Tom Goulter - absentee blogger - Christchurch

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

or If I Haven't Posted In Ages, I'll Confound You With Miscellany

I get this guilty knowledge in the pit of my gut that my interest in world affairs, while part of a deep strain of Loving My Neighbor and the like, are also far from divorced from my love for a good narrative. (When examining my own thinking, I flashback often to The Onion's articles on "TV's Africa", sadly now available only in print form).
As in, I care deeply about not amending the Constitution to permanently invalidate homosexual unions and I think Lynne Cheney's opposition to the way her husband's boss thinks is long overdue (and I'm not too happy with the Johns' thinking on this matter either, though if they won't protect gay folks, they will at least support the constitution, which I guess is a start); and I really do feel for poor Mary Cheney, working all day for her dad then going home to try and resolve her well-paid position on Dick's staff with her personal identity as an unashamed lesbian.
But then, I also really want to see Tony B back on the straight-and-narrow after working so hard to become a registered masseuse without the Mob's help, only to snap and clock his boss with a 2x4, which led to his going back to T for work.
As in, I really like John Edwards, from what I know of him. His playful public rapport with Kerry is exactly the positive, infectious energy sorely needed for a Dem campaign that had been worrying me with its stagnation and seeming magnetism for potshots. Niggling little hints that the Kerry/Edwards dynamic shows signs of bitterness or spotlight struggles can be mostly dismissed as teething problems. And, hell, just look at the guy. Have you seen a candidate photograph like that since Jack? If you have, I don't wanna know about it! (Although this may well be a valid concern).
But then, I also can't decide what would be worse: Camille winning, or Yoanna not winning. (I know it's already finished; I just have to pretend I'm watching it in realtime). I mean, Camille's just such a talentless, headstrong bitch! And by the way, not only does Shandi have freakishly huge ears that should disqualify her automatically ("most natural sexiness", my ass), but she's a relationship-tyrant and a hypocritical dick and I want her out of there now.
I think you see what I'm getting at here. Yes. Yes, let's let it all out. Sometimes, late at night, when even the always-fascinating History Channel has some piece-of-shit special on Australian history that isn't in the original lineup but that we, as Australia without Koalas, are subjected to, oftentimes, I'll switch to BBC or CNN - and while I'm pressing the buttons, I can feel the thought zipping through my consciousness: "I hope something like 9/11's happened again, that'll be good tv".
And of course I consciously banish the thought, because of course I don't really feel that way. I'm not really entertained by shocking death and destruction on a grand scale. (Well, so I am entertained by destruction on a grand scale, but I do much prefer when it's in a controlled environment without the actual loss of life. How lucky I am that Jerry Bruckheimer's in the world, eh?) Indeed, when something actually happens, like another beheading or suicide bombing, I'm not entertained, I'm depressed and shocked and wish it hadn't happened. (Which isn't to say 20/20's wonderfully OTT sensationalist coverage of the David Arthur saga wasn't superbly, grippingly sordid, or that anything involving the phrase "coffins for the morbidly obese" doesn't make me giggle like a schoolgirl).
It's a fine line between caring about an issue and enjoying the narrative it provides, and one I suspect I won't get to clarify for myself anytime soon.
But right now I have to watch some CNN, or maybe Rikki.