Post no.24

Watching Xarabank – Friday 9th Jan 2009. It’s about prostitution. The panel:
a) John Busuttil reason for being there: BOQ?
b) Dr Mary Sciberras reason for being there: probably because she knows a thing or two about STIs
c) Marica Mizzi reason for being there: BOQ?? Perhaps because she conducts a health-related programme
d) Dr Adrian Vassallo reason for being there: he hates prostitution because he lives in Ta’ Xbiex
e) Rachel Cachia/Cauchi reason for being there: she’s reasonably good-looking
f) Censu (??) in white tie format reason or being there: he was brought up in Strait Street (I’m assuming in its heyday)
The discussion is of the highest standard imaginable – which is what we have become accustomed to with this programme … NOT
They keep getting clips of this “Ukrainian” prostitute banging on about who does what to whom and how much it costs in Maltese Lira (in the age of the €, mind you)…
I wouldn’t be surprised if I opened the papers tomorrow to learn that the government announces plans to tackle prostitution …

Vox Xarabank vox dei …

Exculpation: I only watch Xarabank because I like to know what’s currently gripping the average Maltese person’s imagination

 

Post No. 19

I am not a fan of Maltese television productions. I have tried to sit through the odd episode every now and again. I think that the dialogue is unnatural and the intonation smacks too much of “I-learnt-this-off-by-heart-and-I-must-rush-through-it-before-I-forget-it”. My uninformed opinion is that the people pretending to be other people (I hesitate to call them actors) on television haven’t understood the person they are trying to portray. I don’t know whether this is because the script is bad or because the story is bad or there wasn’t enough time for the people involved to get their act together… Whatever the reason, despite severe shortcomings and crippling deficiencies, Maltese serials sell. Big Time. It tells me that Maltese viewers are not discerning.

The issue of discernment leads me seamlessly – some would say segues - to what I wanted to grumble about in the first place, namely yesterday’s (13 November 2008) episode of “Arani Issa”.

Let me place all my cards on the table. I do not normally watch the show, but yesterday I was feeding our son and while burping him I zapped around a bit with my free hand. As Fate would have it, when Julian started crying again I had just reached ONE(ex-Super one). And there it had to stay till the next burp. But I know what the show is about.

Joseph (Chetcuti) and I were at school together and my impression of him is that he is a bright lad. A bit flamboyant - but his heart and brain were in the right place. I don’t know what possessed him to do a show like that.

Yesterday’s “can-you-call-it-episode?” was about this young lady – very pretty she was, too – who wanted to enlarge her breasts. From what I gathered she had a bit of rough life when she was young, but the details escape me.

“It’s none of your business what an attractive young lady does to her chest,” I hear you say. True, true. My issue is not with what goes on within the confines of her blouse, but that someone should actually want to tell all and sundry what the young lady did, and how and when she did it. And why.

At one point a relative – judging by looks I’d say her mother or a parent’s sister – said that the young lady always wanted to have a bigger bust. The – in my opinion – implicit extrapolation (does that make sense?) of the statement would be “and she always hoped for something like this to come along”. Though, actually, she said that she had been saving for the operation. Anyway, the operation was over and done with, and the obligatory nipple flash thrown in. Then Julian wanted to burp again, so I switched channels and heaved a sigh of relief.

Tista’ Tkun Int, apparently, was thought up in a similar vein (or should that be haze?) but the sob stories were more elaborate and the “prizes” were bigger.

Where am I going with all this? We Maltese love a sob story. Which explains the popularity of this programme. If yesterday’s show was anything to go by it tells me three things about us. (Before I go on, when I say “us” I mean the “fat part” of a Gaussian distribution curve).

a) We believe in a universal justice that must balance our books some time during our lifetime. In the above example, the young lady had a difficult start in life so she deserves what the Americans call a break. It is the theme of such programmes. If people weren’t expecting the happy ending, they wouldn’t bother. (Just look at the lukewarm reception La Vita e’ Bella received here).

b) Closely linked is our [peculiar? – I wouldn’t know] tendency to console ourselves with the fact that somebody is worse off than we are. Example:

Generic exclamation: “I can’t afford a new car! I wish I were richer”

Stock Response: “Think of all the people whose styles are cramped just because they don’t even have an old car”

c) We will not pay attention to anything that does not contain a mild-to-strong dose of histrionics.

That ends my gripe, I guess.

Toodle-oo

 

Post no. 12

It would be remiss of me not to sprinkle my wisdom on the crisis gripping our tiny island by the short and curlies, so here goes. (I’m talking about the public transport, in case you were wondering what I’m on about.)

My first reaction would be “Throw the lot in a huge cake mix, bake for a few hours and serve with custard.” More astute readers will have seen that the above proposition hits two birds with one stone (I hope I can still use this expression outside the hunting season)
a) Malta without bus and taxi drivers would be a happier place
b) exporting the cake to third world countries would contribute towards alleviating world hunger
Of course, first impressions and reactions are generally mistaken.

I know I’m not going to say anything that will rock anyone’s world here, but I think that the brouhaha kicked up by these not-so-gentle-men is intimately tied to the fact, in the Maltese psyche, that the world owes us a living. Let me explain.

The fuse was lit on a languorous summer Sunday afternoon, when the body that protects the interests of the drivers/owners of hearses, buses, red vans (why are they called minivans?) and white taxis said that unless the government does not go back on his intention to liberalise the acquisition of hearse-owning-and-driving permits, the aforementioned assortment of drivers, owners and similary juicy bites were going to strike.
A prima facie it appears to be a sympathy strike. It was, of course, nothing of the sort. The drivers and owners of buses, red vans and white taxis know that when the hearse-owning-and-driving permits are open to anyone who’s interested, it will be their turn to have their position challenged. A bit like Manic Street Preachers’ “If you tolerate this, your buses will be next”, if you will.
So far these people have been having it good, as the Americans say. They charged what they liked, they worked when and if they felt like etc etc. Now anyone who’s interested in buying a bus and/or a white taxi and/or a red van will soon be free to do so. And – here comes the hard-to-swallow bit for these people – they’ll have to pull up their socks. (Figuratively speaking of course, because for most of them wearing socks would cover the tattoo of a naked woman on their ankle. which explains why most public transport drivers don’t wear socks.)
I have heard that on joining this exalted body you sort of pledge your loyalty by depositing a substantial sum. If you do or think anything that will make life difficult for the other members of this
noble institution – in the present situation, to not participate in the strike – your money is forfeit. I don’t know if this is true. But if it is, it further undelines these people’s belief that they have a right to something without actually working for it.
They don’t want to be challenged. My impression is that they can’t deal with a challenge. And I’ll make a prediction. If a company decides to enter the public transport arena, it can expect to have its vehicles vandalised.
I’ve got to get back to work now. NOT by bus – I use a bicycle.

Toodle-oo.

 

Would St Joseph have agreed to this?

Sunday. Morning. Still simmering after a hot summer night. Obligatory cup – mug – of coffee. Go for the paper. Back home. Second mug. Sofa. Wake up.

I always read the headline on the first page then turn over to the last page. This was no extraordinary Sunday.

Front page headline: Magistrate hits back at minister, criticises colleague. OK. Everybody will have his or her 15 minutes of fame.

Back page: Closing road for Msida feast could be dangerous – Mater Dei superintendent. Duh! The function of the wise man is to explain the obvious, not state it. Then there was a sub-headline (I think. I don’t know what they’re called): “They’ll close the road over my dead body” – band club president. Now that’s strange. The first band club president who’d rather see sense prevail over festa fever. But I was to be sorely disappointed. It was simply a mistranslated statement. The article said, among other things:

“They’ll close (the road) over my dead body. You are denying us our right to the feast. Don’t you dare come to Msida, I’m serious …If you don’t like it don’t pass through Msida. We never needed you and we are never going to.”

Also:

When asked about hospital visitors, he said the police would designate times when the road would be open. “If someone doesn’t watch the news or read the newspapers, that it’s [sic] up to him. We don’t get [sic] into it.”

I don’t know if the exemplary president spoke in English for the benefit of the newspaper’s readers or if his wisdom was translated.

Where does he get off?! This man is telling us that he doesn’t care if anyone needs to go to hospital or if anyone needs to visit friends or relatives in hospital. If it interferes in any way with his insignificant little festa it will have to wait. Brilliant. I think – but I could be wrong – that these people should undergo periodical reality checks. Perhaps a refresher course in prioritisation should be thrown in, too.

I would imagine that one of the reasons behind celebrating these festi is to remind us of the spiritual virtues of the village’s patron saint and inspire us to live by them.

St Joseph was humble. He put his life in the back seat and unquestioningly obeyed his orders. He even had to live through the apparent shame of his wife – or were they still betrothed? – becoming pregnant when they shouldn’t have been living together. And he never uttered a word of complaint. I can’t quite picture him kicking up a fuss, if due to [potential] medical exigencies, they’d have to cut back a bit on his party.

The Church is already treading dangerous ground peddling its wares, as it were, in a scientifically-oriented culture. The two are not, repeat not, mutually exclusive, mind you. My remark should be taken in a “public perception” context. I think it should distance itself from such blinkered statements – or at least, if not disassociate itself, issue a statement to the effect that “Although we appreciate the enthusiasm of certain people we have to remind everybody that our first and foremost priority is to encourage consideration towards everybody else.” Of course it’s not up to me to decide – or even suggest – what the Church should say or do …

I think I’d better get off my soap box now as the wife needs it to dust the top of the trophy cabinet *ahem*

Toodle-oo.

 

Fluffy Thinking and Flowery Language

Unluckily we have had to resort to this. I am a blog addict. (Why else would I be doing this?) There are some unbelievably good blogs floating around in cyberspace. Then there are some decent blogs. Then there’s the rest. I am concerned with the rest.

Let’s start at the beginning, which is a very good place to start, as Maria (of The Sound of Music fame) said. Picture this. You’re walking down ________ Street (please insert name of favourite shopping quarter). Aha. New shop. It sells thingamajigs. “How interesting,” you tell yourself insincerely. And you walk on.

The next day you’re walking down the ________ Road (please insert name of second favourite shopping quarter, where you end up going when you don’t find what you want in _________ Street.) Lo and behold. there’s another new shop. It’s selling thingamajigs too. And they’re BIGGER! (Did I mention they were cheaper too?) You stop and look.

A few weeks after that you’re on the _________ to work (please insert preferred mode of vehicular transport; you get more points if it’s environmentally friendly, but don’t lie. You’re only fooling yourself). Now where was I? OK. You’re on your way to work and right next to the fag shop, where you’re on first name terms with the owner, there it is. A spanking new thingamajig shop. But not JUST thingamajigs. This time it’s thingamajigs with bells on. You shake your head and go on. Unbelievable… until, that is, you’re back in _______ Street looking for shoes. Your favourite crapmonger is now offering a free thingamajig with every load of crap you buy.

OK. Where am I going with all this? Back to blogs:

There are a few unbelievably good blogs etc (cue dispirited “How interesting” response and walk on)

Then there are some decent blogs (cue video clip of someone stopping at a shop window and looking mildly interested)

Then there’s the rest (cue a video clip of thingamajigs with bells on falling off a production line somewhere )

How is one factory going to convince the public at large that its thingamajigs are the best money can buy? Embellish their properties of course. “This thingamajig is empathetic”. “When this thingamajig sees you’ve had a bad day it logs on to Online-hug.com.” (Of course you’ll need to buy the thingamajig with internet access and Wi-Fi, which retails at a nifty $RIDICULOUS from good shops everywhere.”

And this is what’s happening to blogs, I think. We bloggers have to convince the world that our cybergraffiti is worth stopping for as much as the next guy’s (or gal’s). So what do we do? Use flowery language for one. Cop a load of this: while she speaks about one of the million corners of the same round world and ponder … after all … the world is a beautiful place

I’m not saying where I found it, because it’s not fair. But does it really make you want to read more? Million corners of the same round world. If s/he says so ….. (please note the industrious avoidance of hint dropping )

He told us the story that made him lame: it must have been a vicious story.

The following statistical analysis was taken from another blog. The blogger (again remaining unidentified to minimise the possibility of egg-on-blogger’s-face happening) was discussing the validity of the results of some survey about the situation of single parent families in a particular country.

Among my own extended network of friends, acquaintances and people I know through work, the figure seems rather closer to 40 per cent. Another difficulty is that the numbers are not broken down to reflect the truth: that the marriages of those aged 25 to 50 are hitting the rocks at an alarming rate, but the marriages of those aged 50+ are not. I know this because I can see what’s happening around me.

Mind-boggling. Just observe the unshakeable premises upon which the blogger’s argument are based, in case you missed them the first time around:

Among my own extended network of friends, acquaintances and people I know through work unless this person’s extended network of friends etc etc is a) big enough to be statistically significant b) is representative of the population at large the statement wields about as much weight as an anorexic gnat.

the figure seems rather closer to 40 per cent because the blogger knows what 100% is. Obviously.

the truth: that the marriages of those aged 25 to 50 are hitting the rocks at an alarming rate Where to begin? From the truth? Or the fact that the rocks are being pelted with marriages at an alarming rate? That’s a nice way to ruin a day at the beach. What constitutes alarming? Are there any socio-economic parameters one should consider before being unduly alarmed? I keep forgetting the demographically representative network.

but the marriages of those aged 50+ are not Wow! Impressive database.

And now for the punch line:

I know this because I can see what’s happening around me. Sure, sure. We know that what you know is the truth. Nothing but.

I’m off to find the latest deals on thingamajigs. I think I’ll start my own shop. A 5Kg pack of washing powder with every thingamajig purchased. Any takers?

Toodle-oo.