TBS Editor-in-Chief Mathew Mackie has stood on the nearest chair and announced that he’d like to say a few words in honour of 2015. Oh dear.
What a year.
2015, imma let you finish, but first I have to say a few things. Please pardon the custard subjectivity of this rant. I hope it doesn’t make your eyes traipse back to the smutty confines of your textual conversation with bae.
What I will say is that 2015 has been a bouncy castle with an electrified floor. Rolling down a hill. On fire. With snakes in it. A year where I’ve been dragged through the jagged riverbed of emotional detritus, before scaling a golden rope earnestly flung toward me, before seeing it cut just as I secured it around my waist.
2015 was one of great discovery and great doubt. A year of external knowledge and vast introspection. To paraphrase Ray Liotta in Goodfellas “…It was a time when I met the world”. In the year since, I’ve learned that sharing information on a wanky topic is ok, the shuffling your feet into the ground before taking a stand is tantamount, and most of all, there are people out there who think as I do.
Not in sharing a view on the same topic, but in the realms of seeing things differently. Not accepting the black-and-white absolutes of what we are told by names that have stood long before us. That’s what makes us unique. After all, Black-and-white mashed together makes grey. And you know what else is grey?
To the Writers, to my regulars and irregulars, to those I know too little and far too much of. I appreciate the sharp honesty of how we dance the bladed tango of creation. Watching your words grow (and yes, growing cynical counts) is like watching your progeny flower. Naw. I realise I can be unreasonable and grind my feet on your metaphorical couches, but I’m proud of what we’ve produced thus far, and I trust the magnetic warriors alongside me will swing the ragged literary axe into pristine derma of 2016.
To the Subs, Dawes & Sam, I appreciate your effort, (and decapitalisation), but mostly in the powerful fervour in which you pray at the altar of TBS.
Alexannddrraaaa. Starsky to my Hutch, Drake to my Kendrick, Black to my Flag. I’m honoured that you trust me enough to step-dad your media baby, and I’ve learned a great deal from you. Be it from your insane work ethic, lighting inspiration through support my insane ideas, and to the turgid fear wrought through unknown Facebook Messenger messages that read “Alexandra Tselios has sent you a message” It’s been a crazy but wonderful ride. Like a train trip home with a lucid drunk. And yes, while you exposed me to the filthy bowels of awful house music(which I feel you need to answer for), I’m looking forward to destroying all in 2016 – Through education!
I would like to seal this waffle with an earnest thank you, directed at those who don’t get nearly enough praise. Those who are read the previous sentence, those who read us devoutly, agnostically or atheistically. Those who fire indefatigable thumbs on facebook and those who humbly devote yourselves to exposing our errors.
We love you.
I speak for all under the TBS tent, when I say that we adore the giddy rush of validation, our insecurities breaking out in pimpled warmth when you casually flay us with “The Big Smoke? Yeah, I read that!”
It makes us feel like Sandra Dee gushing to her gal-pals over Danny Zucko. But unlike Sandy, we shall not change who we are. We’re going to stay true to our virginal Australian spirit, and leave Danny at the Drive-in. I’ve lost the thread here, but what I’m trying to say is, without the audience, we’re just talking to ourselves.
You. You are the stars. There’s one ‘u’ in ‘us’. And that’s everybody.
I’m looking forward to getting better, smarter and more us in the upcoming year.
See you all in 2016.