Why narcissism boosts your online following

Whilst for many, the opportunity - indeed, the encouragement - to utilise the web as a means of publishing your diary or nearest equivalent (particularly if you intern within a government agency) is a dream come true for many.

For all too long people were unaware that your room's a mess, you just got all your exam results back - and with exceedingly great results to boot - and that you just cannot, CANNOT wait for the premiere of Junior Masterchef.

Even by way of 140 characters, abbreviations are adapting, arguably at the expense of the English language, twitter just won't die out of the fad period.

With the (favourable) exception of my mumsy, who thankfully protects her professional discretion as a psychiatrist, bloody everyone is on facebook.

Each day carefully tending the Farmville harvest whilst posting another lot of photos you scanned through from 10 years ago or in the case of my auntie in Israel, regaling second place in a bridge competition.

But would you believe that for many people, twitter is a bloody nightmare, and yet: a Necessary Evil.

For wannabe journos anyhow. If Tom can get a job simply by launching an innovative blogger page, then you can imagine how many similar pipedreams are born around this very notion.

I do feel self-conscious over the perverse number of social networks that I belong to; albeit, half-arsedly, but in this day a new existential crisis has arisen: if it's not on facebook, it doesn't exist...

This is obviously the feeling of another good mate - and comrade - who is on twitter purely to better her chances of securing employment within the ABC...


Her current following stands at around 10 - and I say this not at all scathingly: hell I don't exactly have any potential as a cult leader if twitter is any kind of indicator - but may soon surge into the hundreds.

Well, thanks to a couple of throwaway lines from myself, she is learning just how easily one can blow their own trumpet in the nonchalant fashion of twitter and it's been a breakthrough..

For example, whilst using the 2ser twitter login to plug some wares or another, I asked her how long it took her to get 2ser onboard with her own account.

Wide-eyed with awe, she was amazed by the genius notion, and has since gotten to the stage of suggesting (read, coercing) others to RT her tweets.

I may just have created a monster...

Why migspace was taking back seat..and now it's ridin shotgun

In the vain hope of communicating with whomever originally stopped by for s scathing once-over, I return to the post of self-obsessed web-publishing abuser


in a bizarre moment where I am not - refreshingly - obsessing over ways in which a group of year 6 girls may debate over the virtues of whaling, or hounding some self-proclaimed media expert or the like for a 4th Estate story (this, in fact is not due to any great virtuous act of my own, but more the fact that there is absolutely shit-all to report on in the "maligned democracy" that is our 4th Estate..


Oh, wait, except of course that awesome coincidence of Herald Sun revelation of lil drug moll jr. Dakota Williams goin to some poxy private school - and off our hard-earned tax dollar, fancy! -  but, dang, turns out some lil bastardo already has sorted out this role of media in the death of underworld serial killer, Carl Williams...Case closed, I revert back to the medium partly responsible for killing the industry...


And goatie is a case in point, just how the bloody hell does this "footage" denote even the slightest inclination towards cinematographic merit, almost any youtube clip would boast greater credits...


I believe that it was Leunig that regaled the existence of this deadly assassin, in his book "Goatperson" he pens a poem that concludes..

Good morning, well connected, Goat!

Parental guidance only required in cases of hyper-imagination...


This is all of great concern as I have been in an extremely casual position of radio producer for all of a couple a months and even since then, the signs seem all to point against any potential for a hip and happenin shock jock wannabe as myself..apparently it's all a boy's club, so dang, I am in fact, in the hardcore throes of repressed opression..


But, hey, in fact, I am no longer spending lusty and longing nights in the company of the saucy Spaniard cleaner (whom, for lack of imagination, have dubbed, "Rosa") emerging via secret passageway slinking her way around 2ser, adorned in neon rubber gloves and a world-wearied frown...what with her and the graveyard blues man KK, it was becoming quite the intimate occasion..


What this in fact means is that my sanity levels are increasing with improved production measures of 4th Estate..but hey judge for yourself if you so desire, i enforced a twitter reportage ban awhile back now, so don't think that this is in anyway an inspired or new idea in media reportage..


So, now, I turn back to the old faithful, typing ground that doesn't break off with a dazed look of befuddlement as I continue on in digression...(today on the show was a corker, going from Melbourne Talk Radio to pharmaceutical conspiracy based product placement, although, on paper, it doens't seem like such a stretch..)


So, watch this (mig)space, more shall evolve, including the most amusing anecdotal part of my life, my role as debating coach for Year 5, 6 and 12 girls belonging to one of the most opulent and grandeur educational institutions (the term school doesn't quite cut it here..) that my skanky Newy past has never quite readied me for...


Receiving critical acclaim for excellence in the field of Friday-night pub banter: a startling insight into the pageant world of North Sydney debating competition...expect a wordpress blog, "Mass-Debating"...bedtime now, methinks...