And the Oscar goes to…

This is my acceptance speech, my gracious reception of the Pulitzer, my acknowledgement of the exceptional taste displayed by the judges of the Man Booker Prize, my humble gratitude to the bestowers of the Nobel Prize for Literature, and my thanks for the Eisner… etc.

You may have noticed, but I don’t do this sort of thing very often.

If you haven’t noticed, you really ought to fuck off now. And don’t come back, you’re a fucking moron.

Sorry, sorry, that’s not much in keeping with the spirit of the occasion and all that is it?

So…

I’ve left this a little late, you might think, to be counted amongst the ubiquitous messages of hope and good will that are spawned by the replacing of calendars around the globe. And you’d be right. That was the point. Why the fuck we attach so much importance to such an arbitrary distinction I have no idea. We might as well start the new year on March 31st. Much more appropriate, as far as I’m concerned…

I can’t deny, however, that I have been somewhat caught up in the whole spirit of renewal, of change and hope and all that. I have actually made a couple of resolutions this time around, which is something I usually denounce with great prejudice: Honestly, what’s with the reliance on January 1st? If you want to change something, pull your fucking head out of your arse and change it.

But resolutions are irrelevant here, considering getting all in love with the world wasn’t on my list.

I did, however, get a little bit in love.

I don’t exactly work in a high stress environment, quite the opposite in fact – which is quite stressful at times. Nor do I have childrens to take up my time, or extra-curricular group events to feel obliged to turn up to three times a week, etc, etc. For all that though, my little Eastern sojourn felt like the first time in a long time that I’ve actually relaxed.

I stopped being uptight about how much I was writing everyday – or wasn’t writing, to be more precise – and I exercised because it was fun – wait, Golf qualifies as exercise right? I just spent time lying around, overeating, swimming in worry-free (read: sharkless) water. I even played a spot of tennis.

The dire result of all this tranquillity, the slackening of my furious eye, was a disturbingly invigorated appreciation of life, of the people who make it a worthwhile endeavour, and of all the wondrous places I spend time in – yes, ok Perth, even you’re quite lovely, for all your boganism and conservative propaganda.

So, while I’m still running around smiling rather scowling at passersby, let’s go back to the podium.

This is not, in fact, my acceptance speech, it’s my bestowal speech.

And the prize goes to…

Heather, of course, first and foremost. The list would take up a month if I were to go into detail, but essentially for being an unshakeable support, an inspiration, a challenge, for being funny as fuck, and for being perfect… for me.

The parents, for all usual things, for creating a family that none of us want to get the fuck away from, and for being clever enough to beget me.

Will, for being who he is, and being an artistic inspiration, and being fucking good at it. And Erin, for being a sweetheart, and for keeping him in line.

The rest of the clan, for all that clannish stuff.

The Old Man, for being eager, insightful, and a bloody good laugh. Semaj, my brother from another mother, who needs no further explanation. Shwom, who needs far more explanation than even he is probably capable of.

The Byron Christmas bunch, for starting it all off. The Sydney lot, for remaining beautiful in a city full of wankers – and by extension the Sydney High Diaspora.

The lovely Salome Jones, for… well… go and find out for yourselves. She’s amazing. And by extension, General Ghostwoods, Grim, and the rest of the Red Phone Box lot. Wazza and the Penmonkey for being freaks and all that.

The Edinburgh Clan, for adding to my pervasive nostalgia.

The Planet (universe, multiverse, etc) for being monumentally fucking amazing, awe inspiring, and inexplicable. Stop trying to work it all out you lot, and stop FUCKING IT UP you other lot.

Alright, that’s it, you’ve got your love, light and quinoa (formerly known as peace, love and mung beans). You can fuck off now. And don’t ask for a repeat, we’ll be back to normal next week.

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~ by Gethin A. Lynes on January 10th, 2012.

One Response to “And the Oscar goes to…”

  1. Aw, too cute! 😉

    Love you too mate.

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