From Motown to Tehran - Before Breakfast

Here is where I started: I woke this morning checked my laptop for emails and logged on to my Facebook account and ended up asking...

How did you hear about The Princess of Wales’s death? Did you read about it in newspapers, hear it on the radio or perhaps you watched the reports on television as the events unfolded. It was a story that was slowly played out through the media as the world’s journalists gathered information and wrote their pieces.

How did you hear about Michael Jackson’s death? Chances are it was either on Facebook or Twitter. The message was spread virally. Rumour was written as fact before it was confirmed by either the doctors or the family. People all over the world knew that Michael Jackson was dead before his body was cold.

Who controls the information that we are fed, on a minute by minute basis? It seems like just yesterday it was Rupert Murdoch and Kerry Packer but now more often that not it is the new breed of ‘citizen’ journalist, the blogger and the man or woman with the mobile phone or camcorder who is on the spot as things happen. There is no censoring or verification of most of this news unless the story is later taken up by one of the ‘old media’ organisations. Yet we believe it and take it as gospel.

Factual reporting is a dying art form. Opinion pieces, like this one, are the new way of disseminating news. The Internet gives people who live in countries less liberal than ours the ability to create change. It is no wonder that all through the world governments both elected and non-elected are nervously trying to limit the amount of damage that this freedom can cause by creating new laws to enforce censorship.

From pondering I started to wander and then went in this direction…

Censorship has always been an issue that arouses strong feelings on both sides of the debate. Does anyone have a right to restrict anyone else’s ability to access information? If we lived in a perfect world, which clearly we don’t, then there would be no need for any form of censorship. Fairness and equality for all would be one of the underpinning bulwarks of our Utopia. However people being people this is not how our ‘real’ world works. We live in a world filled with deception and manipulation with self interest and selfishness. So somewhere, someone decided that we could not be trusted to monitor our own reading, viewing or web surfing activities; but the world has changed. The old argument of “if you don’t like it turn it off” has lost some of its power. Today it is almost impossible to turn off information. Information is the constant white noise that continuously wraps us in its warm embrace.

People and more importantly governments are scared. They are scared because they are losing control and the more they tighten their noose of censorship the more people are demanding their right to freedom of thought.

In Iran the message of revolution is being carried to the populace and the outside world by the Internet, mainly Twitter, as the Government tries to control every other foreign news source. Images of a beautiful young girl lying, dying, in the street from an assassin's bullet are carried on to Youtube. Her eyes stare at the camera as her blood stains the road as her life force leaves her.

Similarly in China the ruling elite censor and distort reports from inside Tibet or indeed any of their ‘spheres of interest’ throughout the country. Computers are now being sold with inbuilt filters to block sites that the Chinese describe as ‘unsuitable’. China is now trying to construct 'The Great Fire-Wall' to keep their population 'safe'. They have asked, (demanded) that new software should be designed by Hewlett Packard, Dell and even Apple to allow each keystroke entered on your computer to be tracked. This would allow the Central Government to effectively control exactly which computer user is accessing what sites and then take ‘appropriate’ action.

The Australian Labor Party is proposing to expand an already existing censorship system that allows the government of the day to block sites that it considers to be unsuitable, or worse sites that are not in line with the ‘public morality’. 'The Black List'. The examples used to justify such a move are always sites that promote, propagate or groom young children for sex or sites that associate violence and sex. Of course there is a case to be made for censoring web sites that seek to exploit young children for sexual gratification but who will be setting the limits, who will decide what is acceptable? We all remember what happened to Bill Henson’s photographs.

Senator Conroy the Labor Senator in charge of the implementation of the filter says that there will be an ‘opt out’ option, so you can contact your provider and advise them that you would like to have the filters lifted from your computer, with the exception of ‘kiddie porn’ and ‘R-rated’ sites.

The three major ISP’s in Australia all claim that the proposed system is unworkable and will slow Internet access down by as much as 80%. However as technology improves and the Chinese Government’s demands for greater control over its citizenry increase, then surely Prime Minister Rudd’s ideal moral, Christian, right society is only a mouse click away.

Now at the end I am here; worried about freedom, gossip disguised as news and the Nanny Rudd state we are all about to live in. Who would have thought that the death of Michael Jackson would cause me so much concern?

Get Outta My Face (book)

It’s Friday night, it’s been a shit of a week, so to celebrate I thought I would treat myself to a cup of tea, a normi, (the tablet not the singer although they both achieve the same result) and a good lie down. By 10.45 I was happily, blissfully, asleep. I had survived another week and was looking forward to a relaxed and pressure free weekend. What I didn’t realise was that while I slumbered, somewhere across the globe in hundreds of darkening rooms; a plot was being hatched by faceless, nameless “friends”.

I woke up the next day, groggy, my face forming a perfect relief map of the Blue Mountains, to discover I had 300 new friends! Now I don’t know about you but I have trouble keeping track of the five, okay three, friends I have IRL, (that’s young folk type for “in real life”). So the weight of 297 people demanding my attention hit me like the Liberal Party election loss.

Let’s be honest, I’m too old for Facebook and not nearly “gay” enough; I don’t straighten my hair and I wear my jeans around my waist. God knows why I joined in the first place - but I did. I’m thinking at 50 I’m more a “Get Outta My Face” book type of guy. I’m not a networker, social or otherwise, in fact I don’t really like people much at the best of times, just ask my partner. I went to Stonewall, once, only because I thought it was still the NAB, (National Bank of Australia). I did think it strange how funky the tellers were dressed as I handed over my deposit. (What is the deal with old banks turning into gay bars anyway?) I’ve never sent a Christmas or Birthday card in my life. Even a quick text to say “thanks for dinner” is beyond me but now I’m constantly sending hugs and kisses to these strange friends.

Do I really want to go to Ryan’s farewell drinks in Basingstoke on Trent, do I care that Sally has split up with Fiona but is now partnered for life with Cherie from Lucerne or Jose` is seeing Sweeney Todd in Queens? And just who is David Paris?

My time is being co-opted by these pals, demanding that I join their clubs, sending me nudges, pokes, winks, pictures and links to YouTube videos that are just NOT funny. Why do I have to write on someone’s Super Funwall, why do I have to take quizzes all to find out I am most like Joan Crawford and not Joan Fontaine? Why do I keep accepting the invite? It’s insidious, addictive, destructive and yet strangely compelling.

I can’t leave my bedroom, I’m forced to eat cold meals delivered by Christine Courier in front of my laptop, I chew coffee beans to keep myself awake, my back is developing a hump. I’m going mad answering every message that hits my intray. I don’t wash, I don’t shave, my hair has become home to a small nest of spiders and my fingernails are heading to Howard Hughes length. I have no me time, no down time, no quiet time.

I’ve never been so popular.

Please, please, please if my name pops up on your screen don’t feel compelled to add me, treat me the way you would if you saw me or any other MAG out. Ignore me! Gotta dash, Andrew’s not coping with Biomechanics, (I mean really, who is), and my two new “best friends forever” from Ghana want me, or at least my account number at Stonewall.

Rules of (dis) Engagement

I don’t care what anyone says; breaking up is hard to do, there’s no good way to do it. Think of the repercussions if it was easy; Tammy Wynette would never have had a career, no chick flicks and Lady Oprah would still be colouring things purple.

Having said that there are a few simple rules that if followed should make it easier for all involved.

Don’t break up with your partner by sending a quick Twitter text, do it face to face. Tweet’ing is the modern equivalent of Carrie Bradshaw’s ‘post-it note’ break up. (When you do split, resist the urge to set up a Facebook group called “I Hate (insert appropriate name), he’s a Fat Skank”, it’s just wrong on so many levels). Consider other options especially if they live overseas or inter-state; a video call, phone call or a good old fashioned hand written letter. There are few things worse than finding out you have been dumped by reading it on a Facebook status line.

Don’t break up when you’re out with a group at dinner or clubbing; remember this should be a private moment between two people who once cared deeply for each other not a cabaret performed in the front Bar of your local watering hole. Think of the consequences and most importantly the availability of retaliatory weapons: the ever popular throwing of the drink to the old fashioned public biatch slap.
‘It’s not you it’s me’. Everyone knows this really means ‘it’s you not me’. Don’t say it ... you can think it, hell you can even write it in your Blog next week but under no circumstances say it.

Try not to stick the ‘knife in’ when you’re breaking up. Take the high road. Telling your ex that the only reason you were with him was to “get through winter” while you waited for someone better to come along next summer, is just plain mean - even if it is true.

Expect to lose friends, this is called collateral damage. Make no mistake battle lines will be drawn, “we never liked him, he was a thief, he was cheating”, and some of them may even be talking about ‘him’.

Picking the right time is essential. Don’t break up on ‘Meth’ Monday or ‘Eckkie’ Tuesday, or his birthday; while it might seem like a good idea to get it over with, do you really want to be the ‘one who ruined birthdays for ever for me’, for the rest of your life?

Honesty tempered with compassion, in the end, is the key. Treat your (ex) partner the way you would wish to be treated. There’s no need to read out a list of all the things that have driven you crazy over the last (insert number of months here) months; the fact that he never stacks the dishwasher, empties the washing machine, takes out the trash or that you caught him in the sling at the Sauna on Buddy night. This isn’t Nuremberg.

Be prepared to move out. I don’t mean have your bags, or his, packed and sitting at the front door, but realistically one of you is going to have to go. You can’t both share a two bedroom flat and survive, while it may seem like a good, economical idea at the time, trust me the first time either of you bring home the next Mr. Right expect to find shredded Armani in the trash and crushed crystal in your porridge.

The splitting up of the assets will actually cause you more pain than the ending of the physical relationship. If you take a few simple, precautionary steps at the start of your journey, some later heartache can be avoided: buy a magic marker and take the time to label your DVD’s, Ipod’s, Laptop’s and most importantly your pets and/or foster children, ownership will be easier to prove. At the very least buy two of everything.

So you’ve done the deed, you’re both ‘okay’ with it and seem to be getting on really well. You’ve become friends, better than you ever were when you were lovers. Now is the most dangerous time - don’t have ‘break up sex’. If you do (and lets face it, you probably will), you will plant a seed at the back of your, or worse his, mind; suddenly memories will blur, and before you know it you will begin to contemplate the possibility of getting back together. All of the good work that you’ve done, the tears, the arguments, the rationalisations and the eventual mutually agreed tolerance will come crumbling down. The past will begin to seem like Camelot and before you know it you’re changing your status on Facebook and the cycle begins again.

So, yes, breaking up is hard to do but it’s the chance you take when you love someone and let’s face it all we want is to be loved.