The Hobart Chronicles XI: Nothing Left to Lose

“Freedom’s just another word
for nothing left to lose”
- Janis Joplin, Me & Bobby McGee, 1970

Still miserable.

Be careful what you wish for – you might just get it, right? The Chinese said it, Paul Kelly says it. There I was, wishing I didn’t have to go to work, and then the other day it was true. Corporation staff were ‘taking a day of action’ (‘withdrawing their labour’, ‘engaging in authorised protest’ – anything but ‘striking’ in these days of calling a spade a ‘domestic earth relocation device’).

Being a union member, I too was ‘absent from the work place’, which would indeed have been a wish come true if it didn’t also mean foregoing a day’s pay. Not something I can really afford, being paid at Corporation rates while living in an inflated-price shoebox, though I suppose there’s always the vague hope the sacrifice might drop me down a tax threshold, thus neutralising the loss. Hah. May as well wish to win the lottery. It’d be more practical than hoping the ‘day of action’ might actually yield a meaningful pay increase.

It was an interesting day of listening to managers getting back onto the shop floor again and walking the walk (or indeed talking the talk, if you will), as they put out a day’s makeshift content. Strangely comforting to hear that a little rust hasn’t permanently spoiled the goods in most cases. If you have the nous to open an after-dark program with a live version of Crunchy Granola Suite, you haven’t lost it yet.

Lately I’ve been thinking about names, and the way we’re known. Some listener ringing with an enquiry had the temerity to ask if my name was Vietnamese. What did this fellow think, asking something so personal, and presumptuous, and so completely incorrect, of a stranger from whom he wanted a favour? Do people with funny sounding names have less feelings? Are we curiosities on parade? I was very terse.

Today I received a community notice in a handwritten envelope addressed to ‘Mr Andrea…’. Not sure what part of left field that curve ball was thrown from.

It’s conventional for digital space correspondents, even occasional ones like me, to abandon their real name for a nom de plume. While I’m not exactly up front, my efforts at circumspection have been pretty feeble. And while considering a new moniker at this point is akin to shutting the gate after one’s identity has bolted, I suppose it’s never too late. I mean, if you start late enough this time, you could actually be getting in early for the next time, right?

In this frame of mind, I fetched a crossword dictionary (don’t seem to have any real dictionaries) and had a flick through. I like the ‘Miss’ part of ‘Miss Andrea’; I’ve evolved a habit of addressing my fondest friends with ‘Miss’, just for fun. Why not keep the honorific, only make it more interesting? I flicked to ‘M’, and here’s what I found:

Miss Anthropic
Miss Demeanour
Miss Begotten
Miss Behaviour
Miss Cellanious
Miss Chievous
Miss Conduct
Miss Creant
Miss Fortune
Miss Giving
Miss Hap
Miss Leading
Miss Represent
Miss Take

If I opted for the more modern ‘Ms’, there was at least one appropriate option for my current mood:

Ms Erable

So far, the shortlist – based on pleasing pun and interesting synonym – is:

Miss Conduct ([11] impropriety, malfeasance, [12] malversation);
Miss Demeanour ([3] sin [5] crime, wrong [7] offence);
Miss Fortune ([3] woe [9] cataclysm [11] contretemps, tribulation);
and Miss Leading ([8] specious [10] fallacious [11] casuistical, sophistical).

I think I’m leaning most favourably towards Miss Fortune. Like me, it looks pleasant on first glance (when I try); and it has a sort of exotic, mystic feel (rather like my real surname, if one believes monocultural slobs like that presumptuous bloke on the phone). Rather like the notion of being a ‘cataclysm’; sounds dramatic, doesn’t it.

Let’s give it a test drive in a simulated use situation:

“Miss Fortune say, Freedom just word for nothing left to lose.”

Whaddaya reckon?

Er, Kris Kristofferson? Never heard of him.