I've had a reasonably productive day, I suppose. I've put in my leopard print coat for dry cleaning. I've returned to the gym after a hiatus to recover from the flu. And most importantly, I have been reading the edited manuscript my publisher has emailed me of my upcoming novel 'Howling On A Concrete Moon'. I'm liking what I'm reading thus far. I'd like to think there has been a good job all round: me for writing it, and the editor for polishing it.
But it is also a cruddy day in some ways, too. I am dead broke. You, the reader, have the power to ameliorate my impecuniosity. Do I need to spell it out to you? Please buy my books.
Other things that have made me feel a tad stabby today are the fact that we appear to be turning into a nation of easily offended softcocks. We definitely appear to be devolving as a species in that nobody stops to think further than five minutes into the future before they carry out an action, namely, press the 'post' button on Facebook. Has anybody else noticed the furore today because someone posted a photo of his kid dressed up as Ben Cousins, complete with some white powdery substance on the tip of his nose? Dad of this kid, stop and think. Actually, I heard the picture was stolen from the parent's page and shared minus permission, but the hassle here is that once something's on the Internet, there it stays. But I'm not in the least bit offended by the costume. Nay, I actually laughed when I saw the picture. I like a shit stir, and I like it when people think outside the square. And unlike so many social media, and social commentators, I am not offended that a parent dressed their kid to look like an AFL player who's been hoovering some prime booger sugar up his nostrils. There have been howls out outrage, such howls reminiscent of a pack of dogs shut in the laundry. One of the regular talking heads on 'Sunrise' was pontificating about how drug addiction is not funny (so, who's laughing?), and comparing it to the photograph of a kid dressed as Nic Nat the other week, black face and all, and how we don't get to decide for others if it's funny or offensive or what. Her bilious rant started to spiral out of control, and she sounded to me like she was tied up in a runaway shopping trolley that was bumping and careening down a rocky embankment. Other comments I've read seem to be from people who are one step from ringing FACS to have the kid removed from what appears to be very dreadful parenting. People, please. Take deep breaths. This kid is no more likely to grow up a drug addict than any other kid. It is quite possible his parents have explained to him why we mustn't take illicit drugs. It is also possible, and indeed most likely, that some of you really need to get out and find a new hobby.
When I was in primary school, my older brother and his classmates were in a skit for a school concert. Do you remember a shanty called 'What Will We Do With The Drunken Sailor?' - the Irish Rovers recorded a version of it. In the skit, the kids stood on choir risers singing this very song, and one of the more theatrically inclined boys staggered about as though totally, utterly, full-goonie-of-Fruity-Lexia blotto. He was dressed in a white sailor suit, and stumbling and lurching as though he was on shore leave, exploring the red light district of Kings Cross. His acting was right up there with Olivier, it must be said. I'm pretty sure the kid didn't grow up to pursue the performing arts. I'm more sure the kid didn't grow up and become a gutter dwelling drunken bum just because he portrayed one. If it's the kid I'm thinking of, I'm certain he is living a fulfilled, productive, and law-abiding life, as are my brother and the other kids who performed in the skit.
There are some pictures of children that one might be entitled to get a little worked up over. The other night I teared up at footage of Omran Daqneesh, the little Syrian boy who was injured in air strikes. Pictures of him strapped into a chair in the back of an ambulance have gone viral. The photograph of that other little Syrian boy lying washed up dead on the shore makes me a tad tearful, too. No amount of repeated viewings lessens the horror of seeing that famous photograph of Kim Phuc running from her napalmed village, screaming in pain and shock from the foul poison that burned away her clothing.
The aforementioned photographs are something to get worked up and distressed about. Some kid dressed as Ben Cousins? Maybe not so much.
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