From Joy To Vexation In 450 Words
Sydney Morning Herald
Wednesday August 13, 2008
THE Heckler-wannabe is a frustrated animal. Occasionally, the work of a hyperactive brain is rewarded with a spot on the hallowed page and you're the talk of the watercooler for a week; almost as famous as Stephanie and Libby, but not quite.
For the most part, though, Hecklerites are doomed to week after disappointed week of reading other people's heckles - and trying not to laugh. Take the subject matter. Hopelessly addicted to constructing the written word in a fashion that might be attractive to others, we spend many thoughtful hours on just this subject. I thought, with the Olympics rapidly approaching, a few light-hearted takes on the Games might be appropriate. Trouble is, most Heckler aspirants had come to the same conclusion, the latest being Darren Armstrong yesterday. Loved your work, Darren. A year ago, when parking appeared to be an "in" topic, I dashed off many hilarious (well, I thought they were funny) pieces about placing the car in advantageous positions. But other Heckler writers have cars. And a couple of years ago, when bananas were in the news, I wrote Hecklers about them until I was yellow in the face. I've introduced my own topics with varying success. I had some reward with trying to get a sandwich in a cafe minus the huge white plate with fern growing on it. And a couple of times I've broached, with nary a glimmer of response, supermarket shelves overstocked with hair products. I thought it was funny as a circus - apparently not. Quite often I've sent in a piece about the strange goings-on in beauty salons, when you are mid-facial and your attendant glides from the darkened room, mentioning in hushed tones that she is "going to leave you with a waterfall", which proceeds to cascade onto your surprised face for 20 minutes, while she (I'm guessing here) goes off to read a magazine. No, the conclusion I've come to is that a Heckler writer's lot is not a happy one. Then again, the joy when you get a guernsey is unadulterated. I sit by the phone all day and receive the accolades. Let me see, there's still a week and a half of Olympics. Does anybody else think it's funny the way weightlifters' legs most resemble the legs of my oldest, dearest and most infirm friends?
© 2008 Sydney Morning Herald