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I’m calling it

Obey Obama?, originally uploaded by tonx.

Tags: politiking, society

Smug Wednesdays of the nouveau riche

It’s a Wednesday in November. Another day done, I leap on a bus with my copy of the Guardian. I eye the headlines, peck at the crossword, exhaust the sport and skim the arty section. I learn that ‘Information Superhighway’ is an anagram of ‘A Rough Whimper of Insanity’, a promising young footballer has his feet on the ground and that an attractive pro choice campaigner is helping women choose in international waters.

I also read an excerpt from the (premature!) autobiography of a charmingly wacky television personality. He enthuses about the charm of the homeless and their knack for knowing where to procure drugs. Ah, what fun it must be to be addicted to heroin! Oh, well too old for that business now I suppose, I think as I effect a wry smile for the imaginary cameras.

Instead of heading home, I quit the bus at Princes Street and stroll toward the Royal Mile. I poke my head into several picturesque alleys searching for a the venue for a rather pretentious talk I’m attending. I find the place and the heavy gates swings gently open. I smile politely upon entering and sign my name is the visitor’s register. I pour myself a tea and nibble on a biscuit.

The talk is good, I’m gripped. The lawyer’s present ask some boring questions, I bite my tongue but indicate my displeasure with a subtle furrow of my brow. I try to ask an impressive, searching question that I already know the answer to. I don’t quite get it right, the timing’s off, the tone insufficiently nonchalant. We applaud and mingle, there are handshakes. I leave satisfied with the night’s new contacts.

It’s early so, in no rush to get home, I head to a bar I’m fond of. There’s a good wine list and a fine draught Belgian beer. Although I could probably tempt a colleague out for a drink, I don’t really enjoy their company that much. Instead I opt for a seat in a good vantage point. I pull out my laptop to look lazily important. I gamble on football matches I can’t see and smirk at nearby women. Few smiles are returned. My social appetite sated, I head home.

I walk past a bloke cadging spare change. He’s sitting on South Bridge, wrapped in a sleeping bag, a discarded copy of the Sun sits to one side. He doesn’t even have an emaciated mutt the poor bastard. He sees me, I see him. He recites his mantra, I give him my sympathetic no. It’s a dance we’ve probably shared before. I await the thanks anyway expected from those in the service industry.

However he’s not amused. No he’s fucked off all right. He starts screaming in a unflattering parody of me, just another Chardonnay socialist. I’m ruffled, I feel slighted. ‘Why, I looked the man in the eye!’ I think indignantly. I turn back, almost puzzled. He screams again but I realise he’s not yelling at me, it’s not directed at anyone in particular.

I quickly regain my composure. I smirk, I swagger. I get on a bus with everyone else. It’s stays with me though. I half heartedly eavesdrop on the two students sat behind me. One of them is reeling from a recent affair of the heart, the other’s German and slightly bored. This doesn’t cheer me up as it usually would.

Still ruffled, I hit another bar near home. The German beer and the splendid ladies don’t help. It’s disturbing to realise that you’ve become all that you satirised in your youth. Self loathing, no stranger to me, ensues. I start imaging that my foe from earlier tonight is suffering from a similar bout of self pity. I picture him wallowing in self pity and regretting his outburst.

I hit the pillow, content with drink and contrived absolution. We’re not so different he and I. I vow to give him a pound next time I see him, maybe I should I ask him if he can hook me up? He could cut some sort of percentage, good honest work! Just the thing I should think. My well practiced smirk returns as I drift off, vindicated in the knowledge that I’m going to write it all down in order to bring attention to the plight of the homeless…

Tags: media, rant, society

(Only) 40 years of Aboriginal suffrage in Australia

Today marks the anniversary of the referendum that gave the Aborigines of Australia the vote. It just doesn’t seem long enough does it? It’s scary to think it was only 11 years before I was born.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Australia and there’s a lot to be proud of. However, the natural beauty, the work hard - play harder ethic and the myriad sporting achievements of the Clever Country don’t excuse the way we’ve treated those who were there first.

I know it can’t take away the hurt but this Australian is sorry.

Tags: australia, politiking, society