I Can Hear the Bells

Just for the record, I am not (I repeat NOT) getting married!

This year has been remarkable for a number of reasons, but one of those is the number of weddings I’m getting Facebook notifications of. Everyone back in Australia seems to be tying the knot. Honestly, I’ll be surprised if there is any string left.

Also, just as I started writing this, The Wedding Song from The Corpse Bride came on Spotify. Coincidence? I think not!

Weddings are a funny ol’ business. In western society, they have been a convenient business transaction (why pay for that daughter, when you can get some other schmo to do it?). They spoke of ownership. They sometimes still do. These days, when I really hope the people in my friend group aren’t being sold by their parents, wendings are supposed to be a declaration of love. This is, unfortunately, not always the case (if we are to judge by divorce rates).

Through most of my young and adult life, I’ve found marriage and weddings to be incredibly flawed. My parents are divorced (though that’s a very good thing for both of them), marriage seems to breed complacency, and the lacklustre appearance of many married relationships left me wondering for years if there were any relationships I envied. That’s just marriages. Weddings…

For a long time, weddings invariably spoke to me of people’s need to grandstand, tick a box, or move on to the next thing they were “supposed to do” in their life. So many people I came across at different points clearly wanted a wedding, but the marriage wasn’t important. They wanted the show and the party, but they weren’t too fussed about who came along for the ride. It’s scary how a perfectly lovely person can transform into a Bride- or Groom-zilla.

And yet…

There is something so wonderful about loving someone enough that you want to at least try to spend the rest of your life with them. To want to contribute to their life and happiness. To know they want to do the same for you.

How wonderful to have hope. Things won’t be Disney and roses. You’ll probably scream at each other over who finished the ice cream, where the remote control is, or whether Love Actually is a good film. You’ll hate the way the fold sweaters instead of hanging them up, and they’ll hate the way you blow your nose in the shower. Most people are aware of the dangers ahead, but they take the plunge anyway. They hope.

How wonderful.

A few years ago I would have seen the wedding photos and dispaired at the state of modern romance. I was an early cynic, obviously. Now, seeing these people so happy, I feel happy for them. I don’t know if I will get married. I don’t know if I will want to get married. I do want to hope. I’m so glad they have that.

To all the lovely people I know who have recently gotten married, congratulations. I wish you all the best. Please keep your hope.

Blergh!

This year’s Gold Logie nominees

I have been awake for an hour, and I have now felt queasy twice. The first time was because I opened Facebook and received an invite to my 10 year high school reunion. The second thing was seeing the fall out for the 2016 Gold Logie nominations.

For those of you who are thus far unaware of the existence of The Logies, let me enlighten you (and apologise for doing so). The Logies are Australia’s top award for TV stars. It’s their night of nights. It’s a farcical popularity contest voted in by only those members of the Australian viewing audience who give half a damn, but it’s sacred to many. The Gold Logie is the Logie equivalent of the Oscar for Best Actor/Actress.

Six venerable TV stars *cough* get to be shortlisted for the award. The problem is (apart from a Greek descent soap star nominated in the early 2000s), this is an award for white people. No one has said that quite so bluntly, but it seems to be true. This is especially apparent based on the backlash for is year’s nominees. Two of the six aren’t white.

QUICK EVERYONE, GASP WITH ME!!!

The Daily Telegraph newspaper has already put out a listicle of six reasons why Waleed Aly shouldn’t win (basically why he shouldn’t be nominated). Breakfast TV stars Karl Stefanovich and Lisa Wilkinson didn’t get through, so have already noted it was because they were “too white”. Side note: does anyone else kind of gag when cretinous mouth-breathers gets referred to as stars?

The furore is growing. Everyone is posting their reactions, so here’s mine.

I puked in my mouth.

Australia, get your shit together. You have international renown for your lazy racism, and it’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing how many times I have to apologise for things Australia has done as I travel around the world. I’m sick of saying “not all Australians think that”. That’s a bullshit excuse, like saying “not all men abuse women”. Yes, not all Australians are racist twat-waffles, but more than enough are that it’s a noticeable national trait.

I’m personally embarrassed when I say something to someone and they don’t understand, and upon reflection I realise it’s a product of the casual racism of the society I was raised in. I am not an actively racist person, but neither am I actively combatting racism. I think that’s changed now. I’m going to make more of an effort to do something about it. That, however, is not the point here.

Australia, I love you. You’re a funny island full of dangerous animals, beautiful beaches, wonderful people, and many other things I love (shout out to Vegemite). We used to be able to say what a friendly country we were, how we were everyone’s mate. We can’t say that anymore.

We’re not everyone’s mate if we see someone who’s a bit different to our perceived norm and we ostracise them. We’re a bad mate if we treat asylum seekers as a political stunt. We’re a bad mate if we continue to commit environmental atrocities, and continue to be slack about getting Australia running on renewable energy (this is screwing up the whole planet, which is pretty poor form). We’re a real festering turd of a mate if we continue to deny the sociological issues resulting from the systematic abuse of Australia’s indigenous people.

We’re not a mate. We’re a little kid who, when told they’ve been bad, doesn’t apologise. The little kid will either lash out in anger and with no logic, or they’ll sit in a corner with their hands over their ears, shouting “LA LA LA, NOT LISTENING!”

I’m sick of apologising. I’m tired.

Aren’t you?