moonglowMy Dirty Sunday Habit
March 30th 2008 00:13
One of my new year's resolutions was to stop looking at the Sunday morning social pages. Peculiar, yes, but I had no choice but to go cold turkey. This resolution came about as a result of a few things.
A Sunday morning is prime time relaxation time. A time to brew a pot of tea, crack open the trashy papers and read up on articles terrible and trivial. It is calming. My blood, however, slowly begins to boil when I flip to the social pages. Dyed, spray tanned, starving, shivering, posing, primping, preening members of both sexes (oh yes, don't think males are exempt) prancing about in front of the lens of a freelance photographer as if they got out of bed for more than $10,000 that day.
They didn't.
So, that's irritating enough. But, having a fertile imagination, I then begin to wonder what it is these people do, other than seek out any photographic equipment in a ten kilometre radius at whatever club they're patronising. Because I am bitter and prejudiced against this pretentious posse, I immediately go with the following ...
* Uni, doing a media degree
* part time catalogue modelling
* a PR internship
* nothing
I suppose what actually makes my blood boil is the superiority complex developed by the social page-ites. It is like a syndrome. You can see it in their Dior Showgirl-ed eyes, as they jut their hip out, and turn to the side in a well practised (and familiar ... Paris anyone?) pose. And I guess they could be forgiven for thinking a photo in the social pages equates with a greater level of importance than it actually does - after all, four pages are dedicated to the bony, jutting hips of the Page-ites, and people like me (who, this morning, in a moment of weakness, broke my resolution) do put a lot of time and effort into the construct that is the social pages ...
Perhaps the most heinous outcome of my dirty addiction, is this column. I can't help but pour energy and brain power into a stream of consciousness that does nothing except soothe my boiling blood.
Thank God for blogging and its nonexistent need for refinement of thought.
Really Long Link
Really Long Link
A Sunday morning is prime time relaxation time. A time to brew a pot of tea, crack open the trashy papers and read up on articles terrible and trivial. It is calming. My blood, however, slowly begins to boil when I flip to the social pages. Dyed, spray tanned, starving, shivering, posing, primping, preening members of both sexes (oh yes, don't think males are exempt) prancing about in front of the lens of a freelance photographer as if they got out of bed for more than $10,000 that day.
They didn't.
So, that's irritating enough. But, having a fertile imagination, I then begin to wonder what it is these people do, other than seek out any photographic equipment in a ten kilometre radius at whatever club they're patronising. Because I am bitter and prejudiced against this pretentious posse, I immediately go with the following ...
* Uni, doing a media degree
* part time catalogue modelling
* a PR internship
* nothing
I suppose what actually makes my blood boil is the superiority complex developed by the social page-ites. It is like a syndrome. You can see it in their Dior Showgirl-ed eyes, as they jut their hip out, and turn to the side in a well practised (and familiar ... Paris anyone?) pose. And I guess they could be forgiven for thinking a photo in the social pages equates with a greater level of importance than it actually does - after all, four pages are dedicated to the bony, jutting hips of the Page-ites, and people like me (who, this morning, in a moment of weakness, broke my resolution) do put a lot of time and effort into the construct that is the social pages ...
Perhaps the most heinous outcome of my dirty addiction, is this column. I can't help but pour energy and brain power into a stream of consciousness that does nothing except soothe my boiling blood.
Thank God for blogging and its nonexistent need for refinement of thought.
Really Long Link
Really Long Link
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