The PMS Problem

<rant>

I'm having a bit of an issue with PMS at the moment.

PMS you ask? Knowing too well that I talk about menopause with the freedoms. I talk about most things. 

Yes. PMS. 

PALE MALE SYNDROME

A South African friend told me of the term. They used to have a bit of a problem with entitled white men over there. By the end of aparthied, it was getting very hard for them to get work. And that will open up a whole other kettle of worms so I'll get to where I'm going. 

Anyway's I've reappropriated the term to mean any entitled white man - normally past 40. 

We talked about it over the weekend. PMS, that wonderful situation you find when encountering an entitled male, who is either sticking around, because, you know, they will tell you, they're entitled to be there, or entitled to be heard, or that they're just entitled to exist within your realm, when you'd be just as happy without them. (Thankfully none of the men on the retreat had PMS - they'd be too scared to show any sort of entitlement - there would be blood if they did).

It may be something which some men don't feel. Either they're emotionally able, better trained, or just not arseholes. 

But I've been seeing a lot of PMS. 

At work, there are quite a few examples of PMS. Basically you take a barely competent, nornally middle-aged, more than likely caucasian, man and watch him get shuffled from one department to another, being barely productive and not being that useful at all. They don't seem to get perfomanced managed out. Nobody really complains about their uselessness - well not at a higher management level. Those around them, particularly competent women, wonder why the hell they don't do something about them. 

Then yesterday, in editing class, we were paired up with another classmate to edit each other's work. 

I know what I produce isn't great, but I was given the task of editing this fellow's pride and joy, which he was obviously in love with, as we are all just a little bit in love with our projects. 

But oh my. I spent two hours on the job, going through line by line, correcting grammar, stripping out cliches, pointing out plot holes, mentioning the the overuse of exclamation marks  and elipses isn't overly attractive, discussed how he wavered from the third person omniscient to the third person close... and the list went on. 

How confident he was of his work (which left me rather cold, but I could see some good in the story). 

But he was confident in his work - he was sure his unpolished turd of a manuscript had a wonderful saleability. 

Why? 

Because, of course, he's a man. A white, boomer man. Who nobody has probably ever said no to. 

(By the way, his comments on my work ranged from I should state one of my characters height in centimetres, not feet and inches, that he too had a friend by the name of one of my characters, who had a similar characteristic, and I shouldn't make jokes about paedophilia, even though I wasn't, more just referencing Bill Henson photos in jest. Fun. I don't think he got it - mind you, anybody who hasn't laid down on the Art Gallery floor and watched the ceiling here in Melbourne, has no soul, and I need to take this into consideration)

I'm over PMS. Look at the media - how many broadcasters are men in their middle age and beyond keeping their bully pulpit? Why can't new, fresh blood come in (i.e. Why do Alan Jones, Andrew Bolt, John Singleton, Jeremy Cordeaux, .... and on and on ad infinitum, still get airplay?)

Aren't we beyond this?

Isn't it time we held some of these entitled arseholes to account ? 

That's better.

They call this writing around the problem. 

Thank you for listening.

</rant>

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