It was the beginning of Advent last week, and I attended church for the annual celebration.
While I am not an overly religious individual, I believe that Christianity has a profound power and symbolism. It’s something I don’t believe I can explain – more than simply solitude and reflection.
As the sounds of Fantasia and Fugue in G minor echoed through the cathedral, a motet choir cut a solemn path through the east wing. We lit candles and the canon blessed the congregation. By the end of the service, I felt more than catharsis, I felt the hardened wax crackling on my fingers.
I think about the people we’ve lost, as is typical at this time of year. It is with a heavy heart that once again my year has been marked by tragedy. A few days ago, a good friend reported that an old work colleague had taken his own life. I have lost three very good friend to suicide this year, all of them were in their forties. The leading cause of death for men under fifty is suicide. If you know someone who is on their own this Christmas, give them a call. Better yet, invite them over for Christmas dinner.
On a less spiritual note, I bid farewell to another friend this year, but we had not spoken in a long time. MTV shuts down at the end of the year. As someone who was born in the final minutes of the 1970s, I am a member of Generation X, the so-called ‘MTV Generation’. The demise of MTV can be interpreted in many ways as the fading relevance of Gen-X.
Regardless of its flaws, it drew us together. For a few brief moments, it defined the zeitgeist – everyone over the age of fifty can recall where they were when Thriller was released, and Headbangers Ball encouraged a generation to form awful thrash metal bands in our parents’ garages. While it might have felt more like a connection to a shopping mall, it still brought us together.
This connection has been severed, lost to an age of AI slop and doom scrolling as podcasters yell into the ether.
The story of the year comes from the New York fashion show where it was revealed that models wore outfits made exclusively of wool from gay sheep. According to the designer, Michael Schmidt, the goal was to raise awareness of the fact that gay rams are often slaughtered by farmers. It had never occurred to me that farmers were so homophobic, enraged by the sight of male sheep kissing and mincing around the fields, wearing pink fleece. It is clear that they are too busy watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race to impregnate ewes. Farmers must do more to be allies of the gay sheep community, and report hate crimes committed by bigoted pigs and cows. I’d best keep an eye on my two kittens; they’re ethno-nationalist.
Steve Smith is my sportsman of the year. In January, the 35-year-old scored a century against Sri Lanka to pass 10,000 runs in test cricket. Smudge joins an exclusive club that includes Brian Lara, Ricky Ponting, and Sachin Tendulkar, in reaching this milestone.
I won’t be cooking the meal this year. I intend to spend the next few weeks in the mountains, surrounded by friends, family and most of all whisky. Gentleman Jack, to be precise. I spent years slaving away in kitchens, mastering the finer points of French cooking. Yet nothing warms my heart more than having someone cooking for me. A plate full of chestnut stuffing, roasted potatoes in duck fat, and slow-roasted leg of lamb in rosemary and mint sauce says more about love than a thousand diamond rings. Fingers crossed, I am not served a mushroom Wellington.
Men, I think I’ve found that unique Christmas gift for your wife this year. A Karen therapy centre, also known as a rage room, is a place for displacing pent-up anger. Women who feel upset after being denied a chance to speak with a manager or when a man explains something to them can opt to pay someone to smash items in padded, and often soundproofed, rooms. Simply book a slot, give her a sledgehammer and lock her in a room for half an hour. A commercialised catharsis that is less expensive than therapy. Or a divorce lawyer.
Apparently, women all over the world are becoming more angry based on an analysis of ten years of data. In recent years, women have proven to be six percentage points more angry than men, based on an annual survey from the Gallup World Poll. Forget the gender pay gap, there’s now a gender rage gap. See lefties, not all forms of disparity are caused by discrimination. It would appear women are mad as hell, and they ain’t gonna take it no more!
Despite saying goodbye to some wonderful friends, I’ve made some incredible new acquaintances. Most of all, I’d like to thank Rowan and Alexandra for giving me the opportunity to write for this most distinguished publication – for which I am eternally thankful.
I hope I have made you all think, and perhaps even laugh this year. Life is short and precious. Merry Christmas.
If you need help in a crisis, call Lifeline on 13 11 14. For further information about depression contact beyondblue on 1300 224 636 or talk to your GP.
