Why I will never be a paid political commentator

October 8, 2013

It’s time I face up to a harsh reality, folks.  I’m just never going to be taken seriously as a political commentator.

You’ve all tried to warn me about this for years.  You’ve desperately looked for ways to open my eyes to the fact that a sweary, nasty, unladylike blogger can never really be seen as credible on big important matters.  I ignored you.  I rebuffed you.  Sometimes I told you to go fuck yourself.

I was wrong.

The recent weeks have finally made the message sink in, and now I have to acknowledge the error of my ways.

See, I thought people would find it amusing if I parodied the way that rightwingers like to use household budgets as an analogy for Government Budgets.  But this was just me being silly and foolish.  I should have, in all sincerity, compared fiscal policy to a nasty stereotype about fat people and diabetics.  Then I might have a column in the NBR.

I thought I could bring together strands of a wider social issue and consider its implications for political activism in NZ.  I should have, instead, jumped to conclusions without doing a basic Googling of the facts and screamed that a high-profile politician was a liar and a fraud.  Then Nine to Noon might ask me to join their panel.

I thought I could foster a bit of discussion on the limitations and criticisms of poverty-line simulations.  Instead I should have wasted hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars, lost my job in disgrace, and metaphorically shat on the experiences of poor people from orbit.  Then I could be on The Vote.

I thought a weekly round-up of random articles which interested me would be a fun idea.  I should have just copied-and-pasted all the articles into my own “blog”, churned out a few fact-free press releases based entirely on my own opinion, and pretended to be an organisation of concerned citizens.  Then I’d be the first person journalists call for a quote.

I thought a pseudonym would allow my ideas to stand on their own.  I should have just been born an old white male senior Herald reporter.  Then I’d get a weekly go at the anonymous editorial.

I guess my clickbait just isn’t the right kind of clickbait, and my nastiness isn’t the right kind of nastiness, and my secret identity isn’t the right kind of secret identity.  Oh well.

Written by QoT Posted in Uncategorized Tagged with blogosphere, call the waaaaaambulance, media