In the issue’s What’s Hot, What’s Not, we look at the relative merits of Bebo, weather, pathogens and wind farms.
Despite everyone’s constant disdain and put-downery of Bebo, we only need one mention of the “They’re deleting Bebo!” rumour for us to manually haul the entirety of our old account on to the current social network of choice. There is a place for bebo in all our hearts. So treat yourself this week, and check-up the Bebo page of anyone you’ve befriended this semester, then take their quizzes and respond to any status they’ve ever had with the new “OMG” or “That’s Funny” buttons. You won’t regret it.
Predictable Weather Patterns
Now that the weather has taken an official nosedive, we can all rest easy that fate dictates to us a solid six months of nuclear red noses, broken umbrellas, and the casual transformation of the UCD lake into an Olympics-worthy ice rink. Why does this warrant rejoicing? Given the tendency of the Irish Summer to be completely shite, not to mention the fact that MET Eireann pick their forecasts out of a hat, this allows you to exchange the ‘Shorts-or-Scarf’ dilemma of July for a little bit of ‘Snow-or-Sleet’. It should be a nice change. For, like, at least a week.
OneTwoOneTwo Film Festival
This weekend, Lighthouse Cinema (Otwo’s favourite cinema in the greater Smithfield area) will be hosting their inaugural music-themed rockumentary film festival. Highlights include Blur’s ‘No Distance Left to Run’ and the legendary ‘Stop Making Sense’ concert film from Talking Heads. Put the midterm study on hold and spend a whole weekend looking at music.
With growing reports of large-scale unexplained farm-animal deaths in the vicinity of Wind Farms, ‘Turbine Syndrome’ is now an actual threat to anyone living near wind turbines. Meanwhile, biomass combustion is causing more air pollution than coal-burning, and turbine blades from hydropower plants are depleting Salmon populations. Renewable resources are so out this season.
Pre-Halloween Christmas Decorations
Money never sleeps, and it seems that neither does the spirit of Christmas. Preferring to lie in wait for the last “Santa Ponsa 2k12” photo album to be uploaded to Facebook, festive cheer then pounces on poor, unsuspecting department stores in a flurry of twinkling lights and plastic greenery. A ‘sexy witch’ costume doesn’t quite look at home under the tree, but we don’t mind, because we know that it’s just what baby Jesus would have wanted.
The debilitating and crippling virulence of pathogens is something we all feel negatively about most of the time, but the danger of inhabiting such a frail, organic shell is never felt more acutely than when the person next to you in Theatre L is hacking away like TB is this year’s Paul’s Boutique bag. Man’s self-preservation instinct is at its finest here, by showing a singular lack-of-care towards anyone who has fallen ill to the common cold.