August 2007 - Orble - The Onion Cupboard

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The Onion Cupboard - August 2007

Okay, okay - I get It. I don't like it, but I get it. (LINK)

August 15th 2007 06:31

I get confused easily. And if you know me, none of what I’m about to say will come as a complete shock.

Many moons ago I joined myspace. It was under a different name, I had a different hair colour and was operating in a completely different headspace. I joined in the hope to meet people I wouldn’t normally get to meet – this was my opportunity to open myself up to likeminded people with likeminded goals. So, keen as mustard and sufficiently naïve, I spent a majority of one Sunday afternoon listing my likes, favourite books and heros. I painstakingly crafted a delicious introduction and made sure every box was completed. Done and dusted. All I had to do was sit by my inbox and wait for all my friends to eagerly await an ‘add’.

An hour later, I received my first email. It was from a rock star. A bona fide guitar strumming, leather pants wearing rock star. I checked out his site and noticed he had a lot of female ‘friends’ or as I like to call them, e-groupies. How cool. I added him immediately. I mean, who doesn’t want to be friends with a rock star?

So with one friend down, a minor celebrity mind you, my e-life filled with hope and anticipation. I don’t believe there’s been an emoticon invented for the raw excitement I was feeling.

A couple of hours later, I received my second email. It was from another rock star. This one didn’t have as many fans but he had a funky page so I added him anyway. Two rock stars in one day. Had the world gone topsey turvey or was my profile that good I was impressing lyrical genius?

As I sat there contemplating my own genius, there was another ‘ding dong’ on my inbox door. This time it was from a sock puppet. Not your everyday sock puppet but an angry one. A Dave Hughes version of inner footwear. Looking back, I think this was the turning point where my myspace profile just became a blur.

Over a period of a week I received no less than ninety friend requests. Highlights included requests from MATS (Men Against Teepees Society), girls with boobs just about a big as my screen, a lonely (and available) Jersey cow, a guy who asked if he could stay at my house for a couple of weeks and 101 more rock stars.

In no time, my inbox was forever dinging with ‘friend requests’, ‘comments’ and ‘bulletins’. ‘Myspace’ was no longer my space; it was turning into alphabet mess of random thoughts, advertising urls and a place for any random person to post any random piece of shite. Don’t get me wrong, all these people (and animals) are probably genuinely lovely, but at the time I didn’t really think they fell into the category of ‘my friend’. So a week later, I decided enough was enough. I removed my profile. Done and dusted.

Life was swell after that. I was feeling a lot calmer. My inbox was now only being filled with emails advertising Viagra, porn, stocks and lonely housewives. Yes, everything good about email had returned.

It was only two weeks ago I decided to dip back into the myspace pool. This time it was purely for a selfish reason. I found out that my favourite Sydney columnist, had joined up and I wanted to be his friend. And there’s nothing wrong with being friends with someone you actually like.

But this is where I get confused. Are myspace friends really friends? Are they the kind of friends that’ll come around to your house when your sick and make sure you’re still alive? Would my columnist friend be such a friend that he’ll help me move house or come to my 30th? I don’t think so. But I don’t want to pick on him; none of myspace is his fault.

I’m interested as to what other people think. Are your myspace friends your real ‘friends’? Can myspace friends become real friends? Are you as picky with online friends you are in real life? Is myspace just a cheap network for rock stars to get exposure? Do most people accept that by even having a profile you are subjected to at least twenty advertisements per log in? Does it really matter?

Believe me when I say that I’m genuinely not digging at anyone on myspace, friends or otherwise - mine is just a genuine and curious interest into the many and varied reasons for joining this site. I’ve divulged my reason, I’d like to hear yours. And if myspace has been everything you ever thought it would be and more.

And if you’re not up for answering any of my questions and think that for my own sake [and other people’s] I should just shut up, log off and get a life, you’re probably right. But this is MY space. You see, I’m finally getting the hang of it.

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Posted By: Liz Cooper Smith - Category: No Category

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A New Breed Of Sneaky (LINK)

August 15th 2007 06:14

This is a Public Service Announcement for anyone doing nothing more than live their life. You could be lunging in your step class, standing in line to buy socks or smacking your child at a Wiggles concert. You could be complaining about your mobile service coverage, eating a chocolate bar or getting your hair cut.

Then all of a sudden, one a lazy Sunday morning, you’re flipping the pages of your local newspaper and there you are, alive in black and white. You’re the subject of a snappy little lifestyle article entitled, ‘Where The Yummy Mummy’s Are At’.

Your name has been changed Judy, the Eva Longoria look-alike and your son has been renamed Jefferson, the screaming three year old on the flying fox. As you read every word, it’s more and more you. It’s reaffirmed by the fact that you and your son were in the park last Tuesday.

The writer of the article is a dashing, young undercover reporter with a head full of hair [not that you remember], taking pleasure in telling all and sundry that he got your phone number.

Our debonair lovelorn social journalist may or may not reveal that he only scored your number because he backed into your car and you swapped insurance information. He may or may not mention that he looked uneasy when propping up his sisters’ on loan ten month old baby.

There’s a special name for these types of reporters, both the male and female variety. ‘Wrobber’. Part time writer, part time dobber.

It’d be easy to assume that by its name sake, ‘Wrobbers’ steal something. They do. But it’s not the type of steal where you find yourself shoving dresses into your handbag Winona Ryder style. ‘Wrobbers’ steal something very important to all individuals; the truth. They take its core and spray it with a bit of alphabetical Febreeze.

When submitting their articles, ‘Wrobbers’ have the same brief. Go out, observe the quirks of human behaviour and report back with a 600 word witty ditty about your always exciting experience. Always exciting, because even if you go to the morgue, a good writer can always jazz it up with an anecdote about the Jamaican taxi driver on the way there.

When talking about ‘Wrobbers’, there are two kinds. First there’s the obvious ‘Wrobber’. This is a person who ask you 101 questions about speed dating, how you got there, what you get out of it, have you met any interesting people, rather than simple things like what’s your name and what do you do for a living.

Then there’s the less obvious ‘Wrobber’. They’re the one’s constantly looking around like a baby bird afraid of the big bad swooping eagle hiding in amongst the trees. They’re eyes are wide open, they’re constantly looking around and ducking when asked any meaningful question.

Essentially, ‘Wrobbers’ really aren’t a creature to be afraid of. There not like Senior Constables, or Magistrates. Everything you say in front of a ‘Wrobber’ is generally protected. They won’t use your name and unless they’re a real lunatic, they won’t delve too much into your pants.

But as harmless as they are, it needs to be said that right from the get-go, they’re not on the same playing field with everyone else. It’s one thing to take an interest in a subject and write about it, it’s an entirely different one to form a talking relationship, just to gauge their reaction so you can get sixty cents a word from your Publisher.

Now fellow ‘Wrobbers’, before you blog and unleash your spray of intellectual venom in my general direction, hear me out. I’m a ‘Wrobber’ as well, and will continue to be. I’ve stood at the bus stop and looking for my next inspirational hero. I’ve even named characters after my Butcher, ex-boyfriend, local Member of Parliament and Grade Three Teacher. I’ve been guilty of standing in a crowd of people giving mental nicknames like Puff’N’Fresh, Mr Squiggle, Lleyton Hewitt and Steady Eddy, just so I can remember them when I get back to my laptop.

And just as there’s two types of ‘Wrobbers’ in this world, there are two types of outcomes. The first is where your trusty reporter looks around purely commentates on what they saw. The second is the fun type where the ‘Wrobber’ jumped in there got their feet wet, splashed around and ended up with a fish down their bikini top. This is your best kind of ‘Wrobber’. It’s a glorious gift to pick out other people’s flaws but write about it in a way that you spend more time picking on yourself than your subjects. Self deprecation is just as important as the observation itself.

But just like Paris Hilton, like us or love us, we’ll still continue to do what we do? Why? Because true ‘Wrobbers’ will always find the human character and the human conversation fascinating.

So watch out and be suspicious of us. Look out for those people who engage you in conversation, listen, maybe a little too carefully and won’t give too much away about themselves. This is because they’re aware there might be another ‘Wrobber’ in the room.

Actually, come to think of it, having more than one ‘Wrobber’ in the room; that’d be something to really write about.

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Posted By: Liz Cooper Smith - Category: No Category

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Welcome To The Cupboard

August 15th 2007 05:53

Liz Cooper Smith is a Sydney writer looking for writers to collaborate on some darn interesting writing projects. These range from TV Pilots to Screenplays to Novels.

The Onion Cupboard is the trading name of Liz's writing ranging from quotes to novels to articles to screenplays.

Screenplays and Short Films aren't uploaded, rather just the Story Pitch. If you're interested in viewing the scripts, email liz@theonioncupboard.com

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Posted By: Liz Cooper Smith - Category: No Category

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August 2007

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