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Print media? It's not me, it's you!

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As many of you may have noticed, the print media just isn't what it used to be. Brock Turner (AKA Geezelouise) explains why he finally had to have "the talk" with his once beloved media.




media
Are you being let down by today's news media? (Image courtesy abc.net.au)

WE'VE ALL been there.


Everything’s fine at the start — chipper even. Both parties are getting something out of the arrangement and you can't imagine living life any other way.


Then, in the of the hurly burly of daily life, you stop noticing the relationship.


It becomes entrenched and you don't question it.


Until one day, you wake up, open your eyes and realise that something is out of whack.

For a while, you pretend you don't notice because it is such a way of life.


Changing it would be inconceivable.


Ultimately, it gets to the point where you need to have "the talk".


This is where the print media and I now find ourselves:


Dear print media,


We need to talk.


In the beginning it was terrific.


There was excitement, you had my interests at heart. Together we learned and achieved great things.


Remember the Eureka Stockade? How we fought together for the 8 hour working day? Such fun.

There was balance in our relationship.


You would teach me about new things and better inform me of issues that were important to me. For this, I would happily pay so you could continue in your endeavours.


More importantly, collectively – as a society – we were happy to give you access and influence to our thoughts and decisions. It was a good for both of us.


There were always improvements.


A little bit of white space here, some risqué font there. Even the inclusion of pretty pictures.


Didn’t we feel smart? Very sophisticated indeed.


Our relationship matured. Built on mutual benefit and reciprocity, we forged a compact that put you on the breakfast table in our homes.

swearing
Eureka Stockade: the good old days of the media. (Image courtesy eurekastockadefilm.com)


It put you on the desks in our workplaces and you drove the conversations we had at social gatherings.

Milk, bread and a newspaper. You became a staple of life; till death do us part.


Or so I thought.

Along the way, you developed some strange habits.


For a laugh, you suggested we try something new — advertising.


We tried it a few times together, but I wasn’t really that excited by it. You, on the other hand, seemed to love the stuff. That was OK, you said it was something you needed to do. That it was good for you.

I suppose if truth be told, I didn't mind the occasional hit and as you always used to keep it in the background; I figured our relationship could cope.

Our fidelity remained strong ... for a while.

Then something more worrying started to happen. We stopped talking how we used to. You started talking down to me. You started to boss me around.


Then came the tantrums. When somebody said or did something you disagreed with you carried on, screaming like a petulant child.

We didn't talk about it like we used to, calmly and even handed. All you seemed to want to do was scream.


This made me sad.

For a while, I thought maybe it was something I had done so I tried to accommodate you, hoping you would get better. It just got worse.

You started spending more and more time with your new friend — advertising. Their interests got pushed increasingly to the front, ahead of ours.


It has come to the point where all I ever hear about from you is how wonderful advertising is. How advertising thought we should do this or advertising though we should do that. More disturbingly, you said we should spend more time with advertising's friends — the vested interests.

“These are the people we really need to meet,” you said, “...smart people who know more about things than we ever could.” I wasn’t so sure.

It has got to the point where I feel like you hardly have any time for me at all.


You and your wealthy friends don’t seem to live in my world. You have become mean.

Well, print media, I'm sorry to say that after all this time our relationship is broken. Beyond repair. Irretrievably so.


All these years, I have stuck to my end of the bargain. I gave you the money you ask for. I had breakfast with you. I included you at work. I still even mentioned you at parties — despite how embarrassing it had become.

We all let you into our houses, our hearts and our minds. Only to have you barge in with your new and obnoxious friends, eat all the food, crank the music, make a mess and leave. Dipping your hand in our pockets as you go.




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Social media and online news. The new love affair? (Image courtesy bronwynclee.com)

You have taken our relationship for granted for the last time.


I have found a new relationship. Have you heard of it?  The internet.


It treats me with respect — like you used to. It gives me much better information too. Better than you ever did.

It listens to me and we talk about things that are important to me in a way you never did or ever will.


Fair warning, print media: from now on I'll be leaving you on the rack or lying face down in the gutter where you belong.


No more leisurely weekend breakfasts together. No more room on my desk. Absolutely positively, no more parties!


You are an embarrassment to yourself and offensive to anyone who comes in contact with you.


Screw you, we're done.


Geezelouise


Creative Commons Licence
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Australia License

 
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