Money money money

Last night I attended a show performed by the seemingly great Mike Daisey called 'The Last Cargo Cult' as part of the Midsummer. The monologue which lasted a staggering 2 hours and 10 minutes (with no interval) was at it's root, about the nature of money. Or rather, human nature with regards to money. He raised some very interesting points and despite my bum being rather numb, and my attention drifting ever so slightly once or twice, his somewhat explosive and at times almost violent performance did keep me engaged throughout. You see, he gave us something that is impossible for any human, especially poor ones like myself to resist. He gave us money.

That's right. Cold hard cash. As we walked into the auditorium, we were each given a note. I received €5. My friend Amy who was just ahead of me, got €10, while everyone else I could see around me, appeared to also have €5 notes. Now, being the intelligent world aware person that I am, and feeling a little put out that by sheer chance Amy was richer than me, I figured the monologue I was about to watch would have something to do with the inequality of the rich vs. poor, and how there are so few rich compared to so many poor, etc etc. I wasn't entirely wrong.

About halfway through the monologue (a re-telling of his visit to some obscure islands in the South Pacific that don't really do money, interspersed with other short anecdotes of his life, all revolving around money and lack thereof and wanting more of), he brought our attention to the money on our hands. I must at this point tell you that the smell of the money, as it was handled became stronger throughout, and I can tell you, it's an intoxicating smell. He asked us to consider it. brought our attention to the fact that it was, in its essence, only rag paper. That it only had value because WE placed that value on it. He then revealed that there weren't just fives and tens among us. There were 20s, and 50s and even 100s.

What the fuck?! I had the chance to get a €100 note and I got stuck with a lousy €5? God damn it, just my luck. But of course this is exactly what he intended. How does it feel to only be worth that measly €5? Pretty crap. While those sitting pretty with their €50 and €100 must have been feeling very happy with themselves. I found myself eying Amy's €10 with some envy, although also slightly pleased that she was still far from top dog. And odd feeling.

You see money, which Mike went on to say, is the most important thing in the world. No! I hear you cry, love is the most important thing! or happiness! Family! contentment! Sorry to burst the bubble folks, but Mike has a point. As much as we'd all like to think that something like love, rather than money, makes the world go round, it's simply not true, and very naive.

Everyone in the world will claim to be Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Agnostic or even Atheist. And these, they will hold, is their Faith. Their supreme belief. Wrong again. Everyone in the world is in fact united under one great power - money. Think about it: the one thing that everyone in the world believes, trusts and has faith in, is the idea of money. The note I held in my hand was just rag paper. Worthless. But the colours, the size the images on that paper, I knew, because that is the system, I knew was worth €5. I trusted that. And for better or worse, whether we're rich poor or in between, we all trust that the notes we have in our wallets are worth what we believe them to be worth. We believe in money. We know, whether we like it or not, that we need money to survive, to live, in this world that we live in. It's a sad fact, but it's true. Or is it really that sad? I guess that depends on your opinion.

At the very end of the show Mike stands up, thanks us all for coming and addresses the issue that I know has burning in the minds of every single person in that theatre. I know this, because it was burning in me, sometimes consciously, sometimes subconsciously: do we get to keep the money? I had already figured out (judge me if you will) that it would be so easy , had you been given a €20, how easy it would be to simply hand back a €5, and no one would be any the wiser. €15 profit, right there, with no repercussions. No one had taken any note of who had what note. As I only had €5, this plan was pointless to me, I was hardly going to keep a €5 and hand back a€10. But Mike had another trick up his sleave. The money did not belong the midsummer. It did not belong to the venue. It did not belong to Mike. At least, not yet. The money, was in transaction. It was his fee, his wages, his payment, for doing the show. A glass bowl appeared on the table. It was up to us, it seems, to decide, if he really deserved it. We had a choice: Give back exactly what we had. Give back less. Give back more. Give back nothing at all. Our choice.

What would you have done?

What did I do?

I gave it back. It was after all, only €5, and I had enjoyed the experience. Besides, I'm not sure my good Catholic conscience could endure the guilt if I hadn't. That and I was with a large group of people all of whom were watching one another with smiles that clearly stated: we are all aware that this societies idea of what is right and wrong clearly dictates that we give this money back an we cannot be seen to be doing otherwise.

Truth be told, if I wasn't as poor as I am, and I only had €5, I would have been tempted to give an extra €5. However, I couldn't quite ignore a question niggling at the back of my mind, it's still niggling now: poor as I am, if I had had the €100 or even the €50, what then? Would I have dutifully given it back as I did the lowly €5, or would I have given less, and kept the €50 or €100 for myself? It would be so easy, so very, very tempting. This, I dislike.

Now that it's all over, I would be curious to know, did Mike get back exactly what he gave? Or did he get more, or less? I guess I'll never know, but I wish I did. It's something I suppose would vary from city to city, country to country, depending on the mores, values and customs of that place.

I'm glad I returned the money. But it does disturb me a little that money really does have such an incredible power and hold on our lives. It does not bring happiness, or love or contentment, the more things you have, the more things you want, right? But still, it does dominate and at times dictate almost everything in our lives whether we like it or not. It often brings out the worst in people. The fact that I can't even say for if I would have kept €100 and given back a €50 or God forbid a €5 instead? That's a dark side to myself I hope I never have to encounter.

Whoops

Time does seem to be tripping away from me at the moment. It's all very confusing. Maybe it's the good weather. Or perhaps the fact I don't have much to do with my time. Either way, I meant to post this ages ago for all you numerous fans *cough*. So, somewhat later than billed, a little more of Cathy Jane....

http://cathyjanew.livejournal.com/1062.html

More of Cathy Jane

Things are not going too well for our young friend I fear. She has just made a wee bit of a mistake, one I'm sure many of us have made in our time.....

http://cathyjanew.livejournal.com/

ConcerningCathy Jane

It suddenly occured to me that it might be helpful to post a link to my newest literary adventure as well as a bit of a sample. Let me know what you think, if anything at all...

http://cathyjanew.livejournal.com/

A blog concerning the events of the life of Catherine Jane Watkins.

To whom it may concern my name is Catherine Jane Watkins. I am eighteen years of age and hail from a little known town in the middle of nowhere. I recently watched this film called Julie & Julia in which one of the characters starts writing a blog and becomes famous from it. It ends up being a book which then got turned into a film. So I decided, seeing as how I want to be an actor or a writer or some such, that it would be a good idea to do the same. So here I am. I don't know if anyone will be interested in my life but I figure I may as well give it a go. Who knows, maybe something will happen to throw adventure in my way.

I suppose I should start by giving a few basic particulars:

• My mother, an English teacher, is slightly obssessed with the Brontes, therefore I am named after two of their most famous heroines - Catherine Earnshaw and Jane Eyre. The conclussion I must clearly draw from this is that I am destined to meet and fall in love with either a Heathcliff or a Rochester. Though hopefully without all the extra baggage those two bring along with them. Then again, would they be as thrilling without all that baggage? But I digress...
• My father works for the local newspaper. He is one of their top features writers, though it's only a local paper so he doesn't get paid all that much and is most definitely not what one would call famous. At least not beyond the boundries of this fair town.
• I have one brother, older, whose name, you wont be surprised to find, is Edgar, from Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff would have been a step to far I suppose. I also have two younger sisters: Emily-Anne and Charlotte. Poor Charlotte's middle name is Villette. I used to wonder at Dad letting Mum name all of us, but I figured out, now I'm older and wiser, that he loves her too much. He always lets her have way - I'm not sure it's healthy.
• My brother is studying Law in college, but as I am determined to be a writer or actor, or someone of consequence, I desire to study the Arts, for the betterment of my mind. I think that studying the Arts makes you very worldly wise and it's the kind of thing that will stand to you if you were ever to be on a show like Eggheads or Who Wants to be A Millionaire. And just look at Stephen Fry. I think he must surely be the smartest person in the world.
• For my Leaving Cert, which I shall be sitting in a few weeks, I am taking French, History, Music and Home Economics, (really wish I hadn't picked Home Ec, it's all so very...difficult and stereotypical) along with English, Maths and Irish, obviously. I hate maths with a vengeance though. I just don't get numbers.
• As for my hobbies I enjoy reading, writing, listening to music and watching films. I also love to dance and to run.

I can't think of anything else I can tell you by way of introduction. No, I do not have a boyfriend, nor do I intend having one anytime soon. It would prove too much of a distraction. Are there boys that have caught my eye? But of course, I am a girl after all! But we'll leave that for another day. My best friends are Karen and Edel. We are friends because we share a similar state of mind. And all of us are virgins and have never had a boyfriend for more than a few weeks. I believe we are unique among our age group in that respect. Not that we let that get to us. We were never ones to bow to peer pressure and after all, whose to say what great romance might be around the corner for any of us? My mother and father fell in love at the age of nineteen, and have been inseperable ever since. How do I know that my...Mr Darcy or Edward Ferrars isn't about to enter my life and sweep me off my feet? I would be the envy of everyone. I'd be happy out, with a lovely, charming, intelligent boyfriend, who takes me on drives and buys flowers for my mum, cigars for my dad and treats me like a queen. Yes. That would be most excellent.

Absence of Sorts

It seems I have been somewhat absent of late. Well, actually I had forgotten this blog even existed if truth be told, hence it being well over a year since my last post. Pity really, considering just how much has changed, drastically changed at that, in that time. But that, I fear is another very long story for another very long day. Suffice to say the facts simply put are as follows:

• The relationship I last spoke of, while in turns fantastic, terrible and one of the biggest learning curves I have ever encountered has ended, as all things must eventually.
• I did go on to be possibly the best productions officer Dramat has ever seen. (well, at least in the time I have been there) and more recently the ISDA officer, and am even an ISDA nominated Director. (Most definitely one of the proudest moments of my life.)
• I have been diagnosed as a Coeliac. Yeah.
  
• I completed my MA with a fabulous 2.1. Job well done I reckon.
• I am currently unemployed and still living in Cork.

So what brings me back here? Well as I have said I am currently unemployed, something I apparently do not take too kindly to as I find it incredibly difficult having nothing to do. This has lead to a huge increase in writing on my part. I have been writing by the new time: plays, stories, poems, even books, I have been scribbling away. A while back I was home alone feeling mightily sorry for myself ) as one often does when home alone with very little to distract oneself). Bridget Jone's Diary seemed the most appropriate inappropriate film to watch. As I sat there, feeling both delight and disdain for the blossoming romance evolving in front of me, I hit upon an excellent idea. It is a truth universally known that Bridget Jone's Diary is a contemporary rehashing of Jane Austen's wonderful Pride and Prejudice, and that it started life as a simple newspaper column. The same goes for Sex and the City. (the newspaper column bit, not the Pride and Prejudice bit, that would be taking a rehashing of a classic about one hundred steps too far. Although, if you replace conventional family with urban family, I suppose the base ingredients aren't too far off....but I'm straying from the point). The new newspaper column it would appear, is the blog. There are very few people in the world today who don't at the very least Tweet their existence. Getting noticed in this world of millions of blogs is never going to be easy, but where there's a will....
Which bring me to the second truth most universally acknowledged: In every girl lies one of Austen's heroines. That is to say it is most impossible to find a fan of Austen who does not identify completely with one particular heroine of Austen's. This is evident in 'The Jane Austen Book Club', while not particularly cleverly written, or appealing, the basic message I do agree with. There's a bit of Austen in all of us. It's why she's still kicking around after all. My friend Una, for example, while Emma is her favourite, were she to embody anyone, it would be Elizabeth Bennett. For my own part, while Lizzie may be my favourite and while I will always have a soft spot for Elinor, I do believe I am a modern day Catherine Morland.
I live my life in the stories of others, I really do get carried away by my imagination (much to my detriment, I assure you), I even on occasion see things that really aren't there (by which I mean see things in a way which is often the opposite to the reality) and I most definitely believe I am a heroine on the cusp of a great adventure through which I will find my knight in shining armour. That last one refuses to let up, however sensible I try to be.
So my great idea? A contemporary retelling of Northanger Abbey, told through the fascinating and increasingly popular mode of the web log, or blog as it is known.
Catherine Morland becomes Cathy Watkins, rather than leaving for Bath by way of starting her adventure, she is starting college (it is after all, among other things, a coming of age story), she is Irish, as I am, for it is what I know best, and she like me, lives constantly with her nose in a book, a film or a tv show, is easily swayed through her naivete and honesty by less than honest friends and discovers all the delights one does as one starts college. I can't say that there will be castles and cranky widowers and marriage proposals, but there will be men, drinking, parties and even a little bit of sex.
How many people read and how many people enjoy it remains to be seen, but as I said, where there's a will, there is always a way. There is nothing left for me to do now but, well, start.

I am about to start a new phase of my life. A new adult phase. I will, in a few days time be partaking in a conferring ceremony which will furnish me with a Bachelor of Arts, joint honours in English and Drama and Theatre Studies. I will be a graduate.

Now most people, upon graduation, launch themselves into the world of work, becoming gears on the great machine that is the economy.

However, the thought of becoming such a worker bee fills me with dread. The kind of dread that leads one to break out in a cold sweat and start to hyperventilate. For I am, as of yet, still unsure exactly what kind of worker bee I wish to be (see what I did there?).

Being in the world of theatre for so long as I have, in particular the last three years, has left me in the precarious postition of loving every part of it so much, I don't know what part I want to do for a living. Do I want to perform? Do I want to direct? Do I want to write? Do I want to teach or work back stage? I just don't know!

In order to to try and sort myself out, I have decided to further my studies in this field by completing a MA in Drama and Theatre Studies. Specifically, advanced performance. Along side this, I shall be fulfilling my role as Production Officer on the Dramat Committee which will give me great insight into that side of theatre, and who knows, I may direct and/or write to top it all. Hopefully by the end of the next twelve months I will have determined a positive course of action.

Alongside being a Postgrad (scary stuff) I have of late been finding myself embroiled in other 'mature' activities. It seems the world is doing it's best to make me a grown up. I'm fighting it, of course, but there's nothing for it. Renting a house from a proper letting agency, (spanish inquisition, I tell ya!) getting a loan from the bank and organising and paying for my first proper holiday fully independant of the parental all requires a certain maturity. That and being in an actual relationship. But the less said about that the better.

I must tell you, as I near my 22nd birthday, as maturity and adulthood is thrust upon me with the would-be force of Huricane Gustave, I feel the need to actively become more mature; more cultured; to appear intelligent and witty and all things desirable in an adult in the cultured circles I frequent. I feel the need to download Stephen Fry's podcast, and shun the Sunday Independant for the Sunday Times and scoff at Sky News, favouring Reuters more worldly unbiased view of world events. I feel I should listen to jazz and alternative underground not-yet-discovered artists. I feel I should stare at an unmade bed in the centre of a room and declare it genius. I feel I should be able to quote Shakespeare and Byron and Keats at the drop of a hat in an unaffecting manner. I should be all things together. I should be effervescent. A delight to be around. I should be all of this without being hauty or snobbish, but rather graceful, and seemingly ignorant of my own brilliance. More importantly, I should know exactly where I am and where I'm going. I should have a five year plan.

The truth? While I do download stephen fry's podcast, scoff at Sky News for its sheer irritability, I'm more inclined to listen to the soundtrack of Wicked rather than jazz, love art galleries and can, to a degree quote Shakespeare and Byron easily enough (not so much Keats, doesn't really float my boat)I am not all together. A five year plan? Ha! You must be joking. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do beyond this year. This month actually if I'm honest. Why is there so much pressure to have a plan? Did people my age always feel pressurised into having a plan for their life in the same way we do? I get that sense that people just got on and did things in the past because they didn't have as much choice as we do. We have so many choices facing us. We have degrees and qualifications to beat the band and more kinds of jobs than you could shake a stick at. The days of girls becoming nurses or teachers, and boys being farmers, priests or teachers are long gone. Now we have the kind of jobs that defy description. People have job titles that give no indication of the kind of job they actually do. Are we better off, despite the pressure, or worse off?

Someone once said that ignorance is bliss.

I have decided to leave the answers to my questions unresolved. What will be will be.

Mea Culpa.

Que sera sera.

Whatever.

Sleepless in...Carlow

Once again I am suffering from that very irritable occurence where you lie in bed, desperately tired, yet you cant switch your brain off and are thus unable to sleep. Having been here before, and having listened to my rants from a variety of friends, I even tried following their advice.

Ordinarily I must sleep with a tv or at the very least a radio in the background. It helps me to tune out my own thoughts, allowing me to succumb to slumber by reducing the background noise (be it tv or radio) to an incoherent static. It's enough to stop my own thoughts, but not enough to keep me awake.

Tonight however, as I lay in bed with the tv on and my eye patch over my eyes (I must have complete darkness) try as I might I could still hear my own thoughts. They buzzing around like bees around a hive. I tried following my friends' advice for once (they could be right you know...) and switched off the tv. I lay in complete darkness and complete silence for two whole hours.

It didn't work.

My brain will just not stop buzzing. It keeps hopping from one thing to the next as well, it's not like there's one particular thing bothering me, it everything that's going on, and even things that aren't going on. Thanks to an episode of Men Behaving Badly combined with this random show I came across Notes From the Underbelly (your run of the mill newleywed comedy) I was even thinking about babies and giving birth. Not something that I'm particularly concerned with at the moment!

So now I'm here. I figured the only way it might be possible to get my brain to switch off is to come on here and try and tire it out by venting some of whats hurtling around in there. To return to my earlier analogy of a beehive it feels like the Queen has gone postal and all the other bees are rocketing around trying to restore order and calm but without much luck because some of the bees have decided to give up and kill themselves. Which would actually be a good thing for me coz it would mean the death of the buzzing bastards. Unfortunately they're not very bright and are trying to kill themselves by jumping from a great height. Not the best idea when you can fly and just as you're about to hit the ground your survival instinct kicks and and you start beating your wings subconscioulsy. It's about as effective as a fish trying to drown itself.

I think the above rant only serves to prove how tired and rambling my brain is at the moment.

Its all down to work. It has completely messed up everyting from my sleeping pattern to my eating pattern. Working as a social care assistant in a residential home is not easy at the best of times. The hours are very unsociable to say the least. Now don't get me wrong, I actually do like the job and after three years of working part time at weekends and over the holidays its fairly safe to say I'm beginning tobe quite good at it. The only thing is, you're on the opposite time table to everyone else. You start work when everyone else finishes, and if you're on an over night shift you work when everyone else is asleep and you sleep when everyone else is at work. The general daily shifts are enough to cause havoc - typically starting at half four and finishing at ten, without any real break, you tend to try and eat lunch around two or three, but by the time you get home just after ten you're starving so you eat a dinner - the worst thing you can do at that time of night. That inevitably keeps you up for a few hours and then because you're not in work early you sleep late. When you're on an overnight, a 10pm -10am, you're lucky to get one meal a day. I tend to only manage a bowl of cereal and maybe some dinner before I head into work at eight or nine, still very late to be eating dinner. Inevitably the nibbles set in during the night so you snack on whatever's available. Usually biscuits or a bar. Hardly what you'd call healthy. Obviously, when you switch quite often between 'day' shifts and over nights, it causes havoc with your whole system.

The result? Me, sitting here right now because I came in from work starving because I didn't get a chance to eat anything before work and therefore indulged on a rather large dinner which is now just sitting rather uncomfortable in my stomach. I feel like I never want to eat again. I do like my job, I get great satisfaction out of it. I just wish it would play quite so much havoc with my body's systems. There must be a better way to deal with it.

As I was feeling quite fatigued on a regular basis I've started taking pharmaton which does seem to be giving me a bit of a boost energy wise. Today I went out and bought some green tea which is suppposed to be good for boosting your metabolism and de-toxing your body - something I definitely need. I need to do something, I feel like one of those mini gel men you put in water that grow to five times their normal size. You know what I'm talking about.

I'm aware that Una Power is probably the only person in the world who will read this, and she'll probably laugh her way through it, but that is not the point of this blog. No. To my mind, all that matters about this blog is that I get to rant, and get things off my chest without anyone interupting me. Rather like when I ring my friends and leave ridiculously long voicemails about nothing just so I can air some troubled thoughts. So whether or not anyone reads this, I don't really care. The point is I have sufficiently ranted to my hearts content and am now finally starting to feel my brain shutting down enough to allow me to sleep.

I'm off to watch St Elsewhere - an eighties Grey's Anatomy starring Denzel Washington and Helen Hunt. Bizarre, I know, but it works. Shame I only get to see it when I have a bout of insomnia.....