Binnsy's Hovel

It has been an amazing week for journalism this week. Between the Bingle/Clarke ’scandal’, the upcoming Anna Nicole opera and the usual shenanigans accompanying the launch of a new Rugby League season, it seems journalists are spoilt for choice. Consider this beautifully-crafted piece from the Tele earlier this week about the Bingle/Clarke upset. That particular piece of news was best covered in yesterday’s Herald by Peter Roebuck, a link to which particular article I cannot locate, but I’ve managed to find another by Roebuck which, again, does justice to both the stupidity and futility of reporters in trying to cover the story, and the true issue which is the reality facing Clarke’s cricket career, and the possible ramifications for Bingle’s modeling life down the track*.

Bottom line: tabloid journalism is even less concerned with the news that matters. It has fallen far below what is considered ‘trash’ and is now almost completely devoted to perpetuating papparazi snaps and ’sources close to the couple say’ hogwash. Even The Age, The Herald, fell into to the same trap this week. As the public eye turns to scandal, such must the broadsheets just to sell papers. I have bemoaned this problem time and again, and my entire university degree was centred around this very issue, but there must be an accountability of the press outside the bottom line. I am predicting, however, that the possibility of any kind of redemption, beyond citizen journalism, is long extinct.

Until next time…

* – I have a feeling this is an early draft of the article I referred to.

Today I closed the old ‘binnsy’ Google account and signed up for a new one. The old one was so overridden with spam, both in Blogger and Gmail, that it was hardly worth keeping. Being bored, I had a brief flick through the T&C, and found this little tidbit of legalese goodness:

11.1 You retain copyright and any other rights you already hold in Content which you submit, post or display on or through, the Services. By submitting, posting or displaying the content you give Google a perpetual, irrevocable, worldwide, royalty-free, and non-exclusive licence to reproduce, adapt, modify, translate, publish, publicly perform, publicly display and distribute any Content which you submit, post or display on or through, the Services. This licence is for the sole purpose of enabling Google to display, distribute and promote the Services and may be revoked for certain Services as defined in the Additional Terms of those Services.

Ooh, er, guv’nor!

So basically, post what you want, you own it, all good – but if Google wants it, they’ll damn well take it! Google has this appearance of being an organic, innovative, progressive ‘community’ (as opposed to overlording corporation), but this is the way they will take over the world. The planet Earth will very soon be designated, for real, ‘Google Earth.’ We will all be known by our Google IDs. TV commercials, billboards, the lot, will be governed by AdSense.

Essentially, the world and all kinds of freedom will be nommed by the Goog.

Best start stocking up on canned goods. That’s gonna be a looooong winter.

Until next time…

It appears to be yet another hyper-commercialised, overrated and under-criticised day of celebration.

Happy Valentine’s Day, folks.

Yes, it is that horrid day of roses and chocolate, of teddy bears and gratuitous spending that can only come from a total misinterpretation of Christian history. Sigh.

I have no issue with expressing feelings, exchanging presents, and generally being a big softie. What I take significant umbrage with is that people wait for this one day to do it. Why not spice things up and buy a dozen roses for your valentine on May 29th? How about a box of chocolates on December 4th?

Of the true St Valentine, it appears we don’t know a great deal. We know his name, we know that he was one of several Saints named Valentine to be martyred for the big dude/dudette upstairs, and we know where he was buried (somewhere in Italy). According to Wikipedia, his relics are kept at the Church of St Praxed in Rome*. There is no notion that he was the patron saint of lovers – and I would’ve thought such a conservative institution as the Catholic Church would frown on such a patronage.

One wonders where it all went wrong. Well, as is usually the case, you can blame the pre-Tudors. Geoffrey Chaucer, well-known for his Canterbury Tales (possibly deserving of a rewrite in light of the gallavantery of various rugby league teams), was, among other things, a courtier, and held a great and loyal circle of friends – think an old-school Vincent Chase. Up until his time, St Valentine’s Day was a fairly benign affair, having been originally sanctioned by Pope Gelasius** about 500 AD. Couples would exchange flowers and be very chaste***. Chaucer was a man about town, and it was around this time that courtly love was the thing. Courtly love is the ancient precursor to the practice of men being sleazy, asking if they can buy a woman a drink, which eventually leads to a drunken ravishing. Back then, it was only slightly more gentlemanly. So it was that Saucy Chaucy started sending ‘valentines’ to the women he fancied. 500-600 years later, Hallmark got a hold of the holiday and that was that.

My point is, Valentine’s Day is pointless. Pick every other day of the year to be romantic. Damn the Man.

Until next time…

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* Poor St Praxed. Praxing sounds an awfully painful process.

** I’m sure he was.

*** Read: ‘Boring.’