The Hobart Chronicles XIV: Sign O' The Times

“My heart is broken, but what care I?
Such pride inside me has woken
I shall do my best not to cry, by and by”
- Ralph Brenatsky, Goodbye (From the White Horse Inn), 1931

“Look at all you happy people
Wish I could be like you”
- Chris Isaak, Go Walking Down There, 1995

“Sign o the times, mess with your mind”
- Prince, Sign o’ the Times, 1987

I picked up my Melbourne Cup winnings the other afternoon from the TAB. It was an exciting finish to Race 7, but not quite exciting enough; if Pop Rock had made more of an effort I might have broken even again this year. Alas, Delta Blues had the nose advantage, and so the return of $13.25 on my $5 each way bet on Pop Rock did not quite cover the $20 I ‘invested’ at the TOTE, my total annual outlay on old nags (of the 4-legged kind at least). However, it wasn’t a dead financial loss, and I did have some return for the two-minutes’ cheering at the television at work.

I was paying more attention than usual to the Morning Show last Thursday, seeing as I was trapped at my desk preparing to present Afternoons again (the usual presenter had a bad head cold and seeing as I am already paid to be here, I make a nice cheap substitute).

A listener prompted quite a discussion about bumper stickers, specifically ones that incite murder or violence. You see a lot of them in Tasnarnia, more than on the Big Island, that leave nothing to the imagination. Like:

I SHOOT GREENIES
SAVE A JOB – SHOOT A GREENIE

At one stage Greens leader Peg Putt even rang in to talk about how it feels personally threatening to see bumper stickers making jokes about killing her and her friends, and that’s why there are federal laws against inciting violence, which is great except the police aren’t interested in following up her concerns.

Some listeners asked what people might think of stickers that said, Shoot Gays, or Murder Jews, or Kill Woodchippers. Other callers scoffed at the notion that a bumper sticker would really make you pick up a gun. One fellow rang up, proud of his personally selected sticker which reads GREENS TELL LIES.

Look, humour is a funny thing. Well, by that I mean it’s kind of odd, you know. One person’s joke is another’s grievous insult requiring reparations including the sacrifice of a firstborn and maybe even some gratuitous and lasting pain. I know all about the latter urges, having been at the receiving end of a lot of pretty dumb discriminatory slogans for as long as I can remember. I’m not objective enough to judge the SHOOT GREENS stickers. You can make up your own mind.

Rather, let me share with you some of the rather more difficult to interpret bumper stickers I have observed with my own eyes in Tasnarnia recently. Can you help with these?

AVOID INBREEDING

Is this meant to be funny? Is it an insult to the locals? I don’t think it was a farmer’s vehicle, so it wasn’t husbandry advice. The car had a Tasnarnian number plate, so could it have been a tip for the neighbours?

NUTHIN SHITS ME

No real mystery in itself (apart from the spelling), but its placement was a little odd, given that additional stickers included two Not Happy, John stickers. So obviously something shits that driver.

CAUTION: I STOP FOR CEMETARIES

Uh huh. I am being verrrrry careful of you, my friend.

Remarkable, isn’t it, the things that people feel like communicating with their fellows. Yes, I know, I write a blog – a clear case of the pot calling the kettle etc..

Finally, a little picture forwarded some time ago by one of the two Gold Coast Gundii correspondents, snapped on a well populated Gold Coast boulevard:

If it’s any sort of retort at all, at least we are not the butt-end of people’s fashion jokes. I mean, Tasnarnia society is so conservative, we do not get much more imaginative, or sink much lower, than bogan fashions from beyond the flannel curtain. Which is more than I can say for Ross Wilson, who appeared as support for Chris Isaak at A Day On The Green here last weekend.

Ol’ Granddaddy Cool was wearing a pale salmon suit, rumpled, teamed with a black polo shirt and – wait for it – white loafers. Combined with his unnaturally orange complexion, he looked like homeless man from the Gold Coast. Nevertheless, the ageing baby boomers just lerrrrrrved Come Back Again, and actually got up and swung their creaky hips for Eagle Rock.

The Mondo Rock stuff was surreal though. When the band cycled through to Come Said The Boy I thought all my later high school years had indeed come back again, and it was all I could do not to flee the Tolosa Park amphitheatre as though from a bad trip.

Chris Isaak was both sleazy and funny – a disturbingly attractive combination. Living proof that you do not need to be Elvis to make sequins on a suit work – but if you are not Elvis then you had better be trailer trash with charm.

The rain was pretty heavy, but came early on and thankfully lasted less than an hour. At least it wasn’t snow.