My daughter had a fever yesterday, so naturally, I thought she probably had swine flu and imagined her little body hooked up to tubes and an oxygen mask in the ICU.
And here I am, edumacated media-aware journalist as victim of MEDIA HYSTERIA (which by the way is a misogynistic word because its origins are from the use to describe women's "unusual" behaviour).
I've probably got too much time on my hands (like my neighbour who patrols the street like a war-time volunteer should someone mistakenly pull into his driveway, or accidentally brush leaves into his immaculately concreted yard). I consume a lot of media. Radio on ABC all day, practically attached to my phone and the computer with a USB, TV in the evening, so it's very hard to protect yourself from overexposure to the same message. As well as the 24-hour news cycle which demands a fresh story for each update.
It also makes me think about how you control a message from a PR perspective as well where you have media champing at the bit for new information, and you want to give it to them without creating panic.
And from a consumer perspective how do you protect yourself from overreaction?
The democratisation of information is a truly wonderful thing, but it places quite the burden on responsible people to invest a lot of time and energy into getting balance and perspective from their information.
It's actually a pretty cogent argument for "real" journalism, that you need to be able to trust the source and information.
*gets off soapbox*
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
My daily Twittascope
Today, you will spend a lot of time reflecting... on yourself. The morning may begin with some strenuous physical activity you feel the need to share with everyone, followed by the inevitable gripe about work.
Later in the day, you may find yourself in the middle of a flurry of activity on the internet where you spend a lot of time talking about what you're doing (not much), which others find endlessly fascinating.
Watch out towards the end of the day, you might go out with the gfs and who knows, you could meet the man of your dreams... which you will document in minute detail on the interwebs. Or perhaps you'll just sit at home and watch a chick-flick (and Tweet all the way through) because you're sad.
Later in the day, you may find yourself in the middle of a flurry of activity on the internet where you spend a lot of time talking about what you're doing (not much), which others find endlessly fascinating.
Watch out towards the end of the day, you might go out with the gfs and who knows, you could meet the man of your dreams... which you will document in minute detail on the interwebs. Or perhaps you'll just sit at home and watch a chick-flick (and Tweet all the way through) because you're sad.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Charlie
Charlie was my dog. He was a beautiful tan and white beagle and he would have been seven in August.
On June 25 Charlie died. He had lymphoma. My husband and I decided that rather than put him through chemo, we'd euthanise him instead. What an awful decision to have to make, and how it's made me ponder on life, death, faith, regret as well as happiness and love.
It's divested me of any vestiges of a sense I might have had that there is a "higher power", because who would put a wonderful animal like Charlie through cancer? (or anyone for that matter).
It's made me incredibly sad too. Telling my three and a half year old son that his "big brother" Charlie wasn't coming home was truly one of the most painful things I have ever done.
Everything I do around the house reminds me of him. When I open the front door, I always look down in anticipation of the little brown nose poking around the edge of the door and the whole body wag that would greet me and the kids each and every time we returned home.
When the kids have leftovers in their bowls, I have to stop myself from going to scrape them in his bowl. When I drop some food on the floor I wait for the instinctual click of dog claws on lino as Charlie scampered into the kitchen to see what gastronomical delight had fallen into his territory.
The way he would bark and feint resting on his front paws while Baby Chocolate would lunge at him cackling with joy. And the way he would come to my side of the bed on a cold evening and use his nose to flick at the edge of the doona in the hope he could scramble underneath for a cosier night's sleep.
I have also been meditating on how I was very impatient with him at times and yelled at him. What I would do to take back all those angry words I had for him from time to time. He was a great dog, but had a distinct naughty and willful streak, which only made him more lovable.
Even with two crazy little kids screaming around the place, it seems so very quiet without his gentle and quiet presence.
It's also caused me to ruminate on regrets and how I'd like to live a life without them.
Dogs are amazing creatures and if you like them, I highly recommend Dogs Never Lie About Love (sounds crap, but it's a great book). They are pure creatures who express emotion purely, and frankly, we'd be nicer if we were more like them.
As much as I regret Charlie's passing, and god I do, my life is better for having known him.
On June 25 Charlie died. He had lymphoma. My husband and I decided that rather than put him through chemo, we'd euthanise him instead. What an awful decision to have to make, and how it's made me ponder on life, death, faith, regret as well as happiness and love.
It's divested me of any vestiges of a sense I might have had that there is a "higher power", because who would put a wonderful animal like Charlie through cancer? (or anyone for that matter).
It's made me incredibly sad too. Telling my three and a half year old son that his "big brother" Charlie wasn't coming home was truly one of the most painful things I have ever done.
Everything I do around the house reminds me of him. When I open the front door, I always look down in anticipation of the little brown nose poking around the edge of the door and the whole body wag that would greet me and the kids each and every time we returned home.
When the kids have leftovers in their bowls, I have to stop myself from going to scrape them in his bowl. When I drop some food on the floor I wait for the instinctual click of dog claws on lino as Charlie scampered into the kitchen to see what gastronomical delight had fallen into his territory.
The way he would bark and feint resting on his front paws while Baby Chocolate would lunge at him cackling with joy. And the way he would come to my side of the bed on a cold evening and use his nose to flick at the edge of the doona in the hope he could scramble underneath for a cosier night's sleep.
I have also been meditating on how I was very impatient with him at times and yelled at him. What I would do to take back all those angry words I had for him from time to time. He was a great dog, but had a distinct naughty and willful streak, which only made him more lovable.
Even with two crazy little kids screaming around the place, it seems so very quiet without his gentle and quiet presence.
It's also caused me to ruminate on regrets and how I'd like to live a life without them.
Dogs are amazing creatures and if you like them, I highly recommend Dogs Never Lie About Love (sounds crap, but it's a great book). They are pure creatures who express emotion purely, and frankly, we'd be nicer if we were more like them.
As much as I regret Charlie's passing, and god I do, my life is better for having known him.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Girls are pink and boys are blue
I have two kids. One boy and one girl. With both of them, I have tried not to reinforce gender stereotypes when it comes to how I dress them (I don't put my son in a dress, I'm not that progressive) and what toys they play with. My son has a couple of dolls, and my daughter likes to play with her brother's cars.
But one day, my son told me he "HATES" (in capital letters) Dora the Explorer, because she's a girl and she likes pink. I have no idea where it came from, but it goes to show you the power of socialisation. After much counselling, he's softened his stance on his hatred of pink. (I pointed out that daddy has a couple of pink shirts).
I dress my daughter (who is an infant and is wispily bald) in a reasonably neutral way, despite the mass of sickly candy pink clothes that spill from her (blue) cupboard. Yesterday she was in denim overalls and a blue and white striped t-shirt (with a pinky/purple cardigan with a rosette on it), and still a slightly older lady at my gym thought she was a boy. Older people do it to me all the time. If she's in blue, as far as they're concerned, she's a boy.
But even with me, when I am shopping for my little girl, I unconsciously reach for the pink toothbrush.
I don't know what the point of this blog is really, other than to point out why we have such social conventions and why they're so important to people. Is it because they provide order and predictability?
BTW I don't like Dora either, but mostly because of her oversized head, not coz she wears pink.
But one day, my son told me he "HATES" (in capital letters) Dora the Explorer, because she's a girl and she likes pink. I have no idea where it came from, but it goes to show you the power of socialisation. After much counselling, he's softened his stance on his hatred of pink. (I pointed out that daddy has a couple of pink shirts).
I dress my daughter (who is an infant and is wispily bald) in a reasonably neutral way, despite the mass of sickly candy pink clothes that spill from her (blue) cupboard. Yesterday she was in denim overalls and a blue and white striped t-shirt (with a pinky/purple cardigan with a rosette on it), and still a slightly older lady at my gym thought she was a boy. Older people do it to me all the time. If she's in blue, as far as they're concerned, she's a boy.
But even with me, when I am shopping for my little girl, I unconsciously reach for the pink toothbrush.
I don't know what the point of this blog is really, other than to point out why we have such social conventions and why they're so important to people. Is it because they provide order and predictability?
BTW I don't like Dora either, but mostly because of her oversized head, not coz she wears pink.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Death and shit
It fascinates me the way people are lauded in death. The furore over the Chaser's song the year before last about all the dead celebs was a great example. Is it because we're confronted by our own mortality in a world obsessed by 24/7 media coverage and celebrity? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jade Goody, the young British woman who tragically died from cervical cancer on the weekend. In anyone's language, it's a tragedy. She was only 27 and she had two young sons. The unusual thing about it is that her death was reported by the BBC World service as an actual news item. You may well ask why, I certainly did. Apparently her death was newsworthy because she was on Big Brother in the UK where she thought the region of England called East Anglia (or East Angular as she pronounced it) was in another country. Her fame grew for the wrong reasons when she was on Celebrity Big Brother and made racist remarks to one of her housemates.
Why oh why are people captivated by this? The grotesque thing, which is probably fitting really, considering she lived by reality TV, she also died by it, with her final days managed by PR "guru" Max Clifford. She said she did this to ensure her children were provided for. But what is that going to do to them when they grow up, and even now? Not only do they have to deal with their mother's untimely death, but what is normally an intensely private situation has been played out in the full glare of the media. People have compared it with the death of Princess Diana. And it's true. There was misplaced, mass hysteria then, and now too.
And if people in the public dare call it for what it is, they're lambasted. Noel Gallagher of all people actually put it the best I have seen:
"I mean, I've got fuck all against Jade Goody, that's nothing to do with me," Gallagher continued. "But it bends my head. That, to me, sums up, in one tiny five-minute thing on the news, what an embarrassing place Britain is right now. You might as well shut Number 10 Downing Street down and get Max Clifford to run the country"
Why oh why are people captivated by this? The grotesque thing, which is probably fitting really, considering she lived by reality TV, she also died by it, with her final days managed by PR "guru" Max Clifford. She said she did this to ensure her children were provided for. But what is that going to do to them when they grow up, and even now? Not only do they have to deal with their mother's untimely death, but what is normally an intensely private situation has been played out in the full glare of the media. People have compared it with the death of Princess Diana. And it's true. There was misplaced, mass hysteria then, and now too.
And if people in the public dare call it for what it is, they're lambasted. Noel Gallagher of all people actually put it the best I have seen:
"I mean, I've got fuck all against Jade Goody, that's nothing to do with me," Gallagher continued. "But it bends my head. That, to me, sums up, in one tiny five-minute thing on the news, what an embarrassing place Britain is right now. You might as well shut Number 10 Downing Street down and get Max Clifford to run the country"
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Fuckby League
Sorry about that last post. It was a bit vociferous and self indulgent. Oh hang on, that's what blogs are for isn't it?
I've had a shitty 24 hours, so you'll have to excuse me once again because it seems I have at least one leg in my cranky pants today. A lack of sleep and chasing small, screaming children has a way of doing that to a body. Luckily I have a lot of good TV series on DVD that keep me just enough in a fantasy world to make all this a little more bearable.
It's such a middle class whinge, isn't it? As soon as I typed all these complaints I thought of all the other people in the world doing it so much tougher than me. And that would be most of them, really. As if I have anything to complain about.
Today, I'd like to rant about the abhorrent way in which the Manly Rugby League club went about its tawdry little smear campaign to try and discredit the alleged victim in the sexual assault case against Brett Stewart. Media Watch did some great coverage of it. You can see it here on their website.
I can believe the club would do this because they seem to operate in a boozy misogynistic bubble (actually, I do worry it's more wide spread than that), what I can't believe is that it made it to air on Channel 9. Surely there was someone in the newsroom who voiced concerns over running "news" which wasn't actually new, and which has no relevance to the case at hand. Trying to discredit the victim in this situation is what the defence counsel always does and even they have been asked not to do this kind of thing in court, but we all know TV journalists are above the law (hello Ben Fordham). Watching Peter Overton reading the story I thought to myself "you have a daughter, how would you feel if she was in this situation and someone tried to use something you'd done to discredit her claims of assault". It's just appalling.
What I wonder is if it's just isolated left wing housewives like me who think this kind of shit is wrong, or can most people see it for what it is? I hope so.
I've had a shitty 24 hours, so you'll have to excuse me once again because it seems I have at least one leg in my cranky pants today. A lack of sleep and chasing small, screaming children has a way of doing that to a body. Luckily I have a lot of good TV series on DVD that keep me just enough in a fantasy world to make all this a little more bearable.
It's such a middle class whinge, isn't it? As soon as I typed all these complaints I thought of all the other people in the world doing it so much tougher than me. And that would be most of them, really. As if I have anything to complain about.
Today, I'd like to rant about the abhorrent way in which the Manly Rugby League club went about its tawdry little smear campaign to try and discredit the alleged victim in the sexual assault case against Brett Stewart. Media Watch did some great coverage of it. You can see it here on their website.
I can believe the club would do this because they seem to operate in a boozy misogynistic bubble (actually, I do worry it's more wide spread than that), what I can't believe is that it made it to air on Channel 9. Surely there was someone in the newsroom who voiced concerns over running "news" which wasn't actually new, and which has no relevance to the case at hand. Trying to discredit the victim in this situation is what the defence counsel always does and even they have been asked not to do this kind of thing in court, but we all know TV journalists are above the law (hello Ben Fordham). Watching Peter Overton reading the story I thought to myself "you have a daughter, how would you feel if she was in this situation and someone tried to use something you'd done to discredit her claims of assault". It's just appalling.
What I wonder is if it's just isolated left wing housewives like me who think this kind of shit is wrong, or can most people see it for what it is? I hope so.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
What kind of fuckery is this?
I have been trying to be a better person. I suppose that was precipitated by being pregnant with my son, and learning a little bit about Buddhism. I guess I am still on a bit of a personal quest to have right thoughts and actions. So you'll forgive me this lapse. I'm tired and the kids are driving me a bit nuts. I am not the Dalai Lama, you know.
Since I started writing this blog, I realised I have a public (well, sort of public, given that I only have one follower - hi SJ) forum where I can tell the people who've fucked me over to, well, fuck off with cherries on top.
So, here goes (I might only get on to one at at time, but I might get on a roll of hating, so you never know):
The person really getting my goat is a former friend from uni. The thing that annoys me most is that I was too gutless at the time to just tell her to fuck off then. I'd like to tell her to fuck off now too, but somehow, I don't feel I will be building my pagodas to nirvana by doing that. Plus I will look petty and spastic and everyone will see me for the insecure nutjob I am.
She used to tell a mutual friend that she was anal for washing her bed sheets regularly. I should have said then that it's just disgusting to be an ugly fat moll who has such a sense of entitlement that she can pass judgement on others and tell them how to live their life. (I'm pretty sure she's still fat, so that's something).
Once she told me not to be uptight about using my stereo for a party because I was worried it would get broken. She said "it won't get hurt" in the most patronising tone, and guess what, it got broken. I guess when mummy and daddy sort everything out for you, you probably don't need to worry about such trivia.
Another time I wrote and told her how badly I was suffering from depression, because I thought I could rely on her to help me at least by listening. She never even called.
She also felt it necessary to get on her high moral horse and cast the first stone to save the finer feelings of someone she cared little about knowing full well she would end our friendship.
I don't know what pisses me off more about it; her treachery or the fact that my friendship didn't mean anything to her at all and I got played.
It was more than 10 years ago and I'm still haven't really reconciled it with myself. Why do I hang onto so much anger about it?
Not a very good Buddhist. Ohm.
Since I started writing this blog, I realised I have a public (well, sort of public, given that I only have one follower - hi SJ) forum where I can tell the people who've fucked me over to, well, fuck off with cherries on top.
So, here goes (I might only get on to one at at time, but I might get on a roll of hating, so you never know):
The person really getting my goat is a former friend from uni. The thing that annoys me most is that I was too gutless at the time to just tell her to fuck off then. I'd like to tell her to fuck off now too, but somehow, I don't feel I will be building my pagodas to nirvana by doing that. Plus I will look petty and spastic and everyone will see me for the insecure nutjob I am.
She used to tell a mutual friend that she was anal for washing her bed sheets regularly. I should have said then that it's just disgusting to be an ugly fat moll who has such a sense of entitlement that she can pass judgement on others and tell them how to live their life. (I'm pretty sure she's still fat, so that's something).
Once she told me not to be uptight about using my stereo for a party because I was worried it would get broken. She said "it won't get hurt" in the most patronising tone, and guess what, it got broken. I guess when mummy and daddy sort everything out for you, you probably don't need to worry about such trivia.
Another time I wrote and told her how badly I was suffering from depression, because I thought I could rely on her to help me at least by listening. She never even called.
She also felt it necessary to get on her high moral horse and cast the first stone to save the finer feelings of someone she cared little about knowing full well she would end our friendship.
I don't know what pisses me off more about it; her treachery or the fact that my friendship didn't mean anything to her at all and I got played.
It was more than 10 years ago and I'm still haven't really reconciled it with myself. Why do I hang onto so much anger about it?
Not a very good Buddhist. Ohm.
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