30.3.00
A Tomato Is Not A Security Threat
(Or, "Queenie Go Home")
Let me preface this by saying that not only am I opinionated and loud-mouthed, I'm not a big fan of royalty. I probably don't have much place to comment on the Queen-of-England-as-Australia's-head-of-state argument considering that I'm leaving this country in a little over a week, but for the entire span of my life thus far I've lived in a place where our ultimate form of "authority", even if mostly ceremonial, is an old rich woman living so far outside my realm of understanding that I can barely grasp it, and this irks me somewhat. I feel the head of state should be an Australian, and one that actually lives within its continental confines. Finding an ideal candidate for the job (i.e., one that is not a member of the "old boys" club, and has a perspective and point of view on all matter of issues and topics that can be defined as broad) would not be an easy task, and explaining to the majority of voting-age Australians what having a republic actually means would be as difficult, if not more.
(Case in point: the referendum held in recent months whereby we were meant to decide on what model of republic/monarchy we should have, with the results being overwhelmingly - and disappointingly - in favour of keeping the Queen as our head of state. I point this out only because our current government - and I'm looking at you, John "Can I Please Play With The Big Kids Now?" Howard - are too much into their ideals that they phrased the questions awkwardly and confused even the most intelligent of voters over what they were actually asking. I would have to say that most people voted incorrectly, because the Republic model actually looked like they were asking us to keep the Queen. And I am digressing yet again...)
Where was I?
Oh yes. Royalty, more notably Queen Elizabeth. For about the last week, old Lizzie has been gallavanting around the country with her entourage (and large collection of ridiculous-looking hats), causing dyed-in-the-wool monarchists to swoon in their thousands, ruddy-cheeked old grandmotherly types bringing their tiny and impressionable young grandchildren to see said Queen, fawning over her when interviewed in the news and spouting such notable gems as, "I want my grandchildren to feel the magic of the royal family, to know what it was like for me to grow up along with the Queen." Pass me a scone, please, so I may throw it at that woman's head.
Small children are being pushed up towards Elizabeth whilst she takes a turn around town (oh, how gracious for her to mingle amongst the little people! Be still my beating heart!), bearing bouquets of flowers almost as big as their wee noggins, probably not understanding at all who this blue-haired woman is. I don't understand. If I had children, the only reason I'd take them to stare at the Queen whilst she wanders slowly up and down streets lined with gaping admirers is to say, "See? That lady over there hasn't actually done anything for this country at all, and most people you ask wouldn't be able to give evidence to the contrary, but they'll still fall all over themselves to watch her take a walk, for pity's sake." My hypothetical children would then look at me with wide eyes and be disappointed that I wasn't, in fact, taking them out for icecream, and instead have to look at some filthy rich woman surrounded by security people.
"What? What was that? Oh, a point. Yes, there is one. I'm getting to it, I'm just taking the long way. Alright? Okay, thanks for calling."
Anyway. The most annoying thing about the copious media attention old Lizzie is getting is the real and/or perceived "security threats" surrounding her visits. One was a man who was reported to have been a "knife-wielding maniac", claming to be part of her pack of security guards. I'm not dismissing the risk of such a nutbar being amongst those wanting to see the Queen, and correct me if I'm wrong, but when someone has a blade strapped to their leg, I don't think that counts as "wielding".
Then there's the furore over John Howard touching/not touching the Queen, thereby violating/not violating "royal protocol". I think a gently guiding hand lightly against the middle of someone's back, even if said guiding hand belongs to a complete schmuck, is not exactly a breach of protocol. It would be a different matter if John Howard had, say, groped her or given her a nipple tweak in full view of the world's media (or even behind the scenes!), but there wasn't even a touch. I must ask why the media is devoting page upon page of speculation to this boring topic.
Today's "security breach" is just going too far. Apparently someone lobbed a tomato in Her Royal Highness' general direction, and it has been all over the news. She didn't even notice! I hardly think that a tomato, unless that tomato is concealing an ultra-high-tech explosive device not unlike that seen in James Bond films, is a "threat". Madam, I have had tomatoes thrown at me, and I think it is more a laughing matter than anything else. I wish there was more fruit-and-vegetable throwing when there's royals around. Maybe that will deter them from prancing around the world on yachts and going on random tours like they're some kind of bona fide celebrity, and I can have some peace and quiet from their quaint, royal annoyance.
"Bitter much?"
"I know! Tell me about it. That girl just doesn't know how to hold her bile."
"Speaking of tomatoes, she should read some more of Sarah's work. She needs a little more polish."
"Hey! What the hell? Stop critiquing me."
"Sorry."
In other news, I spent a good chunk of my afternoon and evening trying to clean out my room. (There are two days until Nathan is here. Two. Two! Please pray that his plane gets here safely.) Considering that there's less than ten days until I leave, I've probably left the beginning of the whole "moving out" process a little too late, but I'm making up for it now. Slightly. In any case, most of the progress was made in throwing out old birthday/Christmas cards and other sentimental junk (I actually had an envelope in one of my desk drawers labelled "cards and other sentimental junk". I was a cynic even in my early youth). I also had the misfortune to stumble upon old diaries (less horrifying were the notes passed along during boring classes in high school - it made me remember how almost all of the eighth grade was spent in an endless cycle of notebooks and letters passed back and forth between my circle of friends, a trend I wish had stuck around for a little more...) - I actually ended up throwing one or two of these journals out, they were so bad. Nathan wanted me to keep most of my journals so I could read them later in life, but there are just some things you need to rid yourself of. I can accept that during school I was a boy-crazy know-nothing, but I can't accept the writing that was far less than eloquent. I'm ashamed of the terrible sentences and overly-colloquial way of writing - it made me seem eight, not thirteen or fourteen. In no way am I making a claim towards endless maturity within myself right now, but my God, how cringe-worthy I was back then. I hate the self I was then, and having had her buried for so long, I have no wish to wallow in resurfaced words and memories. I like my life the way it is now - and hope that it can only get better.
