Archive for December, 2009

The ten best books of the decade…

Posted in Uncategorized on December 23, 2009 by Bruno

1. Jonathan Safran Foer: Extremely loud and incredibly close
2. Roddy Doyle: A star called Henry
3. Nassim Nicolas Thaleb: The black swan
4. Tom Holland: Persian Fire
5. Bill Bryson: The life and times of the Thunderbolt kid
6. Charles C. Man: 1491
7. Jared Diamond: Collapse
8. Richard Dawkins: The God Delusion
9. Markus Zusak: The Book Thief
10. Khaled Hosseini: The Kite Runner

The 10 best albums of the naughties… Façon Bruno

Posted in Uncategorized on December 22, 2009 by Bruno

1. E.S.T. – Leucocyte
2. Joe Henry – Tiny voices
3. RJD2 – Deadringer
4. Charlie Hunter – Songs from the analog playground
5. Joseph Arthur – Our shadows will remain
6. The Bad Plus – These are the vistas
7. Nitin Sawhney – Human
8. Johan Johannsson – Fordlandia
9. Recoil – SubHuman
10. Portishead – Third

Booth(y) call – first published January 5th, 2005

Posted in the mind wanders... on December 1, 2009 by Bruno

Ever used one of those photo booths you find in shopping malls? The ones that give you four mug shots for five euro? They’re horribly depressing, aren’t they? I always hope that someone comes out as Superman (or –woman, if you fancy a transsexual superhero), but that never happens. The pictures you get are always too bright and you’re never quite in the centre. And you feel so exposed in those cubicles, hiding behind your curtain as if you’re some pervert doing whatever perverts would do in there.

Yesterday, I was in Dun Loaghaire shopping centre and there you had it. Some middle-aged woman came out of this booth (Well, she would have been middle aged if she lives to be 110). Anyway, she gave me the “Oh-my-God-you-saw-that?”-look, as if I caught her during the act. I replied with my “Did-I-ever!”-look, although there might have been a slight hint of “What-are-you-on-about” in my gaze.

Why would you want a picture of yourself, woman? And why do you want to have it taken in a booth? Look at yourself, you’re gigantic. You barely fit in there. Go to a proper photographer, in a building! This woman wasn’t chubby, she was huge. I mean, look-out-Sri-Lanka-she’s-coming-in-and-it’s-gonna-be-so-much-worse-when-this-hits-you-huge. How can people let themselves go like that? It’s just a photo booth, not an Extreme Makeover-booth. Oh, by the way, ten kilos of make-up don’t hide the fact you’re huge. It just stops you from getting into the US. “Excuse me madam, the amount of make up on your nose is considered to be a weapon of mass destruction in this country. I’m afraid it’s a one-way-ticket to Guantanamo Bay for you.”
She stumbled out of the booth, gave a Godzillaesque roar into her cell-phone and disappeared into the crepuscule. I went to Tesco and bought some bread and salmon from the omnipotent British imperialist mega-value bastards, went home, watched Stargate and called it a night. Life can be great at times.