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Martin McKenzie-Murray piddling on the Centenary BBQ

By johnboy 7 March 2013 33

It takes a special kind of person to turn up early to a party while the decorations are going up and stand outside shouting to passersby why it’s going to be a dud party.

The Age’s Martin McKenzie-Murray is, it seems, that special kind of person.

And for the love of god can we stop talking about the long abandoned Burley Griffin vision?

I swear it only comes up because everyone knows the name.

As for the Centenary celebrations. They’re happening.

We can stand around with the genius of hindsight picking at things.

Or we can give it a go.

It seem obvious which one is going to be more fun.

What’s Your opinion?


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33 Responses to
Martin McKenzie-Murray piddling on the Centenary BBQ
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Masquara 5:22 pm 10 Mar 13

MMM got put in his place this morning on Radio National. Jonathan Green lived in Canberra for 20+ years, and David Headon has lived here for 23. MMM admitted that he had only spent a total of three years in Canberra. David Headon: “I wouldn’t presume to comment on Melbourne, and I have spent a total of around that much time in Melbourne” …

dpm 9:45 am 10 Mar 13

The thing I don’t really get is why do people have to bag out places that are supposedly worse than where they live? When I go travelling, I don’t go through cities/towns thinking ‘This is way worse than where I live, suckers’. i.e The only thought process I have is judging it compared to my place of residence.
So, even if I thought Oodnatatta (town name that popped into my head – no judgement here!) was worse than where I lived, would I write an article saying that? Why? Do the people there deserve it?
It’s kinda like people who bag out other Unis that are crappier than their alma mater. Really, if yours was so great, why the need to point at other, lower, places and say they are worse? Talk about kicking a man when he’s down! Hahaha! Take the high ground people! 🙂
I suppose it’s the human condition….?

Holden Caulfield 4:05 pm 09 Mar 13

Even the BBC is having a go: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-21715754

poetix 11:03 pm 08 Mar 13

LSWCHP said :

OK team, in the spirit of the double-barreled Bulwer-Lytton contest, I would like to submit my inaugural contribution to the ACT McKenzie-Murray Really Poor Journalism award…

Here we go…Brave up and read on…

Bleakly, and with a heart full of acid bitterness and bile, which was odd in itself because bile normally enters the intestines versus the circulatory system, I trudged wearily and step by step up to the top of Mount Ainslie as the chilly wind vibe thingy lashed me and the taste in my mouth was that of the finest French champage slowly turning to ashes, mud, dust, rust and blood or actually it would have been that taste if only I had been able to afford French Champagne instead of the mid-range non-vintage Canberra Region sparkling I’d bought at the Civic Supabarn because I like to support local winemakers and when that taste turns to something like rust in my mouth I find that the plummy cigar box sweaty saddle notes really start to sing on the rear of my middle palate.

Phew…it’s a dark and lonely job writing like Mr M-M, but somebody’s gotta do it.

All contributors to this body of work will receive the admiration of their fellow Rioters, and the best entries will receive…errmm…more admiration than the others. 🙂

‘Twas as if I had ingested an opera singer whole, in a strange reversal of Jonah in the whale, and that soprano, or even mezzo-soprano, or even contralto, was tickling upon my throat with the fan from the disastrous but well-costumed production of Carmen from 1986 – and if she was Carmen I suppose that closes the case as to which register she sang in, this mythical creature now plying her trade amongst the multifarious caverns of my throat, but perhaps she was a mere bit player, now biting at my tonsils like a newly discovered Devonian fish, all funny and eager and broad? – and, thinking such profoundly, or possibly sopranoly, big thoughts, I stared out upon this visage of a view, upon which the trees grew like stubble upon the face of a carefully ungroomed hipster who might possibly park his bike outside a cafe in Lonsdale Street, Braddon, that mysteriously goes by the name of Lonsdale Street Roasters, and, having chained it to the frame provided for that purpose, walk inside and order, say, a latte, or an espresso (carefully pronounced with a bad attempt at Italian, as if Fellini were lurking around the corner, looking for a new stubble of extras) and a bacon butty, and just as he sits himself at the table in a cloud of ennui generated by the coffee machine imported from Italy, and asks himself WHY? (or pourquoi, which is French, and has nothing to do with bacon or Canberra or Italy or even coffee); I looked, as previously stated, upon the view, and asked myself the same questions, in a slightly different form: why am I an ex-speech writer, and what does it all mean?

HiddenDragon 11:03 pm 08 Mar 13

Diggety said :

johnboy said :

because there’s never any navel gazing in this town?

Only the type that eventuates in public art unfortunately.

I think – after you subtract all the turgid filler – he raises some good points.

I thought so, too – the closeness to the bone, not just the unkind timing, might explain some of the reaction to the piece. Anyway, we can always take comfort in the thought that Canberra has Katy to look after us for the next (nearly) four years, while MM-M and his fellow Melbournians are now stuck with daggy old Premier Moth Balls – so boo sucks to them!

LSWCHP 10:34 pm 08 Mar 13

OK team, in the spirit of the double-barreled Bulwer-Lytton contest, I would like to submit my inaugural contribution to the ACT McKenzie-Murray Really Poor Journalism award…

Here we go…Brave up and read on…

Bleakly, and with a heart full of acid bitterness and bile, which was odd in itself because bile normally enters the intestines versus the circulatory system, I trudged wearily and step by step up to the top of Mount Ainslie as the chilly wind vibe thingy lashed me and the taste in my mouth was that of the finest French champage slowly turning to ashes, mud, dust, rust and blood or actually it would have been that taste if only I had been able to afford French Champagne instead of the mid-range non-vintage Canberra Region sparkling I’d bought at the Civic Supabarn because I like to support local winemakers and when that taste turns to something like rust in my mouth I find that the plummy cigar box sweaty saddle notes really start to sing on the rear of my middle palate.

Phew…it’s a dark and lonely job writing like Mr M-M, but somebody’s gotta do it.

All contributors to this body of work will receive the admiration of their fellow Rioters, and the best entries will receive…errmm…more admiration than the others. 🙂

Diggety 8:12 pm 08 Mar 13

johnboy said :

because there’s never any navel gazing in this town?

Only the type that eventuates in public art unfortunately.

I think – after you subtract all the turgid filler – he raises some good points.

Holditz 3:41 pm 08 Mar 13

johnboy said :

And now we have the Canberra Times trying to defend it’s stablemate against its own readership.

I note that article also mentioned that Annabel Crabb also got a bit of a stick for her new TV series on the so-called Underbelly of Canberra. I can’t say I’ve heard of that little campaign, but I am looking forward to Ms. Crabb’s series- Canberra may have a heart, but it’s the heart of darkness…

HiddenDragon 1:42 pm 08 Mar 13

johnboy said :

because there’s never any navel gazing in this town?

Never let it be said – Canberra is the Travis “you talkin’ to me” Bickle of Australia. What with this, and those uppitty Adelaidians thinking they’re better than us, it’s been a wonderfully, and highly therapeutically, diverting week.

Thumper 12:50 pm 08 Mar 13

I too have felt the bone chilling winds of Canberra as they suck the very soul from the people that live there, turning them into nothing more than husks of their former selves, now pitiful creatures alone and awash in a sea of unrelenting monotonousness, pushed down by the drudgery of a bloated bureaucracy hell bent on the subjugation of all who dare to attempt to rise above the desperate pits of the establishment.

Or it was simply a windy winters day….

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