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I want what Honey Boo Boo’s got: The joke’s on us.

by admin on October 18, 2012 in , , , with No comments

For anyone who knows me, this will not come as much of a surprise, but I absolutely adore bad reality TV. If it were possible to be a connoisseur of trashy TV, I am pretty sure I would be it. I love it. I love watching, sneering, judging & laughing at people and feeling the warm glow of smug self righteousness at the stupid people that will sign a release form.

My favourite? Toddlers & Tiaras. It has all the trainwreck of stage mothers, overdone makeup, rednecks and sequins to get me excited. I don’t understand pageants. I don’t understand pageant Moms. But to watch them is a delight. They are generally miserable, vain and superficial and… well… I like to mock people to feel better about myself.

I first saw Honey Boo Boo (aka Alana), with her mother (“Mama”) June on Toddlers & Tiaras. I remember June, because I mocked her. I stereotyped her and judged her. I was outraged at the idea of giving her daughter a pep drink. And I remember Alana’s cuteness & OTT precociousness. As did most people. But, that was that – I watched it, I moved onto the next train wreck in the next episode, and continued my life.

Then, this month, I heard everyone talking about Honey Boo Boo. It rang a bell, so last Friday, I said to Martin “I need to find out what this Honey Boo Boo thing is all about”. We hit up YouTube and watched the first few minutes.

And that was that. We laughed our arses off and I decided right then & there that I needed a piece of this show. You know, because I am a Toddlers & Tiaras fan and have been known to yell at the TV during Keeping Up With the Kardashians. I needed this delicious trainwreck.

So I started watching.  They are all on YouTube… start with this and work your way through:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xR2fQ334B5k&feature=relmfu

The first episode exceeded my expectations. As did the second, and the third. I found myself laughing in disbelief, condescension and outright disgust at what I was watching. And, when Martin pointed out the lifetime supply of toilet paper in the background – I was a goner. But then… something strange happened.

I kind of fell in love with these people.

I can actually pinpoint the moment it happened. The precise moment where the Thompson family felt like family, and someone made fun of them and I wanted to punch them in the face. There is a scene in Episode 4 with a smirky pedicurist (or whatever they are called) snarking with the camera about June and the girls’ feet.

Something shifted. What started out as a pretty transparent attempt by the TLC Producers to show up the family as idiotic, grotesque hicks dancing like monkeys for my amusement – in that moment, turned into much more. That pedicurist, with her condescending smirk about the ‘interesting’ family turned it all on its head and made HER look like the idiot.

It was quite startling.

There is actually substance to Here Comes Honey Boo Boo that I never, ever expected. And, despite all the power of Reality Show editors, farts & closeups of a fat woman eating (oh have Mercy!), it became pretty clear that this family… are… happy.

How many people do you know that are happy? I know I’m sure not. Looking past the superficial, that family – made up of a fat matriarch with a ‘forklift foot’, her de facto a short toothless man called “Sugar Bear”, a pregnant teen who gives birth to a baby with an ‘extra thumb’, and an obviously screaming untreated ADHD world-famous 6 year old daughter – not to mention the fact that Mama’s 4 girls are to 4 different Dads, they eat roadkill and go “shopping” at the dump (yes, for those who haven’t seen it yet… I know how that reads… and yes, it is funny writing it down) – they are living the life so many of us want and daren’t admit it.

Bear with me, because I am not saying I want to eat roadkill or eat sketti with butter & ketchup.

OK, I kinda want to try the sketti…

There is a sweetness and authentic love in this show that makes it impossible to continue laughing at them, and instead, you begin to laugh with them. They are just so… endearing. And funny.

Not in a condescending way. Not in a “oh look, they’re poor and fat and they’re ignorant” way.

In that truly envious way, where they remind you exactly of what is important, and see the wisdom underneath. “Sugar Bear” is devoted to his family, and doesn’t differentiate between his biological daughter and the others. Both parents create fun & happy memories for their children, spend quality time with their friends and play in the mud. Even when it is uncomfortable for Mama to do so, she gets out there, puts on a bathing suit and goes on a water slide in public. They eat food because it tastes good and is cheap so that they can support their youngest daughter’s expensive ‘hobby’.

And they laugh their arses off. They play stupid games like “Guess the Breath” and hang shit on each other in a way that only someone who truly loves you can. And when the teenage daughter’s baby was born with the extra thumb, they laughed at it, embraced it and moved on. The love in that family is just so obvious, that it just smacks you in the face. Watching that baby come into a family of people who truly were excited to see her join them was… surprisingly moving. Yeah, I cried. Shut up.

There’s been a lot of hate towards the family. The South Park episode was rather mean-spirited, and commentators are calling it ‘exploitative’ (like, somehow they are in need of our middle class/educated ‘protection from themselves’, because… you know… they’re so stoopid and muddy and fat!), or that it is mocking them & their ‘ignorance’. But, much like the pedicure girl who thought she was the clever one – maybe the joke is on us.

Because you know what? They are happy. And most of us are not.

The Kardashians are not happy. The Pageant Moms are not happy.

But Mama, Sugar Bears & their family? They are happy.

This is confronting to us, because they lack the “happiness” metrics: thin bodies, good looks, teeth (!), money, a house without a train running through the backyard, big screen TVs, marriage, romantic dinners and possessions… in fact, in most ways the Thompsons do pretty much everything that is opposite to what most people deem to be “successful” in life.

And yet, there they are. Right in front of us, mocking our value system: Laughing. Smiling. Happy with who they are. Charitable to those less fortunate. Having fun with ‘extreme couponing’. In love. Water slides! Raising women who are secure in their bodies. Supporting and loving their pregnant teenager, and celebrating the arrival of their granddaughter (at 32!) and showing love and acceptance to each other – no matter what. Even the gay uncle “Poodle”.

That’s pretty uncomfortable, isn’t it? To think that you might have it all wrong and that these people that you initially watched with the intention of feeling superior, actually did the opposite.

If you haven’t seen the show yet, do. It starts as a laugh and ends as a journey with people that, truthfully, I envy. And I am not ashamed to admit it.

Happy Birthday Angus.

by admin on April 10, 2012 in , with No comments

So, it turns out that someone fell over drunk and accidentally knocked the Fast Forward button, Moo. Not only because you are now 3 years old, but also, like the Mother of the Year that I am, it took me 6 weeks to finish writing your birthday letter.

There isn’t really much I can write as an excuse to make you feel better about the lateness… because my excuse is that I was busy moving across the country. Which, I am sure, when you are old enough to read this, becomes yet another addition to the “reasons I hate my mother” list that you’ll no doubt be formulating.

ha ha ha. Awkward laughter…

Sigh.

The other, more truthful reason is… I find it painful to write to you when you aren’t around. I have written and re-written this post, trying to articulate how I feel about you, and, well… now the stakes feel so much higher. Because in many ways, this is now my chance to tell my side of the story. For you to read later. It’s kind of a bigger deal than it used to be.

I remember once, when I was Mina’s age and I said I couldn’t wait to grow up. Grandma said not to wish such a thing, because being an adult is not as great as I think… and that decades pass quickly once you turn 30.

And boy, was she right about that.

My youngest baby, my last baby, my vulnerable, sweet premature baby… is not a baby anymore. And as I ponder for a moment the changes that have occurred since your first laboured breath – where your Dad blamed himself so harshly for not realising that you were struggling to breathe – to us having to navigate our way through our separation, divorce & getting over ourselves for what is best for you… It hits me hard. Right in the guts.

Because this was not what I wanted for you.

And it’s definitely not what I wanted for me: to be away from my baby that I fought so hard to have… and to risk having that day come where you… decide to call someone else “Mum”. Of course, with this decision I have made, I have to live with that possibility. And all I can hope is that somehow, your Dad and I can find a way to make this work.

Somehow.

Despite it never being my plan for you. Despite me always viewing you being full time with your Dad as temporary.

But, how the time flies. And how that one decision, 18 months ago, made out of grief and fear, now has me needing to ask permission to have you. I hope we can work it out. For your sake.

I’m sorry this birthday post isn’t funny this year, but… I guess it speaks to my state of mind right now. I hope that, by next year’s post, things have settled down.

I love you.

Mum (1.0).

Rock star be six.

by admin on November 7, 2011 in , , with No comments

Jules.

My baby Julesy. My rock star, my shining light. My first foray into being the mother of a boy. My buddy, my quiet child, my geek.

My noodle-eater, my dag, my clown, my Mina-tormenter, my intense and utterly beautiful, kind-hearted son.

You’re six. SIX.

FUCK.

I remember writing Mina’s 6th Birthday post and that was 4 years ago.

I remember writing your birthday post about the Cheesecake shop raining Skittles from heaven and rescuing me from a cake disaster.

I remember this.

I remember this.

I remember this.

And this.

And this.

And this.

I remember Wiggles concerts.

I remember Pixar movie after Pixar movie.

I remember Wank. I remember… well…

everything, mate.

And I am watching them all tonight and grinning from ear to ear. It speaks for itself really :)

And I am just so immensely proud of you, I am finding it hard to put into words. Because, there was a time I was worried about you. And I am sorry for doubting you, because I was wrong. I have absolutely nothing to worry about, because you are kind, smart, cheeky and absolutely anything anyone could ever want in a son. Not that anyone else can have you because you are MY boy. And I am glad you chose me to be your Mum.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you on your actual birthday this year. As I am sure you know by the time you are reading this… I have health problems that sometimes prevent me from being able to do the things I want to do. This year, it was because you had 2 infections and it’s just too risky when I am in the middle of a flare. I felt awful and cried for a good portion of the weekend, because, well, noone really wants to be quarantined from their own children… but… my illness is getting more manageable as time goes on and hopefully, this will be a mere blip. Because you know I love you. I love you all, but Julesy, you have a special place in my heart.

It took me a while to really bond to you. Because I was prepared for losing you at 25 weeks, it was hard to not keep a safe emotional distance for the remainder of the pregnancy. Add to that the shock of having 2 kids (hahaha haha haha…. yeah)… well.. you know. But, you know I came back. And you are my special baby and always will be, even when you tower over me and smell like feet.

Keep being you.

I love you,

Mum

You Really Want to Know?

by admin on September 15, 2011 in , , , with No comments

I just want to say a few things about the ridiculous RUOK Campaign.

Despite the best of intentions, unless you are prepared for the following answer:

“No, actually, I am not OK. My life has fed me a shit sandwich since the day I was born and it continues to get worse. The only reason I stick around is because I am too determined to not let my piece of shit life defeat me.”

or

“No, I think about ending my life every single day”.

or

“No, I need your help.”

Seriously? Don’t ask.

If you are not prepared to pay $100 an hour for a Psychologist, or are not prepared to pay their bills and feed their cat when they are hospitalised…

If you are not prepared to have someone break down in front of you.

If you don’t really know someone very well.

Then back the fuck off.

It’s a nice thought, really, but are you equipped to deal with the answer?

Have you experienced our mental health system lately?

The help isn’t there. Not really. Funding is cut to mental health services. No one gets support when recovering. Not really. We still have to work, pay bills, prioritise our days, parent… we all have to cope.

I agree that suffering in silence is a big, big problem. But sometimes, not talking about it helps you to just get through one more day, without losing your shit entirely.

If you have ever sat in a Psychologist’s office, you will know the power of the question “How are you?”. It’s a big responsibility to ask that question. It is not something that should be done without serious consideration. And training.

I know they mean well. But… this is serious stuff. Reducing Psychology into water cooler conversation is the height of irresponsibility and recklessness.

Pissing off the right people. For the right reasons.

by admin on July 28, 2011 in , , , with No comments

This week, I had a realisation.

Some people don’t like me. In fact, there are some people out there that hate my guts.

That wasn’t the realisation part… I mean… I have been blogging since before the word ‘blog’ was a word. I have been a ‘figure’ on the internet for longer than that. And I have always attracted my fair share of detractors. I polarise. That’s no mystery. I do it on purpose.

The realisation for me, is that there are people who don’t like me… and I am OK with it.

My friend sent me a link to this little tidbit and it affirmed what I had suspected: attracting hate is as much a part of having a profile online as attracting praise. It simply goes with the territory. I don’t attract any more or any less hatred than anyone else who puts themselves out there. In fact, as worried as I was about the iPad stunt drawing lots of negative attention… it didn’t. The response was overwhelmingly positive. The only real trolling I got was from people who… follow me around to troll me.

I have always been interested in the psychology of bullying. There are a lot of people I don’t respect. There are a lot of people I have no time for, because, let’s be honest… there are people who are a waste of space and oxygen. But they are also a waste of my energy, so I don’t bother. And I certainly don’t have time to be following them online just to harass them!

To be that motivated by hate has to come from somewhere. Good ol’ Wikipedia summarises it best. Their behaviour is not about me. It’s about what I bring out in others. They hate my caricature. They hate my persona.

They can’t possibly hate me, the person, because they don’t know me.

It’s a liberating thought.

I have always set out to piss people off a little. The Perth Business “networking” scene is very conservative. Say the word “cunt” and they’re all of a dither. I once presented at a Social Media Panel for these people… and all they could fixate on was the language. I was asked how I “get away with swearing online”. Yeah. I was asked that and I am still gobsmacked by it.

The conformists struggle to get that one can be clever and also swear. And one can also use those words deliberately. And the fact that they are so focused on the words, rather than the intent, just goes to show how they really… just don’t get it. Much like those who thought the iPad thing was about me wanting a husband. Let’s be honest… they’re not bright people.

I say the things I do primarily to get a response. It is a predictable and measured response. The number of times I have been told, condescendingly, to “behave”… that’s just not what I do. I am happy to alienate those who are that superficial, or conformist, or even that dumb. I am happy not fitting into the Perth Business clique. I believe that these ideas about “behaving” or “shutting up” or “not making waves”… have strong sexist overtones. And, as a feminist and a philosopher… “behaving” is just not compatible with those core views.

I love Germaine Greer. And Gloria Steinhem. And Nellie McKay. And George Carlin. And Doug Stanhope. And Ricky Gervais. They push the right buttons and all have their haters as a result. If I can produce something that is even 1% of the influence these people have had on me, pissing a few people off is worth it. Because, like them, I enjoy the rise I get out of those I deliberately poke. Because their attitudes are oppressive.

Carlin, Stanhope, Greer… all have people who LOVE them. And people who HATE them. Very few people are indifferent about them. And they have all caused, in some way, revolutionary change despite having vast number of people who hate them.

There are people who hate Oprah Winfrey. There are people who hated Mother Teresa, for fuck’s sake.

I am not likening myself to Oprah or Mother Teresa. Because that’s just retarded. But, I am highlighting the fact that anyone who has ever stood up for anything, attracts hatred from the status quo. Even on a small scale.

So, my realisation is that my number of detractors is as much a reflection of my success as are those who say nice things.I can’t remember if it was Greer or Steinhem who said that receiving death threats is a sign you are a threat to the establishment… but on some level this applies. I consciously piss off the right people. And they are most welcome to sit around, slagging me off at Media140 Perth (ironically, while I am all over the media for proving the strength of social media). Because it comes back to me. And I laugh at the small mindedness. And I know that there are people there who know me, get me and laugh at it.

Because, the fact that people are talking about me at all, positively or negatively, is a sign that I am making an impact. And ultimately, reflects badly on those whose time in power is running out. Technology is killing the top-down control of people. A big portion of corporate board time is mistakenly asking the question “HOW CAN WE CONTROL PEOPLE”. It’s dying.

I like to think that eventually there will be a world where ridiculous notions of “behaving” to fit in will die. PR spin will die. People’s humanity, and honesty will be taken as something to be celebrated rather than suppressed. We all poo. We all fart. Stop treating humanity as a character flaw. And then maybe, we can actually stop with the bullshit. Stop firing someone for having a few drinks and tweeting when they are off the clock. Stop being so goddamn afraid of your boss. That’s truly revolutionary.

If I can contribute just a little to breaking down these ridiculous structures, and remind people that it is OK to express yourself… then I am OK with being hated.

All the fun people have haters, and it’s more about accepting that as a part of having an opinion.

Maladaptive Bullshit.

by admin on January 14, 2011 in with No comments

I had a big wake up call today. I need to pull myself the fuck out of whatever crap-arse grief psychology I’ve had lately. I’m better than this. My Grandmother used to do this. She would build things up in her head, jump to erroneous conclusions, and dramatically cut people out of her life.

I can think of 4 times when she changed her phone number so we couldn’t call her.

She was passionate and loving and generous. But, she used to spin how much she gave, or how much she cared, or how much she was simply seeking “basic respect” into a tool of manipulation. She would be loving and caring and then BLAMMO if you looked at her the wrong way and you were an ungrateful, hurtful bastard and it was the basis for her to destroy you. She did this to me.

She died alone.

Patterns.

I do the same thing. It became abundantly obvious today.

I have some serious fucking reflection to do, some serious bridge building to do, and I need to wake AND GROW the fuck up or I am going to be in the same boat.

To those I have hurt in the last few years with my fucked up, backward, paranoid behaviour, I apologise. Apologies don’t cut it, I know. I don’t actually deserve forgiveness.

I had a wake up call today. I looked within and didn’t like the person I have become.

I’ve let being a “survivor” dictate and justify my defensive, abusive, fucked up behaviour towards other people one too many times. I push people to the edge. I push people who I care more about on this planet away because of my perception that I don’t deserve them.

Right now, I don’t.

I am not this person. I don’t know who I am.

But this cannot continue.

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