Matt Nippert - panhandler*, Auckland
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Hey brother, can you spare $25,000?*
We post irregularly, like David Slack, but minus a book deal to show for our vacancy.
It's not like nothing's going on - there's interesting discrepencies between stories I've written and official comment soon after (yes, I've got notes - but I'm no Wishart); pimping myself for money*; lush corporate junkets involving drug experiences with TV personalities - but these are stories best kept for a better-read, and paid, forum.
Blogging, if it's first-person potential is to be realised, needs to twitch. Such as this half-recollection I've come up with off the top of my head:
So where has this gang gone? Well, we've found something else to do. Well, at least I have. Patrick Crewdson might have kept blogging, if only he can take a break from hosing down the Office. Without Hood, we'd be flatlining. (And, if that happens, please pull the plug. I know none of here want to pull a Terri and become a bit-part in Weekend at Karl Rove's.)
Blogs are, as even the disreputable fellows at DogBitingMen are now acknowledging, only water wings for playing in the shallow end of the media pool. To plagurise a radio station whose attitude sums up the pigheaded arrogance out here; all blogs are shit.
A whole year ago, practically at the birth of the internet, Fightingtalk was founded. Since then the scene has totally sold out. Public Address is practically Fox - well-funded, chatty and chillingly assured. NoRightTurn could competently replicate Triangle news, while David Farrar's most likely on that tape you just recieved from that video dating agency. And this is the best New Zealand can offer? Get serious, or get off-line.
One day, at least the most far-sighted of you, are dreaming of paddling in the deep end. Letters to the editor, I can assure you, are far more intimidating, insightful, and engaging than any internet feedback you'll ever recieve. You might even get sued. (Threepointturn breaches name supression, but no one cares. At least Rob Moody got some press mileage in flicking the finger to the law over the Berrymans.)
Jesus, even Damian Christie has figured this out - Cracker's barely registered a pulse since the Herald on Sunday decided to make him the voice of yoof. He's got his priorities straight - cash money over AV club adoration. Simon Pound's cashed his sterling. So where are you at? (Read further for a chance to escape this hellhole.)
So, all of you must be asking, why blog at all? (Here I asume, not without inconsiderable evidence, that 99 percent of our readers are also bloggers - imagine a Narcissicist Anonymous pow-wow without the free biscuits.) This a question you should be asking yourselves, and almost universally answering in the negative.
It's been said that blogs are the new diary writing, but at least diaries were never seriously expected to be read. A written diary maintains the romantic fantasy that it might, someday, be secretely read and realised as a work of tortured genius. This delusion of possible granduer is only maintained because it's never tested.
No one will ever break into your room, jmmy the hackneyed half-lock on your My Little Pony book of secret confessions, discover you've had an eight-year crush on David, and declare that you're the new Alebard. It's not going to happen. Get over it. Now.
Like Mutually Assured Destruction, blogs are good in theory, but god forbid people be allowed to deploy them. They are read - but only by a few, and mostly only once. So, readers, push the button and get it all over with. It's marked "delete".
This is my last ever blog on Fightingtalk. I've come to the conclusion, and time in my life, where I realise writing is a cruel process only compensated by hard, cold cash. Everything else is whoring for free. It's also known as being an information slut.
Yes, I'll miss you all. And yes, I can hear my own echo in here. Boo hoo - I can hear myself crying.
*Yes, I'm after money. I've planning on running away to the lair of Bush. If, perchance, you're after positive feedback, please feel free to contribute to the 'Ostracise Matt Nippert to New York' fund. I'm an equal-opportunity brown-noser.
PS: Some APN bigwig has asked me if there's any unsigned writers in the blogosphere who might be worthy of paid columns. I've got a few (believe me, very few) in mind, but if you've any suggestions, get in touch (matt_nippert@yahoo.com, those who I think are worthy will hear from me very soon). It's your only ticket out of this ghetto. Believe me, you should try to check out.
Oh - and for the one person who contributed to my Haiku competition, here's a moment of web-glory for the contributor:
And, if you're into funny shit, click on this link. Someone, hire Geoff Brischke before I do, he's worthy...
"Well if you wanna start a blog, just don't mess with Matt Nippert, he's a crazy mo'fo'." - Paul BuchananSome of you may have been wondering where Fightingtalk has gone since the wild and early days where we dealt with, and to, serious politicians and issues. We're now decrepit, cobwebs hanging in the wind, with only Lyndon Hood saving us from a pronouncement that we're officially dead.
We post irregularly, like David Slack, but minus a book deal to show for our vacancy.
It's not like nothing's going on - there's interesting discrepencies between stories I've written and official comment soon after (yes, I've got notes - but I'm no Wishart); pimping myself for money*; lush corporate junkets involving drug experiences with TV personalities - but these are stories best kept for a better-read, and paid, forum.
Blogging, if it's first-person potential is to be realised, needs to twitch. Such as this half-recollection I've come up with off the top of my head:
Leeching off an extravagent junket funded by Coca Cola, a fat penguin sat behind me screaming himself hoarse at a bout reminicent of professional wrestlers on ether. At least the bloodlust is alive and well amongst our better paid. Next week I'm going to K1 where the beer is cheaper and the blood more frequent.On the other end of the blogopshere there's a game the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy call "What Would Wishart Write?" Take this generic example.
"He's your bitch David!, Slap 'em about!" gets coupled with "Don't slap em! Punch him!". Wifebeaters with cumberbuns are in this winter, and I bet these guys aren't the ones who end up on domestic violence charges.
His final encore really kicked in a flashback of margarine dolphins, botulism and underage barstaff "It's a smorgasbord David! Take what you want! It's Valentines!".
What a good way to get rid of some bad press - a death scare for the PM. Whether staged or not (I would happily believe it actually happened) the PM’s air scare has got everyone talking about that rather than John Tamihere. Very convenient timing.The worst are truly filled with passionate intensity.
(Link withheld to protect the innocent, and not encourage the guilty. PS: Gary Lindsay - your blog is shit. And yes, the Chiefs are still retarded.)
So where has this gang gone? Well, we've found something else to do. Well, at least I have. Patrick Crewdson might have kept blogging, if only he can take a break from hosing down the Office. Without Hood, we'd be flatlining. (And, if that happens, please pull the plug. I know none of here want to pull a Terri and become a bit-part in Weekend at Karl Rove's.)
Blogs are, as even the disreputable fellows at DogBitingMen are now acknowledging, only water wings for playing in the shallow end of the media pool. To plagurise a radio station whose attitude sums up the pigheaded arrogance out here; all blogs are shit.
A whole year ago, practically at the birth of the internet, Fightingtalk was founded. Since then the scene has totally sold out. Public Address is practically Fox - well-funded, chatty and chillingly assured. NoRightTurn could competently replicate Triangle news, while David Farrar's most likely on that tape you just recieved from that video dating agency. And this is the best New Zealand can offer? Get serious, or get off-line.
One day, at least the most far-sighted of you, are dreaming of paddling in the deep end. Letters to the editor, I can assure you, are far more intimidating, insightful, and engaging than any internet feedback you'll ever recieve. You might even get sued. (Threepointturn breaches name supression, but no one cares. At least Rob Moody got some press mileage in flicking the finger to the law over the Berrymans.)
Jesus, even Damian Christie has figured this out - Cracker's barely registered a pulse since the Herald on Sunday decided to make him the voice of yoof. He's got his priorities straight - cash money over AV club adoration. Simon Pound's cashed his sterling. So where are you at? (Read further for a chance to escape this hellhole.)
So, all of you must be asking, why blog at all? (Here I asume, not without inconsiderable evidence, that 99 percent of our readers are also bloggers - imagine a Narcissicist Anonymous pow-wow without the free biscuits.) This a question you should be asking yourselves, and almost universally answering in the negative.
It's been said that blogs are the new diary writing, but at least diaries were never seriously expected to be read. A written diary maintains the romantic fantasy that it might, someday, be secretely read and realised as a work of tortured genius. This delusion of possible granduer is only maintained because it's never tested.
No one will ever break into your room, jmmy the hackneyed half-lock on your My Little Pony book of secret confessions, discover you've had an eight-year crush on David, and declare that you're the new Alebard. It's not going to happen. Get over it. Now.
Like Mutually Assured Destruction, blogs are good in theory, but god forbid people be allowed to deploy them. They are read - but only by a few, and mostly only once. So, readers, push the button and get it all over with. It's marked "delete".
This is my last ever blog on Fightingtalk. I've come to the conclusion, and time in my life, where I realise writing is a cruel process only compensated by hard, cold cash. Everything else is whoring for free. It's also known as being an information slut.
Yes, I'll miss you all. And yes, I can hear my own echo in here. Boo hoo - I can hear myself crying.
*Yes, I'm after money. I've planning on running away to the lair of Bush. If, perchance, you're after positive feedback, please feel free to contribute to the 'Ostracise Matt Nippert to New York' fund. I'm an equal-opportunity brown-noser.
PS: Some APN bigwig has asked me if there's any unsigned writers in the blogosphere who might be worthy of paid columns. I've got a few (believe me, very few) in mind, but if you've any suggestions, get in touch (matt_nippert@yahoo.com, those who I think are worthy will hear from me very soon). It's your only ticket out of this ghetto. Believe me, you should try to check out.
Oh - and for the one person who contributed to my Haiku competition, here's a moment of web-glory for the contributor:
The war at sevenHolly Walker, your mag's alright.
Serious current affairs
Time for our book club
And, if you're into funny shit, click on this link. Someone, hire Geoff Brischke before I do, he's worthy...
