Today, a reality TV celebrity behaving badly, an Open Letter to People Who Write Open Letters, the Twitter trolls come out to play, and more.
I’m the Voice
Our friends at the entertaining weekly podcast, Another Boring Thursday Night in Adelaide, told an all-too-common Adelaide story this week.
Podcaster Steve Davis was at Prospect’s Wassail Wine Bar on Sunday to hear a jazz performance by the Alex Frost Duo.
The venue is tiny – as Steve says, you can see each other’s faces.
Now, it’s a wine bar, so you don’t expect people to sit up primly and sustain a level of library-like quietude.
However, a bloke who once gained a few seconds of fame in a TV talent show saw fit to talk loudly throughout both sets, even after Alex politely asked for a bit of quiet while she sang a touching song dedicated to her late father.
The reality TV fringe-dweller (he didn’t win, sadly) continued to chat at high decibels, with his back turned to the performance – never clapping once. Other patrons had to ask him and his table to pipe down for a few minutes.
It was classic Adelaide live music venue behaviour, and one wonders why the vaguely-familiar bloke and his chatty table-mates were there, when Adelaide has such a surfeit of rowdy pubs perfectly suited to high-decibel big-noting?
As Steve says: “I think we need a show called ‘Adelaide’s Got Ego’.”
An Open Letter to People Who Write Open Letters
Dear People Who Write Open Letters to Prominent People,
You don’t know me, but I’ve been reading your work for years on blogs and in newspapers.
I’ve cringed at your self-righteous pontification, winced at your comma splices; and wondered at your random use of the semi-colon.
I’ve pondered why, if you care so much about this or that issue, you don’t take two minutes to Google the actual address of the object of your preening missive and send it directly to him or her.
I fear the “Open” format is only so you can share it on your Facebook page, probably with the brief introduction, “I wrote this,” which you hope will become a simple, yet intensely gratifying, “This”, as your many FB friends share your golden words.
Here’s the truth: we know it’s all about you – not Miley Cyrus, nor Frances Abbott, nor Christopher Pyne – just you, and only you.
Please stop. Enough. No more.
(Except for you McSweeney’s – you carry on.)
@UnfunnyUnionHackNeverWorkedinProperJob
In the warm light of improbable victory, a few Labor staffers and fellow travellers have cranked up their fake Twitter accounts.
One of them seems to have a particular penchant for attacking Liberal women for supposedly being dumb (that’s a potential irony, right there).
Beyond that, a lot of people seem to be spending a lot of time using Photoshop on taxpayer-funded computers.
Careful boys – it always ends in tears.
Death of the birth notice
This piquant little column does, on occasion, point out the dear old Advertiser’s minor flaws.
However, one trend we’ve noticed recently makes us sad – no schadenfreude at all.
It seems that the birth notice has all but, um, died.
While the personal pages are still chockas with death and funeral notices, birth and wedding notices are rare.
Today, a single joyous couple welcomes their progeny. Yesterday, there were none – and that’s a common occurrence.
We’re supposing that everyone uses Facebook and other methods to announce their happy events.
Another newspaper tradition fades into nostalgia.
