazing NEXT TO STRAGERS CARS series. We hope you enjoy...
How old are you? CWH: 29 long and hard years on this terrible place. How's living in Toronto? CWH: Beh. Everyone's always saying sorry too much. It's like a friendlier, slower, tinier version of New York. I know where everything is and it's a nice place. I'm content here. I'd like to see the rest of the world someday. What's in your arsenal? CWH: I use what works best for me. My portraits and fashiony flash setup stuff my Nikon d700 and a bunch of speedlights. Film, my main squeeze is a Yashica T4-S or T5, stunning little coated lens on the thing, dropped that little fucker so many times too. That or whatever little gem of a camera I stumbled into on ebay or thrift shops. Been dinkin' around lately with an Argus C3, Agfa karat 36, Polaroid SX-70 Sonar, my grandfather's old Rolleiflex Automat Model 2, Century Graphic 2x3 with a 120 back, and trying out oddballs like this Yashica Samurai X3.0 i just nabbed, a damn terrible 80's camera.
13
ARS NEXT TO STR ANGERS C
What influences or inspires your photography, outside of other photographer's work? CWH: I actually like to keep my blinders on for most photographers work - just keep my eyes forward and do what I'm doin' with minimal influence save for a few other Canadian photographers/buds. Outside of my peers, it sounds stupid but it's just the world that inspires me. People being great, shitty, neutral. Trees. Buildings. Nature. I have this idea that you get a good, usable 50 some-odd years on this earth, so make the best of it - I'd say that's my biggest drive. How did you get into photography? So far, what's been your biggest triumph with it? CWH: I picked up a camera again 2 years ago because making music just ran dry. I needed to do something, some outlet. Oh frig, I forget half the stuff I've photographed already, I have such a terrible memory, at this point photography is also a memory aid for what I did with my dumb life. I guess some of the stuff that really still resonates with me would be the shots i see again down the road and don't hate, the ones that I surprise myself saying, "I did that?"
What's your favorite creation or capture? CWH: A shoot like the one I did for Fritz Helder (shown above). Fuck man, that shoot had so many variables. We wanted to have the chair in a tiny room, with all the fire behind him. Nobody could find someone dumb enough to let us use their house, so someone had the idea of shooting it INSIDE a moving van. So we rented the van, picked up this chair from a film/porno prop rental warehouse, another friend I have works in film here in Toronto, in the art department. I somehow got him to ask the FX guys to borrow a fucking movie grade flame bar. So we all load up and head to a secluded area/industrial beach. The roof of the fucking van is made of plastic. Change of plan, we shoot it in the water. I think we broke quite a few laws, I'm really glad none of the people walking their dogs called the cops. We just shot it bang bang 30 minutes, out of there. I like pulling a shot like that out of my ass pretty much. I'm a broke photographer that never goes about anything through proper channels and I just use what's at hand. It all worked magically somehow, the next day I had to leave the city and just go backpack camping with a bud. Was a stressful shoot. What has been your experience with freelance photography? How did get into working with Vice and other magazines, working with musicians, etc? CWH: Freelance is hard. I never wanted photography to feel like work. I am getting carpal tunnel pretty bad from working with computers since I was 12. So the last thing I need is to edit 6 hours of bullshit wedding photos or whathaveyou after 8 hours of work. I'll still do those things for the right amount of money though. People do anything for money. I think with Vice, I just kept bugging the couple contacts I had there, sending them the event photography I had done - it was my earliest stint with photography, it's good beginner practice. You have a room full of people doing something interesting, you take photos of babes or DJ''s and slap your name and website on the bottom. They get used as profile pics all over Facebook and it was a good early promotional tool for getting my name around. I rarely go out these days and I find it to be the same shit every event so, like I said - I'll do it for the right price but I'm beyond that now.
13
ARS NEXT TO STR ANGERS C
Drink of choice? CWH: Bourbon with a little ice. What's the last book you've read? CHW: A meditation on the nature of and anthropological by-product of time itself by one of my fav. poets/thinkers... a local named Christopher Dewdney, actually. The book is great and kind of shows you how obsessed we became with measuring something that's only relative to each of ourselves. Good mix of fact/history and deeper metaphysics. It's called "The Soul Of The World" What did you want to be when you grew up? CWH: I don't remember. Aside from the typical fireman shit (which is funny because I'm thinking about starting my firefighter training next year. You get to cook and work out basically, then a straight week off for photography. Maybe a fire or two would be fun times too).
What is your purpose, and what are you afraid of? CWH: I think our purpose is just what we are doing now, and in the near future. Best not to dwell on things like that too long, I think. Just keep doing whatever it is you find yourself doing. Do your best and don't worry. I'm not afraid of much, but I'm not totally comfortable with everything either. Constant state of awareness/anxiety I guess; it helps photography.
13
ARS NEXT TO STR ANGERS C