ABC TV… how I cry for thee and for Australia.


Australia pinnacle

Australia pinnacle (Photo credit: Kenny Teo (zoompict))

ABC TV won several “awards” recently, whatever that’s all about, but it sounds like one of those incestuous mutual back-slapping arrangements keeping in mind the superficial, youth intended “reality” nonsense once the realm of the commercials, now enveloping the ABC in its quest for a greater share of the younger market. One risks derision by suggesting this puerile stuff should be commercial specific. While warmed-up, seven or so pre-teen stations is over-doing the kinder market.

I went along with the pro-Aunty praise after they ran two favourite movies. Wasn’t long before disappointment in the way of the immature ABC breakfast couple giving opinions. Rowland, backed by the dubious worth of political correctness, rubbished top Aussie boxer, Mundine no end who opined his Tasmanian opponent was too white, as far as he was concerned, to use the aboriginal flag as a prop. Mundine now will live in shame forever unless he retracts his subsequent apology.

In an earlier and youthful era, the abomination of morning television led me to ignore its existence. In retirement however, a growing inertia has induced a capitulation of sorts and I flick from station to station, always disenchanted with the offering. The ABC once the refuge of the battered head space, now vies with the commercials to deliver the same tripe. I twittered that a mature breakfast announcer with the wit of Clive Robertson, or his of doppelgänger would leapfrog their brekky ratings into the stratosphere.

This older viewer has had to come to grips with the inane becoming the norm with irritations like Nine’s golden boy repeatedly using “carnage” to describe a debris strewn level crossing accident. Hopeless loser Ten has little overall appeal, yet The Project has won me. The Craig Ferguson and Letterman shows usually overlap, big error. This lot can’t afford flippancy given its spartan supply of decent material.

Bitching about lousy TV is a filler. It’s like sharpening the pencils or watching grass grow, checking email accounts or picking the nose while contemplating the tasks ahead. I know full well documenting the indifference, stand over tactics even, of cigarette smokers and the stench of their ill-kept motor-car fumes having preference to the health of renters in the quasi housing commission estate I unknowingly move into. These rough, ‘open plan’ $80,000, close-up apartments would work in a considerate and caring society, but “body corporate” in the hands of self-oriented yobs is a one-sided argument.

Forget the Federal ego-trip a UN seat delivers its user, what is far more important to the Australian individual is the massive bullshit known as G 20. It brings the heads of some governments together at enormous security cost to the host country and inflates the importance of its organisers. Given the confrontational nature of police departments, Queensland’s new Goebbels look-alike promises the full Orwell secret police. Read impromptu home intrusions by this fellows agents who will work with ASIO. Australia is in for a ride of which only a few outsiders have any foresight.

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