Update

Greetings.
You may have noticed the trickle of new posts on this blog has dried up completely of late. For this I apologise, as you have undoubtedly been scratching around the rocky outcrop of life, desperately searching for that trickle; that fresh new drop that would quench your intellectual desires and allow you to go back to your grey little lives, content at having connected a few more dots in your ongoing personal rendering of the universe.

But lo, I've been on holiday. Sux to be you.

You may also have noticed that all the poetry is gone from this page. Why? Because poetry, with all its... feelings... and other such nastiness, has transmuted my manliness so irrevocably that shame now pulsates throughout my being like a maggot gestating in rancid meat? A shame so debilitating that I've taken to slamming down beer after beer, dubbing women who spurn my charming advances 'sluts', and displaying my testicles is public, all in order to reclaim some vestige of my masculinity? Well, no. I simply felt that these silly little rants and the poems (potentially) appeal to quite different audiences. All the poems have found a new home, here. Unfortunately, in moving them I lost all the lovely comments people have left over the last few months. Feel free to visit 'Crisis Poetry' and praise me anew.

So after sweeping out the trash, this page will hopefully be more appealing for those that enjoy slanted, manipulative, factually spurious political commentary. For those nancys among you that enjoy reading poetry and hugging puppies and such, go here.

This page will be reserved primarily for a man and his beefs, and I've got so many right now I might catch Mad Cow disease: The Iraq war's (US) half-trillion dollar price tag; President Bush, in his ongoing battle to legalise torture, bemoaning the US Supreme Court's decision to enforce the Geneva Convention's ban on "outrages upon human dignity", claiming this particular ban is: "...very vague. What does that mean?... it's a statement wide open to interpretation"; the local media's coverage (read: corpse raping) after Steve Irwin's death; McDonald's insultingly congenial 'we use real beef' ads... the list goes on. But such things are for another time. For now, let us leave now on a sunny note - Summer's almost here, birds are chirping... It just makes me feel like dancing:



Dedicated to Sandy's recent adventures. As a friend said: "India: No drugs required".

Censorsh!t

WARNING: This article contains language and scenes not suitable for easily offended readers. If you are, say, my mum, perhaps you should reconsider watching the videos contained herein. If you are a child, wandering unsupervised around the Internet, ask your parents why they don't care about your emotional development. If you are someone that has a complaint due to the loading time of the aforementioned videos, wake up and smell the 21st century – your Internet connection sux.

It was recently reported that scenes apparently glorifying smoking are to be edited from two Tom and Jerry cartoons. But it is not only the cat and mouse that will be affected by this embargo - Turner Broadcasting representatives have stated that they will be scouring “the entire catalogue” of Hanna-Barbera cartoons for similarly offensive material, which they plan to then exorcise. Outrage, of course, abounds; at least amongst the socially awkward who, as adults, still revere cartoons… Givers of life… The sole force of sunshine in the otherwise colourless, despair-ridden abyss that was my… *cough* their childhood.

Ahem.

Anyway, Tom and Jerry are not the first fictional characters forced to give up the durries. Gone are the delightful days of yore when the dangers of inhaling carbon monoxide and countless other chemicals remained blissfully concealed in a cloud of smooth, smooth flavour; smoking is becoming increasingly taboo. In the last few years, the comic book character Wolverine has been depicted strictly sans cigar, previously a common feature of the rugged X-Man’s leisure time. Interestingly, the movie version of Wolverine is still permitted to chomp down on dirty stogies. This goes against the trend in Hollywood, where movie heroes are now almost uniformly non-smokers - they leave the filthy habit to the filthy villains. Gone are the days of Die Hard, and John McClane puffing away while pulling broken glass out of his feet and bungeeing of a skyscraper attached only to a fire hose. This kind of censorship doesn’t really bother me, as it applies only to new material. Marvel Comics is not reprinting classic X-Men stories with Wolverine’s smoking scenes removed. Nor, thankfully, does every director have the George Lucas-like funds, motivation, and influence required to butcher classic films release versions more palatable for today’s sensitive audiences. And here lies another problem with censoring old shows like Tom and Jerry - along with the obvious one, that such actions are petty, redundant, and a symptom of our increasingly overprotective attitude towards children; it may become exceedingly difficult, and one day impossible, to access such material in its original form – which itself exemplifies the time in which it was made. Television shows, particularly satircal ones, are important as historical records.

Tom and Jerry was censored after a single complaint was registered with the broadcasting watchdog Ofcom. This complaint only referenced the incidents of smoking. The complainee apparently had no problem with the wildly violent antics of the rat and fleabag in question. Many others have, however, strongly criticised the violent nature of the children’s cartoons of the 40s, 50s, and 60s. Warner Brothers' Roadrunner cartoons are a particular sore point for the censorphiles. Now, I’m not disputing the fact that the cartoons in question are violent – but I feel that cartoon violence is harmless if the children watching it are able to distinguish fact from fiction, and cartoon violence from real violence. And perhaps, as Dave Chappelle believes, there are subtexts in these old shows that are of greater concern:



I must say that I understand the principle behind some people’s concerns about cartoons aimed at children. The network that took the axe to Tom - in a way only Jerry had previously managed - has a majority viewership in the 4-14 year age bracket. The network caters primarily for children, and if people feel that its content is inappropriate for children then I can understand their concerns, even if I feel said concerns are paltry and flaccid. What has bugged me in the past, but is less of a problem now due to my horde of DVDs and my broadband Internet connection, is TV censorship that refuses to consider its intended audience. An example presented for your consideration: Robocop. Perhaps the greatest movie of all time, and one that at the very least left an indelible mark on my youth. For those philistines unfamiliar, here’s a snippet detailing the film's distinctive brand of justice:



When this film was originally released in Australian theatres, and when subsequently screened on television, it was edited so heavily that even the word ‘arsehole’ was removed. So, when company VP and crime boss Dick Jones is maliciously lecturing an up-and-coming rival about respect for company elders, about knowing “where the line (is) drawn”, the dialogue reads: “We used to call the Old Man funny names – Boner, Iron Butt… Once I even called him… airhead.” Similar fervent censorship rendered the first 15 minutes of Beverly Hills Cop, as screeded on TV, incomprehensible due to the gaps in dialogue where once resided effluence, as commonly spewed forth from Eddie Murphy’s potty-mouth in the 1980s. Robocop can be enjoyed on many levels – as a satire highlighting possibilities regarding the dehumanising ramifications of rampant privatisation, or simply as an uber-violent science fiction film. I am unsure as to which potential audience would be offended by the ‘a’ word.

And Robocop also brings me back to my main beef: I watched Robocop for the first time when I was 12 years old (a fact secreted from my parents at the time). I also watched Tom and Jerry, and the Roadrunner. However, I did not take Dad’s shotgun and shoot anyone. I did not light up. I did not drop an anvil on my sister’s head, expecting her to fold up and then, when the anvil was removed, bob up and down making music like an accordion (although I must admit that last one crossed my mind on occasion). Why did I not yield to television's darstadly influence? Because my parents didn’t use the television to raise me. It was used for what it was designed – entertainment. I was taught the difference between fact and fiction. I was taught to think. And, although I occasionally had clandestine access to violent movies through a friend, my parents monitored what I watched. It seems ludicrous to ban something from television because parents cannot make the effort to ensure their children are watching programs that they deem appropriate. But, it happens. When South Park first appeared, I worked in an outlet selling related merchandise. That first Christmas there was a rush of parents snapping up figurines and t-shirts for their young ones. I would often enquire, when these parents expressed dismay that the “They killed Kenny” T-shirts did not come in size 6, as to the age of their progeny. Many said 13 or 14, while some said 10. Some said 8... Eight years old! Here’s an example of why I shuddered at such moments:



Now quiet down, I hear what you’re all thinking: “I call shenanigans, Mr Crisotunity! That clip was from the South Park Movie! Clearly labelled MA 15+! Parents would not reasonably expect language like that to air on television at 8.30pm, and nor should they! That was a manipulative misrepresentation of which Michael Moore would be proud!”

Yes, yes, you caught me out. Here’s a clip from the television show South Park:



Not offended? Try this:



The show is not suitable for children. It was not made for children. The slightest bit of interest in your child’s life, and inquiry into the nature of this ‘South Park’ thing with which they were so enamoured would have revealed your failings as a parent. But your response? Calls to ban the show, of course. You sicken me, you… oh wait, you won’t be reading, as you’re not my target audience.

Television, games, movies, and music are blamed for problems with deep sociological roots. These problems would see better improvement if parents seized resposibility; rather than using an electronic box to raise their children and then screaming for the censor's big red texta when it comes to light that little Johnny's unsupervised viewing was innapropriate.The parents who don’t have time to check what their kids are watching are the ones that don't have time to talk to them about the problems they’re having, and the thoughts and feelings that are consuming them. Similarly isolated are the children of parents who, conversely, enforce a rigid, sterile, restricted life – often based on a hypocritical religious doctrine - that in no way reflects reality. The youth suicide rate is spiraling upward, and these types of parents must accept some responsibility while there is still time. But since they don't, and since we can't ban the means - we cannot ban trains because ill people use them to finalise their suicidal tendencies - the touted answer is to ban 'Suicidal Tendencies'.

Yes, music often gets paraded about in the afterglow of tragedy, and in one way it must bear responsibility for the most extreme and tragic means employed by today's troubled kids. The music today’s youngsters look to for release - Slipknot, Marilyn Manson and the like (did I just show my age?) - may try to empathise with the pain of adolescence, and it may shock uptight parents enough to appeal to the younglings, but something’s obviously missing; the rebellious outlet provided by music in decades past must have had something that helped keep the killing sprees at bay. Something sagacious. Something erudite. Some kind of magical 80s je ne sais quoi …