There's a broad misconception about us curmudgeonly types that we are surly kill-joy pessimists who hate the world all of the time. Not so, at least in this case. No one has the energy for that sort of single-minded raging fervour these days anyway (with the possible exception of Andrew Bolt). My personal curmudgeonly streak comes more from the sort of warped idealism that genuinely sees how much better the world could be, if only people thought more about things that genuinely matter and were less easily swayed by manipulation of their worst, most insecure sides (Thanks, Border Security and Neil Strauss). There is very little to deeply loathe, for example, about the sort of lazy Saturday that follows a delightful Friday summer evening in good company.
As Bertrand Russell argued, leisure is essential to both human happiness and a functional society. Tea, fruit salad on warm maple pancakes and a copy of the Good Weekend in a peaceful house while the smell of summer rain wafts through the open window may not be Marx's idea of anything other than bourgeois decadence, but the space, time and peace in which to shrug off the pressures of the world must surely be critical to the ability to beat down the oppressiveness of Mondays and the great mass of human stupidity more broadly.
I believe I have come to that point in my life in which solitude has such comfort that, while it is delightful to share the company of a good friend, there is nothing especially lonely about being alone. The opportunity to recharge, rebuild the resilience which has taken a bit of a battering over the past few weeks, is invaluable to a mindset which allows for a healthy curmudgeonly bemusement at the general foolishness of life, rather than anything genuinely bitter and hate-filled.
Mind you, as a complex entity fully capable of experiencing a complex range of (even sometimes contradictory) emotions at the same time, there's still a part of me that, on Friday night encounters with Narcissus at the bar, would like nothing more than to gently shove him (with a feather-light touch of acerbic wit) so that he falls, flailing with a splash into the reflection he is so enamoured of. It's not that I'm opposed to musculature- quite the contrary, in fact - it's just that, well, I can't help think that the time spent polishing one's arm muscles until they are shiny, beyond anything necessary for the mere lifting of stuff, is probably indicative of the kind of insecurity that powers serious mental delusions.
But today is a day of leisurely bliss, which will probably involve the production of baked goods, wandering about the fresh food markets, and other such prosaic joys, and so I shall leave off the curmudgeonly rant about gym junkies for another day.
Coming soon on C is for Curmudgeon:
- Gym Junkies;
- Tracey Grimshaw and Current Affairs Programs as Social Justice Advocates;
- Why Pseudo-Pop-Psychology About Dating Spells Doom for Humanity.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Shh! Libraries and the Decay of Civilisation.
Well hello, the Internet. Nice to see you again for another curmudgeonly blog post, dipping once more into the unfathomable depths of cranky rage lurking beneath this mild-mannered exterior.
The local library has turned into a combination hyperdome wrestling centre with flashing lights, vacuous noise and obscene quantities of the kind of literature that is wholly unrepresentative of the notion that we are a moderately advanced culture. That's right, kids, the path to ruin is one where the literate people in our society will only read chick lit about vampires or the sorts of books that form the basis for films with which spend their entire plot budget on explosions. This is the path to a dystopian future where the monkeys keep people in cages and Charlton Heston confuses shouting with dramatic emotional depth ("It's a maaaaadhooooooooouse!").
I dream of the libraries I remember from my childhood, where you had to be quiet on pain of a stern shushing from a serious-looking librarian. The modern community library is the product of a fallen, decadently ignorant civilisation. There are toys, free internet access (ergo lots of bogans shouting out their Farmville achievements), and no one to stop the kids from the local high school hooking up on the beanbags in the reading area. Frankly, it makes me fantasise about when global hegemony is mine and I get to institute literacy and intelligence tests in order to ensure that the deeply stupid are quarantined in their own homes. This may sound somewhat illiberal, but I can assure you that it is essentially for their own safety. I'm not cruel, they'll still have access to all the Judge Judy, Jerry Springer, and Farmville they could want. Give the modern semi-literate bogan a McDonalds which delivers and house arrest will probably even be a kindness.
I don't understand this notion that we need to 'modernise' libraries, as though free access to books is somehow an anticlimax that can only be sold to the populace by stealth. "Oh look, here near all the free internet access and DVD collections of Jersey Shore, there are these bound things with lines of text in them! Maybe you could pick up some literacy by sheer proximity!" It is as though local governments are trying to force the stupid to read the way a parent goads a recalcitrant toddler to eat, hiding the wholesome stuff under mountains of sugary crap "Here comes the aeroplane!" Surely we have enough books that are the literary equivalent of cheezburgers (insert yet another dig at Stephanie Meyer here) that this misguided democratisation of our libraries is at best counter-productive, and at worst, simply making libraries no fun for people who actually like reading. Give them some bread with their cake, preferably something dense and grainy with nutritional value and intellectual depth.
I'm painfully aware this entire rant seems a bit elitist and classist, particularly given that it is highly probable that the semi-literate goons disturbing the library peace and disrespecting the books are from the disadvantaged socio-economic classes. We are talking the sorts of people who consider the baby bonus value for money, and who plan a fourth child as a finance scheme for a flatscreen television. Flatscreens appear to be important bogan lifestyle necessities, perhaps because Border Security just isn't as edifying on the smaller screen.
It is elitist, but only a little. I love the idea of democratisation of knowledge. I love the concept of universal literacy, the idea that everyone can have access to the combined knowledge of Western (and for that matter, Eastern) civilisation. Every child should be given the opportunity to know and love Orwell. I just think that turning libraries into entertainment complexes is the worst possible way to go about this grand plan. We should be concerned with helping people reach a reasonable standard, rather than continually lowering the bar. By lowering our expectations of these groups within society we do them a far greater disservice in the long term.
Also, my idealism falters somewhat when confronted with the sorts of people who think making a flamethrower from a Lynx deodorant is the height of intellectual endeavour. I am transported to memories of a high school experience in which learning how to put out spot fires in your hair was a necessary survival skill. I can't help wishing these kids had paid more attention when the primary school was trying to help them understand the complexities of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There is no doubt that the system failed them and that many were probably raised by the kind of only barely sentient bogan parents who see the education system as convenient childcare, a necessary evil until the kids hit sixteen and can go start a family of their own on the dole. Nobody inspired them with the written word, read to them as children, listened to them read. Nobody showed them the value in knowledge, and this is a tragedy. I don't have an easy fix for this, but I think it's probably not a terrible start to bring back corporal punishment and empower librarians to brutally beat people incapable of using inside voices within what should be peaceful places of learning.
At the very least, we should be capable of ensuring a minimal standard of behaviour for within libraries such that they are not periodically turned into centres attracting confused-looking neanderthals whose minimal attention-spans are positively indulged with shiny colours and the sort of literature which would be of more social use pulped and lining litter trays.
Oh, such utopian and nostalgic dreams. The peaceful stacks, the quiet studying areas, the libraries of my youth are gone forever. Libraries now apparently feel the need to compete with the local shopping centre for tack and vacuous shiny things, encouraging 'expression' and 'approachability' so that the bogan is essentially transported to the book section of Big W, except the books are free and no one will shout at them for being particularly obnoxious or letting their children climb all over the shelves.
It is archaic, and far too much to hope, this expectation that people might come to the library to be quiet and read something. It is surely only a matter of time before they begin to hold Zumba classes and offering little cocktail sausages on sticks. And then, why not allow for corporate sponsorship, so that the children's section could, for example, be sponsored by Dora the Explorer and be all about teaching pidgin Spanish and the joy of merchandising to inquiring young minds? Hola Kids! Come Explore(TM) the Dora The Explore(TM) Combine Harvester! It's pink and makes pretty sounds while it's grinding the other neighbourhood kids into a scarlet jammy pulp!
I may have gotten a little carried away there, although since there is apparently already a Dora themed toaster, probably not as carried away as it is possible to get. Let me make this simple point relatively clear. The library should contain books. It should contain useful periodicals. There's probably nothing wrong with some documentary style DVDs in moderation. It should probably contain some sort of internet access, but preferably in a space removed from other areas of the library so that no one needs to hear excitable bogans ramble on about how good they are at Farmville. And maybe some sort of nasty-looking contraption with lots of spikes bearing a sign which explains in quite small and graphic words what happens to those who can't manage to keep their voices down and control their infinitesimally tiny attention spans for the duration of their stay in the region of the books.
We are unfair on the bogan. By never requiring it to adhere to a bare standard of civility we never give it the opportunity to peel itself from the glittery tack of its cultural aesthetic to embrace something more substantial. The modern library is in the business of making the bread and circuses shinier and more distracting while civilisation itself is buried under a mound of consumeristic refuse.
Don't get me started on museums without explanatory placard things, either. Glorified fucking pomo art displays...
The local library has turned into a combination hyperdome wrestling centre with flashing lights, vacuous noise and obscene quantities of the kind of literature that is wholly unrepresentative of the notion that we are a moderately advanced culture. That's right, kids, the path to ruin is one where the literate people in our society will only read chick lit about vampires or the sorts of books that form the basis for films with which spend their entire plot budget on explosions. This is the path to a dystopian future where the monkeys keep people in cages and Charlton Heston confuses shouting with dramatic emotional depth ("It's a maaaaadhooooooooouse!").
I dream of the libraries I remember from my childhood, where you had to be quiet on pain of a stern shushing from a serious-looking librarian. The modern community library is the product of a fallen, decadently ignorant civilisation. There are toys, free internet access (ergo lots of bogans shouting out their Farmville achievements), and no one to stop the kids from the local high school hooking up on the beanbags in the reading area. Frankly, it makes me fantasise about when global hegemony is mine and I get to institute literacy and intelligence tests in order to ensure that the deeply stupid are quarantined in their own homes. This may sound somewhat illiberal, but I can assure you that it is essentially for their own safety. I'm not cruel, they'll still have access to all the Judge Judy, Jerry Springer, and Farmville they could want. Give the modern semi-literate bogan a McDonalds which delivers and house arrest will probably even be a kindness.
I don't understand this notion that we need to 'modernise' libraries, as though free access to books is somehow an anticlimax that can only be sold to the populace by stealth. "Oh look, here near all the free internet access and DVD collections of Jersey Shore, there are these bound things with lines of text in them! Maybe you could pick up some literacy by sheer proximity!" It is as though local governments are trying to force the stupid to read the way a parent goads a recalcitrant toddler to eat, hiding the wholesome stuff under mountains of sugary crap "Here comes the aeroplane!" Surely we have enough books that are the literary equivalent of cheezburgers (insert yet another dig at Stephanie Meyer here) that this misguided democratisation of our libraries is at best counter-productive, and at worst, simply making libraries no fun for people who actually like reading. Give them some bread with their cake, preferably something dense and grainy with nutritional value and intellectual depth.
I'm painfully aware this entire rant seems a bit elitist and classist, particularly given that it is highly probable that the semi-literate goons disturbing the library peace and disrespecting the books are from the disadvantaged socio-economic classes. We are talking the sorts of people who consider the baby bonus value for money, and who plan a fourth child as a finance scheme for a flatscreen television. Flatscreens appear to be important bogan lifestyle necessities, perhaps because Border Security just isn't as edifying on the smaller screen.
It is elitist, but only a little. I love the idea of democratisation of knowledge. I love the concept of universal literacy, the idea that everyone can have access to the combined knowledge of Western (and for that matter, Eastern) civilisation. Every child should be given the opportunity to know and love Orwell. I just think that turning libraries into entertainment complexes is the worst possible way to go about this grand plan. We should be concerned with helping people reach a reasonable standard, rather than continually lowering the bar. By lowering our expectations of these groups within society we do them a far greater disservice in the long term.
Also, my idealism falters somewhat when confronted with the sorts of people who think making a flamethrower from a Lynx deodorant is the height of intellectual endeavour. I am transported to memories of a high school experience in which learning how to put out spot fires in your hair was a necessary survival skill. I can't help wishing these kids had paid more attention when the primary school was trying to help them understand the complexities of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There is no doubt that the system failed them and that many were probably raised by the kind of only barely sentient bogan parents who see the education system as convenient childcare, a necessary evil until the kids hit sixteen and can go start a family of their own on the dole. Nobody inspired them with the written word, read to them as children, listened to them read. Nobody showed them the value in knowledge, and this is a tragedy. I don't have an easy fix for this, but I think it's probably not a terrible start to bring back corporal punishment and empower librarians to brutally beat people incapable of using inside voices within what should be peaceful places of learning.
At the very least, we should be capable of ensuring a minimal standard of behaviour for within libraries such that they are not periodically turned into centres attracting confused-looking neanderthals whose minimal attention-spans are positively indulged with shiny colours and the sort of literature which would be of more social use pulped and lining litter trays.
Oh, such utopian and nostalgic dreams. The peaceful stacks, the quiet studying areas, the libraries of my youth are gone forever. Libraries now apparently feel the need to compete with the local shopping centre for tack and vacuous shiny things, encouraging 'expression' and 'approachability' so that the bogan is essentially transported to the book section of Big W, except the books are free and no one will shout at them for being particularly obnoxious or letting their children climb all over the shelves.
It is archaic, and far too much to hope, this expectation that people might come to the library to be quiet and read something. It is surely only a matter of time before they begin to hold Zumba classes and offering little cocktail sausages on sticks. And then, why not allow for corporate sponsorship, so that the children's section could, for example, be sponsored by Dora the Explorer and be all about teaching pidgin Spanish and the joy of merchandising to inquiring young minds? Hola Kids! Come Explore(TM) the Dora The Explore(TM) Combine Harvester! It's pink and makes pretty sounds while it's grinding the other neighbourhood kids into a scarlet jammy pulp!
I may have gotten a little carried away there, although since there is apparently already a Dora themed toaster, probably not as carried away as it is possible to get. Let me make this simple point relatively clear. The library should contain books. It should contain useful periodicals. There's probably nothing wrong with some documentary style DVDs in moderation. It should probably contain some sort of internet access, but preferably in a space removed from other areas of the library so that no one needs to hear excitable bogans ramble on about how good they are at Farmville. And maybe some sort of nasty-looking contraption with lots of spikes bearing a sign which explains in quite small and graphic words what happens to those who can't manage to keep their voices down and control their infinitesimally tiny attention spans for the duration of their stay in the region of the books.
We are unfair on the bogan. By never requiring it to adhere to a bare standard of civility we never give it the opportunity to peel itself from the glittery tack of its cultural aesthetic to embrace something more substantial. The modern library is in the business of making the bread and circuses shinier and more distracting while civilisation itself is buried under a mound of consumeristic refuse.
Don't get me started on museums without explanatory placard things, either. Glorified fucking pomo art displays...
Sunday, January 16, 2011
A Land of Flooding Rains
Australia, the land I call home, is currently experiencing flooding on a natural disaster scale. The clean-up bill is going to be immense. All misanthropic glee at the statistical likelihood that several thousand copies of Stephanie Meyers' back catalogue were made even more unreadable as they washed down the flooded streets does take a back step to genuine sorrow and concern for people who have lost family, friends and homes. However, there is something about nationalism at a time like this which makes me wonder anew about the correlation between flag capes and desperately low IQ scores.
News.com.au is, as always, a shining beacon for the intellectually challenged. Stories about the situation in Brazil, where the floods have been coupled with mudslides and a significantly higher loss of life, are without fail followed by reader comments almost all of which bearing some form of disclaimer that the commenter is obviously more concerned about the tragedy in Queensland, but wow, that's a lot of dead people for another country, as though simply recognising the scale of disaster in Brazil without first reassuring fellow bogans of an awareness of Queensland is somehow treasonous. The sentiment 'thank goodness we're not as destroyed as Brazil!' has to be one of the uglier expressions of bogan worldliness meeting nationalism.
But the bogan is not the only group which seeks to gain some advantage from the rhetoric of compassion following a flood, and we are seeing in droves groups desirous of linking their cause to the natural disaster which is taking up all of our news time. Senior journalists up to their knees in water have eyes glowing with avarice for the Walkleys they hope to scoop up out of this mess.
The worst reporting is, as is reasonably to be expected, coming from the commercial channels, with one Channel 9 reporter making a story out of letting an isolated old man cut off by floods use the station's helicopter to visit family who thought he was dead. The station somehow managed to reach crass new heights of self-promotion - cameras rolling, asking the man how he would like to visit his family and announcing the set-up like he'd won some kind of gameshow, rather than nearly died in a natural disaster. He was frail and shaking as he struggled with a barrage of questions designed to hype the maximum drama from the moment. Then, family reunited, lots of tears and hugging, and a big Channel 9 boom mic right behind their heads, catching the emotional tragedy porn for the nightly news crowd. Crass, mishandled, and taking advantage of the vulnerable, but then, almost every channel is doing it - asking people fishing their lives out of the mud that now cakes their living rooms what it feels like to lose everything, and keeping the cameras rolling for every tear. So often, the arm of the reporter snakes around a shoulder and they murmur words which are presumably meant to be comforting. But this is not journalism, not really. We can hear these people's stories, which are tragic, without needing to question them until they cry and then film it.
But the media, for all they are a soft target, especially when engaged in this style of reporting, have done reasonably well in keeping a steady flow of relatively reliable information coming out of Queensland. This is what ABC News 24 was, in many respects, made for. While there are some who deserve to be beaten over the head with a boom microphone until they learn some human decency, others have drawn the line with more sensitivity. Our politicians, too, are caught in the social expectation that they somehow need an appearance in the disaster zone. This, to me, is somewhat counter-productive. In the event of my being caught up in catastrophic floods, I want my politicians to ensure the state endures sufficiently to keep emergency personnel working at their best. I want announcements of government relief aid, assistance with official documentation, and pressure on the private sector to show some compassion for the duration of the emergency. I don't much care if they do or do not cry on television, what they wear, or even if they're in the same general location. Credit is due here to Foreign Minister Kevin Rudd, who waded out into his electorate to provide genuine assistance to constituents and helping others to evacuate, and didn't stop to do a piece-to-camera about it. The counter-example to that is Julie Bishop, acting Opposition Leader, who wanted to make sure the nation knew that she had helped make ham sandwiches at a refuge hours earlier, thus nullifying the act of any substantial altruism. Still, I guess a ham sandwich is a ham sandwich, whether or not the person who made it for you did it to score political kudos or because they genuinely wanted to help you.
Once we get past looters, scammers, Bing Lee and the various other scarcely evolved creatures that scurry out in the aftermath of any tragedy, I have to concede that the media and politicians, despite their foibles and some pretty disgusting attempts to profit from human misery, are still trumped by Australia's answer to Westboro Baptist Church, Catch the Fire Ministries, who like to issue press releases placing their own spin on natural disasters. Victoria's disastrous bushfires in 2008 led to outlandish claims by Pastor Danny Nalliah that the fires were the wrath of God for decriminalising abortion. This media strategy having apparently worked so well for them in the past, the church has claimed that the floods are caused by a fairly standard diplomatic remark from Foreign Minister Rudd regarding Israel's responsibility to allow its nuclear facilities to be inspected by the UN. God is apparently in favour of the rampant misuse of nuclear weaponry in the Middle East, who knew? As PZ Myers adroitly put it, it's a poorly targeted and somewhat opaque sign from God that takes out half a state but doesn't even back up the sewerage of the person you're apparently cranky with.
Accordingly, the very first C is for Curmudgeon 'I'd Smote That' Award for being such a despicable member of humanity that the aggregate quality of the human race would be so improved by your absence that, if global hegemony and god-like metaphysical powers were mine, I'd have you followed by electrical storms until you look like something the Colonel would serve up, goes to Catch the Fire Ministries for the attempt to use natural disaster to manipulate foreign policy, with the quiet implication that they are metaphysical terrorists, happy to call in another drenching flood or scorching flame if it gets their legislative agenda up. Congratulations!
News.com.au is, as always, a shining beacon for the intellectually challenged. Stories about the situation in Brazil, where the floods have been coupled with mudslides and a significantly higher loss of life, are without fail followed by reader comments almost all of which bearing some form of disclaimer that the commenter is obviously more concerned about the tragedy in Queensland, but wow, that's a lot of dead people for another country, as though simply recognising the scale of disaster in Brazil without first reassuring fellow bogans of an awareness of Queensland is somehow treasonous. The sentiment 'thank goodness we're not as destroyed as Brazil!' has to be one of the uglier expressions of bogan worldliness meeting nationalism.
But the bogan is not the only group which seeks to gain some advantage from the rhetoric of compassion following a flood, and we are seeing in droves groups desirous of linking their cause to the natural disaster which is taking up all of our news time. Senior journalists up to their knees in water have eyes glowing with avarice for the Walkleys they hope to scoop up out of this mess.
The worst reporting is, as is reasonably to be expected, coming from the commercial channels, with one Channel 9 reporter making a story out of letting an isolated old man cut off by floods use the station's helicopter to visit family who thought he was dead. The station somehow managed to reach crass new heights of self-promotion - cameras rolling, asking the man how he would like to visit his family and announcing the set-up like he'd won some kind of gameshow, rather than nearly died in a natural disaster. He was frail and shaking as he struggled with a barrage of questions designed to hype the maximum drama from the moment. Then, family reunited, lots of tears and hugging, and a big Channel 9 boom mic right behind their heads, catching the emotional tragedy porn for the nightly news crowd. Crass, mishandled, and taking advantage of the vulnerable, but then, almost every channel is doing it - asking people fishing their lives out of the mud that now cakes their living rooms what it feels like to lose everything, and keeping the cameras rolling for every tear. So often, the arm of the reporter snakes around a shoulder and they murmur words which are presumably meant to be comforting. But this is not journalism, not really. We can hear these people's stories, which are tragic, without needing to question them until they cry and then film it.
But the media, for all they are a soft target, especially when engaged in this style of reporting, have done reasonably well in keeping a steady flow of relatively reliable information coming out of Queensland. This is what ABC News 24 was, in many respects, made for. While there are some who deserve to be beaten over the head with a boom microphone until they learn some human decency, others have drawn the line with more sensitivity. Our politicians, too, are caught in the social expectation that they somehow need an appearance in the disaster zone. This, to me, is somewhat counter-productive. In the event of my being caught up in catastrophic floods, I want my politicians to ensure the state endures sufficiently to keep emergency personnel working at their best. I want announcements of government relief aid, assistance with official documentation, and pressure on the private sector to show some compassion for the duration of the emergency. I don't much care if they do or do not cry on television, what they wear, or even if they're in the same general location. Credit is due here to Foreign Minister Kevin Rudd, who waded out into his electorate to provide genuine assistance to constituents and helping others to evacuate, and didn't stop to do a piece-to-camera about it. The counter-example to that is Julie Bishop, acting Opposition Leader, who wanted to make sure the nation knew that she had helped make ham sandwiches at a refuge hours earlier, thus nullifying the act of any substantial altruism. Still, I guess a ham sandwich is a ham sandwich, whether or not the person who made it for you did it to score political kudos or because they genuinely wanted to help you.
Once we get past looters, scammers, Bing Lee and the various other scarcely evolved creatures that scurry out in the aftermath of any tragedy, I have to concede that the media and politicians, despite their foibles and some pretty disgusting attempts to profit from human misery, are still trumped by Australia's answer to Westboro Baptist Church, Catch the Fire Ministries, who like to issue press releases placing their own spin on natural disasters. Victoria's disastrous bushfires in 2008 led to outlandish claims by Pastor Danny Nalliah that the fires were the wrath of God for decriminalising abortion. This media strategy having apparently worked so well for them in the past, the church has claimed that the floods are caused by a fairly standard diplomatic remark from Foreign Minister Rudd regarding Israel's responsibility to allow its nuclear facilities to be inspected by the UN. God is apparently in favour of the rampant misuse of nuclear weaponry in the Middle East, who knew? As PZ Myers adroitly put it, it's a poorly targeted and somewhat opaque sign from God that takes out half a state but doesn't even back up the sewerage of the person you're apparently cranky with.
Accordingly, the very first C is for Curmudgeon 'I'd Smote That' Award for being such a despicable member of humanity that the aggregate quality of the human race would be so improved by your absence that, if global hegemony and god-like metaphysical powers were mine, I'd have you followed by electrical storms until you look like something the Colonel would serve up, goes to Catch the Fire Ministries for the attempt to use natural disaster to manipulate foreign policy, with the quiet implication that they are metaphysical terrorists, happy to call in another drenching flood or scorching flame if it gets their legislative agenda up. Congratulations!
False Starts and New Beginnings
Awake too early after a night heavy with gin, and sitting in my bicycle pajamas willing the world to stop spinning. This seems as good a time as any to try to win at the internet, the prize being an amusingly named blogger account which suitably reflects my general curmudgeonly streak.
The human race being a font of unoriginal ideas, all interesting variations on Youngcurmudgeon are taken, as are all the variations on Miss/Ms Misanthropy. I find myself forced to look at the C word as being one with rather more than the usual four letters. Having secured this, I am resigning myself not to be one of those bloggers who will be liked and adored for their pretty pictures of baked goods or charming and heartwarming tales of human endurance/romance/personal fashion. I am ready, in the style of Machiavelli's prince, to be feared (albeit with a healthy sense of irony).
So who am I, and what am I doing here? I am a twenty-something student, rapidly approaching an age at which my sequesterment in various institutions of higher education is somewhat unseemly. Having extended a gen-Y adolescence roughly as far as is plausible with various forms of academic pursuit, I feel my deep cynicism for the future of the human race is quite definitely supported by the evidence. For example, some of you read. This is an excellent start, however tempered by the fact that in large numbers your choice of reading materials tend towards celebrity endorsed cookbooks, mediocre crime fiction, columns by racist and fear-mongering hacks like Andrew Bolt, Twilight and pick-up artist manuals.
If you sometimes think the human race is doomed because the stupid people won't stop breeding, and your response to this is bemused exasperation and not some kind of alarming eugenics program, welcome. Please enjoy this brief collection of surly rants, and feel free to leave me some comments quantifying my elitist wanker quotient and letting me know what else you think. In return, I'll try to work on the TL; DR and do my best to turn my impotent rage into something which might bring you some entertainment.
The human race being a font of unoriginal ideas, all interesting variations on Youngcurmudgeon are taken, as are all the variations on Miss/Ms Misanthropy. I find myself forced to look at the C word as being one with rather more than the usual four letters. Having secured this, I am resigning myself not to be one of those bloggers who will be liked and adored for their pretty pictures of baked goods or charming and heartwarming tales of human endurance/romance/personal fashion. I am ready, in the style of Machiavelli's prince, to be feared (albeit with a healthy sense of irony).
So who am I, and what am I doing here? I am a twenty-something student, rapidly approaching an age at which my sequesterment in various institutions of higher education is somewhat unseemly. Having extended a gen-Y adolescence roughly as far as is plausible with various forms of academic pursuit, I feel my deep cynicism for the future of the human race is quite definitely supported by the evidence. For example, some of you read. This is an excellent start, however tempered by the fact that in large numbers your choice of reading materials tend towards celebrity endorsed cookbooks, mediocre crime fiction, columns by racist and fear-mongering hacks like Andrew Bolt, Twilight and pick-up artist manuals.
If you sometimes think the human race is doomed because the stupid people won't stop breeding, and your response to this is bemused exasperation and not some kind of alarming eugenics program, welcome. Please enjoy this brief collection of surly rants, and feel free to leave me some comments quantifying my elitist wanker quotient and letting me know what else you think. In return, I'll try to work on the TL; DR and do my best to turn my impotent rage into something which might bring you some entertainment.
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