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Hi Misc fans, Welcome to our second - and indeed, penultimate - issue of Miscellany this year. Time flies when you’re an editor, apparently. Once again, thank you for picking up a copy of our magazine. A lot of love went into it. We’ve got all the weird and wonderful miscellaneous content you’d expect from us, from a review of Trinity Come Dancing to a rundown of open mic nights in Dublin. We also drank a lot of coffee - in the name of science - naturally. All this and lots more this issue - we have the usual geek out and politics corners to look forward to as well!

A special shout out goes our lovely front cover illustrator, Alice McLoughlin, for her gorgeous cartoon of the Campanile, one of our favourite Trinity landmarks.

That’s all for this issue, loves. Enjoy! Áine and Sinéad xoxox

Editors: Sinead Loftus and Aine O’Connell Deputy Editors: Kat Clinch and Paul Glynn Politics Editor: Ruairi Keane PRO: Paraic McLean & Carla King Molina Pusheen Advisor: Oisin Vince Coulter Geek Out Editor: Doireann Ni Chongaile Poetry Editor: Alice Kinsella Layout and Design: Aisling Crabbe Illustrations: Alice McLoughlin, Sinaoife Andrews and Stephen Paul Paclibar

Union Intrusion

3

Trinity Come Dancing

5

Remembering Bowie

8

A Portrait of Bernie

9

What Literature Does

11

Coffee Time

13

Trans Identities, Representation and The Danish Girl

15

Serverus Snape - A Consideration Stumbling through life... happily Why the Volkswagen emissions scandal is great for the environment

17 19 20 21

Poetry Corner 2

union intrusion

by Kat Clinch

“HI THERE! Do you know who you’re voting for yet?”

None of them. I disagree with all the candidates and here’s why: For the vast majority of students, the yearly students’ union elections are at worst an annoyance, one easily kept at bay by donning headphones and utilising the power of the resting bitch-face. However, for some members of the college community, elections are a special kind of hell - and I’m not talking about the overstretched campaigners or even the nervous yet hopeful candidates. For some of us, the sight of the arts block concourse flooded with strangers who might try to engage us in some way strikes a fear into our hearts like the sound of a creak in a dark empty house. The first few days of the campaigning are the worst, with some campaigners practically blocking the entrance, waiting to

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bombard you with flyers the second you step foot in the building. It’s intense even for people who aren’t intimidated by these kinds of encounters, but those of us who feel pressurised and uncomfortable in forced interactions can find the campaign weeks overwhelming.

There are all kinds of social anxiety, but for many, the idea of being forced into an unexpected interaction with a stranger can be a source of enormous stress. It is particularly bizarre that a students’ union that has done so much to promote mental health and well-being in the college can seem so oblivious to how its campaigning methods are affecting a huge subsection of the student body that they’ve worked so hard to make feel comfortable. To flinch in shock as a well-meaning Welfare candidate attempts to bombard you with their policies seems to me the very opposite of what the campaigners should be trying to achieve.

This kind of discomfort for students with social anxiety and disruption for all students, as well as the negative environmental impact, could be avoided if the parameters for campaigning were changed.

It would also almost certainly increase the efficacy of campaigning, as many candidates are ignored, forgotten or even actively disliked for their in-yourface tactics.

Here are some suggestions to make campaigning a more pleasant experience for all:

Exclusive postering areas During campaigning week and voting week, a number of noticeboards across the whole campus should be dedicated exclusively to the campaign.

Each candidate would be required to provide 1-2 posters with their image, slogan and proposed policies and strategies. This way, students can simply go to the noticeboard and see information on all the candidates for all the positions and easily compare and contrast.

Continued and more comprehensive online information.

With the age of technology upon us, there is no reason to spam people with planet-killing flyers when all the information within these could alternatively be shared online.

The SU email could easily distribute an online version of the suggested ‘comprehensive pack’ and send on Facebook details for the candidates’ pages. A dedicated Facebook page (which students could be reminded to follow by Trinity email service) could give daily updates on what events were taking places, what times you could speak to candidates and where to find information on the candidates, as well as break any news on updates or scandals around the candidates.

Supplement and/or flyer pack My second suggestion would be that all students be provided with a pack with a supplement on all of the candidates, their details, their policies and a flyer for each candidate. This would ensure that every student had the information they needed to make a vote, rather than murmuring “be grand” as they tick the box beside the candidate whose twibbon infected their facebook the most at the polling station.

Press conferences and pre-defined contact hours.

Who doesn’t love a good press conference? It’s so very The Good Wife. In my plan, students would be given information in the weekly Union email or via the proposed pack and boards on when press conferences/debates would take place (so those interested could see the candidates in action).On top of this, rather than wandering the campus and trying to force conversations with random students about their policies, candidates would be required to provide specific contact hours or contact details where students could speak directly with them or their teams about specific issues.. This would prevent candidates from wasting face-time with students who are disinterested and may not even vote, and maximise their chance for interaction with proactive students who take their vote in the SU Elections seriously.

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trinity come dancing.

All’s quiet on this crisp January evening at 6pm. I’m at the Button Factory on Curved street, the venue for 2016’s edition of Trinity Come Dancing, about an hour before the show begins. Walk a little further into the building and downstairs to backstage, however, and the atmosphere is buzzing, excited, and a bit on the sweaty side. Society heads are mingling, dancers are at the make-up tables, and the DU Dance committee are pacing around with clipboards and red hoodies. There is glitter everywhere.

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Upon closer inspection, it seems that there are some pre-game nerves among the dancers and Big Names on Campus that I talk to, but no one is outright agonising over going on stage. Speaking to everyone as they prepare to head out to the crowd, it’s clear that the event is just a bit of craic for those involved. Experience level is no barrier to having good fun, said Lysette Krol, who judged last year’s competition. Speaking to Miscellany on returning to

judge this year, she said she had great optimism for seeing how this year would pan out, adding that “it’s such a great idea” to combine levels of experience, “from my point of view, it really makes people try stuff. Sometimes people can be really shy”.

She acknowledged that once they get on stage, working with an experienced dancer can do wonders for even a total amateur’s confidence.

brought their own flavours to the competition, as well as enthusiasm. The appeal of Trinity Come Dancing is in its ability to balance the traditional with the offbeat, and to make the evening as fun as possible. There’s certainly a lot of leeway for creativity in the dancing categories. The contrast here, between Cha Cha, Tango, Irish and Hip-Hop, for instance, is palpable, boundlessly energetic and righteously good fun.

The RAG Week staple, in its twelfth year, was hosted by Aisling Mullins, former DU Dance secretary (and Miscellany editor!), and one of last year’s professional dancers, as well as Orla Caffrey. Both hosts were hilarious and so neatly encapsulated the “bitta craic” vibe of the night. “Orla’s going to do maths everyone, chill out!” Mullins would bellow when her partner prepared to announce the combined judge’s score of each dancing act.

On the night, it was the surprise talent that won out in the end.

Trinity Rugby’s Dylan McGagh, a stand-in with only a week to learn his ballet routine, put in a great effort, decked in the college rugby jersey for good homecrowd measure. The SU’s Ents Officer Katie Cogan and chair of DU Dance, Darren Byrne, looked both determined and at ease with the rhythm as they moved to a complex, punchy hip-hop beat, segueing into second place at the end of the night through an almost flawless performance.

Eight couples, each comprised of a big-name-on-campus paired with an experienced dancer,

The night’s winners, Ashley Duane and partner Laura Casey, ticked all the boxes. They Irish-danced to a whole palette of song genres - who knew how well jigs and reels went with Proud Mary by Tina Turner - and shared great chemistry. And yes, there were props; rowing oars, to be precise. “Jesus Christ!” was host Mullins’ well-founded reaction to Ashley and Laura’s all-out effort, with co-host Caffrey adding: “I just want them to be married!”

A slick Cha Cha routine was spun by Liam Mulligan and partner Tembi Fashina, with fitting props of (more) glitter and a rose. The judges said of this that they “love a gag”, further commenting on the “sultry play” of it, even if a little off-step.

No one was particularly weak but the best were truly great. S2S Ents Officer and newly elected Ents Officer for TCDSU, Padraic Rowley, and partner, DU Dance’s PRO, Sam Heavey, stumbled a little on their tango - a weakness noted by the judging panel - but were rightfully upped for their enthusiasm and the pinch of fun thrown in. Likewise, contemporary style dancers Tom Gibbs and partner Alison Ryan were a little lost in the difficult technique of the dance, with judges commenting that they were left “waiting for a big moment”, but all three were enamored, to say the least, with Gibbs’ shocking red socks.

Graduate Students’ Union president Katie Crowther and partner Kathy, dancing Jazz, hit a few bumps on timing and counting out their beats aloud, but the crowd certainly appreciated the energy they brought to the start of the competition, setting a standard of sorts.

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Though there wasn’t any competitive aspect to them, the interval acts pull out all the stops. The Trinitones acapella group, a crowd favourite and society event staple, kept the bop going with no less than six mash-ups whilst DU Dance sourced its best recruits to put on some punchy light entertainment of jazz and hip hop ensemble performances during the first and second intervals respectively.

And there was no way judge Lisette Krol was going to get away without showing off her extraordinary, borderline daredevilish pole-dancing skills, in an act that kept all eyes firmly on the stage. Krol even invited three audience members to give pole-dancing a shot where Padraic Rowley got his chance at impromptu redemption, winning over all three judges, given the earlier lower score for his tango.

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No one pretends the stakes are high, but everyone participating gives Trinity Come Dancing its fair dues, and that’s where the heart of the show lies. Winners come and go, but it feels like everyone takes away much more than they put into what is no doubt one of the most fun, spirit-lifting and community-fostering student events year on year.

2016 was no exception.

Remembering Bowie by Aine O’Connell

David Bowie died on January 10th of this year. I was in bed, where I usually check Twitter. David Bowie was trending - “huh, probably his new album” I thought. How wrong I was, and the day became a mess of tears and glitter from there on out. I wore a lightning bolt of solidarity around the city all day, my heart racing on the many occasions I heard “Starman” or “Heroes” blaring from a shop.

Two months on, I’m over it, but I still feel a pang when I remember that such a genius has left us forever.

I grew up listening to Bowie, my tiny mind blown at a man wearing makeup when I first encountered the video to Life on Mars. The idea! I may have had no clue what it was about at the time, but it - like much of the Bowie music I was exposed to, and subsequently discovered - undoubtedly shaped a good deal of what I’m like now. At twenty-two, living in a post-Bowie world, I remain chunky yet funky, rocking glitter when I go out and wishing I could afford sequinned jackets. To some extent, I think that there is a bit of Bowie in all of us - from Lady Gaga’s now sadly absent lightning bolt, to Moulin Rouge’s iconic cover of Heroes, his mark on popular culture is undeniable. His ability to reinvent himself was remarkable - from Aladdin Sane to The Thin White Duke, all the way through to his Dying Spaceman as

seen in the video for Lazarus.

Try as they might, the Beyonce/ Sasha Fierces and the Nicki Minaj/ Roman Zolanski’s of this world just can’t complete to the chameleon that was Bowie. Granted, not all of them worked - for a period in the 1980s Bowie looked like not much more than a walking Zombie - but the ability for reinvention was what was so impressive, not just the characters themselves.

It’s something my generation

have done their best to take on, between the “not like other girls” mentality and the seemingly ruthless pursuit of individualism and difference of the millennial. I’ll admit it, I’m the same: I want to be glittery and special, not just another twenty something in the cog of things. After the 1970s culture of androgyny, glitter and general rule breaking, the reverberations of which can still be felt today, it seemed like an awful lot was possible. Couple that with a global period of prosperity and you’ve got millennial culture. So yeah, blame Bowie for your brunch, your debt and the think-pieces in the Guardian about how selfies make you a terrible person.

Bowie was one of the first figures of alternative culture that I encountered. One of the first who told me that you could be weird - whether weird was peeing into jars or hiding during your lunch breaks from the girls who bullied you - and that the right people would love you anyway. It’s certainly something I took seriously, and have kept in my heart since.

After all the movers and shakers of the 1970s changing what young people thought about themselves and their lives, something was always gonna give. So, from one self-obsessed individualist to another: thank you, David Bowie. I may never be as cool as you were, but that, at least, gives me something to aspire to.

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A Portrait of Bernie.

Bernie, as he came to be known to me, shuffled round in his seat, uncomfortably. He was sandwiched between a rather austere businessman clutching a briefcase on one side and a window of the DART on the other. He struggled to settle between these two resolutely impassive bookends. A rather porcine man- no, more like a walrus; large certainly but with a sort of innate dignity and grandeur- it soon became evident that the claustrophobic conditions were not agreeable for Bernie. He began to tug at the neck of his thick Aran sweater- for a man such as Bernie cannot be contained by boundaries or businessmen.

When I first sat down on the DART that morning I was not looking for Bernie. I had no reason to be, I did not know who Bernie was.

On some level I wish that that had remained the case. I, like the majority of commuters, have through unfortunate social conditioning become accustomed to refusing to acknowledge the existence of the other occupants of any bus or train save for occasionally proffering a hurried if muted apology when toes are accidentally trodden on or a minor is unintentionally clattered about the face because due diligence was not given to an increased turning radius whilst wearing a backpack. He was merely a rather humble looking man sitting across from me in a booth of four seats on the DART. Yet there was something in his demeanour which drew my still-sleepy eye.

If I were in the habit of giving sociopathic Sherlock-esque snap character analyses of people I encounter on public transport, then Bernie provided a feast of material. The combination of flat cap and Aran sweater suggested that he was of the land, certainly some kind of farmer. The sweater was worn, though

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seemed to have been recently washed. Faded and jaded, but clean. The silvery hair, not covered by his flat cap, appeared neat, freshly trimmed and combed. His beard was waxed, and the ends of his moustache subtly flicked up at both ends. It was a rather warm day so his inclusion of a flat cap raised questions. Given the evident degree of vanity taken in the rest of his appearance, it is safe to assume that he was hiding something, probably a bald patch.

Ah! But the watch! A small unceremonious bit of black plastic buckled to his wrist. Watches, for those who wear them, are a constant. Thus it showed Bernie’s usual focus was pragmatic rather than aesthetic. The effort taken in his appearance on this day then did not seem to be the norm for him. So, we can deduce that it was for something, some occasion. Though nothing too formal- perhaps meeting a son or daughter working in the city for lunch.

His large, meaty hands looked similarly scrubbed and disconcertingly naked without the layer of earth that presumably usually caked them. They lay clasped in his lap. Perched upon corduroy-clad thighs.

Shuffling in his seat? On second thoughts, due perhaps in part to haemorrhoids - welcome please; the voice of shameful experience! He was, after all, of an age where it seemed likely. Rural Ireland exuded from every one of his scrubbed-to-within-an-inch-of-their-life pores. The sort of wholesome and homely “One for the road please Mary”,“Ah Jaysus sure, would ya g’way outta tha’”, “Blessus’n’saveus”, pour his heart out at the hearthstone nightly type of man.

Big beefy hands, rearing meat, on the land.

His phone rang and one of those beefy hands poked around for it in the corduroy.

The DART rattled on.

Beep.

“Ah Maureen, how the devil are you doing?...”

Bernie’s rich English baritone purred out.

This is why I don’t make snap judgements.

“Yes, yes, here for the week. Just in off the boat yester-

Rory McNab

day, think we’d been at sea for a total of about three months this time…”

Shit! I’d missed the deck-shoes he was wearing.

And the Helly Hansen dry bag upon which his feet rested.

“Well I haven’t had a chance at all to wash since we docked…No, I was staying at Sandra’s last night and, well, we didn’t have much time for washing…”

He chuckled. I became uneasy.

“Well, I should be in by about…”

He looked to his wrist - Of course! It’s a waterproof watch.

“Call it noon, then I’ll buy us a bottle of red, and I’ll pop by for a visit. How does that sound, hmm? It seems an age since we’ve been able to have a bit of fun together…” he purred.

Now it was the businessman’s turn to shuffle uncomfortably.

“No no, completely free, I have nothing on. Well, I won’t shortly, anyway-”

Another hearty British chuckle, and some consternation among the trapped commuters.

“So Bernie’s all yours for the day. If you can handle me…”

I stared aghast. The businessman stared aghast.

“Actually! In case I’m not enough for you...”

I continued to be aghast. The businessman stood up and left. It was unclear whether he had reached his stop and his DART journey had thus come to its natural conclusion, or if he was committing some brave act of protest at the slew of bawdy, barely-concealed euphemisms emanating from Bernie. To this day I don’t know which it was, and fear that I never shall.

“If you’re looking for a really fun adventure, I’m of half a mind to get a few of the gang together and perhaps head up to the hills for a spot of,

you know…”

This is the point where, if I were living in a boisterous 70’s sitcom, a fellow commuter’s eyebrows would’ve rocketed up off their forehead in shock and an adjacent elderly lady would’ve either fainted, or vomited into her handbag. But there was no vomit.

There was simply a grim silence as each person blankly stared at their book or at their phone or out through the window at the world being whisked away from us.

All attention being paid to Bernie, but all eyes diverted away in shame, in embarrassment, in fear. Fear at what the next word out of his mouth would be.

“Dogging.”

Ah Jaysis, Bernie.

Bernie the fisherman continued to make plans for his evening up in the woods. He proceeded to phone the rest of the aforementioned gang to try cajole them into joining him and Maureen. They needed little cajoling.

We passed by stops, yet he would not stop.

Though each one that hoved into view would bring fresh hope to the carriage that he might get off. But he didn’t. He was the one who knew exactly where he was going to get off, and now unfortunately, so did we.

When it came time for me to leave the DARTnot for a bottle of red and a meeting with Maureen or a moonlit adventure in a woodland carpark, but rather to talk to some friends and some strangers about Treasure Island in a tiny cramped room in college Bernie was still nattering away.

“Well tell Jeanette that I can pick up a few torches for us all while I’m in town…”

I glanced back at Bernie, now sitting alone in the booth. No longer contained, yet he still shuffled uncomfortably.

Perhaps at least, I was right about the haemorrhoids.

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What Literature Does Maybe it’s because I’m getting old but I recently had to sit down and think very hard about what exactly literature does. Even “does” doesn’t seem the right word for what literature does, and I should really know what it does by now - I’ve been studying “literature” or almost four years now, and had been thinking about studying it for much longer. I’m now in some kind of position where I have to start to think about “what I’ve learned”, start to consider what it is I’ve put my mind to for so long and will (hopefully) continue to put my mind towards for much longer and think about what it, literature, actually does in the world.

One of the useful things that literature does (and can really teach you to do as well) is to tell a story with other stories, so I think I better stick to those old tricks.

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William Carlos Williams was a poet at odds with the rest of his peers. While college pals such as Ezra Pound lived it up in Paris to create a legend I think we’ve all heard by now, Williams stayed in Rutherford, New Jersey. Williams’ poetry was often curt and grounded in fact and objects; he wrote in the intro to his long poem Paterson that there should be “no ideas but in things”. That same poem was a multi-part epic of the modern city, a love letter to the contemporary, to New Jersey, even. He wasn’t known for being very fond of music, but was apparently once given tickets to an orchestra’s show by a friend. Someone, probably the same friend, then asked him what he thought of the show; “it really made me appreciate the traffic afterwards” was supposedly Williams’ reply.

What I love about this story is how dismissive I first thought Williams’ response was – that he couldn’t care for all the bluster of the wind and string section, that he preferred the belch of mufflers and the bleating, swerving car horns – but how after a few clicks I then realised the compliment Williams was paying. Williams - this lover of the real world, determined to represent it to the best of his abilities in poetry – saw the orchestra, with its heightened separation from our everyday sounds, as making him hear the sounds of the quotidian afresh and appreciate them made his ears more keen of

the street noise’s nuances: the D Minor screech of braking rubber, the rhythmic thud of chassis over speed bumps, etc.

That’s certainly one thing that literature “does” as well. It makes us a bit more aware of our world, of the little things we see as we walk through a park or street, and then be able to articulate them. We can learn to immediately recognise certain spectacles- the wonder, intimacy, and tragedy in random little events that we could throw off as random acts and postures. Wallace Stevens, another friend and peer of Williams’, wrote in his own long poem “Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction” that “Life’s nonsense pierces us with strange relation”. Literature does seem to be all about these moments of “life’s nonsense”. The best novel of the last century, James Joyce’s Ulysses, was about a pretty average day in Dublin, the few interesting things about it being misunderstandings over an unintentional betting tip and the related pub etiquette, or else the ad hoc friendship of a pretentious writer and a Dublin ad man nearly twice his age.

To jump ahead, one of Joyce’s biggest admirers and coincidentally the first literary celebrity of this new century, David Foster Wallace had said that fiction (and by extension literature) was about “what it is to be a fucking human being.”

Wallace, despite his massive

and troubling flaws as a person, did speak a lot of sense when it came to both fiction and living.

His own work anxiously tried to depict life in the modern moment: the struggle to express oneself and connect to others amid all the swirls of distraction and isolation that seems to make up our everyday lives; all the layers of self-consciousness that seem to separate us from living in the real, in the moment. But his fiction was notoriously full of nonsense – his perhaps most earnest work is set in a dystopian future the numerical date of years is replaced with sponsorship, possibly becoming known as “The Year of the Whopper” or “The Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment”.

Wallace was a writer who seemed to mark an end to literature’s own “nonsense” period, postmodernism. Despite Wallace’s odd worlds, he put the human at the very centre, the strangeness of their worlds being an integral part of his characters. Postmodernism never received the same kind of recognition for that, but even their alienating, hyper textual or plain nonsensical worlds represent to us something that we can’t help but recognise, even see, as human. It’s terrifying to think that someone could live a life like those contained in something by Burroughs, Ballard, or even Bret Easton Ellis, but we only care because we can see the trapped humanity struggling to express itself within.

Maybe it’s here to focus on and say, just for now, what literature does. With that strange act of reading, that act that literature symbiotically needs to even function, we cut ourselves off from everything and everyone else for several moments so as to make contact with things outside ourselves, to try and recognise a different form of human experience, and in turn find our relation to that. When we lower the walls we had previously erected so as to read, we return to the world more aware of our place in it. Literature and its nonsense allows us that alone.

By Mikey Kemp

an isolating uncerHowever, from my own expe- tainty has seized you and refuses to let go, riences, maybe it can be said that what truly great literature burrowing deep inside and distorting your does or should do is make senses until everything you gasp, with tears of recogelse might as well be nition, “Thank God, it’s not just me.” Whether religious or null. And maybe that act of reading makes not (preferably not, since the it better, makes that phrase “Thank God” might have a more visceral and ironi- uncertainty less uncally more “sacred” or emotive certain, and hopefully graspable, copeable, use than your average believin a little meaningful er’s daily exhortation), the way. That it makes phrase expresses how seemsense of or even allows ingly a mirror of your own experience has been conjured you to cope with the nonsense. up by someone seemingly wholly different and separate Maybe that’s what to you, in terms of latitude or time or is simply someone that literature does and is not yourself, but this some- will continue to do as time goes on and our one else has somehow done worlds continue to this in a way that makes you cathartically realise your own change. I guess that’s self and your own world. May- worthwhile then or be these moments occur when else I’m just speaking a things are simply bleak, when bunch of nonsense. If so, then great.

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Le machine, Le Block des Arts There are some people who would say that the only way to drink coffee is when it’s made from slow roasted, freshly ground, fairtrade beans.

Those people have clearly never tried the blissful flavour of the coffee that comes in a paper cup from Le Machine (for you philistines who don’t parler the francais that means: the machine). Le Machine is stunningly located between the ground floor lockers and the toilets so the atmosphere is always buzzing like the caffeine thrill in your veins. The coffee is special in its delicate subtle flavour, unlike those artisanal coffees in boutique cafés that frankly taste a little too…coffee-y, Le Machine makes its coffee with water and not much milk so it’s smooth and always subtly flavoured. Another pro of these coffees is you never get the mortifying foam lip so often caused by pretentious posh coffees. Le machine is the coffee of the people, of the student that pulled and all-nighter, of the student who is still a little drunk, the student who fell asleep during their last class – it is the everyman coffee.

coffee time.

AMT Coffee chain The proud chain that boasts to burn your tongue whilst you travel, AMT coffee is not one for the lighthearted. The choice of many DART goers, AMT provides an extensive range of charred coffee, with a crunchy and bitter texture, including cappuccinos, mochas, lattés, and the ever elusive, flat whites. Their coffee provides that exquisite, je ne sais quoi, that is reserved for only the best of the best.

Whilst not as decadent as Starbucks’s ‘customise your own latte’ or Costa’s mochas served in what look like long island ice tea glasses classy - AMT do have superior hot chocolate, served in a festive cup, depending on the time of year you buy.

That Vending Machine in the Hamilton No, no, the other one. Has all bases covered with trusty black, cappuccino, hot chocolate and the like. Nice, smooth button-work on the machine - on a good day most of the lights are working.

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Starbucks College Green, Dawson Street, Westmoreland Street, Fade Street, St. Stephen’s Green…

Every true coffee connoisseur knows that Starbucks is the Big Kahuna on the coffee scene. Offering exquisite blends of chocolate, coffee, sweetened whipped cream and burnt caramel (seriously), there is nothing like America’s finest blend. For the reasonable, not-at-all-indicative-of-the-horrors-of-late-capitalism price of five euro, you too can enjoy a Double Shot Skinny Mint Mocha that tastes suspiciously like a knock off After Eight from Dealz. Because like my quest for revenge against 3FE, it is personal after all.

by the misc. staff If you aren’t a coffee connoisseur like us here at Misc., you can get a standard and, more importantly, FREE tea or coffee (and potentially a biscuit!) from our lovely societies! Here’s a list of societies that offer impoverished members the caffeine boost they need to face the day and when and where you can find them!

QSoc do coffee hours Monday-Friday, 1-3.in their soc room on the second floor of house 8, Socialist Workers Soc. Provide tea, coffee and biscuits with a side of radical politics from 4pm-5pm on Mondays in room 27 of House 6.

DUGES Duges have a coffee hour in the attic of house 6 every Wednesday from 12-1 P.M. LitSoc LitSoc coffee hours run every weekday from 12pm - 3pm, in “The Attic” (Room 32 on the top floor of House 6), with free tea, free coffee and free literature chats.

Environmental Soc. have tea and coffee at 1pm on Tuesdays in Goldsmith Hall Room 34 French Soc. do tea and coffee mornings with the trés bon addition of croissants & other pastries every Wednesday at 11am in le Eliz Room in House 6!

DUAMS run a combination coffee and vinyl hour every Thursday at 1pm in the Eliz room of the 1st floor of House 6 – if the music doesn’t persuade you, they also have cake!

Knit soc – always provide tea and biccies at their weekly Stitch and Bitch from 5-7 on Tuesday in the Eliz Room of House 6.

Sign Soc – have Sip’n’Sign coffee hours (no signing ability required) on Tuesdays from 5-6 and Thursdays from 2-3 in Room 6 above the atrium.

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Trans Identities, Representation and The Danish Girl

In the recent film The Danish Girl’s fictionalised portrayal of Lili Elbe, the first trans woman to undergo sex reassignment surgery, I saw many of my own experiences, but also many that were fundamentally alien. As a trans person, I feel that representation must be accurate, and the only way to do that, to my mind, is to have a transgender actor in a transgender role.

The movie has sparked controversy for the fact that Elbe is played by cisgender man Eddie Redmayne. In preparing for the role, Redmayne spoke to many trans women about their experiences and, while he undoubtedly does a good job in many ways (or as good as any cisgender man could do), to me his performance lacks nuance, and the script and direction of Elbe fails to reflect the reality of life for many trans people. In its portrayal of a transgender woman, the movie is oddly Janus-faced, at points being accurate and sympathetic, whilst at others contradicting itself.

Perhaps the best examples of this are Elbe’s visits to various doctors, most of whom diagnose her with schizophrenia or label her ‘perverted’. Eventually, a doctor is found who recognises that Elbe is indeed the woman she says she is.

All too often, trans women have been portrayed as mentally disturbed, so to finally have a movie that shows that we’re not is a real breath of fresh air. But then what happens?

The movie undoes all this good work by changing Lili beyond all

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recognition. Far from being the person she was before transition, she is portrayed as an entirely different person - and not in overly favourable terms either. Elbe is all of a sudden ‘selfish and foolish’ for becoming herself. She’s portrayed as a simpering, flirty, ‘wannabe’ girl. Her previously happy, upstanding life is gone and, even though she seems happy, she has become vapid, appearing to be an entirely different person.

Transgender people are not two different personalities in one body, and I certainly will not change who I am as I transition.

The change will be physical and, whilst I will perhaps be more feminine and will be able to be more like myself, I won’t simply give up and change the core of my being.

Changing my body and living my life as who I am will not make me a fundamentally different person.

I’ve come out to friends before

whose response has simply been “you’re the same person you were before you told me”, which is exactly what I want to hear. My body will change but my interests, hobbies, and personality will not.

The drastic, sudden change in Lili as she transitions will certainly not happen to me or to very many transgender people at all, I imagine.

The decision to cast Redmayne is also symptomatic of the problems faced by transgender actors. All too often, it is cisgender people who play the role of a transgender person. Redmayne’s skill and sympathy in interviews does certainly set him apart from some of the more ham-fisted attempts at playing transgender people by many of his peers who fail to grasp the reality of transgender experiences .

The claim that Hollywood makes is that there aren’t enough transgender actors available. I’d correct that to say that there aren’t enough well-known transgender actors. The depiction of transgender people on screen has increased alongside the increasing visibility of our struggle over the past few years. Orange is the New Black broke ground in casting Laverne Cox as a transgender character and her performance has been roundly praised. Similarly, Sense8, the brainchild of trans woman and Matrix director Lana Wachowski, similarly had trans woman Jamie Clayton in a starring role. Not to mention successful shows Boy Meets Girl and Transparent,

starring Rebecca Root and Jeffrey Tambor respectively.

Another criticism I saw was the film’s portrayal of Elbe’s hopes of being a “real” woman - using terms like “real” is immensely reductionist and dangerous as it implies that trans women are not women at all. The phrasing struck a chord with my own experiences. Growing up, and lacking the vocabulary of defining who I was, I certainly felt like I wanted to be a “real” woman. Call it self-loathing, but it’s hard to get past the societal belief that you aren’t like other girls and never will be. I know who I am and that I am a woman but society disagrees and it’s hard to overcome your own internalized transphobia. It’s not doubt, it’s more a sadness, hard to define, a striving to fit in. Lead singer of the punk band “Against Me” and trans woman Laura Jane Grace voiced it eloquently in lyrics to her song “Transgender Dys-

phoria Blues” saying: “You want them to notice/ The ragged ends of your summer dress/ You want then to see you like they see every other girl”.

I’m a trans woman, but I’m also a woman and I want to live my life that way. I don’t want, as terrifyingly and sadly accurately shown in “The Danish Girl”; to be questioned as to whether I am a man or a woman. I’d love to stick it to society and not give a damn about what others think but sadly life doesn’t work that way, and many transgender people strive to live their lives in “stealth” not wanting the danger or hassle of having to reveal that they’re transgender.I’m not alone in this feeling and it’s one that is hard to articulate; again it’s something that only trans people can elucidate and feel themselves, for cis people it’s extraordinarily difficult to comprehend. The phrase used by transgender people is “passing”. To “pass” you essen-

tially look like every other man or woman and are not questioned about your gender. It’s a wonderful feeling when you do pass but it’s also an odd phrase that implies fitting neatly into society.

Ironically cis actors playing transgender roles suffer from the inverse problem. They try to depict the “real” transgender experience and more often than not fall desperately short. “The Danish Girl” is a beautifully shot movie and I related to aspects of it and felt immense sympathy for Elbe’s character as doctor’s sought to “treat” her and not help her. These scenes of “treatment” were difficult to watch and I was thankful to have someone there beside me while I was watching it.

Pro-tip from a transgender person for all budding directors; if you want the most accurate depiction of transgender life, cast a transgender person.

severus snapea consideration by Doireann Ni Chongaile

It’s been a tough few weeks for the celebrity world. Not content with just taking David Bowie from us, the Grim Reaper decided to come back for Alan Rickman. And then, just when we thought we were safe, he popped up behind Terry Wogan too. I bet he’s having a great laugh up there, looking down on us with our lightning bolted faces, as we rewatch Die Hard and weep.

It seems strange to mourn for people you’ve never met. We get more upset over the deaths of people we’ve only ever seen through a screen of some sort than we would over most acquaintances, or even distant family members. We grow so attached to our pet celebrities - and why shouldn’t we? They have more power over us than we’d like to admit.

They affect our lives, our feelings and our ideas, even if we never cross paths in real life. Your favourite actor, author or musician can make you feel connected to something when you’re adrift. They can inspire you. They can make you feel like you have a friend when you felt totally alone in the world. And that’s something special.

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So in honour of Alan Rickman, one of the greats of the acting community, we are taking a look at one of his most famous characters.

A man that is loved and reviled in equal measure, a character that has sparked countless heated debates across fandoms and dragged us on an emotional rollercoaster wilder than a ride in a flying Ford Anglia. Yes, I am talking about Severus Snape, otherwise known as Snivellus, or (spoiler!)

The Half-Blood Prince , but there’s no need to call him “Professor”.

Most Harry Potter fans have mixed feelings when it comes to Snape. He used to be the guy you loved to hate: he dressed in all black, he had greasy hair and a hook nose and was the head of Slytherin, so he was obviously the bad guy, right? We took pleasure in seeing him thwarted by eleven-year-olds. We laughed when Hermione set his cloak on fire, or when Neville imagined him in his grandmother’s clothes. And then, of course, the final nail in the coffin: He killed Dumbledore. That’s it, we thought. He’s done. He has passed the moral event horizon. There is no coming back from this.

Then Rowling came along and punched us in our collective guts.

How could we have gotten it so wrong? He was a good guy after all!

He was only horribly mean to Harry for his own good! He was capable of love! Wait, no, that’s not right - he was capable of pining after someone who was patently uninterested in him for decades! That doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?

In an effort to try and sort out my mixed Snape feelings, I put on my Leslie Knope hat and made a list.

Why we love him: He was hopelessly in love with Lily. He was bullied as a child. He came from a broken home. He was the only one willing to point out that James could be kind of a dick. He worked for the Order for years and betrayed Voldemort, expecting no thanks or reward.

Dumbledore trusted him. (Whether Dumbledore is a good litmus test is a whole other argument which I’m \ saving for when Michael Gambon dies.) He was the bravest man Harry ever knew. He could pull off black, bat-like robes like no one else. Did not give a fuck. Had some of the best

lines of the series. Snarky af.

Why we hate him: He was slimy. His hair was greasy and, frankly, gross.

He was often mean, and even cruel.

He repeatedly bullied, threatened, and unfairly punished children he was supposed to protect. He was a Death Eater. His love for Lily was unreciprocated and borderline creepy.

He was a teacher who took his own personal issues out on his students.

He punished Hermione for being a good student. He left a small baby crying next to his parents’ corpses, which is so not a responsible adult thing to do. He invented “sectumsempra”. He called his supposed best friend a racial slur.

Frequently told an orphan that his dead father was a terrible person. He gave up on teaching Harry occlumency because he didn’t like him, leaving him in obvious danger.

For me, the cons always seem to outweigh the pros. More pertinently, the first list isn’t so much reasons to like him, as reasons to feel sorry for him. His “tragic backstory” isn’t all that different from Voldemort’s (not given enough love as a child, went to

Hogwarts, found something he was good at, liked the Dark Arts, etcetera etcetera), so what makes them so different? Whatever good he may have done, Snape always acted for inherently selfish reasons. He switched sides to protect Lily - not her family, her husband and son, just her - so he could be with her again.

He agreed to protect Harry only because he thought that it would, in some way, absolve him of his guilt in her death and many others. And yet we can’t bring ourselves to hate him like we hate Voldemort, or Pettigrew, or any others. It’s frustrating because we like to separate our characters nearly into “like” and “dislike,” but as Rowling herself has said, “Snape is all grey. You can’t make him a saint: he was vindictive & bullying. You can’t make him a devil: he died to save the wizarding world”.

at it. When he was at his cruelest in the early books/films, you hated him with a passion hotter than fiendfyre.

When you learned about his past and saw his memories, he gave you #allthefeels. And those feelings were irrevocably bound up in the person of Alan Rickman, who was given the unenviable task of portraying a nuanced, morally grey character in a genre that tends towards the black and white.

For many of us, I think, that was the biggest pro of all. Snape may have been cruel, and vindictive, and morally dubious, but that’s all irrelevant, because, crucially, he was Alan Rickman.

Whatever role you try and fit him into - villain, hero, anti-hero, meninist who thinks he’s been friendzoned (and almost definitely owned a fedora) - he was always great

Quickfire with Matthew Mulligan What is your greatest strength and weakness?

I would say my greatest strength would be my Twitter account and I would also say it’s my greatest weakness. It will be my undoing one day.

(It should be noted that when this interviewer went to meet Matthew Mulligan for the first time she googled him to find out more about him and the first tweet was, ‘I love rim jobs so fucking much’)

What animal best represents you and why?

A little rat because I’m never more than a few feet away from you

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

I’ve been very lucky, one time someone twisted my nose until it went yellow

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Don’t let anyone tell you you’re too old to play Pokemon

twitter: @_mattuna followers: 1,670 # cool editor

What is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do?

My dissertation but that’s not really funny

What’s the weirdest thing you did as a child?

One time in school, I had a spare copybook and I used to pick off little pieces of paper and eat it and by the end of the year, I had eaten the whole maths copy. It wasn’t a massive one, it was only a primary school one.

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Two years ago, I had a bit of a moment. I declared myself off-books, unable to cope with university and all the stress it brought with it. The person that had been steering my first two years of college was certainly not me. I felt fraudulent and panicked every time I stepped into a lecture theatre and had no idea what was going on. It seemed as if I had plummeted out of my academic and social depth and everyone around me was in charge of their personal destinies and heading out for those sought-after internships and graduate jobs.

I pretty much stayed in bed under a lead cloud of depression from October until Christmas. Unable to deal with the anxiety of the throngs of people in clubs and on Harcourt street on nights out, I needed to get out. I left Ireland to go on a ten-week walk through the Camino de Santiago: just me, myself and I. Few people know that some of the famous routes start as far back as Poland and Sweden. I started in a small town called Le Puy en Velay, which is about an hour southwest of Lyon.

I was very unprepared: I set off nearly three hours behind every other walker with wind, sleet and snow having originally discouraged me from getting out of bed.

That first week was a steep learning curve, not least due to the 7am noisy wakeups by jovial frenchmen. I left nearly four kilos of unnecessary stuff in hostels and spent nearly 40 Euro on foot care and blister plasters. I learned that nothing opens in France from Saturday evening until 3pm on Monday: if you’ve

forgotten to buy food, you’d better hope some other walker was feeling charitable.

I met the craziest bunch of people over those 10 weeks, from ex-prisoners to surgeons to a ladies walking club from Zurich.

On the night that I turned 21, I was accompanied by a lovely retired French lady with whom I’d become really good friends, four parisian businessmen I’d seen sporadically over the previous week and a Russian guy who bought me a bottle of vodka.

I think it was there and then when it hit me that things just somehow work out. Life events just happen whether you want them to or not, and - as much as I hate this myself you can’t really plan them.

Things will happen that will crash into your plan. I had planned to be away from everyone in a sulk on my birthday, but what transpired was so much better. When I was left to my own devices, with no expectations and no one to compare myself to, I actually ended up being quite fine. I got up every morning, ate the breakfast I bought the day before, dressed, stretched, packed and left, either in a group, a pair, or alone.

You may walk with someone for an hour and never see them again or they may show up in the same hostel in a few days. Sometimes you’d walk with the same people for over a week. If you were to have told me this beforehand, all that uncertainty would have turned me right off. You need to just trust yourself. I’d love to be able to outline a sure step guide to fixing those uncertain moments in life. But I can’t.

Stumbling through life... happily

by Clara Owens 19

Uncertainty and ambiguity are just part of human existence.

Every day I woke up, I had no idea where I would be sleeping that night or how far away the next bread roll was. After the first two weeks of anxiety and foot pain, it was actually quite freeing - I just had to trust myself.

I’d come from university where chronic feelings of inadequacy and comparison abounded. The only way to get out of this personal maze of hatred was to just stop caring.

There were days I where I walked ten kilometres and days where I walked forty. Stripping back your entire life concerns to food, water and shelter makes the daily grind a hell of a lot simpler; I could see that my worries were simply all in my head. I’d driven myself into a hole - nobody else. So, ask yourself some big questions: do you want to finish that degree? What would be the repercussions if you don’t? They mightn’t seem that bad when you list them.

There are shit days. Days where you wish you just hadn’t got up that morning, or berate yourself for those small daily blunders.

But I trust the decisions that pastme made, which were in good faith and if it turns out that those decisions were nothing short of an abomination, I just roll with it, because life is going to roll anyway. You’ve got to depend on yourself, and even though this means you will shoulder all of your failures, it means that when success and good things come your way, you can be confident that you made them happen.

Why the Volkswagen emissions scandal is great for the environment

Late last year, the United States’ Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) dropped a bombshell on the automotive industry by publishing findings that German car giant Volkswagen - VW for short - had cheated on its emissions figures.

Using a so-called “defeat device”, essentially a software unit that lowered emissions when the car was being tested but ramped them back up on the open road, diesel VWs could avoid the US’s emissions laws and get away with spewing out up to 40% more harmful gases. The scandal has been a blow to Volkswagen, who have aggressively marketed their diesels in recent years by praising low emissions.

Environmentally speaking, however, this is exactly the kind of kick in the rear that the automotive industry needed. The scandal has been very high profile

and involved one of the world’s biggest car manufacturing conglomerates.. The widespread media coverage of the case has manufacturers sweating; having marketed their diesels so thoroughly, Volkswagen has now been forced to backtrack and will need to attempt to restore its image as it haemorrhages profits. While it’s bad press for Volkswagen, the situation is retrievable and the company will no doubt rescue its image. How? Simply by committing to a new program aimed at lowering the emissions of its vehicles and embracing hybrid and electric power.

The scandal has coincided with the increasing popularity and technological advancement of hybrid vehicles, and critical to all this is the fact that hybrids and electric cars are suddenly en vogue. The hybrid Toyota Prius is

perhaps the ultimate example of this. Once the punching-bag of some more conservative automotive pundits who viewed it as a being on a sanctimonious mission to save the environment, seemingly desecrating all that these lovers of petrol held dear. But now hybrids and electric cars are cool.

What’s changed?

As has been the case all too often in automotive history, speed sells. The electric cars of the past were viewed as boring, niche and slow but now the benefits of the technology have come to the fore.

Electrical systems offer massive bursts of acceleration off the line.

In motorsport, Formula 1 and the World Endurance Championship have switched to hybrid technology (albeit with arguably better results in the latter). While the car manufacturers of 1960s Detroit were accused of ignoring safety, with today’s rigorous

testing and regulations this performance is being allied with safety and thanks to their hybrid and electric status with fuel efficiency and with protecting the environment, as well as speed and performance.

These cars show that we’re living and driving in a different age, now that electric cars are accessible. At the top level the technology is being used in hypercars, in motorsports and in luxury vehicles but now ordinary electric cars are also hitting the market en masse and companies are starting to see their potential.

BMW, Mitsubishi, Honda and Mercedes, to name but a few, are all starting to realise the potential of alternative forms of propulsion. The VW scandal was a disaster but there is still hope for the company and for all the other car companies to make a definite change, to build upon the technology currently in use and to make hybrid and make electric power more common and accessible.

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Poetry, Performance and Open Mic nights: Getting your poetry out there. by alice kinsella Over recent years the poetry and spoken word scene in Dublin has positively boomed. Any given night, if you know where to look, you can spend hours curled up in a cosy café and perched at a bar listening to some of Dublin’s most exciting emerging literary talent. The scene is very popular amongst students, but equally popular with those a little more experienced, and it’s perfectly common to run into more established poets reading from their published collections. So what has brought about this thriving community? And why should you be taking part in it?

Poetry has been known to involve tall towers of words on pages, hours of banging your head off a wall and days leafing through your thesaurus to find the exact right word. For the emerging poet, or just the poetry enthusiast, poetry can be a pretty lonely business.

The spoken word scene brings something new to poetry; a social element. At the moment in Dublin there is an incredible sense of community for all the fans of poetry and those inclined to put pen to paper themselves. Poetry

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need not be a solitary pursuit. The emerging poet can now spend several evenings a week amongst like-minded people, listening to astounding work, checking out the competition and hopefully, sharing some of their own poems on stage.

As any poet knows, the reward of poetry is when your readers connect with a poem. Unfortunately, when your poems are all in the written form, we don’t always get to hear about whether or not someone has engaged with the work. With performance poetry your audience is right there in front of you. You can see their faces change, take note of their reactions, and more often than not they’ll be happy to tell you exactly what they thought of a piece.

Reading a piece aloud allows you to carry the voice right off the page, and may highlight details in the poem you want to change.

Performing your work to an audience of poetry enthusiasts and fellow poets allows you to receive invaluable feedback, allowing you to transform your poems over the course of an evening, coming away with something better than

you’d hoped for. This is a luxury missing from the late nights of scribbling alone in the corner.

Of course, one doesn’t have to be a poet to enjoy the Open Mic Scene in Dublin. In fact, not being a poet may give you more of a chance to sit back and enjoy without the jitters springing from getting up on stage yourself. For the poetry and spoken word fan, there are dozens of evenings around the city, where you can come across an enormous range of talent, very often mingled with musicians, comedians and story tellers. Once more, almost all of these events are completely free.

No matter what’s your ideal location, there’s something for everyone. Evenings in the pub may be the norm, but they’re not the only option, afternoons in cafés and alcohol free events in art studios also crop up. These events all differ in their details but what can be found among them all is a sense of welcoming all new artists and audience members. This is a strong artistic community, shaping some of the most promising talent of our time and it’s right on our doorstep so it would be silly to miss it!

The modern day Literati are here, and they have mics.

The Noise Upstairs at Chaplins As well as poetry, the boisterous MC provides as much entertainment as the acts themselves with games and audience participation, as well as giving out unexpected prizes of questionable use at random. https://www.facebook.com/ NoiseUpstairs

The Monday Echo at MVP With its cushions and tea lights the atmosphere is super cosy and at €2 it’s an absolute bargain for an evening of flawless entertainment. https://www.facebook.com/ themondayecho

For a complete guide to poetry and literature events in Dublin subscribe to ‘The Lit List’

Flying South at Fringe, Sycamore Street Flying South is a free, monthly, mental health themed arts and open mic night hosted on the last Friday of every month in Fringe lab on Sycamore Street. To promote mental health, the evening is alcohol free, and they always provide lots of tea, coffee and yummy baked goods. With three featured acts a month, the rest is open mic, Flying South aims to create a supportive listening venue for people to creatively express their own stories/experiences.

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Dear Misc, can you explain the Vietnam War? Dear Misc, can you explain the Vietnam War?

Dear Misc, None of my friends seem to understand my continual disappointment at Maguires closing. How can I make them understand?

Yours, Chicken-Fillet Claire.

Hi Chicken-Fillet Claire, I’m sorry to hear the about the utter apathy that you’ve encountered so far. What you have to remember is that tragedys like this need time to settlle for the full impact to hit the ‘‘common-joe’’. Remember, 9/11 happened 16 years ago and people are still talking about that.

Dear Misc, How do I get more involved in QuizSoc? Yours, Quizzical and Confused Hi Q&C, I’m glad to see you’ve found your niche. It’s very rewarding to engage in society life and to mix with the creme de la creme that Trinity can offer.

Personally, however, I have to reflect on myself and ask, do I like quizzes? No. And neither does anyone else.

What happend to the kid in the Frosties ad?

Yours, Sprinkled with Sugar Hi S&S The bastion of modern journalism that is The Daily Mail ran an investigation to get to the bottom of this.

The young boy who melodically cheered along with Tony the Tiger that ‘They’re gonna taste great’’ was sadly left with a sour taste in his mouth.

Two pencils. One child star.

A glimmer of chemical-composed sugar wiped before their time.

Dear Misc, Can you explain the pilot episode of Drake and Josh?

Yours, Tiffany Margolis Well Tiffany Margolis, Drake Parker (Drake Bell) is a cool and popular teenager while Josh Nichols (Josh Peck) is a teenager whom Drake describes as unusual. Drake’s mom Audrey Parker (Nancy Sullivan) and Josh’s father Walter Nichols (Jonathan Goldstein) have been dating and announce to Drake, Josh and Drake’s sister Megan (Miranda Cosgrove) that they are getting married. Josh is thrilled but Drake and Megan are not. Drake gets even more stressed out when he finds out that Josh is Miss Nancy, the anonymous advice columnist for the school newspaper, and uses this to get a date with a hot girl.

Drake accidentally angers her boyfriend Buck (Joey Mendicino), who thinks she is on a date with Josh while Drake is in the kitchen.

He challenges Josh to a fight.

Josh trains all day under a karate instructor but still ends up getting knocked out in a second. Later, Drake helps Josh realize that he can give good advice without wearing his Miss Nancy dress.

Drake and Josh then warm up to each other and call themselves brothers.