And they're not even chainsaws, eh Pers.This article from the UK satirical website The Daily Mash pretty much sums up how I feel about arts festivals in general.
Sociologist Charlie Reeves said: "The Edinburgh Fringe has become a sort of 'gobshite kettling', a way of temporarily containing viciously self-confident Oxbridge graduates who are nowhere near as talented as they think they are but will still end up getting 500 grand a year from the BBC.
Sociologist Charlie Reeves said: "The Edinburgh Fringe has become a sort of 'gobshite kettling', a way of temporarily containing viciously self-confident Oxbridge graduates who are nowhere near as talented as they think they are but will still end up getting 500 grand a year from the BBC.
"He added: "If only the Metropolitan Police were there to batter them all with sticks."
Quite.
The Melbourne International Writers’ Festival has recently ended and the whole odious pack of international “celebrities”, schmoozers, schleppers, schnorrers, schmiels, posers, punters, pundits, putzs, bloggers, book club members and Wendy Harmer can now piss off to whence they came.
I like fine literature as little as the next man but there’s something depressing about writers’ festivals with the usual suspects of authors performing like dancing bears to people who are either desperately thinking “Jesus, I really need to have a piss – how much longer will this pompous dickhead drone on” to people who realise with a sinking heart that the author who they loved the most is a monosyllabic bore in real life.
I can think of no finer place for compressed idiocy (apart from Crikey) than a writers’ festival. The attendees (and perhaps the organisers) like to think they’re taking part in the grand parliament of the mind but you get more intellectual banter on an episode of Rove.
What should be something exciting and vibrant becomes an exercise in unit-shifting.
And the Melbourne International Comedy Festival is shit well.
PS. talking about things arty, who’s doing PSF tomorrow?
Quite.
The Melbourne International Writers’ Festival has recently ended and the whole odious pack of international “celebrities”, schmoozers, schleppers, schnorrers, schmiels, posers, punters, pundits, putzs, bloggers, book club members and Wendy Harmer can now piss off to whence they came.
I like fine literature as little as the next man but there’s something depressing about writers’ festivals with the usual suspects of authors performing like dancing bears to people who are either desperately thinking “Jesus, I really need to have a piss – how much longer will this pompous dickhead drone on” to people who realise with a sinking heart that the author who they loved the most is a monosyllabic bore in real life.
I can think of no finer place for compressed idiocy (apart from Crikey) than a writers’ festival. The attendees (and perhaps the organisers) like to think they’re taking part in the grand parliament of the mind but you get more intellectual banter on an episode of Rove.
What should be something exciting and vibrant becomes an exercise in unit-shifting.
And the Melbourne International Comedy Festival is shit well.
PS. talking about things arty, who’s doing PSF tomorrow?
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20 comments:
Pretty much anything called a "Festival" is guaranteed shit.
Yep, that's pretty much it Catlick.
Where've you been by-the-way?
We've been worried sick.
"My IP address: 121.79.1.33
My IP Address Location: Daylesford in ip address flag Australia"
According to my non static ip I've been here...
TISM.
That's 4 beers you owe me.
Pers, just try and collect 'em, buddy!
Daylesford, Catlick?
Really?
Nah, just hanging around the island. My spa days are over. Daylesford, Capitol City of Lesbiana, is full of lesbian hippys who are, if possible, hairier than the regular ones. ewww.
PS. talking about things arty, who’s doing PSF tomorrow?
Lewd said he was busting to do it
Ha! Brilliant. I couldn't agree more.
It's all up to you, Bob.
Don't make me post another long poem about death!
And no Steve Malkmus lyrics either, Bob.
Daylesford, right next to Sailors Hill, Sailors Falls, and Musk Vale.
Not the sort of place I'd like to be caught in with an empty tank of petrol.
Indeed Boogey.
You're likely to be bored to death by people spouting haiku.
No Malkmus? But he wrote this:
A redder shade of neck on a whiter shade of trash .
Gold I tells ya.
Ok, ok I have something for ya, to be published tonight cos I'm outta range tomorrow.
I would adore some Malkmus on PSF.
Daylesford, Capitol City of Lesbiana, is full of lesbian hippys who are, if possible, hairier than the regular ones. ewww.
Whilst conscious of the post modern folly of commenting on my comment, I wish to assert, to any recent arrivals, that I am expressing a personal preference, not making a criticism.
My poetry attention span is about three stanzas. What about Haiku Friday where everyone contributes?
Sociologist Charlie Reeves said: "The Edinburgh Fringe has become a sort of 'gobshite kettling'
"Gobshite" is my favouritest word ever.
I agree as well. MIWF is full of posers, wannabes and photogenics. I hate the whole marketing thing that goes on. And has anyone noticed how much press the young writer Kathy Charles has gotten in the last ten days? Not sure what kind of writer she is, but her looks are the obvious reason why her pic is everywhere.
Loving MJ Hyland though. And I think she was at the festival. Under sufferance? I know I would be.
And don't get me started on the fashion festival that's also on now. Blech.
And don't get me started on the fashion festival that's also on now. Blech.
See, I would love to live in Melbourne purely so I could attend the fashion festival events. That sort of thing would be right up on my "if you call me during this event, I will go Adelaidean on your arse" list.
It's 13 degrees and raining at the moment in Melbourne, Puss.
It was 13 degrees and raining yesterday.
It was 13 degrees and raining the day before.
I think you can see a pattern developing here.
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