Say Cheese

As a young and thoroughly uncool student teacher, there are a few tasks at which I'm supposed to excel in: sitting backwards on a chair, pretending to be one with my students and being the one goon in the staffroom capable of utilizing this century's technology. Of these, from this week on I have yet to master the last, because the camera on my mobile phone has given up and surrendered the white flag. I'm unsure why this has happened and how long this absenteeism is set to last. For the past three days this issue has played heavily on my mind and as it turns out I am losing out on a lot more than just the optical instrument.

1. Celebrity encounters. You break your camera and all sense of logic exits your life. So what if I have never ran into a celebrity in the last twenty odd years, I will run into multiple international stars in the next few days and no one will believe me because I lack any proof to seal the deal. I keep imagining bumping into Beyonce in a supermarket, or even worse her ill-mannered younger sister Solange Knowles in a hotel lift and losing all that vital evidence worth selling to the media when she starts to flare-up.

2. Flawless selfies. I refuse to accept that anyone in this day and age hasn't attempted the infamous selfie at least once. It has become a way of life for the egotistical mortals of this world. I'll admit it isn't a pastime I partake in too often but now 'cameraless' how am I going to please the Vanity Gods? When I'm looking respectable on a day I don't plan to venture outside the house, how shall I ensure my allure and style don't go unnoticed? How will I survive?

Wannabe hipster? Not without the black and white filter. 
     
3. Snapchat. Snapchat is perfect for the people in your life you wish to keep in contact with, but more than ten seconds worth of data is just intolerable. Many of us enrolled because we like talking to good-looking, attractive people but lack the desire or appetite to sustain a provocative conversation with them. This app is perfect because it requires little to no dialogue, in silence and endless beauty there is communication. Without a camera, this app is useless.

4. Comical Photographs. As the seconds, minutes, hours and days have passed I dread to think of all the amusing opportunities I have missed out on. Chances are this week I'll run into a dog driving a school bus, a free-spirited grandmother skateboarding and Mary McAleese picking her nose down an avenue in Galway city and they will be nothing but an unpleasant memory.

5. Home made music videos. When it's pouring rain some night and I am on the train parked on a window seat looking out at it, without my own video recorder who is going to document my adaptation of Adele's Someone Like You? Walking down a sunny street, feeling on top form, how will I videotape my rendition of Pharrell's Happy? If I was to write an award winning self-penned number-one single, how will I record the music video? Hire a producer? Sign with a record label? Borrow a friend's camera? I think not. 

Send help, this is not a drill. 

Eighteen Lives

Do you ever kick start your day on a good note? You know a real spring in your step, everything going better than planned and you commence considering yourself the next messiah or better than the legend Beyonce. It's a pretty amazing feeling, hence why it usually doesn't happen to us very often, once every few months if you're lucky. I experienced something along these lines this morning and it was pretty damn magical until the Irish media got involved.

Truth be told we are not the most academic family but my mother does make it a habit to buy the newspaper most mornings. It's more snoopiness than a sign of intelligence. This morning, she had her head stuck into some article so instead of dallying around the dining room looking for insects to kill  I decided to have a gawk through the supplement, it was protected in clear plastic and was slightly heavier than normal. This meant only one thing, a freebie was in store. If you live in Ireland you should know that these complimentary giveaways are never great. Whether it's a CD containing Linda Martin's best top thirty-five hits or three conjoined scratch cards where at least two of them will claim you have won gold on the Persian border. But this morning it was different, it was free food.



The samples were cunningly packaged, a bright wrapper and little signs that internal bleeding was to follow. My mother had stopped reading at this stage, she possibly sensed my excitement from the jittery manner in which I opened it. 

Both of us rendered a smile, she wanted in. This is where this story should end but within five seconds we both knew something wasn't right. 

Me: "They are awful salty." I can't handle anything remotely salty, here's why.
Mother: "It is getting stuck to my teeth." The texture was unrecognisable.
Me: "I'm spitting mine into the bin, these aren't for me." At this point you should know something really wasn't right, I would eat my laptop, shoes and our dog if I had the chance.
Mother: "Show me the packet, they remind me of something." Don't pay any heed, everything supposedly reminds her of something.
Me: "I'd say they're just out of date, at least we didn't pay for them." I await the day newspapers start administering free caviar and Ferrero Rochers with their pullouts.
Mother: "Why is there a picture of a squirrel on the front?" It wasn't a squirrel, let me just say the woman needs to wear her glasses more. 
Me: "Probably some cheap mascot for the brand." I watch a lot of Dragon's Den.
Mother: "Yeah, pass me a tissue I cannot bear it much longer."
Me: "OMFG! They. Are. Cat. Biscuits." I then began to laugh, like crying when happy it was a release of over emotion.
Mother: "How could you Patrick? You planned this." Welcome to the blame game sponsored proudly by Mothercare.

My cackling extends, increasing loudly in pitch. I was in shock that she felt I was corrupt enough to do that to her and skilful enough to carry it off so effortlessly.

Me: "But sure I had one too? We are both as dimwitted as each other". You seemingly inherit the dunce cap in this family.

It's now over two hours later and neither of us have said a word to each other since. The absence of sound is eating away at me and I am now unsure where I stand in this whole argument. Did I plan it? Perhaps I subconsciously fooled both of us into consuming the feline affiliated treat. I might be possessed? Can I even trust myself any more?

This might sound strange but it doesn't help that the biscuits were made for cats. Both my mother and I despise cats. They condescend you in their language, whilst silently judging you awaiting your death so they can feast on you instead of the stupid complimentary salty based snacks they are forced to gorge on from the midweek newspaper. If it was dog biscuits, flakes for goldfish or even molasses for the cattle we would be perfectly fine with it. But cats no, cats are and always will be the source of all things evil in the world.

Household pets? I think not, more so wild vulgar animals.
   
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