Three moments in my life have prompted me to question humanity at its very core.

The first was when Jerry Seinfeld observed: “People, they’re the worst.” I thought about this for a moment, remembered I’d once carried my cat by its tail, and decided he was right. The second was when I woke up from a big night at a friend’s party, and discovered my mate’s pillow had been callously stolen. Who steals a pillow? Ugh, people. Right?
The third was when I learned #WhoisPaulMcCartney? was trending on Twitter during the Grammys.
Wait. WHAT? Who is Paul McCartney? R U 4 reelz? This kind of ignorance is maddening and calls for a serious case of #headdesk.
It’s far more unforgiveable than, say, the cabbie who told me moving to Sydney was a mistake, or the ex-colleague who said Geelong is a better place than Melbourne because “it’s more Australian… you know what I mean?” Yes, I know what you mean, and you smell. Take a shower.
But I digress. The point is this. People, in 2012, don’t know who Paul McCartney is. The same people who scream themselves hoarse for Gaga, crush on Bieber’s girlish boy-fro and get their glow-sticks in a twist for Nicky Minaj.
Not that the Grammys was without its fair share of Twitter ignorance, mind.
Karl Stefanovic was confused when Bon Iver took out Best New Artist, in part because Australia’s larrikin de jour thought he looked like Eddie Vedder. As Karl concluded: He doesn’t. And, at the risk of inciting blind hatred among Pearl Jam fans still desperately clinging to the legacy of a poor man’s Nirvana, that’s an insult to Justin Vernon.
Did I get off-track again? Soz. As Karl made the distinction between folk and hard rock, the rest of us can make this distinction: People who know who Sir Paul McCartney is, and hence have a capacity to appreciate the significance of The Beatles, are cool. People who do not, are dead to me.
The Beatles didn’t just sing about a Revolution, they were the revolution, man. Without meandering into the Lennon v McCartney debate (for those playing at home, I’m totally Team Paul), the Abbey Road foursome were a forced to be reckoned with.
If you’re reading this, and you seriously don’t know who The Beatles are, then jump on Wikipedia and school yourself. Go on. Right now. I’ll wait. Like them, don’t like them? Doesn’t matter. Simply knowing who they are exempts you from that very special class of cultural douchebag. And not having to ask “WOTZ A BEATLEZ?” reveals your parents did an adequate job of raising you.
I may never get to see P-Mac in the flesh (I can say that, we’re bros), but I do have the chance to see one his greatest contemporaries - Roger Waters - when he rocks The Wall in Sydney tonight. And no amount of Twignorance is going to ruin that for me.
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@AndrewCatsaras Agreed. Kills more people than AIDS. Yet tolerated. Meanwhile: Good Insiders piece again Andrew.
RT @JamieTravers: I'm in Europe and don't care for Eurovision, why is my twitter feed filled with Aussies recounting the bloody thing!?
Ukraine song pinches chord progression from The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony. Fo real #sbseurovision
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