This is a post about a bête noire of mine which, surprisingly, may come across as a rant. I would say the potential for causing offense is higher than usual, but the older I get the less fucks I give.
To preface my rant, the difference between manual / semi-automatic / automatic on any device is the rate at which the device executes its function. As a device, I find myself on full-auto and a hair-trigger these days despite giving zero-fucks.
But why? And what is my function?
To answer the last question first, I think introversion and my mother’s Romany blood have turned me into a harbinger wrapped in a bellwether inside an oracle. At least when it comes to predicting and pointing out shitty behaviour.
It’s not just an outsider’s intuition, either.
My [undisclosed] day-job for the last 28 years has left me with no illusions regarding how low we can go — i.e., the base instincts of homo sapiens sapien no matter how artfully disguised they may be.
Take the example of Grace Tame.
With neck-veins bulging, Tame screamed “globalise the intifada” to a crowd protesting the visit of Israeli President Isaac Herzog in Sydney yesterday. The authorities have yet to decide if that was hate-speech, but so soon after the Bondi Massacre it was poor timing to say the least.
But of course the point of her vitriol was not to fire up the crowd, but to fire up attention. The theatre-arts inspired self-promotional Grace Tame Show lurches back into motion and has me triggered all over again!
Tame’s first Act of self-interest-dressed-as-selflessness elevated her to the national consciousness.
After she was awarded the Australian of the Year, I thought, “Hmmm, advocating for legislative changes that allow victims of CSA to make money from their ordeal? Odd business model but fair enough!”
After returning from her victory-lap in the US, Tame’s second Act was to champion the cause/ride the coattails of the Brittany Higgins Saga, and coincidentally remind us that she’s still Australian of the Year.
I wonder how much of her fortune Grace Tame donated to Brittany when the latter was forced into squalid penury in her chateau in the south of France?
UPDATE: the ABC just bought “her story” for $340K, so maybe Britts can afford her own avocado toasties again — je suis tellement soulagé!
The third Act of the Grace Tame Show was to persuade us via her social media stooges — who I once described as the FIGJAM Foundation — that all men are scared of her and that she’s still really, really relevant! (Even though she’s no longer Australian of the Year).
Much as I applauded her rudeness toward then-PM Morrison, it was a publicity stunt. ScoMo loves a photo-op, but his moments with the glowering AOTY were bombed.
I wrote after the second Act: “if there’s any lingering curiosity left in my rage-addled brain (maybe not) then it’s what Grace does next??? The Grace Tame Show must go on!”
Yesterday, she answered my question: Tame is back on the front page (and in the socials) just where she likes to be!
As I predicted in the second Act, young Grace sees herself in the Senate. I thought maybe via a safe Labor seat, but following her spray against the government yesterday I think not. So as an Independent then, a redder shade of teal, representing an electorate where the yokels still respond to virtue-signalling.
That is, if Grace Tame isn’t stripped of her award, charged for hate-speech, and criminally convicted.