Latest news with #NumberOne
Irish Examiner
24-06-2025
- General
- Irish Examiner
Julie Jay: We cheered as our smallies emerged as preschool graduates
It's been a week of endings and beginnings, as we finished up in naíonara and had our first big school trial run. Finishing up in naíonara was surreal, to say the least. Having procured flowers for the teachers, I, along with the rest of the parents' WhatsApp group, stood awkwardly trying to decide who would press the buzzer as if we were playing a game of runaway knock. As one daddy commented, it felt a little like a funeral: the flowers, the Kleenex, the emotions running high. Walking up as a group in silence only compounded the feeling that we were at a wake. Still, we cheered as our smallies emerged as preschool graduates. They seemed relatively relaxed about it all, despite the stifled parental sniffles. And so one chapter ended, and another, at big school, began. The open night in Number One's new school earlier in the year was so pleasant that it practically had me wishing to go back and re-do junior infants all over again. Any chance of us enrolling in a different school went out the window when the principal and vice principal produced a plate of Viscount biscuits. The rules are fairly straightforward: no drinks or cigarettes because it is no longer the '80s, and your junior infant will be in hot water if they bring drugs to school. We discussed the hazards posed by dangling earrings, with a lot of wincing, and I ruminated on whether my mother had been right not to allow me to pierce mine. Eventually, at the ripe old age of 18, I rebelled and got some first communion-style studs in my lobes, nearly fainting with the agony of it all. Despite my lack of piercings and the fact that I travelled to school in a horse and carriage, my Amish childhood was no different from that of my peers. It also explains my love of a bonnet. Because the teachers at big school couldn't be nicer, and he is heading off with a couple of friends in tow, I find myself surprisingly OK with it all. On our first day, he runs in with gusto, high-fiving the numerous kids he knows from his childminder like a Premier League footballer descending from the team bus. So fuelled by sceitimíní is he that I have to chase him around the yard just to introduce him to his teacher. He appears slightly baffled at being led into the naíonáin beaga room, and he looks at me as if to say 'I actually identify more as a senior infant'. Still, any worry I had that he might be in any way nervous is quelled when he makes a dive for the pirate ship and is quickly joined by two of his buddies, because nothing brings people together like looting at sea. We parents stand around not really knowing what to do, until the lovely teacher tells us we can head away, and we sidle off with no child protesting, a little disappointed that none of them cared whether we stayed or not when we had all braced ourselves for a scene from Les Mis. After dropping him off at school, I make a trip to the graveyard. It is my dad's birthday today, the first one since he passed away last Christmas. I ask him to mind Number One as he starts in this chapter. And it is then the tears come, because although finishing naíonara is sad, death is so much sadder. I meet a fellow parent at the petrol station, who, seeing my slightly reddened eyes, presumes it is about the kids starting school. I don't correct her as she hugs me because a hug is a hug, and I simply don't get embraced in petrol station forecourts enough anymore. Less pumping, more hugging, I say. The husband picks Number One up, and I await their return with bated breath, hoping that he had a nice time, and that nothing went too awry within the three-hour period. When they both return, my boy is donning a plaster on his knee, having learned the hard way why no running is allowed in the yard. Life really is the school of hard knocks. 'How was it?' I ask , and he produces a card and a picture of a bird, which speaks to a morning well spent. After the chats, he asks to go through his book from a náionara — a scrapbook that contains photos and pictures from throughout the year. We leaf through Halloween and Christmas until we get to World Book Day, where Number One points to the photograph and says 'and that was the day mammy forgot my costume', with all the breeziness of a smiling assassin. It would appear that I will never live this one down. Later on that day, I recount this conversation to my husband, who tells me that Number One had also pointed the page out to him as the day mammy forgot his costume, and added a 'can you believe it?' to jam that dagger straight into the aorta. I couldn't be happier with Number One's new school, but there is a downside to having a class size of seven, which is that getting away with forgetting your homework might be tricky. Though so far Number One has proven himself to be the most organised out of the lot of us, so perhaps the cycle of generational forgetfulness might finally be broken.
Yahoo
23-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Yungblud Confronts His Insecurities on ‘Idols': This ‘Was Almost My Last Chance'
Yungblud initially tried to make Idols right after his album 2020 Weird! hit Number One — but it didn't come together at the time. Instead, he ended up working on Yungblud, his self-titled record from 2022 that, in his view, came together partially by 'letting too many opinions in.' 'I was always discouraged from making [Idols] because Weird was so commercially successful,' he tells Rolling Stone. 'Everyone was like, 'No, we need to keep the momentum going.' When Yungblud came out, I stood on top of a hotel room in New York and I went, 'Fuck, I've repeated myself.' I almost made an album with the poster boy of what people said Yungblud was.' More from Rolling Stone Yungblud Really Really Really Swings Big on the Charmingly Overwrought 'Idols' Lola Young Sets Release Date for New Album 'I'm Only F-cking Myself' The Band Camino Preview New Album 'NeverAlways' With Double Song Release After some much-needed self-reflection, he finally completed Idols, out Friday, at a 'really pivotal time' in his life. 'I really asked myself, 'Am I fucking happy?'' he recalls. 'I was falling into a cycle of giving a fuck what people thought.' Idols is his attempt at making 'something classic,' not a record you'll overplay and then move on from but something you'll 'put on once a week for the rest of your life.' It pushes his sound into new sonic territory and introduces a more mature Yungblud who looks inward. 'If it sounded like the past, I failed. Fuck that. There are so many pastiche rock bands out there. That's why rock's been dead for so long,' he says. 'I didn't want to adhere to a time period… If it felt too specific to this moment, then I failed. And it would cringe me out.' As a young artist, he says, 'you want to be the photograph on the wall,' pointing to icons like Freddie Mercury and Mick Jagger. The album, instead, reflects a journey of self-fulfillment and the realization that 'we never give ourselves enough credit for our own individuality.' 'This album was almost like my last chance,' he says. 'If I hadn't been sure of what I was making, I don't think there would've been a way back for me. I made a fucking incredible album when I was 19 — 21st Century Liability. I got so much bigger than I ever expected to get. And then the mainstream finds you and you become insecure about things you didn't know existed.' The cover is intentionally 'statementless,' showing Yungblud in a submissive pose, with his body pulling away from title Idols. 'I've been too wounded by this shit. I don't want to be up front and center anymore, for the time being,' he says. 'I want to get out of the line of fire, I want protect myself.' From London, Yungblud breaks down five songs from his new album Idols I was listening to a lot of theater and a lot opera. If you look at Zeppelin, the Who, the Rolling Stones, it is all derivative from Bach and Vivaldi and Chopin but on electric guitars. If you listen to Zepplin melodies, it's classical music and John Bonham's drumming is classic percussive shit mixed with the blues, but from a perspective of theater that tell a story through music. In the video, I start with 'hello, is there anyone there?' and it goes through this journey of self-discovery and one step into heaven and a reclamation — but first you have to go through all this bullshit… and I arrive at the end of the mountain. I'm not questioning shit. It's very religious, but in discovery and a search for meaning. This album is about the idea of idolism, and this song came from me facing people leaving the fanbase. If you know Yungblud, it's a tight community, and I would see people almost outgrow it. I really wrote this as a love letter to my fanbase. And people who have left been like, you were once a part of the greatest parade, and you can go, you can come, but I will think of you. I will dream of you, I will do this for you every day until I am not here anymore. It was a really gutting song. It's about how we lift something up onto a pedestal and rip it down and then lift it up and rip down again because it's entertainment. We like to build fairy tales to enhance our own lives. I looked at what everyone had to say. 'I can't like Yungblud anymore, I'm not 17.' It's interesting because I hadn't grown. That's why I needed space. I needed to fucking grow. I stagnated in time. I'm frozen in a statue of what I as for the first iteration of my career. I just started getting singing lessons to hit those notes at the end. If I didn't call the album Idols, I would call it Change, because it's been the biggest transition point as a human being in my life. I remember writing this song at nighttime, about 2 a.m. The song came out, and I remember just crying my fucking eyes out to my producer Mati Schwartz, We were having a conversation about how every point in my life, when I feel happy about how I feel in my head, everything fucking changes again. Why does someone die? Why do I have to leave my house? Why do I fall out of love? Why does everything change? I learned through this song that there is beauty in the uncomfortable and that there's something to learn more than ever in the uncomfortable. The more uncomfortable you can be, the harder you feel anything. At the time, I wreaked of insecurity, because I took people saying, 'Your music's shit.' All I had cared about was the one guy in the fucking pub who believes I'm inauthentic, and it was dimming my light. I was allowing these people to make me quieter, to make me more insecure, to make me more hesitant… On the song, I was talking to a 19-year-old, going like, you ain't fucking ready for this shit. And 'Why, at 26, are you so confused and insecure? You get to do what you love,' and by the end of the song I check my fucking chest, and I go, 'Does that look like a good shot? You missed.' I'm still here. I'm still around, and I got my spunk and bite back. Fuck, I love this song. I was walking down the banks of the River Thames in London, and I was wondering: how many people have walked where I have walked? How many ghosts have walked where I have walked? It was this image of ghosts passing me, or someone in 20 years or 100 years passing me. 'Choose life and don't forget to live. Don't forget to feel the air on your face. Don't forget to fucking enjoy every experience you feel.' It's really cool to be alive — it's confusing and it hurts, but it's a beautiful thing. I wanted to stay there in London forever. It's the point in the album where I start to win as the protagonist. I'm gonna get through it. The end is a three-and-a-half-minute outro inspired by The King and I… the music had this waltzing, temptress thing. I wanted to make stadium rock [at the end of 'Ghosts,'] so I said fuck it — I put all my mates in the studio, and I wanted to [imagine] Wembley Stadium, River Plate Stadium. I wanna get something that's gonna make people move, and then it's gonna build musically. It's an insane rock outro to get a stadium shaking. I want to envision that stadium with me when you have your headphones in. When you are in a room full of 25,000 people outdoors, and you're all there for a mutual reason, I have never felt calmer — even if the music is sporadic and mental. I felt calm. That's why we did that with the outro. Part two is the dark and downward spiral to the inevitable realization that I'm not going to be here forever. Mortality. So when you find yourself, when you love yourself… Who are you going to share that with? Part two talks about my mother, it talks about my family, it talks about the love of my life that I broke up with in pursuit of myself. Part two is almost contradictory to part one's idea. This is a massive moment for me because this is the first song I've ever put on an album that I didn't write. Mati had written this song for me seven years ago when he met me. And he saw me starting to take off, and he knew. It's probably been the most understanding thing about myself I've ever read, and I didn't even write it. It made me fucking cry my eyes out because no one has ever understood me more in my entire life. When you make art from your soul or your heart, it can never be intellectualized, because it pours from that thing—you don't know why it's there, what makes you feel. It's yours. He basically just said to me, 'All you are is a self-fulfilling prophecy, a product of your temptation. You live in your imagination… All you are is the self-filling odyssey. Tell me what inspired you lately, and maybe I'll remember you vaguely.' Everyone's always asked me, 'Who are you, what are you?' And always my answer to them is, 'When?' Instead of being afraid of the change, I've embraced it and used it as inspiration. It was mental that he wrote that. On this album, I had to alleviate my ego. It was more of an artistic statement to include it, and I don't want to change anything about it. The song was perfect as it was written. Best of Rolling Stone Sly and the Family Stone: 20 Essential Songs The 50 Greatest Eminem Songs All 274 of Taylor Swift's Songs, Ranked
Irish Examiner
17-06-2025
- General
- Irish Examiner
Julie Jay: The years go fast, but some days I can't help but wish they hurried up a bit
Today was one of my toughest days as a parent. The writing was already on the wall when the baby woke up before 6am. This came at the tail end of a series of lively nights when he has been waking ready to live his best life at 3am and 4am. He is the tiny reincarnation of Graham Norton's priest in Father Ted, whose boundless energy kept his fellow caravan sleepers suitably demented until the wee hours. The broken sleep has been coupled with some very early mornings, which suits my tiny raver fine, given he gets to enjoy a midday nap, but, sadly for mammy, the days of sleeping when the baby sleeps are over and this is now my time to do thrilling things, like get a wash folded in record time and scrub the latest Banksy graffiti off the walls. As ever today, we got Number One to náionara and the baby got his nap in, and all was going swimmingly, until the universe decided to push me to the edge of sanity. Things started to go awry swiftly following the baby's nap. Realising I had very little in for lunch and dinner, I made the rookie, but unavoidable, error of 'popping' into the shop with the children to procure staples, only to leave with an ice-cream the size of Number One's head, which he started scoffing immediately, because self-control is for Scandinavians. I cooked the chicken pasta I had planned anyway, because God loves a trier, and, thankfully, what Number One refuses the baby will hoover up quicker than you can say 'Don't mind BMI'. Next, we attempted 'gardening,' which consisted of the baby overturning some bulbs I had planted and Number One drenching himself, and anyone in the vicinity (me), with the garden tap. My calls to stand down until I at least had their wellies on fell on tiny, willfully deaf ears. When getting the baby changed out of his sopping outfit, I heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen, as Number One had felt there was no time to wait for a yoghurt and helped himself, knocking over a ginormous jar of pickles. Just as I was googling ways to rid your kitchen of the smell of brine, I turned around to see that Number Two, despite his tiny stature, had overturned the compost bin, so my floor is now basically a deconstructed Buddha bowl. As I attempted to clear up this monstrosity, I heard what appeared to be a splash from a fire hydrant on the streets of Harlem, but when I investigated, it was my firstborn, who has snuck back outside and is once again soaking himself. At this point, I was categorically fuming with Number One, who has gone from my Number One cheerleader to my Number One nemesis in the space of the afternoon. He objected to stepping away from the tap, but I managed to coax him with threats of ringing Nana and tattling on his bad behaviour. Julie Jay: "I fell into bed knowing that tomorrow probably won't be so bad, such is the rhythm of things. People often tell me that when the children are small, the years will fly by. That if we blink, we will miss it. And I'm sure that's true, but on days like today, I wouldn't mind if they hurried up a bit." Marching him in, I proceeded to change him again, before realising that while I was negotiating a peace deal outside, I missed the postman calling, and I had to bring the two to the post office to retrieve a mysterious parcel for Daddy. The post-office trip is thankfully made more interesting by Number One, who refuses to stay by my side. We managed to knock over and put back an array of items, before procuring Daddy's parcel, which, it would appear, is sadly not an au pair or anything that will actively help Mammy in the short term. It was only when we got home from our excursion that I realised that Number One's trainers were on the wrong feet and Number Two wasn't wearing any shoes at all. But the real crime against footwear was committed by me, as I realised I was after going out in public with my private penchant for thick woolly socks under Birkenstocks. My status as local siren is really out the window now. We rounded off the day with the boys breaking numerous eggs and pouring milk all over the kitchen floor, which now resembles an abattoir. I muttered numerous expletives under my breath and finally convinced them to go to bed by allowing them each to bring a roll of parchment paper (don't ask) and three breadsticks upstairs with them. A clear sign that mammy has officially given up. I fell asleep immediately, fully clothed, after the children had gone to bed, and woke to a clatter downstairs. Landing in to the kitchen, I saw Number One had again attempted a batch mix of pancakes for the following morning. Once he was back in bed, I returned to clean up the mess and, to avenge the absence of my husband, who wasn't present at all during this day from hell, I used one of his favourite t-shirts to clear up the egg. This cheered me up immeasurably, until I remembered he isn't home for another three days, so I will be washing this myself. Another reminder, as if we needed one, that violence doesn't win. I fell into bed knowing that tomorrow probably won't be so bad, such is the rhythm of things. People often tell me that when the children are small, the years will fly by. That if we blink, we will miss it. And I'm sure that's true, but on days like today, I wouldn't mind if they hurried up a bit. Read More What are the signs of loneliness in children and what should you do if your child is lonely?
Irish Examiner
10-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Julie Jay: We must teach children that nothing in life is guaranteed
This week, there was a bit of a furore among parents, students, and teachers about a short story appearing as a question in studied texts on the higher level Junior Cert. Teachers with a social media presence did their best to assuage the fears of students who had been caught short when asked to write about a short story they had studied, an option which, though part of the syllabus, hadn't previously featured on the Junior cert exam. 'I just wrote about Of Mice and Men, is that okay?' asked one Junior Cert commentator. Another student said they had written about the movie ET, while another referred to The Merchant of Venice. The answer to all of the above is a firm 'no', with teachers expressing as much to students who reached out online. Of course, they cushioned the blow with a reminder that exams, much less questions worth 15 marks, were not something to be sweating over, especially the Junior Cert, which will no doubt be the first thing consigned to the scrap heap of history when robots take over the world. But as a parent, the big lesson I hope kids, and indeed their respective parents, will take away from this mini-controversy is that nothing is guaranteed in life. Exams can be arbitrary, and even unfair, because life itself is often arbitrary and unfair. The most important thing we can do for our small people (and ourselves) is to help build their resilience. On the subject of resilience, Number One is facing his last week of naíonara before big school next year, and I can scarcely believe it. I could throw out all the clichés here, because they all apply: it seems like only yesterday we were sending him off to naíonara for his induction day, how the last two years have been the fastest of my life. As I approach the end of this phase, I can't help but be a little emotional about it all, which, given my comedy persona, is very much a sad clown, is pretty on brand for me. The last two years have been wonderful for Number One, although I'm not saying we've aced all aspects. We still find it hard to wait our turn to go in the morning, pushing through the queue and jumping up and down at the front door, much like a 45-year-old dad pushes through the crowds to get to the mosh pit of a Stereophonics concert, and with a similar disregard for innocent bystanders. What I can categorically state though is that Number One is definitely a little more resilient than he was starting two years ago, a resilience which comes with age, of course, but also comes with having to take turns with the Lego and being patient and work with others, even when they insist on eating egg sandwiches at lunch. Above all, I hope he is kind. And if he encounters a lack of kindness in others, he will stand his ground a little and accept that things don't always go your way. A few weeks back, when chatting with his teacher, she professed as much: that Number One was much better at sticking up for himself now, a bit stronger in standing his ground, and a little slower always to outsource the handling of a minor conflict to a teacher. While we want them to know when to ask for help, we also don't want them to be running to the múinteoir with trivialities like 'Timmy has the green marker' and 'Jamie just said my T-shirt is pink and it's red.' (Although to be fair, this is annoying). Resilience is understanding that sometimes things will go wrong and being able to adjust our expectations accordingly. Much like when the orange jumpsuit you purchased online arrives looking less boho-casual and more Guantanamo Bay casual, these little curveballs in life are a reminder that we just have to make the best of things. But it's not just kids who learn resilience through schooling, it's parents too. Because part of being a parent is knowing that things will go wrong and keeping these plot twists right-sized. There have been many moments over the last two years when I've had a wobble and questioned what kind of parent I am. I have forgotten coats, and World Book Days, and on occasion even forgotten a lunch (I look forward to the day I take up my role as President of Ireland and Number One's ham sandwich gets a garda escort to school). But it's all about bouncing back, because that's what we're also trying to instil in them. What I hope is that Number One is a little tougher than he was bounding into the naíonara in September 2023. Because while we never want them to lose their softness, life will demand that they have to be strong. They have to be able to roll with the punches, without throwing any. Reading about parents getting upset about the curveball Junior Cert question this week, we need to remember to keep it all in perspective. One of the most important things we can do as parents is to help our kids deal with life's little red herrings. Because when it comes to it, as Forrest Gump nearly said, life is like an English Junior Cert paper — you never know what you're going to get. Read More Julie Jay: Give parents a break and let them take children on holiday in term time
Chicago Tribune
30-05-2025
- General
- Chicago Tribune
Century-old Mundelein firetruck prepared for countywide tour; ‘It has personality'
Ezra Atunez's birthday party theme this year was firetrucks because he just loves them, his parents said. The 4-year-old was happy to ring the bell of an antique firetruck named Old Number One on display at the Mundelein Memorial Day parade. Many more will get to see it at the Fremont Public Library's summer kickoff party on Sunday, and at other locations throughout Lake County in the coming months. Today, the restored vehicle is admired at parades and special events. A century ago, it was the village of Mundelein's first firetruck — Number One. 'In 1925 this was state-of-the-art; the best firefighting equipment on the road,' said Bob Stadlman. As chairman of the Old Number One Preservation Committee since it was created in 2008, Stadlman has worked with the Mundelein Heritage Museum and other entities to put together the truck's history, complete with photos. Year-round, the committee makes sure its six-cylinder engine, red body, gold-embossed lettering, big tires and shiny silver bell are always ready to provide that wow factor. The 1925 Stoughton Fire Engine was a gift from Cardinal George William Mundelein to the village, in gratitude for renaming it after him in 1924. The cardinal founded St. Mary of the Lake Seminary in 1921. Records show the village had gone through other names before that, including Rockefeller, after the industrialist and philanthropist John D. Rockefeller. 'The wise cardinal knew that improved fire protection would better protect the huge investment the diocese was making at the seminary, as well as protecting the village of Mundelein; a win/win scenario for both parties,' Stadlman said. Until then, the department's only firefighting equipment had been a hose cart with several hundred feet of hose. That 1915 relic is on display at the village's museum. Stadlman said it had been mandated in the truck's purchase contract that it be inspected and its pumps tested. The Chicago Fire Department at Navy Pier did so in the summer of 1925, according to records. Number One served Mundelein for more than 20 years. But by 1945, it had become unreliable, and so it was sold the following year. Then sold again and again. Stadlman said the truck went to different places in Illinois, to Tennessee, and Virginia. Number One eventually ended up in a barn in North Carolina. It was then that retired Mundelein firefighter Jim Carew said, seemingly out of nowhere, he got a call. The caller said that if you want the truck to come get it, otherwise it's going to the scrapyard. Carew had been in the fire department for nearly 30 years. He was also a mechanic known for his love of firetrucks. To say the vehicle was in disrepair is an understatement, he said. It took two trucks to transport the boxes containing the parts that once made Number One whole. 'Everything was loose,' Carew said. 'It took hours to find and load everything, but it's the history of my department, and I wasn't going to let it go.' Carew's intention was to restore the firetruck. He put it together enough to see the shape of it, but due to a lack of time and the money needed for that scope of a project, the progress stopped. Number One sat in his garage untouched for 14 years, until the village came calling. Stadlman said the Village Board wanted something to show residents at the village's centennial celebration, and chose the firetruck, because after all, not too many places can say they still have their first. They purchased it from Carew for $11,000, and hired him to restore it to its original condition. 'The caveat was that in nine months I had to have it done,' he said. Carew and a team had to work fast, especially because pieces and parts had to be specially made as they were no longer manufactured, he said. Old Number One was presented to residents at the village of Mundelein's Centennial Celebration on Oct. 17, 2009, at the University of St. Mary's of the Lake. 'I was pretty proud of it at the unveiling,' Carew said. 'I could never have afforded to restore it like that, working out of my wallet.' Thanks to the preservation committee, which raised the $70,000 in donations that it took to restore it, not only does it look new, but Old Number One can operate in fighting a fire. 'No tax dollars were used for the restoration,' Stadlman said. 'To this day, this award-winning fire engine continues with just donations.' An annual golf outing is the committee's biggest fundraiser, Stadlman said. It pays for the truck's maintenance. The difference between typing on a computer keyboard and an original typewriter is how Darrell Hughes describes driving Old Number One compared to a modern fire engine. Hughes was a mechanic for the Mundelein Fire Department who retired in 2021. He joined the committee last year. He said he had to practice to be able to drive the old firetruck because it's challenging to maneuver. As in 1925, it doesn't have a windshield or seatbelts. It doesn't have power steering; it has mechanical-only rear brakes and weighs about 10,000 pounds. 'The firefighter that had to drive it out on calls in December or January back then was a tough one,' Stadlman said. There are no turn signals on Old Number One, so its driver has to use hand signals. Only while in motion can its large wheels be turned. To protect it, no one is allowed to get on the truck or touch it at events, but the bell can be rung and children love to, Stadlman said. Last year, it rang approximately 24,000 times, according to their bell counter. 'Back in the day, they rang the bell so horses and people and whatever cars there were would get out of the way,' Stadlman said. Co-founding committee member Wendy Frasier said she enjoys kids asking about Sparky, the stuffed dalmatian dog toy that sits atop the truck. She said it represents the real dalmatians that used to accompany firefighters to their calls. This year, Old Number One is scheduled to be at almost 40 Lake County events. Stadlman said usually it's half that, but this year is special, being that it's the truck's centennial. Committee members said they're excited to show it off. 'Everyone smiles and waves when they see it driving by,' Stadlman said. 'It has personality.' Old Number One's biggest outing is going to be at the village's Community Days event during the 4th of July weekend.
