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1. Elisabeth Wynhausen deserves
an award.
Before Elisabeth, who I hope
will read this, gets too excited, I'll point out that the award she's
most likely to pick up is the Captain Fucking Obvious Award for Brutal
Stupidity in Journalism. There's no trophy, or prizemoney - just
a healthy slap to the back of the head. Administered, hopefully, by
herself. Daily. At 11am. And 1pm. Also 2pm and 3pm.
Her award winning entry to
the CFO-BSJ award appeared this week in the Australian, when she dared
don a burka to ‘gain some perspective' on what it might be like
to be a Muslim woman.
What followed was one of the
most openly ridiculous, poorly thought-out and woefully sensationalist
pieces of drivel ever committed to paper in this country. Let's pick
the eyes out of this little gem and see what we have.
First of all, whichever genius
sub-editor worked their magic on this piece should be fired. Right now.
"Elisabeth Wynhausen road tests the burka" is the headline. The
first sentence in should probably have rung an alarm bell for the sub...
"The word burka doesn't ring a bell". The salesgirl doesn't
know what a burka is. Ergo, I think it's probably safe to assume at
this point that the term ‘burka' is probably incorrect for the garment
Elisabeth will be donning for this experiment.
But let's not simply pick
this article to bits over questionable semantics... no, that wouldn't
be fair. Instead, I'll point out that dear Elisabeth has embarked
on this particular journey of discovery not out of any particular desire
to learn more about the lives of others. Nor is it that rare spark of
originality that journos sometimes display. No - she's pinched the
idea from another journalist overseas, thus continuing the long and
glorious practice of lifting stories from other countries. At least
she had the guts to let us know that she nicked the idea, even going
so far as to name her inspiration at the beginning of paragraph seven.
From there, however, it's
all downhill. Elisabeth lets us know that being draped in several layers
of clothing with nothing showing but your eyes is not comfortable. I'm
truly glad she shared that with us - I would never have guessed that
gadding about town dressed like a poorly-tailored ninja wasn't going
to be fun.
Elisabeth goes on to bemoan
the fact that she can no longer sip her latte because of her new religious
garb. Could this be the end of our heroine? Denied her life-sustaining
shot of caffeine, she's appears to go a little stir-crazy. Paranoia
sets in...
"I stifled the impulse
to tear off the uncomfortable, intensely constricting garments, which
were so physically constraining that they gave me the sense of confining
my spirit," Elisabeth writes. Sadly for us, the garment didn't
constrain her love of the dramatic overstatement. Indeed, the restrictive
garb appears to have inflamed it, if anything.
"With my head swaddled
in cloth and my face covered, I felt I could scarcely breathe. The sense
that I had become an alien being was more oppressive still," Elisabeth
continues.
Confusingly, I'm still trying
to ascertain exactly how wearing a tablecloth over your head can cause
the sensation that you're about to burst spectacularly out through
the ribcage of a hapless space explorer.
However - we will persevere.
Surely there must be something
of merit in here somewhere...
Ahhh. Here we go. "The
attire forced me into an entirely unnatural self-conscious relationship
with the rest of the world." I'd say that probably has something
to do with the fact that you haven't been wearing one your whole life.
I remember the first time I ever wore ski-pants at the snow. I felt,
and was gleefully informed by my friends that I also looked, like a
twerp.
"Making my way from the
newspaper offices past Central railway station, I was plagued by the
thought that the outfit was provocative enough to spur some madman to
drive straight at me." Really? She really thought that someone
was going to run her over, just because she was dressed as a muslim?
Wow... way to let your own prejudices cloud the story, Elisabeth. Seriously
- that's unforgivable.
"A woman with her face
covered will always arouse a range of emotions in the West, from suspicion
to outright disdain. For many Muslim women, though, covering their faces
is considered a religious obligation. Whether the chasm will ever be
bridged remains open to question."
There's no question - as long as we have moronic journalists who
attempt to explain away hundreds of years of religious and cultural
expression by imitating it for a day and then hamfistedly trying to
‘explode the myth', we're all fucked.
2. TV, you horrible fuck.
I was going to call this section
"Aussie TV has incurable cancer". But I changed it. Because it would
have sounded like I was having a swipe at Belinda Emmet, and not even
I am enough of a shit to do that. So, instead, I will blame TV for being
TV.
But upon what evidence do I
mount my argument? That's easy - Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you
the teetering pile of shit that is The Big Night In with John Foreman.
If you ever wondered whether
or not comedy can survive in a vacuum, the answer is a resounding no.
And this show proves it. It's like someone at Channel Ten has raided
the bins behind Rove's studio and stolen all of the jokes, set construction
and guest lists that even Rove Live wouldn't touch. And then handed
them all to John Foreman (the least funny man in television). And then
put it to air.
It's so bad, it can best
be described as being part of a tense race to the bottom with The Wedge
- although The Wedge will probably narrowly pip it at the post, thanks
in no small part to its impossibly bad scripting, mistimed comedic performances
and utter lack of charisma.
Channel Ten must be kicking
itself in the arse over the Tench debacle, too... it's a shame, really
- it had the potential to be so much more than it is. But there is
at least one saving grace for the as-yet-unnamed person behind the character
- by maintaining his ‘secret identity', he's likely to be the
only person on the cast or crew that Channel Ten will hire again in
a hurry. Smart move, whoevere-you-are.
I'm securing the hatches
at the moment as we approach Christmas. It's supposed to be nice and
family oriented. But Aussies do their best family stuff in front of
the telly. And TV, round Christmas time, turns on us. It becomes a snarling
beast of banality, a never-ending parade of stultifying boredom, as
repeats of repeats lumber from the glowing cathode ray tube and into
our living rooms, like a crazed minotaur of monotony whose sole purpose
in life is to drive us insane with tedium, smell a bit wrong and look
like a bad special effect.
We turn in desperation to channels
we would ordinarily never watch. Interminable documentaries on what
Christmas is like in places like Afghanistan, now that the locals are
being force-fed Christianity through a tube. (I'll save you the bother
- they decorate trees and take pot shots at Santa's sleigh with AK-47s.
But even watching that gets boring after a few minutes).
The ABC's not much better.
Long-winded period dramas abound, where the action gets no hotter than
watching old people chatting aimlessly about who killed the neighbours
and then gently shifting their weight in overstuffed armchairs, trying
not to spill their tea. Riveting Stuff.
It seems that, once again,
Christmas time will be utterly bereft of entertainment, and we shall
be forced to make our own.
I think I might head to Afghanistan.
Shooting at Santa is suddenly looking like a lot of fun.
3. Politicians are awesome.
No, really. I love them -
if only for the fact that every now and then, one will stand up and
prove that several fundamental laws of physics are completely bogus.
I speak, of course, of Big Kim Beazley, who this week showed us precisely
how transparent an incompetent fat fuck can be.
The issue this time around
is former SAS Major Peter Tinley (about whom I will be unfailingly nice,
because they're all hard bastards in the SAS and the last thing I
need is to have several burly blokes come hurtling down the chimney
to kill me) who appeared on Lateline early in the week to decry the
Australian involvement in Iraq.
Honest truth: I was really
impressed. He would've had a bitch of a time summoning up the pluck
to go against the people he's been working with in the armed forces,
and risking becoming a pariah amongst his own people. But, god bless
‘im, he got out there and told us that the thought the war in Iraq
is "morally bankrupt", etc etc.
Hooray, says I, as I watched
him do his thing with Tony Jones. This was a massive milestone in the
argument against Australia's involvement. Serisously - when even
the guys with guns are telling the government that the war's a bad
idea, then surely they'll have to listen.
And then along comes the great
galumphing idiot, Beazley, smugly announcing that Tinley will be standing
for the ALP at the next election. The day after he's made this incredible
statement to the media.
Two problems with this. First
of all, when Bomber Beazley was unloading on the government in parliament
on November 27, he had already spoken to Tinley about becoming a Labor
candidate. Which leads to the second, and worst, problem with the scenario...
Tinley's comments were explosive
- and they deserve to be heard and then shouted from the mountain
tops by everyone who can muster the strength to do so. But the impact
has been severely lessened by Tinley's announcement that he's going
to be a Labor candidate. While it may be a real coup for the ALP, the
timing of Tinley's appearances in the media and his candidacy have
robbed the statement of any and all forms of impartiality they might
have had.
It's a crying shame - here
was a golden opportunity for Tinley to do some real good, and some real
damage to the government on the issue of duping Australia into going
to war. Instead, his comments are now little more than pre-candidacy
grooming, and even though the vast majority of Australians are relatively
politically naïve, even the dullards will be able to spot that the
cynicism of these events now, and always will, overshadow the message.
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