I miss Matt Price

Matt Price would probably be my favourite journalist. When I think of other essayists I have enjoyed reading (Helen Garner, Chloe Hooper, Arthur Miller, Kate Holden, Lara Dubeck (? girl who writes for the age) and some long lost net guy who used to post weekly reviews of 90210 the morning after that included huge sidetracks and reminisces of his junior year abroad in Europe, and in retrospect I think he may have been a secret net persona of Douglas Coupland...) I would still probably put Matt Price at number one, or at least equal number one with Helen Garner because he never wrote a column I didn't like.

Many come to mind (an ode to the bereaved classmates of his children, whose parents were killed by a DUI; an ode to Cynthia Banham) and what appealed was his rounded nature and ability to enjoy the high ends of politics side by side with sport and rock and roll music. An intelligent guy liking AFL legitimised the interest for me (and elevated it beyond the common place bogan element I was more used to). Matt commentated without pomp or attitude and gave you the inside story on the political gallery in Canberra, the Walkley awards. His writing was of such a high standard that he made it look easy; and you felt his humanitarian edge.

On Monday as Andy and I read the obituary we were both in tears, choked with emotion about how vastly unfair it was that such a great intellect, humble and funny, should die at only 46; for me the fact that it was a brain tumour seemed like a cruel paradox.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Anniversary of Grandad

When my youngest was young, eldest thought he was Grandad reincarnated (same day of earth arrival). As it happens, Grandad died on my nephew's birthday, which we celebrate this year at a pub that is okay but nothing special, compared to gaslight , as enthusiastically recommended to Guy.  Nephew agreed people who barrack for the Crows are like flat earthers. I like Melbournite's admiring my Tigers scarf.  SIL came by to pick up youngest who offered to help with chores if I didn't make him leave and told her he'd made himself baked beans and a chip butty, like a before character on a heart attack advertisement.  Meanwhile eldest unhappy ever since he headlined, I feel like a bad parent for sending him to a Car clew camp. Right now, he's chatting on the phone about something being 'bad', his friend is asking 'how bad' he's saying, 'pretty bad', but I can't tell if he's talking about his pash rash or cello practice or a faux pas.  (Up...
Read more

Little gems

This evening, I was reading to the kid. Every book I read at night time (and many books I read in the day) are about going to sleep. The message is getting through. When I read out the catchphrase "Do you need to go to sleep?" he closed his eyes and made pretend snoring sounds. So much fun! He had a busy evening rearranging baking trays and lego displays and trying to build the tallest lego tower that wouldn't fall over and eventually I found art invites and lego in the oven. I also decided to empty my handbag. Open bills. Sort my life out. Try and get back on track. This is all prompted by asking a colleague for something from her handbag (I shudder to think what-hopefully money, hopefully not a tissue) and seeing her sort through clutter that included the voting slip from 2010 Federal Election. Anyway, I found a diary entry, scribbled on paper, which I may have written here in different form: "Different films I've liked that have been 'mood' number...
Read more

Little Women and Family Albums

I was watching Little Women, the Greta Gerwig version with Laura Dern and a cool girl that plays Amy, production captured the organic texture of houses and textured colours. This version is not linear, and I was multi-tasking by taking to family photos with the scissors, not to excise people, but resize photos taken by a rellie pointing camera blindly, collecting from store with high hopes, only to discover they're no Max Dupain. 
Read more