The late, great Bill Hicks. If anyone here is in marketing…….
Oh wait. You’re already dead. Your version of hell is where nobody buys your shit anymore.
If you’ve ever wondered what being a Goth is all about, this is a super post about Goth culture in Dublin by Jennifer Roche.
For most of us, music is the lifeblood of our gothic lifestyle. Contrary to popular opinion, we’re a sociable lot and like nothing better than to spend a night mingling while listening and dancing to our favourite dark tunes.
So where to go in Dublin if you’re Goth? At the moment, there is no definitive list of gothic pubs and clubs so I decided to post about what’s running in Dublin on a regular basis right now.
Exquisite Corpse: Dedicated to bringing you the best of goth, post punk, death-rock and dark-wave music. I contacted one of the organisers (who prefers to remain anonymous) and he gave me the following:
“While a lot of goth/industrial nights focus on the big names of the 80’s when it comes to goth, we instead focus on the music that was created in the 25 years after those heydays, eschewing nostalgia for fresher, newer…
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I went to McDonald’s the other night with a friend. We were ravenous and ordered a couple of wraps from the specials menu. We kidded ourselves that we had managed to order the healthiest option on the menu, but ‘though we knew in our hearts it wasn’t true, we were cheered by the thought that it was definitely the cheapest, and the two meals came in at under 10 Euros.
We both walked away from the counter with a large Ronald McDonald smile on our faces, despite the fact that our ‘healthy’ options were going to take a whole FIVE minutes to prepare. We pretended we were busy people with hectic schedules, and tried to look quite put out by the unreasonable waiting time, but I don’t think the staff member serving us thought we were all that special, and we sloped off to lurk by a table to get our order. We couldn’t sit, since all the tables were occupied, except the long one where 12 or so people are close enough that their elbows poke into your chips, and you can see the mastication take place REALLY close-up.
We could see other people approach the long table with their trays, consider it, then veer away. After a few minutes a cluster of The Unseated developed at the foot of the stairs leading to the first floor. One after another, we arrived, stared at the sign hung across a rope that said CLOSED, paused for consideration, then sadly dismissed the idea of going upstairs. I have to admit, I tried to goad a few of them into going up the stairs, safe in the knowledge that I was waiting for the arrival of my food, and therefore free of the responsibility of being the scouting party or trend-setter that would start the stampede, and therefore also free of the blame if a giving-out to was going to ensue. No dice, even the couples, who had a partner to discuss options with, rejected the idea of going to the upstairs seating area as too radical. One after another, the sheep wandered back to the fold of the by now completely full downstairs seating area to eat their meals standing up. Our meals arrived. Our bluff had been called. The sheep watched us furtively to see if we would find the grass greener upstairs.
We took a deep breath, and clutching our trays, marched past the sign and up the stairs, where we discovered an almost empty floor, except for a few other rebels, who seemed to nod slightly in recognition as we entered to claim our natural rights, a seat to eat at. And no angry Ronald McDonald anywhere (unless he’s waiting outside)!
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