The Slow Death of Brendon Nelson

In John Clarke’s brilliant mockumentry of the Sydney 2000 Olympics, The Games, there is a line delivered during a press conference by a (fictional) government minister about a (fictional) disgraced civil servant: that he has my full support. The irony of this line is explained in the course of the episode: realistically, we learn, it is code for absolute scapegoatery, dismissal, blame and other such negative association with an already-broken media disaster – even though, as we also learn, the victim in question is not necessarily responsible.

 

Witness, then, the recent discussion of Brendan Nelson’s hold on the Liberal leadership. Either the newscasters responsible are fans of The Games or the lingo is bona fide, but in an ABC news report last week, the voice-over reported signs of Nelson’s ever-slipping hold on the party faithful as the film grab showed a steadfast Liberal frontbencher at the mic.

 

‘Brendan Nelson,’ he intoned, ‘has our full support.’

 

Dibs on his parking space, then.

 

Media Irks: Blasting

Among other things, I’m getting well and truly fed up with celebrities, politicians, organisations and newsworthy individuals blasting one another. The term is becoming so rabid with overuse that, were it Old Yeller, we’d already have taken it quietly out back and done the decent thing, only without remorse.

Just witness:

PETA has blasted Jessica Simpson for wearing a T-shirt.

Mel B has blasted Eddie Murphy in a new song.

The AMA has blasted the Rudd government.

U.N. blasts celebrity drug use.

Pope blasts Europeans.

Kevin Rudd blasts the Chaser.

Anthony Albanese blasts Brendon Nelson.

A quick Google reveals blasting headlines as far back as 2000, but in the past year or so, there seems to have been an explosion. From memory, it feels like blasting began as a common gossip-mag headline, the kind of sensationalist claim that implies a killing verbal tirade without actually necessitating one. For instance, a headline like Shirely Temple Black blasts Paris Hilton gives a cozy, familiar sense that the next story over will be something equally vacuous, like teen ‘pregnancy pact’ has 17 girls expecting. You know. Trash, of the morbidly curious, staring-at-a-trainwreck ouevre.

But when did blasting go mainstream? Did I miss the memo? Was there a memo? And can I slap whoever was responsible?

In other news, the sixth human foot to wash ashore in British Colombia has been found, on closer examination, to be an animal paw. Which is all very well, but I’m still none too happy wondering where the other five came from.

Who knows? Maybe they’ve been blasted.