three chairs

Oh To Be Slim and Pretty

2012-02-05T11:06:00.000+13:00

This sort of ignorance bugs me. If she's truly in the dark about it, then she must be completely insensitive and self-centred. If it's just a writing tool, then... she must be completely insensitive and self-centred.

Unhealthy body image seems to be the domain of women. But it isn't.

Does Feeney imagine for one second that little boys don't notice the world around them? Does she think they don't hear and see the messages little boys, teenagers, and adult men are bombarded with every minute of every day?

I don't know when she "grew up". I'd like to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I don't see an ounce of maturity in her article so I'll assume she's a really old, wise, 20 something knowitall. I'd wager she's thin and doesn't have a "cellulite concern" either.

Ahh... what would we do without Google. After writing the above I looked her up, and check, check, and probably check (although, to be fair she might be an old, wise early-30-something knowitall). And she's "an expert" on sex and relationships. The mind boggles.

What magical formula in Feeney's Universe allows girls and women to see and understand the negative body messages surrounding us, but delivers boys and men from their harmful effects?
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Busker's World First

2012-01-29T21:13:00.000+13:00

Mild-mannered plate-spinning
Peter Mielniczek

On the last show of the last day of the World Busker's Festival, no one could predict what was going to happen. Add to the tension a cooling rain, a red beret, and a precocious 4 year old, and the inevitable transpired. Dry-humoured plate-spinning Brit Peter Mielniczek created history (we think). For a full seven minutes, Mielniczek (pronounced "Mielniczek") worked two crowds, two shows at two venues, two sets of gags, and wowed everyone, including (it seemed) even his fellow buskers.

Le Tigre Bleu, Group Show @ 4.30

Well into his plate-spinning, chocolate bar stomping, topless dashing routine, it appeared he was losing control. A young boy named James was stealing the show. Precocious, cute, but a little annoying, James wooed the audience with his cute philosophising. Mielniczek was visibly shaken by the boy's clever responses. Time was running out. He was losing the crowd (not really, but it sounds more dramatic that way. The kid was adorable and Mielniczek was working it like a master). But time was running out. Mielniczek was due in Le Tigre Bleu, an indoor stage opposite the CocaCola Stage where he was, for a bit part in the group show.

So, with time against him, and after two (good-hearted) warnings from fellow buskers, Mielniczek did the unthinkable (at least, to the uninitiated, I imagine such a thing would be unthinkable). He told his audience to wait. He'd be back. Yes. He told the gathered crowd, who had not paid to see him, who were sitting in the cold spitty rain, and from whom he was expecting/hoping to get money as long as they stayed there, to wait. Just let me do this little thing, over there, and I'll be back.
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Another Gap Filled

2012-01-25T07:40:00.000+13:00

SHAC co-ordinator Tim Bishop on the site of an innovative new project

Gap filler, "a creative urban regeneration initiative" which was born in the wake of Christchurch's September 2010 earthquake and really took off after February's (2011), is building an office in Colombo Street Sydenham. The office will be relocatable, but initially on the site of the old Ascot TV shop, next to Coffee Zone.

Printing plates from The Press will clad some of the
walls of Gap Filler's new office

SHAC (Sustainable Habitat Challenge) is overseeing the project which will see a less than 10 sq.m space made almost entirely of recycled materials. SHAC co-ordinator Tim Bishop says its fun to work on an experimental project like this. The innovative building project brings together a team of volunteers, and the finished office will be up and running in a week (by the 28th). The innovations are Mark Fielding developed pallet walls using recycled polystyrene for insulation. Recycled carpet lines the inner walls, and outside walls will be clad with recycled printing plates from The Press.

FOX

2012-01-23T17:25:00.000+13:00

Stupid Facebook wouldn't let me post the link to this video, but I thought it was worth sharing. Who says FOX doesn't have a sense of humour?

Mundi

2012-01-16T01:02:00.001+13:00

What a beautiful day today in Christchurch. The Breeze Lazy Sundays had lined up Mundi, a "world-jazz" band. Awesome. That's what I'd call them. It was a kind of Paul Winter meets Jethro Tull feeling on the lawn. Mellow yet invigorating; jauntingly earthy.

Several hundred people lined the shaded area of the Archery Lawn in Hagley Park's Botanical Gardens. Chilly bins, deck chairs, wine coolers and tanned bodies slowly filled the grassy amphitheatre as Mundi warmed up and tested sound.

I knew as soon as I saw the banjo I was sold.There's not enough banjo music in New Zealand. If I'da had twenty bucks I'd have bought the CD (Mundi's latest album, In the Blink of an Eye) just on the back of the banjo. Founding member Tyson Smith (right) also plays guitar.

Front woman (and also founding member) and brilliant flautist Tamara Smith charmed the audience with some haunting tunes, her funky cool glasses, and did I mention some brilliant flute mastery? Having studied classical music, according to NZ Music Teachers Online, a love of world music, jazz, rock, and blues brought her to Christchurch Polytech Jazz School where she received a Bachelor in Musical Arts and a Diploma in Teaching and Learning from the College of Education.

Mundi captured the Lazy Sunday crowd in an hour and a half set, accompanied by guest singer Roslen Langton, and dancer extraordinaire Emily Napolitano.

Some of Mundi, and many other bands will be performing at The Drum Festival at the Little River Campground on January 28-29. Check out the LRC website for more details.

Technology

2012-01-14T12:16:00.002+13:00

Things should me made as simple as possible, but not any simpler

- Albert Einstein

I'm not the stupidest guy around. I used to feel like I was, but nowadays I feel I can hold my own on a lot of topics, but I am hardly an "expert" on anything.

Especially when it comes to technology. Technology vexes me. Greatly.

It's the 21st Century. I've already given up on the promises made last century by those "in the know" that by now we'd have flying cars, light-speed travel, and transporter machines. Now my hopes and requirements are much simpler. For now I'd just like to have a toaster that doesn't burn crumpets.

It seems to me, though, in my simplicity, that "technology" is not all that it's cracked up to be. The oft used example is that if fridges ran like computers consumers would be up in arms about the inefficiency. But, of course, it's not just limited to computers.

Coffee 2 go

2012-01-12T09:13:00.001+13:00

It's commonly known that I am not a coffee connoisseur. I'm an instant coffee guy. And I mean that. A few years ago (quite a few) when friends and I frequented a certain Muffin Break (in the old Northlands Mall), I talked the proprietor into keeping a bag of instant coffee in the bottom cupboard just for me. So every day he'd make me an instant coffee, charge me four dollars and laugh all the way to the bank.

I still drink instant coffee, and the cheaper the better. I like the Home Brand and Budget brews. Why pay ten bucks for a bag of Nescafe when the cheaper stuff for two ninety nine a bag, sometimes as low as one sixty nine, taste just the same?

When I go to Coffee Culture I wish I could get a decent cup of instant coffee. Not perked either. That stuff's just nasty.
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Sunrise

2012-01-07T11:54:00.001+13:00

Sumner Sunrise

"For me optimism is two lovers walking into the sunset arm in arm. Or maybe into the sunrise - whatever appeals to you."
- Krzysztof Kieslowski

I think I'm a sunrise person. It appeals to me (more than sunset). Is it simply the colours, or is it something more ethereal, in all senses of the word? The freshness of the air; the promise of an entirely new day, an opportunity to start again regardless of what happened yesterday; the feeling that no matter what, today just might be the day when existing ceases, and living begins.

I took this in 1982. It's probably one of my favourite photos. It was sunrise in Mount Maunganui and looking at it now - 30 years later (OMG!) - I can remember it like it was yesterday. For some reason every second of this moment is burned into my memory. I don't remember what happened an hour before it or an hour after it. But I keenly remember that twenty seconds when I placed Christine, pushed the shutter button and sprinted the twenty meters, in cowboy boots, to her waiting arms.
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Dance the Night Away

2012-01-02T11:18:00.001+13:00

I'm frequently nostalgic. Usually it's about a girl. Every now and then I get a bit obsessed about things from my past, and, as if to satisfy a tiny wee voice inside me, I hit the google machine and look for evidence that I did actually exist "back then". Sometimes my memory tricks me. Sometimes - quite frequently actually - I think did that really happen? So it feels good to see some old photographs, or faded letters, or (in these modern times) to see proof-positive on the Internet that my memory does indeed serve me well (most of the time).

So it was the other night when I got to thinking about my old dancing teacher, Irene Oliver. I remember Irene was well over a hundred years old when she was teaching in the 70s. Well, she seemed to be well over a hundred (I was a teenager so anybody over 30 seemed ancient), but in reality she must have been in her 60s or even 70s. And I've often wondered over the years if she has died, and when. But equally it wouldn't surprise me if she were still alive and is actually now well over a hundred. She lived for two things, as I remember. Dancing, and caring for her elderly mother. Probably in that order. But it goes to show that longevity is in Irene's genes.
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"How can this be?"

2011-12-19T10:34:00.000+13:00

The platform from which to launch any argument about the St. Matthew-in-the-City church billboard must surely be the Scriptures. Of course, being Catholics, many of the protesters may never have actually read a Bible.

According to Scripture, Mary was surprised by the news she was with child. "Excuse me, Gabriel? I'm what?"

So how far fetched is it to imagine she would take a pregnancy test just to get it clear in her mind and think O.M.G. It's true! (using whatever techniques they used in BC times to test for pregnancy. Now that bears some interesting speculation).
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Bah humbug!

2011-12-17T10:45:00.000+13:00

Bah humbug!

I'm a lot Grinch. I'm a little Ebenezer Scrooge.

I know a lot of people just simply hate Christmas. I'm one of them. I know a lot of people tolerate Christmas because it's forced upon us, it's expected, and it's almost impossible to escape. I'm one of them, too.

And I know a lot of people HATE people like me. Whether they actually love Christmas, or just can't admit that they secretly hate it and don't like being reminded of that, a part of the expectation is that we put on a happy face, crank up the Royal Guardsmen, and gird our loins as we muscle our way through The Warehouse checking our list twice and crossing off names as we buy trinkets made by poor little Chinese children who probably don't even know what Christmas is! I wonder, though (if they do do Christmas) do those little Chinese children wake up on Christmas day, open their presents and go "Hey! I made that!"?
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The Political Machine

2011-11-28T16:03:00.002+13:00

Believe it or not, I try to stay away from politics. I have an opinion, but mostly I have no idea. I have no idea about the machinations of Parliament, about the nuances of economies, about the cut and thrust of an election campaign, about the deals that may or may not go on behind closed doors.

Mostly I know how it is to live day to day with the price of everyday goods going up while wages increase at a vastly disproportionate rate (if at all). I know that three years ago we paid 99c for a loaf of Couplands bread and now, for what appears to be the same loaf of bread, we're paying $2.49. I know that at the same store we used to get two 2 litre bottles of milk for $4, and now it is $6.60. Cheese was $9 a kilo and went to nearly $15, but when obviously too many people couldn't afford it and stopped buying as much of it the price dropped again to $9. Now it's about $12. There was an uproar when petrol climbed towards $2 a litre and it dropped quickly; only to ever so quietly sneak up again so that now it's well over $2 and nobody is batting an eyelid. Two years ago we could get Josh a pair of shoes for twenty bucks. Now it's closer to thirty (and it's not just because his feet are bigger).
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Shrine

2011-11-18T10:34:00.001+13:00

It's interesting that at the end of Christchurch's newest shopping mall, the modified containers the whole world is talking about - well, arguing about - there is a fence, a kind of wall. It separates the new from the old.

This side of the fence is new and frivolous. Shoppers go about their business, happy to be able to shop in the CBD again. Just why the malls are inadequate I don't know, but for a certain set, shopping in the CBD seems to be more real, more honest.

On the other side of the fence is the old and somber, the dead and dying, the former Christchurch, characterised poignantly by the slow, but very visible (and loud, as one German tourist pointed out), deconstruction of the Hotel Grand Chancellor.

While shoppers, lunching workers and tourists happily go about their business in the containers slash boutiques and on the mall, many if not all (at some point) stand at the fence and look respectfully into the old Christchurch and take a moment.

It's kind of shrine like. I'd like to know what's in the minds of the worshippers. It's our own Wailing Wall. It's a stark reminder that, while the new and exciting slowly evolves behind us, there still exists the old world, the Christchurch that used to be, and that there is an impenetrable wall, physically and emotionally, between the two.

I've heard many people say that they grew up in Christchurch and down town represents for them their childhood. It's where they hung out as teenagers, it's where their parents (pre-mall) dragged them to buy shoes or to have family lunches.

I guess I might feel the same about Rotorua, even though with all due respect it wouldn't bother me if the entire city of Rotorua got swallowed by the volcano it's supposed to be sitting on. But that's another story. Good or (mostly) bad, I have memories of the city in which I grew up. I can still remember the streets and the shops, and if I dig deep enough I can probably recall the smells (not only the rotten-egg-sulphur smell) and the sounds unique to that city and my childhood. I remember the BNZ where my dad sometimes took me, and the Railway Station where he worked had very distinctive smells. Like the smell of jam sandwiches in a leather school bag, it's a smell that stays with you for a lifetime.

I guess it's the same for people who grew up in Christchurch. To see many of the buildings in the CBD crumbling must be touching something deep inside them.

Anyway, I think this Wailing Wall will attract more people, and many, like me, for whatever morbid or macabre reason will return to it many times and take a moment. Especially as the Grand Chancellor comes down floor by floor over the next twelve months or so.

Coffee Zone

2011-11-17T00:18:00.006+13:00

If you're like a friend of mine, thinking "that wasn't there last week", you'd be right. It wasn't.

Coffee Zone is another example of the innovative, quirky establishment rising like a phoenix out of the liquifaction in Christchurch. From shipping container dairies or shopping malls and personalised portaloos, to pre-fabricated dance clubs and school classes, I thought I'd seen it all. Until yesterday.

I was driving through Sydenham and there it was. Like a wooden shack out the back of a swamp, Coffee Zone, al fresco cappuccino, seemed to have been banged together overnight and plonked on the nearest available empty lot. Of course, there are plenty of them in down town Sydenham.

Opposite the National Bank, on the old Eco Frame and Mirror space, Coffee Zone is...is really cool. It's been there a little over a week and it's open Monday to Friday, 730am til 330pm. You can text an order (0221409861) or call (03 3775725). Bex brews a good coffee and it's service with a smile.

And Lego.

I'm not sure what the Lego means. It's interwoven in the structure, but I'm pretty sure it meets earthquake code. It was inspired, says Bex the Barista, by something similar overseas, but whatever, it's funky.

Bex the Barista

COFFEE ZONE

See you there.

Beyond Evolution

2011-10-19T09:58:00.002+13:00

At the risk of being called obsessive – but lets face it, as you'll see I’ve been called worse – the evolution of the Boycott continues at a staggeringly dull pace, and I simply feel compelled to update those of you who may not give enough of a “monkey’s bumhole”, (a phrase carefully constructed by one of the Beyonders with an IQ slightly higher than the average on that page of 74) to go have a look.

And evolution might be the right word. As many believe that slugs crawled out of swamps, put clothes on and started calling themselves homo-sapiens, a similar dynamic has been taking place on the Beyond the Boycott page (whose principle members hijacked another Boycott page). Out from the swamp of hypocrisy and delusion, not a few slugs have crawled. They have put on the robes of judge, jury and executioner and called themselves righteous.

“Beyond” is a great epithet, too, because to the casual observer the members have indeed moved “Beyond” caring about the Kahui twins, if that ever was what they really cared about. Rarely are the twins mentioned. Now the hard core page members prefer to share stupid pictures with even stupider clichés printed on them, stolen, no doubt from the toilet walls of cyberspace; stroke each others egos with exclamations of praise when all they’ve done is managed to pull a few posts out of the SPAM folder or hurl particularly nasty abuse at Ian Wishart’s daughter; or giggle and hee hee at how clever they think they are because they only have “intelligent conversations” on their page.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen anything clever on either page that wasn’t written by a book supporter.

But apparently there are now grander issues to posture over. Like a few dead birds on the Bay of Plenty coast, or whatever other trendy outrage is circling Internet chatrooms.

And, of course, the favoured pastime of calling the book supporters' names continues. They have a special talent for vilifying the author of the book, Ian Wishart, but in their hypocrisy seem to ignore the fact that they are themselves guilty of the things they claim he has done. And the fact that he hasn’t actually done half of what they say he has makes them twice the children of hell they think he is.

Now, lest I be further accused of any bias, we book supporters continue to give what we get with the name-calling, finger-pointing and the giggling. But some have likened reading the Beyond pages to staring into a cage of monkeys at the zoo. It’s disgusting and it smells bad, but you just can’t help taunt the imbecilic creatures playing with their privates and staring blankly back at you.

And lest I be even further accused – as accusation is the hallmark of the paranoia that now seems to pervade nearly every thread on the Beyond pages…everyone’s facebook account is being hacked, threads and comments are being reported or sent to the spam folder, every profile is fake – of being one-sided and partial, let me dispel any speculation. Of course I am!! It’s my blog. Blogs like this are supposed to be one-sided and partial. I’d LOVE to see one of the Beyonders blogs. I’m sure it would be just as one-sided (unless it was some attempt at PC bullshit, as is common on the Beyond page). But I won’t hold my breath as most of them struggle to put full sentences and thoughts together. That’s my impression. But I have been told many times that my writing sucks. So, who knows.

Of course, some of them are handy with Google. It didn’t take them long to track my blog and websites down. Perhaps if I had known early on that I would be targeted by such nasty angry people, I would have done as many of them have done and set up a few fake profiles and pages, just to avoid having to deal with the threats and the attempts to have my blog shut down and the stalking and harassing behaviour some of them have exhibited. Oh well. Hindsight eh? Who knew there were unbalanced nasty people still allowed to live freely in society?

I was going to put up a whole string of screenshots of posts. There was some talk of the legality of such a thing, but I had a lovely chat with a lady at the Privacy Commission who assured me that, basically, if it’s in the public domain it’s fair game.

So I wasn’t really surprised when something from my personal Facebook wall turned up on the Beyond pages. For a while there seemed to be an unwritten rule that personal walls were off limits, but as with any war someone eventually gets around to breaking those rules in the hunt for whatever they can use to gain some advantage, even if it’s just to feel better about their sad, lonely lives.

Ironically, it was an “anonymous” page administrator (even though we all know who it is) that took one of my posts and circulated it round the Boycott pages. For all their crowing about fake and anonymous profiles, they sure have a few themselves. But hypocrisy and irony are generally lost on them as one rule for them but not us is the prevailing governing ideal.

Anyway, I was going to put up another list of the most abusive posts, but I really couldn’t be bothered (there are so many). So I thought I’d concentrate on one thread, the one focussing on the quote pinched from my personal Facebook wall. It exhibits a slice of what we've had to deal with from time to time. They didn't like my personal belief and reacted angrily and nastily. The thing book supporters have been accused of time and time again.

Hypocrisy much?

To be fair this comment seems to have been deleted.
But that could only be because I reported it as abusive

I apologise if this refers to someone else
who should also be thrown into the oil slick

Occupy Christchurch - The Beginning is Nigh

2011-10-17T15:18:00.006+13:00

For a large part of my working life, I stood at a counter or sat at a desk earning (most recently) about 20 bucks an hour. In a lower-middle-class daze, I regularly pondered the reality that the CEO of the same company for which I toiled earned somewhere in the region of 2000 dollars an hour. And something about that just didn’t sit right.

Sure, it has to be said, he’s clearly a lot cleverer than me. He’s done the hard work, studying the right thing at University (business studies as opposed to my now-useless religious studies) and climbing the dog eat dog ladder in the corporate world. It’s those tenacious tendencies that get rewarded financially in this world. And surely one’s income is the most accurate standard by which we should judge our fellow human beings’ total value.

Isn’t it?

When I heard about the Occupy Wall Street movement, something resonated within me. I really had no idea what the details were; I simply heard that a bunch of people were pissed off about corporate “greed” and something long-buried in my psyche said “Right on!” And when I heard about its evolution in New Zealand, I thought I would at least give it a look.

The temptation was to dismiss the “movement” as one more tree-hugging, Greenpeace supporting, weed-smoking, dissent-loving, Leftist leaning commie uni-student special interest pressure group driven by the extreme liberal wimps in this, (in New Zealand) an election year.

But perhaps that might be a bit harsh. As protestor John Campbell (yep, that’s his name – and no relation) says “when you take a movement like this and try to describe it, you limit it.”

It’s all about freedom. Maybe that should be FREEDOM! “An ethereal concept,” according to Campbell. And that it is. Too big to deal with in one blog entry and how it applies to Occupy.

But our own Occupy movement is encamped in the corner of Hagley Park, opposite the hospital. They are there, according to Robert Read for “as long as it takes.” As long as what takes is a little more vague, however. But the principle on which the protest stands is sound. Something is wrong. As Read correctly points out, you know something is wrong when (sleepy, apathetic New Zealand) stands up to protest.

Freedom Fighters? John Campbell, Jesse, and Robert Read occupy Hagley Park

It is glaringly obvious that the corporatisation of the global economy has left 99% of average Joes out in the cold (literally). Of course, it could be argued (as I have before) that that is how it’s been since the beginning of human endeavour. An elite few have subjugated the masses for their own profit. And those same elite few have manipulated the democratic, or any other political process to cement their positions.

But it can also be argued that never has it been so pervasive. It’s one thing to decry a landlord who dominated a few hundred peasants on a few hectares of land during the middle ages. It’s another thing when a modern international corporation has its fiscal fingers in a million pies including banking, insurance, core local services, and most dangerously government to the point that that same corporation can manipulate politicians and law-makers to satisfy its own greedy intentions, controlling literally millions of people world-wide, forcing them into poverty so its directors can live lives of luxury and excess.

Something is indeed wrong, but that something has always been wrong. Things have been changing in a pattern of social punctuated equilibrium. Is NOW the time for another level of change?

And then there’s the “media”? In the beginning of the Occupy movements there were media blackouts. Robert Read would like to think it’s not true, but just how under the corporate thumb the mainstream media is is blatantly obvious, and it’s certainly not a large step to make correlations between the two. The “media” has abandoned its fourth state ideals and bought into the “greed is good” mantra. Sure, they still crow about their important role in international affairs, and of course they get it right sometimes. But is their bias counter-intuitive? The mainstream media is now as much or more about making money than actually reporting the news (truthfully).

Stuff.co.nz reported 30 people making a stand in Christchurch. THIRTY? What hack reported that? Did they drive past Hagley Park at speed as the event was setting up and do a quick count? Did they not go back later and check out the march on which at least 300 people walked through the Park and down Riccarton Road?

30 indeed! Is that the level of accuracy the media thinks is appropriate for a movement that is determined to bring down its financial friends? Isn’t it then only another small step to suggest a deliberate campaign of misinformation so the public (who generally believes everything they read in the newspaper) underestimates the importance of the movement?

Sure, even 300 is only a very small percentage of the population of Christchurch. But to suggest it was 30 is insulting and not a little disingenuous. The number of toots received while on the march might suggest that there are more supporters in the general population that don’t have the time or the inclination to make a more committed stand, but at least appear to support the principle.

So it’s understood that “the media” is in fact one of the largest global corporations, and it stands to reason it would not want to report truthfully on a movement designed to bring down large global corporations.

So what difference can a rag-tag gathering of dissidents camping out in Hagley Park make? Maybe none. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.

“I’m looking to events overseas,” says Campbell.

It’s clear that the Occupy movements overseas are getting attention. The media, who love violence and conflict more than truth or human interest cannot ignore the riots in Rome, or, now, the demonstrations in London, New York, San Fransisco, Sydney, Hong Kong or Auckland (even if The Press can largely ignore Occupy Christchurch – until some violence happens or one of the protesters is caught with some weed).

And neither can Campbell.

New Zealand is not immune to the global corporatisation that has a stranglehold on the average Kiwi. Chief protagonists are the banks, and those organisations that hold the global purse strings. Cash flows in abundance for 1% of the population, while the other 99% are faced daily with mortgagee sales, insurance claim bureaucracy (surely we in Christchurch understand that one), unemployment, sky-rocketing food prices, rising energy costs, increased government “levies” (a nice word for taxes), and tightening legislation restricting and/or compromising fundamental freedoms. The rich are getting richer, more often than not on the backs of the poor who are getting poorer.

Exorbitant salaries for the elite few, and massive profits by global organisations that have reneged on their trickle-down promises can only be described as corruption of the worst kind.

And don’t forget just how deeply in the pockets of the corporates are many (most?) western governments. Sure they need corporate money, but at what price? Freedom? Democracy? Truth? Such things matter little to the people who define them (the 1%), but to the 99% they mean everything, and aren’t governments supposed to be of and for everyone, not just their favoured few?

So the rag-tag gathering in Hagley Park that is there “for as long as it takes” is doing us all a service. They are representing every Joe who ever got screwed by the government, an insurance company, a bank, an employer or anybody else with ties to the global plutocracy. Instead of telling them they are not wanted in Christchurch (as many of the commenters on the Stuff article/s have done), we should at least be encouraging them, if not joining them in their community (more on community next post).

4 Things I Learned in a Cult

2011-10-09T11:22:00.001+13:00

I think it's a hoot that recently I was flippantly accused of belonging to a cult, a cult of personality. Which is a bit ironic because I was involved in organised religion, the biggest cult of all, for 20 years. But for a couple of years, I was associated with an actual cult (one that most would recognise as such, as opposed to the more subtle [but more dangerous?] cultness of all religions).

There are many cults, and as many types of cults. By and large, reasonably intelligent, self-aware people know what a cult is and can recognise the characteristics of one long before they get caught up in it. Which is why cults mostly prey on the vulnerable and those desperately seeking something "the world" cannot provide.

I do, however, have a lot of respect for the people I met in the group. They would deny being a cult. They were simply seeking enlightenment, and in my honest opinion, doing a damn fine job of finding it. I would say that, in the end, my decision to not be part of the group came down to one relatively simple concept.

They lived communally in two houses, about 20 people. They taught and practised personal development. They were vegetarian. They taught and practised self-awareness. They were "spiritual". They taught and practised authenticity. Though the "leaders" were intense, stand-offish people (the supreme leader wouldn't even meet the students until they were worthy), the other members were charming, intelligent, articulate, beautiful people.

It's been 15 years, and I often wonder where some of them are now. There were two levels happening for me. At one level there was the proverbial "searching" for something. Meaning. Enlightenment. Acceptance. At another level I was looking for me. I'd surmounted a couple of personal milestones. I'd begun to put my past into perspective, and I'd realised that for me organised religion and "God" was hypocritical and pointless. I was looking for what was next for me. What else was there? Or was this it?

In the time span since I'm sure I have manipulated thoughts to suit myself and my beliefs, but I genuinely believe I learned much in my time with the group.

And don't get me wrong, I was never part of the inner circle, or even close. I was fascinated by their lifestyle and their openness. But there was also a lot of mystery. It may be highly prejudicial to say I was dating one of the members, but I was. But had I not been I would still have been keenly interested in their universe. Whether I was "flirty fished" or not still remains a question in my mind. I would say no, but, I will probably never know. I don't need to. I honestly believe I can compartmentalise all of that and enjoy the things I genuinely learned in the classes.

Clarity. It may be causative or coincidental that this song was hot at the time.

It was, and still is, one of a number of songs I can listen to over and over. And over. I used to drive to the classes with it blaring and on repeat.

Some people seek Damascus Road events. I'd had a couple already, and wondered if there were any more.

Clarity is by definition being able to see clearly. But by a more ethereal definition it refers not to the world we see around us (okay, maybe a little) but rather to the Universe around us that most rarely or never see, which has nothing to do with anything touchable.

I think it's just one of those things you either see or do not. This world and the entire known physical universe is just a drop in the ocean of what really is. A common refrain in organised religion is that human minds are too small to understand "God". I never believed that. In the back of my mind was always the thought that it seemed to be the mission of organised religion to close human minds so that they could not see beyond "God".

Clarity is an ability to see. Clarity is an opening of the mind to possibilities and probabilities beyond the ends of our noses. Clarity is knowing that "this" is not all there is. Clarity in understanding the limitless nature and influence of the Universe. Clarity is knowing that "life" is not limited to one blip on a watery radar in the darkest corner of the Milky Way. Clarity is knowing that the "greatest minds" telling us what reality is may be just as small as those telling us what reality is not.

Of course, arguing that the "greatest minds" are wrong won't win you any favours, and might see you consigned to the whacko fringe and easily dismissed (by small minds). Hence, another thing I learned in the cult is of value.

Authenticity. We all like to believe we are living authentically, but we're probably not. As a compromise, it may be acceptable to believe in authenticity while not actually living it. As hypocritical as that sounds, is it enough to just know that one is a hypocrite?

For many - okay, for me - by the time you have the realisation that authenticity is a desirable goal, life has you entrenched to the point that authenticity becomes nothing but a series of conflicts of interest, because "we have learned how to exploit life, but not how to gently, tenderly love life" (Vimala Thakar). Once you get a taste for exploiting life, it's near impossible to break free from its grip without making significant sacrifices. And sacrifices may be honourable, but when your sacrifices hurt and destroy others, does authenticity become evil?

Perhaps it is enough to pursue authenticity within the framework of the choices you have already freely made. Which is a nice way of saying you made your bed, now you have to lay in it. Perhaps that's the greatest authenticity of all.

I believe that at this moment in time and space, authenticity is beyond my reach. Authenticity is a small light in the distance, one towards which I am heading. But there are other things to do on the way.

Continuity. I don't believe in heaven or Hell. But nor do I believe this is it. Life in the cult enhanced my understanding of just how small our reality is. And back to the "greatest minds" thing. Is it arrogant to suggest that even the "greatest minds" on this rock have it wrong? So much of what they're saying seems like grand speculation to me. Can't I speculate a little?

Freedom. "Freedom is not a speculative, romantic game of imagining something which is not. It is simply comprehension of what is" (VT). There's a difference between believing something and living it. It's just the nature of this world that often the two do not marry. We may have an ideal about relationships, but how often does that ideal eventuate? Rarely? Never? It doesn't mean the ideal is meaningless, or impossible.

We are free. Sometimes we think "freedom" means the freedom to do something, or to not do something. But I don't think it's that simple. Freedoms intersect. I am indeed free to jump from a high roof-top. But there are consequences. So, too, am I free to drive through a red light, but there are (potentially) consequences to that, too. I am free to punch you in the face. But you are free to punch me back, or have me locked up because the law of the land backs up some freedoms and curtails others.

Which is why I could never understand the "Free Tibet" posturing. The Tibetans are already free. We are all free. Sometimes, we just don't like the consequences of our freedom.

One of the most important things I learned in the cult was that everything - and I mean everything - is driven by an intense, underlying, powerful energy. Good and bad. Physics teaches us about "energy", but (of course) only in a "physical" sense. There's a whole universe that science won't, and can't, touch. It's often said that science can explain the "how" - most of the time - but can't explain the "why". But the "why" is so much more important to us.

I decided not to go deeper into the bowels of the cult. Ironically, the chief reason was summed up in a book that the girl I was dating gave me (Vimala Thakar's book). It's a principle I try to follow still, and one she - and a lot of other people - could not and can not see.

"If I want to discover the truth of life, the meaning of life, I will have to begin learning and discovering for myself without the authority of another person. If I accept the authority of a person, dogma, or ideology, I lose freedom at the very first step of the inner voyage."

Happy Father's Day Dave

2011-09-04T20:34:00.000+12:00

Dave, my dad, died in 1991.

I will never know what holes have been left in my life because he died relatively young.

My parents separated when I was 9, and while not earth-shattering in its uniqueness or even its perceived common-ness, that has affected me profoundly and I will never know the holes that has left in my life either. I don’t know what I don’t know. I have no idea how, or if, my life would be different if Dave had lived to a ripe old age, and, more importantly, we had healed the rift that existed between us for twenty years.

Fatherlessness has been called the worst social disease in modern history, the most harmful demographic trend of this generation. It’s simplistic to say, but having generations of boys growing up without a significant male role model it is no wonder men nowadays are unsure of what it means to be a man. In the 70s, 80s, and even the 90s, the prevailing thought undermined fatherhood, preaching a gospel that said children really don’t even need dads. They benefit from the money he may have provided, but if the State can provide that, what are dads for? Mum can do the job adequately, and let’s throw in Uncle Joe and label him the token male role model.

I am a child of that philosophy and society is now reaping the consequences of that demonstrably failed dogma. Fatherlessness is over-represented in the negative statistics that suggest our society is in crisis. Arguably, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, domestic violence, child abuse, teenage pregnancy and rampant crime are merely symptoms of a deeper malaise. While not the only cause of this undeniable malaise, fatherlessness is certainly a primary factor that society has long been reluctant to consider (tell me the feminists don’t have a lot to answer for!). Only in the last few years has that ignorance begun to be addressed.

I have three vivid memories involving my father.

In 1972 I remember my heart being ripped apart at the news he wasn’t going to be living with us any more, and screaming, begging him to take me with him. I had no idea where he was going, or what it all meant. I was 9 and I just wanted to be with my dad.

In (about) 1989, as my life reached a crisis point, while at university in the US, I remember locking myself in my office in our apartment and weeping…weeping non-stop for what seemed like hours. I don’t really remember what was going on in my mind, but I knew I was weeping because there was a giant vacuum in my soul that had been put there by my father.

And many years later (I can’t even remember when… 1994? 1996?) my brother, sister and I said a final goodbye to our dad as we let his ashes wash down a river somewhere in Karangahake, one of Dave’s favourite fishing spots (I think).

Of course, there are other memories. But even the fond ones are cast under the dark shadow of his emotional distance or his altogether absence. I remember asking him to take me fishing with him once, and I remember him saying no. I never asked again. I remember visiting him often at his office at the Railways in Rotorua. I remember him, in those pre-computer days, bringing me a typewriter from his office so I could play on it. I remember his small, one bedroom flat in which, especially remembering it now, he cut a particularly pathetic and lonely figure.

I don’t really remember his first heart attack at 54. But I do remember the phone call I got from my (then) brother-in-law, five years later, telling me Dave was dead.

Since my office-locking weeping, and some counselling (both as part of my studies and something I felt necessary for myself) I had resolved to heal the wound that had been caused in my relationship with Dave. We arrived back in New Zealand in February, 1991. He, with the rest of my family, was at the airport to greet us. They all saw their grand-son (Matthew) for the first time, and this is the only photo I have of Dave with any of my boys. A few months later he died. The wound had not even begun to be healed.

There was no angry antagonism between us. It was not the kind of relationship where he was the cantankerous old git and I was the compliant little boy or the placater. To my memory, there was nothing. Which may be a bit harsh. I know he was around. He was involved in another long term relationship with a nice woman (nice until the meagre will became an issue). He drove me to work sometimes. He came to my wedding. He took me to Citizen’s Club picnics.

As to a “relationship” there wasn’t one. But even saying that sounds disrespectful. In recent years I have discovered that he, like so many of us, just simply did the best he could with what he had. As far as I know he wasn’t an abusive man. I don’t remember him ever hitting me or smacking me. He was educated, articulate. He seemed to lack ambition or drive. He enjoyed a smoke and a beer. Or two. He played snooker at the RSA or the Citizen’s Club.

One of the things I longed for was to go with him to play snooker at the Citz Club. In light of the fishing rebuff I was always reluctant to ask. Though the timing is vague, I do know that once before he died we spent the afternoon playing snooker at the Citizen’s Club in Rotorua.

Perhaps, instead of sitting down and rehashing the previous twenty years and the hurts and wounds, those games of snooker symbolised something at the time neither of us understood. Perhaps instead of hugging and crying and forgiving, we subconsciously let the years of aloneness slide away with every pot of every coloured ball. And in typical Kiwi man-style, we had a couple of beers and laughed.

I think I had decided to leave the heavy talk for another time, as surely it would eventually be necessary.

But that time never came. The next time I saw him he was dead in a box in a church.

I could wax lyrical about the need to seize the moment, but we do things in our own good time, and sometimes the timing doesn’t work. Whether via something specific like a game of snooker or a hug at the airport, or via some sub-conscious maturity that comes to us all, I feel Dave and I made up. Dave had done nothing for me to hate him, or even to disrespect him, so perhaps that made it easier for me to “forgive” him.

But I don’t know what the last twenty years would have been like had he lived. And I will probably never fully understand just what affect upon me Dave’s absence has had.

I find myself lacking ambition, and even motivation. I don’t make friends easily. I have an incredible tolerance for the “big” things, but I get angry quickly at little things (tangled cords and stupid things that don’t work as they “should”). Is that the legacy Dave left me, or some other inadequacy in me? Is it genetic? Learned? Or just a character flaw in me? Are my failed relationships (there have been many) due to some sense that I have no idea what it means to be a boyfriend/husband? Was I weak and bullied at school because I didn’t know what it really meant to be a man? Am I distant from my sons because I never learned to be a father?

Did I feel overcome while writing this (at the bit about scattering the ashes) because the wound will never really be healed and I’m simply fooling myself thinking I may have resolved my fatherlessness issues? Is such a deep wound ever healed?

So, it’s Father’s Day. Like birthdays and Christmas I really don’t make a big deal about it. Josh was excited to buy me presents and make me toast and coffee this morning and I loved it. Matt came over and despite our relative estranged-ness, I love him dearly and am immensely proud of him for the man he has become. Chris was called in to work (at McDonalds) last night at 11 to cover no-shows, worked all night and then his normal shift today. He has a pretty good work ethic and I’m proud of him too (even if he won’t tidy his room).

That’s probably all I need for Father’s Day…to have three wonderful sons (and a step-son in Wellington who is growing into a fine young man too). And lest anyone misjudge, I’m not really claiming much of the credit for any of it.

I don’t remember what Father’s Day was like when Dave was alive. Probably the perfunctory socks and underwear… or a cheap McKenzies tie or some smokes. I doubt I cared.

I’m reluctant to trace back some of the short-comings in my life and personality to a trauma experienced in the wake of my own fatherlessness, or the lack of an active role model. But can I ignore it? My life has taken a million turns. Would I have made better decisions if Dave had been more present and guided me? Would I have dealt with heartache and tragedy better if Dave’s arms had been available? Would I respect people more if he had encouraged me to do so, and rebuked me when I didn’t? Would I have had better relationships if he had showed me how it should be done?

Who knows? I’m not blaming him for my mistakes, especially the ones I’ve made when I was old enough to know better. I’m just wondering how my life would be different now if this morning I could have called him and wished him a happy Father’s Day.

The Anatomy of Hate

2011-08-10T01:05:00.008+12:00

When certain media hacks recently announced Macsyna King to be "the most hated woman in New Zealand" I thought surely it was a bit of a beat up.

Not so. Apparently she is. And if you doubt it, spend five minutes looking at the Boycott the Macsyna King Book Facebook page and it's obvious that if she isn't the most hated woman in New Zealand she must be running a close second.

If “hate” is defined as “to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward" something or someone, it's clear there is a lot of hate for Macsyna King on that page. Of course, many on there will claim they do not "hate" her, that they hate what she did, or didn't do. But, trust me, 20 years as a minister and I fully understand the nuances of, and the contradiction behind the "hate the sin, love the sinner" mantra. Most of them are just afraid to admit they hate her because they feel that will somehow lower them to a standard of humanity good folks would rather not look down their noses at, let alone join the ranks of.

I don't get the hate. Sure, you don't have to like Macsyna King, or what she did or didn't do regarding the brutal death of her twin 3 month old sons. Sure, she’s hardly going to make mother of the year, or win any humanity awards. But I don’t get the depth and passion of the hatred towards Macsyna King, who has never been charged with a crime, who was NOT there when her children suffered the fatal blows, and has been a prosecution witness.

There are regulars on both Facebook pages, that is the Boycott page, and the “other” page, the Supporters of the Ian Wishart book about the Kahui murders. Women are over-represented on both pages and the boycotters seem to spend most of their online time reinforcing the stereotype of how bitchy women can be towards their own gender. Off the top of my head, between both pages, there are probably 30 or 40 women regulars, and half a dozen men. If the profiles can be believed, but the number of fake profiles that have popped up makes it hard to know with any certainty who it is you’re arguing with. That’s another story.

But it’s easy to argue that by and large the vitriol is unidirectional. We’ve had our moments on the Support page, and of course we’ve had some heated arguments and said some pretty nasty things. Not me, tho. True. And in the melee I’ve been called many many names… but generally speaking the frequenters of the Boycott page are the most vile, angry, vituperative hateful people I’ve ever encountered. The Web is a haven for every whacko, nutjob and barrow-pusher on the planet, and I’ve been to White Supremacist sites, anti-semitic sites, and feminist sites…but I’ve yet to see more vile language and the most hateful insults than what’s been directed on the Facebook page dedicated to hating on Macsyna King.

And Ian Wishart. If King is the most hated woman in the country, I wonder if at the moment Ian Wishart is the most hated man. Either him or Michael Laws.

If the reasons for hating Macsyna King are vague, the reasons for hating Ian Wishart are even more so. He’s written a book, folks. He hasn’t clubbed any seals; he hasn’t gassed a hundred thousand Kurds; and he’s not paying Chinese children 13 cents a week to do his research or his typing. Why the hatred for Wishart?

It’s been confessed many times that King’s story is “too close to home”. A reason I would have thought to have a modicum of empathy for her. But oh no. There’s not an ounce of empathy for King, even from those who claim to have had as bad or worse upbringings. She simply should have known better, they reckon. She simply should have made better choices. Pulled her socks up and worked towards that mother of the year award. Simple. Apparently. According to the lynch mob.

Lest you doubt me, I’ve put together a collection of some of the best, a very small sampling of the most colourful comments directed at either King or Wishart (or me!). See what you think, and thank whatever gods you bow down to you don’t get on the wrong side of some of these women, or others of their pathetic and dangerous ilk.

In the spirit of compromise I have removed (11 Sept 2011) the screenshots of the hateful comments. Since this was posted, the page from which these quotes were taken has been shut down, largely due (according to reliable sources) to the threatening and defamatory nature of many comments on the page. You do the math.

There you go. Make's fascinating reading doesn't it...and this is only a small sample of the colourful opinions of those who apparently pride themselves on their maturity and their love for fellow human beings. Oh, except Ian Wishart, and, of course, Macsyna King.

Parentus Immobulus

2011-08-06T23:59:00.003+12:00

Josh, like every 7 year old on the planet is obsessed with Harry Potter. He runs around all the time casting spells with a pencil or a fork. His favourites are Avada Kadavra... Expelliarmus... and Immobulus! He hasn't seen many of the movies, probably only the early, less scary ones, and he definitely hasn't seen the later, darker ones. He says he wants to but we probably won't let him. He loves anything Harry Potter...especially the Lego and the Lego Wii game. He's obsessed.

So, on the back of that, he and I had one of those conversations today that epitomises the modern 7 year old. Here's literally how it went.

Dad, I can name all the Harry Potter characters...
Yeah? Do it.
Harry, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Dumbledore, Hagrid... Malfoy and Dobby, Crab and Goyle, Ginny Weasley, ...(and he rattled off a few more with a bit of prompting...Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall

Well done, Josh...who was the guy in the Chamber of Secrets?
Tom Riddle, he said, quick as a flash.

At this point I do that terribly BORING parent thing in my head - I wished he could pay that much attention to people in politics or important people in history.

Then I DO that terribly boring parent thing...

Who is the President of the United States, Josh?

After some thought he said "I have no idea."

Sigh.

SO after a pause I told him.

Barack Obama, I announced.

And his reply stunned me silent.

Is that a Harry Potter spell?

I gave up.

A Facebook Experiment

2011-07-09T20:34:00.005+12:00

If you want to experience the WORST of the Internet that doesn't involve death or deviant sex, check out two pages that have popped up recently. There's the Boycott the Macsyna King Book page,and the Break the Kahui Code of Silence: Support the Book page. Obviously these pages are at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of their aim. But in terms of their execution, they are remarkably similar. And in terms of their success, they are both abject failures.

Ian Wishart has written a book. Apparently - we don't know yet because it isn't published and Wishart is keeping mum - the book is a tell-all of Macsyna King's life. And by all accounts it won't be pretty reading. There's no doubt she has had a horrific life of abuse and mistreatment.

But I guess that doesn't excuse her alleged neglect of her children - 3 month old twins Chris and Cru Kahui - and any role she may have had in their deaths. It has to be said that she has never been charged with a crime. But she remains (one of) the "most hated woman in New Zealand."

But if you want to really know what hate is, just check out either of these Facebook pages. O.M.G. I cannot believe how petty and childish and downright hateful some of the posts are on these pages. I cannot believe they are adults, and adults who claim to be rational, intelligent, and "passionate." That's a good one. "Passionate." Apparently being "passionate" excuses using some of the most demeaning, belittling, insulting name-calling you can think of. All in the name of the cause.

A little back and forth is perfectly fine between adults who are at two ends of a spectrum on a significant issue. Some repartee, a little thrust and parry, a few, good-hearted, even clever, humorous jibes here and there.

But these people are ruthless.

They seem to have forgotten what the original argument was about. The "boycotters" as they have become known have hijacked the original issue, which was freedom of speech, with emotional pleas about child abuse. And the supporters of the book being published and sold are chasing their tails, spending more time quelling rumour and misinformation, responding to the bitter hateful comments, and defending their own reputations.

What I can't get over is how childish many of them are. Don't get me wrong. There are some clever people who are trying to be voices of reason in the wind on both pages. But by and large those voices are drowned in the waves of vitriol and deeply personal attack.

The purpose of the page, especially the support the book page, has been completely forgotten. Nobody talks about freedom of speech anymore. It's now all about defending Ian Wishart and our right to read said book, or crowing about which page has more numbers or more committed members or less childish threads or more intelligent definitions of words we ALL know the meaning of.

The latest vein of comment has to do with who has been blocked and why, or who has blocked who and why. It seems to be a particular badge of honour to be blocked by the "other side". Indeed, it seems a fun game to go over to the other page and make comments obnoxious enough to GET blocked.

Check out this screenshot from the support the book page.

And lest you be deceived, be aware that one of those people, despite the attempt at civility in this post, is one of the worst offenders. Her self-righteousness is unprecedented. And one other (above), although a relative new-comer to the drivel, is just plain nasty.

Strangely, the thread (screenshot above) seems to have disappeared. Which is another feature of these pages. Threads and comments disappear, which in itself is not that sinister, but it is a regular suggestion that people from the "other side" are hacking the site, there are faux-profiles designed to infiltrate the depths of the other page/s, and that identities are frequently "blown" only to require retractions which more often than not lead to more recrimination and ridicule. And a whole new round of abuse and childish name-calling.

Apparently, the originator of the Boycott page set it up as a bit of an experiment. So he seemed to be saying on RadioLive. He's the same guy who was in the middle of the KFC double-down debate. I think he was arguing that particular treat should not be banned. Hmmm...let's allow greasy heart-threatening food to be sold to minors, but let's not allow an informative book to be sold in bookshops to adults. Can't quite see that logic there, but who am I to judge?

In true Lord of the Flies fashion, both pages have descended into cesspools of bitterness and backbiting. Occasionally a rational comment pops up, and even some meaningful responses. But more often that not every post is hijacked by some bitter or smartarse comment or bite.

How pathetic. Somehow I thought adults could disagree, even on significant issues, issues one has the right to be "passionate" about, without resorting to name-calling, petty personal slurs, pedantic grammar critiques and puerile "I know you are, but what am I"s.

It has to be said, and I'm employing one of my special talents here - objectivity - that the Supporters page members have overall been more well behaved. They started out with a genuine attempt to lay out the issues and what facts were available, and to search for more (facts). But the page was soon hijacked by people who thought the book should be boycotted, which turned into an effective ban. Sure, boycott the book, but threaten bookstore owners, publish their names, and threaten violence against them (okay, there have only been a few, non-distinct threats of violence) and you start to force what looks more like a ban.

But so much of the page space was dedicated to arguing about whether or not it was a boycott or a ban.

Now, all of this wouldn't amount to a hill o' beans if it wasn't such an insight into the human spirit. This self-confessed social network experiment has been a raging success in that from the first posts, both pages were like two trains heading towards each other on the same track. And when they collided, instead of a natural atrophying of the momentum, it seemed to gather steam, as if most of the members of both pages were just itching for the collision so the real chaos could start. Some people get off on that. Indeed, that's not a phenomenon unique to this particular rivalry, or to Facebook.

I wonder if this was a precedent, of sorts. I don't remember two opposing groups facing off like this on separate Facebook pages.

I'm sure it's been done before, somehow. I wonder if those efforts were any more noble, or intelligent, or polite.

The back-biting and name-calling and childish back and forth continues. These are two very recent posts...one from each page.

Apparently one of the above is proving to be as obnoxious and bitter as any that have graced the pages so far. There are a few who are so obviously just out to make some sort of name for themselves, hence the spin-off pages and websites, and impending "events" (charity and awareness drives, etc.).

It's been a fascinating insight into mob mentality. The Boycott page grew to nearly 50000 LIKEs in a few days. Which, of course, in Facebook terms that's like the new version of a petition you sign in the street - sure it sounds like a really good idea to sign, the "cause" sounds vaguley worthwhile, but of the 50000 people signed up, only a very small number actually give a shit about, or even know what "the cause" actually was. The same could be said for the Support page, but with such lower numbers, the Boycott page looks MUCH more like some odd wagon a whole bunch of do-gooders jumped on for ten seconds and then jumped off again because they didn't really care about....what was "the cause" again?

In search of the perfect image

2011-07-02T23:32:00.003+12:00

I’ve avoided posting on matters photographic, partly because I will show myself up as a newbie, partly because I don’t want to be seen to be jumping on the latest band-wagon (it annoys me that everyone seems to be a “photographer” these days), and partly because I’m still deciding what I want to be when I grow up.

Photography is like any of the arts. It’s hard to compare, but it’s the same as abstract painting, sculpture, or dance. It’s a method of expression. And often, the “artist” is driven by a simple yet elusive goal: to create that perfect piece of art, whether it’s a painting, and clay shape, a pirouette, or an image of a moment captured in time or one beautifully constructed.

With regard to photography, there are hundreds of millions, probably hundreds of billions of photographs in existence. Probably millions/billions more are blood on the floor.

How, then, can one (such as me) ever hope to create something perfect. If it hasn’t been done already, it’s never going to happen.

But the subjectivity of art allows for some room to move. I’ve been cruising Flickr since shortly after it began. I’ve probably viewed a million photos. Very possibly more. I might say that much of the viewing has been to catch a glimpse of the perfect photograph, wondering if it really exiasts. 50% of Flickr photos are really good; 20% of those are excellent; 5% of those are exceptional; 1% of those are “perfect”. And then there are millions more photos online that are not on Flickr.

It became obvious quite quickly that “perfect” is probably an impossible notion, in that there is no one “perfect” photo. There are many many exceptionally excellent beautiful photos.

Which is at the same time inspiring and depressing.

Art is selfish. So it is easier to ascribe perfection to something that I, and perhaps only I, find alluring. That photograph I consider “perfect” may have others thinking huh?

The first photo I remember being mesmerised by was this one.

Eddie Adams - Execution of a Viet Cong Guerrilla (1968)

I have no idea where or when I saw it, but I was quite young. I don’t think it inspired me to want to be a photographer, but I do remember it having a significant impact on me.

The desire to take photographs kind of evolved. I remember my dad had an old box brownie in the wardrobe that I knew was something special. When I finally got hold of an Instamatic (126 I think, in the early 70s?), the first photo I ever took was of some condensation gathered on my bedroom window.

Ever since, I’ve dabbled in photography.

Jump forward to 2011 and the proverbial search for the perfect photo has evolved into taking the perfect photo.

Why? I have no idea. And deep down, whether it’s my psychology or my intuition, I despair that such a notion is pie-in-the-sky.

Robert Capa - Death of a Loyalist Soldier

Surely the perfect photo will be a number of things. It may or may not be technically correct. There is much debate about technically correct photos. I tend to think technical aspects are subordinate to content. What many consider to be the most influential photograph of all time is far from what might be called technically perfect today.

It seems to me, then, that content is king. But it also seems that content is evolving and, like in so many things, the boundaries are being continually extended as to what is possible. And acceptable.

The perfect photo will be of something never before done. The virgin in a condom was new. Edgy. Controversial. It wasn’t a photograph, and some would deny it was art. But it had never been done before, at least in concept.

Piss Christ was a photograph and it contained several similar aspects. It was edgy, raw, offensive (to many), and conceptually had never been done before. But can you just piss in a jar, put a crucifix in it and call it ground-breaking?

Apparently.

Is that all it takes? Sounds easy. But that’s the way it is with so much art. It may be something incredibly simple, but if nobody’s ever thought of sticking a frame round it and calling it art, it suddenly becomes incredibly complex and deep.

Some may stand in the gallery and say: “Umm…it’s just a circle.” Or: “It’s a what? A toilet that brays like a donkey? I don’t get it.”

So the challenge in my mind is to take a photograph of something that has never been photographed before. Of course, it could be argued that every photograph is one that has never been taken before. But that doesn’t make it “unique”. There are a billion photos of cute children in some pose; models sprawled across a bed or couch; or bridges silhouetted against a sunset. They may be good photos, but… yawn.

In a world where everyone is now a photographer, perhaps many many really good photos are being overshadowed by what is simply popular. Stanley Greene railed against the popularity of photos of Britney’s crotch while photos of the conflict in Chechnya are rejected by the mainstream media because they believe nobody wants to see those sorts of photos.

My inspiration lately has come from Walker Evans. His FSA photos are as iconic as any of that period, but when he stepped into the New York subway with a camera hidden in his coat he pushed the notion of candid photography up a notch. Maybe it had been done before (who knows), but he was the first to publish it as art (I think).

Part of the allure may have been the anonymity of both photographer and subject. Is all photography voyeurism?

You don’t have to look far before under the banner of “photography” you find naked bodies. Of course, photography didn’t invent “the nude”, but it’s certainly advanced its cause. Many of the unrivalled greatest works of art involve nudity. Most photographers sooner or later get around to taking nudes. They distinguish it from “porn” by calling it “fine art” (if such distinctions are desirable). Fine indeed.

And in the spirit of pushing boundaries, photos that would make Larry Flint blush are commonplace now. Sure, they’re edgy, controversial, raw and offensive. But are they art? You have to say they are, or else if you start drawing lines what’s to stop the Christian right from drawing lines, the feminist oligarchy from drawing lines, or, god forbid, the judiciary from drawing lines - even though they’re all trying really hard to.

So does the perfect photo need to be controversial, offensive, sexually deviant, and a pusher of ever-expanding boundaries? Geez I hope not. Though it’d be pretty easy to stick a blunted carving knife into some willing model’s vagina, sprinkle some menstrual blood around, take a photo, put “jesus” in the title and call it ground-breaking. Art.

Maybe just taking a photograph I can look at and say “that looks good” would suffice. For now. As with so many things, often it’s the least constructed shots that appeal. I love this photo of Josh. It was snapped one day while in a McDonalds. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s one I can look at and think it’s a good photo.

It’s one of about three such photos in my library.

So the quest goes on. I don’t know where the essence of the perfect photo lies. I’m almost certain it will involve a person. But not a portrait. And not just anybody. The perfect person. But who is that? Male? Female? Nude? Clothed? It will have to be edgy

I judged a photo competition recently. And three other judges and I by and large come up with the same entries that made up the top 5. To be fair, none of the photos inspired me. But in order to get to my decision I set up some criteria, which must have been somewhere in the ballpark given the similarity in our choices.

Hence, I feel I’m able to walk that fine line between objective and subjective. And perhaps tomorrow I will feel differently, but for now it may or may not be surprising that, according to a detailed set of criteria, I think this may be the most perfect photo I’ve yet to see. Sadly, it’s not one of mine.

Freedom of Speech

2011-06-28T22:43:00.007+12:00

It hasn't even hit the bookshelves yet and the latest offering from born-again journo Ian Wishart is causing an uproar.

There's a facebook page calling for this book to never hit the shelves. When I first checked it there were 12000 likes. Fifteen minutes later there were 14000+.

Wishart's page to promote the book has 10 likes. I think it's obvious which page will win this race. And, unfortunately for all the wrong reasons.

I've always liked Wishart. Something in the way he thinks gels with me. I don't like his religion, and I disagree with a lot of what he says. But even though he's often ignored, and the stories he breaks frequently don't get legs until the mainstream media finally catches up, I cannot deny his journalistic ability.

I don't care a hoot about Macsyna King, either. She is just one piece of trash on our streets that are littered to our knees with trash. I don't care what happened that night... chances are we will never really know what happened. Ian Wishart could publish a hundred books about the killing of those babies and we'd never really know what the truth is. We will never know.

Apparently, Macsyna King is NOT receiving any money from the book - a suggestion the Banners are conveniently ignoring. Wishart and his publishing company might make some profit, but I of all people know how hard it is to make a profit on a book written and published in New Zealand. I doubt he'll get rich on this book.

It's fascinating to read the vitriol on the ban the book Facebook page.

Jordalyn LewerHonestly what kynd of mother wuld even write a book lyk tht afta such a horrible thng happend to those too lil inocent babies! No sympathy 4 hur at all its a mothers dutie to keep her children SAFE! yip thy shuld be all locked up one of thm will soon pop who the murde'r/s is/ r......stil walking freely! Punkz. This goes for the Dad to! Yr both Guilty of neglection already... arrrrrgggg i could gone on and on!

That's a particular favourite. I love the creation of the word "neglection". Clever. And she could go on and on. No doubt.

Anyway. What's key is that most of the posters have no idea about the book at all. Nobody's read it, or even seen it. The media has taken up the cause of discrediting it and the stupid, sheepish New Zealand public are buying into it.

Wishart has his detractors. On occasion I have been one of them. But he and this book deserve a chance.

The Kahui thing was a debacle from the beginning. Nobody denies that. Even Wishart acknowledges it, of sorts. We'll never know the whole truth. No one person knows the whole truth. So we're never going to get the sum of those parts who do.

A child is killed violently about every month or so in New Zealand. The Kahui twins' death, while unusual in that it was two children, was not that uncommon. Except in that the Kahuis and the Kings have come under particularly nasty public scrutiny.

So what if there's a book about it. So what if Macsyna King tried to hang Chris Kahui out to dry. So what if she's trying to save her own ass. So what so what so what. And so what if Ian Wishart makes a few bucks off of it. So what?

If you don't like the idea of such a book being written, don't buy it. But don't dare get on your high moral horse about the prospect of other people buying and reading it. Last I checked it's a free country. I can read the bible if I want to, the Koran, Mein Kampf, or Alice in Wonderland. And I'll buy and read Breaking Silence if I want to.

Michael Moonwalks Alone

2011-06-25T13:11:00.001+12:00

Sadly, Cleveland, Ohio still holds the world record for the number of people simultaneously moonwalking over a bridge.

The Sydenham Moonwalkers Trust was today (the anniversary of Michael Jackson's death) going to attempt to overtake Cleveland and grab the prestigious title of World Record Holder by inviting the citizens of Christchurch to simultaneously shake their groove thing on the Colombo Street overbridge, all in view of the inspiration for the event, the Michael Jackson Memorial. Proceeds from the event were to be donated to the Christchurch Earthquake Recovery fund.

Unfortunately, no donation will be made because no one showed up to moonwalk (at least at the agreed time of 11am today). Clearly, Christchurchians have lost their mojo. Even event organiser, SMT spokesperson Mick Aulyculkin, was a no-show, and was, obviously, unavailable for comment.

Readers of this article considered the possibility it was some sort of prank. However, a spokesman for the one non-moonwalking person who showed up today (me) said surely no one would so abuse the memory of the great gloved one, inventor of the moonwalk. Who would so callously insult the legend of Neverland?

But, alas, it appears it was indeed a hoax. Sadly, Christchurch will not grab the international limelight for gaining the world record, which still stands at 14, for simultaneously moonwalking over a bridge. Yay, Cleveland.

There's always next year, though.

Was Clayton Cosgrove arrested?

2011-06-23T20:59:00.011+12:00

I went to the Art Gallery to see Clayton Cosgrove get arrested.

I heard on the radio that the Opposition MPs were going to be locked in a room prior to the announcement of the financial package offered to quake-stricken Christchurch homeowners. Cosgrove, MP for Waimakariri, had apparently said he would not stay in the room, but would leave, even if it meant being arrested.

So I figured it would be fun to watch him escorted from the Art Gallery in handcuffs so I hot-footed it down there.

Of course, he never was lead out in handcuffs, so I guess he complied. He did, however, front up to TV3 after the announcement.

Mike McRoberts was standing in the drizzling rain, and eventually stepped under an umbrella as he reported live from outside the Christchurch Art Gallery.

Then Juanita Copeland turned up. Apparently she has a house in what is now the Orange Zone.

Or Area. People in the Orange Area are in limbo. They still do not know what the future holds for their houses and land. People in the Green Area can rebuild on their present site.

After it became obvious Cosgrove wasn't going to be lead kicking and screaming from the building, John Key arrived so I thought I'd hang around and see what happened.

Not much.

John Key left just in time for me to take a couple of snaps before I had to leave to go get Josh. So all in all, pretty uneventful. Like the announcement.

I did get to try out my new lens, tho.

Shoe of the Week

2011-06-10T21:45:00.004+12:00

I had given up on the Shoe of the Week posts. Somehow in the wake of the earthquakes it seemed a little stupid and frivolous. But when I saw these the other day I thought hmmm...maybe one more.

Aren't they adorable? I big YES from me!

MMP Referendum

2011-06-06T10:22:00.005+12:00

So there's going to be a referendum this election as to whether we want to keep MMP or switch to another voting system.

I'm by no means an expert on political voting systems, and I'm really not even an informed political commentator. It's one of those subjects about which everyone has an opinion, and it's actually the nature of the beast that nobody really knows the truth because it is the job of political commentators to obfuscate. The better the obfuscation the more effective the spin.

I am, however, an average Joe. And as an average Joe, I listen daily to the stupidity, the arrogance, the lies, and the petty back-biting that is New Zealand politics.

When average Joes everywhere voted to change from first-past-the-post to MMP, I reckon they didn't want a change of voting system as much as they wanted at least a change of attitude. And in many cases they wanted a change in personnel.

The thing that amused me the most was that the day after the election of MMP, the same people were in charge. All the arrogant, smarmy politicians who ruled under FPP were still in charge under MMP. By and large. There were a few additions...like Nandor and Sue. And we know what they did for New Zealand politics!

But all the big players were still there - Clark, Cullen, Mallard, English, Anderton, Goff, Smith et al. There they all were. Still there doing the same thing - screwing middle New Zealand and feathering their own nests, saying exactly the same things they were saying the day before.

Since then, what's happened? Nothing. Well, not nothing, but the same. Nothing new. For average Joe nothing changed from the old system. Taxes still went up; prices went up; wages stayed still. Politicians perks changed, but were still pretty impressive and still on the back of the good old New Zealand taxpayer.

So, now that it's probably likely that the gullible New Zealand public will go back to FPP, thinking things might change, the conservative spin doctors will be out in force, talking it up.

But nothing will change. A few faces might appear or disappear. But all the old personalities will still be there, plotting against one another, back-biting and obfuscating on the really important stuff, increasing their pecuniary interests, sucking the New Zealand taxpayer dry.

It's not a change in voting system we need or want. We need a change in attitude. We need a switch from the self-serving arrogance that is the backbone of the New Zealand political system. We need genuine policies that serve all New Zealanders, not just the loudest special-interest groups with the best lobby. We need honest politicians who genuinely care about average Joes, politicians who aren't so out of touch with AJ that it's embarrassing. We need a welfare system that actually takes care of people according to need, not some faceless, meaningless formula that invites corruption and abuse. We need an education system that doesn't categorise children according to the wealth of their parents, but teaches self-respect and innovation and genuine respect for others. We need a justice system that isn't a laughable contradiction. We need to feel secure in our homes and on our streets.

We don't need another expensive exercise in futility that will have politicians crowing that they're actually doing something for New Zealand.

Oh, and if FPP can somehow arrange for these bloody earthquakes to stop, then that would be a bonus too!

One in Four Chance...

2011-06-04T08:32:00.005+12:00

I really do hate banging on about the earthquake, and, like many Cantabrians, now we really really do want to just get on with our lives, whether houses have fallen down or there are just a few cracks in the walls.

So, just as we were starting to get back together after September then February happened, it was actually a bit of a blow to hear recently that there is a 23% chance of a 6 to 7 happening again in the next year. Not a blow like the February earthquake was, of course. But it was information sufficient to send a little tremor through my gut, and to reignite the whole 'moving to Wellington' (where we have family and, it seems, less than a 1 in 4 chance of a big earthquake) proposition.

A few weisenheimers - either non-Cantabrians or some of those eternally perky people nobody really likes - smarmily suggested that surely a 23% chance of it happening means there's a 77% chance it won't happen. Which is true. But in context, I kinda thought that was a little unfair.

If you lived in Tauranga in 2010, and the news was announced that there was a 23% chance of a 6 to 7 earthquake there I think it would be appropriate to focus more on the 77%. But if you lived in Christchurch in 2010, when the 1 in 16000 year earthquake shook you, and then within a matter of months another 1 in 16000 year earthquake shook you (does that make it a 1 in 32000 year earthquake, or probably a much bigger number?), I don't think it's that much of a stretch to be tempted to focus on the 23%.

If someone told me there was a 23% chance - near enough to 1 in 4 - I'd be winning Lotto Powerball tonight, sure I'd consider the 77% chance I won't win. But I'd be mighty distracted by that 23%. I wouldn't be out spending it yet, or writing Jackie's resignation letter, but I might be thinking about the right wording. Or ordering the newest Nikon D3S. or X. Or whatever model they're up to.

The point is that 23% would be loooooming large, despite the odds of it actually happening.

I wonder what's happening in Japan. Are they still having aftershocks, too? I guess they are. Scientists are still suggesting our aftershocks are relatively normal for the type of earthquake/s we had. Of course, Cantabrians have redefined normal. We all live with the aftermath and reminders, daily. And as much as we might like to ignore it all, we can't. And deep down, we all know it's not going to go away. We drive through the streets, and even though we're not civil engineers, construction experts or geophysicists, we just know it's going to be many years before the city looks "normal." But we all also know deep down that our lives will never be the same. Ten years from now, when there's a little 3.6 earthquake in Lyttelton or Darfield, we'll just for a split second remember September 2010 or February 2011. That's just the way we're wired.

And at the risk of being morbid, I have thought many times that the very fabric of Canterbury has been changed. Not just the physics and geology of it, but the spirit.

I believe we are all connected. There's a cosmic bond between all of us. Some bonds are stronger than others, but it's always there. So whatever happens to a family in Bexley affects me. In a cosmic/spiritual way. Whatever I do and feel, affects that lady in Rangiora.

I would extend that to the entire planet, and even the universe, but then it tends to sound a little whacky (but no less true), but for the moment I'm more concentrated on the immediate vicinity.

To hear of the possibility, even a slight one, of another significant earthquake striking Christchurch was always going to send shivers up the spines of most Cantabrians. I'm not really dwelling on it. And the moving to Wellington thing is only an extension of an already possible move. But as unlikely as it really is/was, with the news of another possible earthquake on the horizon, the prospect took on a 4% more positive spin.

But I seriously doubt I could move up there and start supporting the Hurricanes.

Three minutes to die...

2011-05-28T08:55:00.006+12:00

I'm one of those morose flyers. Or maybe I'm the only one who asks, and ponders the answers to, obvious questions posed when one is 20,000 feet in the air, in a steel tube that, like the humble bumble bee, shouldn't be able to fly at all and has no business being in such a damn stupid place.

I went to Auckland to take photos for a school's new website. We had rainy Auckland weather on Thursday, but Friday played ball and the sun shone brightly for most of the day. I might muse (in a good way) about teachers and children in another entry, but I have to say I had a great time with great adults and completely adorable year one to eight children.

Dean had already warned me about the distinctive, and unsettling thump thump thump sound of the regular hydraulic test that takes place generally during the flight attendant's safety demonstration. I listened for it, but didn't hear it.

And what's that safety demonstration about? Most people listen but take none of it in. If the plane starts to plummet, am I going to be thinking about the life-vest under my bum or the lights along the floor guiding me to the emergency exit? I don't think so. The demonstration would be a lot more effective if they just said "in case of an emergency, just look for Jen, the cute chubby flight manager, and do what she says"!

But as I shuddered beyond the point of certain death if anything went wrong (which is what? two, three, five hundred feet?) in the belly of one of Jetstar's A320s, I wiled away the time asking the obvious questions.

Anyway, we were about 500 feet up when the first question jumped into my mind: What are the chances of survival if the wing fell off right now? I figured about 30%, but with 100% chance of serious disfigurement and/or life in a coma.

I took a few snaps but the City was cloud-bound and the Sky Tower was just a pin sticking up into the sky.

A few minutes later, as we pulled into the cloud cover, there's really only one relevant question. What happens if some other A320 is floundering blind in this same cloud formation? And is mistakenly on OUR flightpath? Would the pilot have time to react if suddenly another plane came sailing through the cumulus?

Of course he wouldn't. So the next obvious question is: How instant would death be if another plane slammed into this one? Would my whole body just explode in a fireball and I would feel nothing? Or would time slow down just enough for me to feel the full effects of the burning and exploding? Knowing my luck, that's more likely

Of course, I assumed, there are at least a dozen or so people all around the country - in the cockpit, in Auckland Air Traffic Control, Christchurch Air Traffic Control, and probably a few smaller Air Traffic Control centres along the way - all dedicated to keeping me and this plane completely safe in the air, and by and large out of the direct path of other planes.

But what if they're all idiots? What are the chances the whole ATC system is staffed by idiots? Morons? Pretty slim. I know some of the controllers, and they're not idiots at all. Phew.

But... they don't all need to be idiots. Realistically there only needs to be one idiot on duty to secure disaster at my expense. One idiot, like those ATCs we heard about recently in the US who fell asleep while they were supposed to be directing planes? What if one of THEM is in control of this plane???

There's something reassuring and calming about breaking out of the cloud. I had asked myself what if the whole way to Christchurch will be in thick cloud. Does that increase the chances of a mid-air collision?

So when we break through the cloud, I think now, at least, the pilot can see if there are any other planes in the vicinity, specifically ones that will imminently smash into us.

But being above the clouds means we're pretty high now. What? 3000 feet? Who knows such things? Hopefully the pilots do. How high are the clouds, normally? Does it differ according to conditions? Maybe we were at 10000 feet. No idea.

The idea I did have, however, was: Surely now there's zero chance of survival of the wing fell off.

Which leads to the next logical question. Failing an instant death by explosion and fireball, what happens in those two, five or ten minutes (however long) it takes for the intact but wingless plane to plummet to the ground? Is it a mayhem of screaming and confessions, like in the movies? Or subconscious scrambling for the life-vest because somewhere you remember hearing there's a life-vest under your seat. But what the hell good is a life-vest going to be if you slam into the ocean at terminal velocity? Perhaps there's a lot of stoic arm-rest grabbing silence waiting for the inevitable.

So, once we're cruising above the clouds, though, time for a little relaxation. Wings intact; clear visibility with no planes in sight. What can go wrong? Time for a few photos.

So then I get preoccupied with catching the sun as it slips below the clouds on the horizon. Moderate success.

But that raises the flying in cloud questions, except now we're flying in complete darkness. Well, almost. What's the visibility like up front? Just how far can you see those little flashing lights from? Hmm?

And then there's the landing. Isn't take-off and landing the most dangerous time of the flight? I can't imagine that's true, but I've heard it somewhere.

So then we're in the clouds and it's dark. Does that double the collision chances? Is that one idiot ATC on duty right now in Christchurch?

Apparently not. Or at least he/she managed to do her job without dozing off, it seems. We landed safely and on time.

Thankfully, I don't fly very often. I can't handle the stress.

It's funny what makes you smile...

2011-05-16T09:44:00.003+12:00

With all the despair and destruction around, sometimes you forget the little things that are right with the world. So it's funny what makes me smile these days.

On the way home from dropping Josh at school, I caught tiny wee scurrying movement out of the corner of my eye (I'm good like that). So I stopped and watched again. More scurrying. Tiny and brown. Nestled under a tree, hiding ... well, not hiding really, just sitting there, daring me to come closer. So I did. Ever so slowly. I had my phone with me. Of course, I did, it's attached to me.

If evolution is true (which it's pretty much not), humans will one day be BORN with phones as part of their inner-ear structure.

Anyway, I took a few snaps of the little brown scurrier.

And for some reason I just had to smile.

Down Town

2011-05-12T06:52:00.000+12:00

I don't think people who are not from Christchurch understand. Actually, I'm not sure people who are from Christchurch understand, but at least they have the beginnings of understanding just what has happened to us and our city. The photo above is of Colombo Street, the main street that runs through the CBD.

Michael Laws basically said on RadioLive yesterday that adults in Christchurch should get over themselves and harden up. I wouldn't expect much else from that priggish boor. The reality is most of us are hardening up. We're generally less spooked by the aftershocks. We've been to most of the funerals. We only get one or two 5+ earthquakes a month, now.

But it's not the aftershocks that are bothering many people. What bothers me is the saturation of despair and destruction. Even though my suburb and home is relatively unscathed, I cannot drive anywhere without being reminded that so much of our city is in ruins. And the closer you get to the Red Zone, the more stark the reminder.

This is how much of the inner city looks, and this after it's been tidied up. There are nice piles of brick and rubble everywhere, cleanly cut open spaces where shops and cafes used to be. The glass has been swept up and buildings on the verge of falling down have been propped up.

Petula Clark sung Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city... The dominant tunes in the Red Zone are jackhammers and rumbling diesel engines. There are few cars, except those driven by neon-vested officials or those still crushed in the rubble (although I did read somewhere that all of the cars had been removed from the inner city?).

There is lots of talk in Heritage circles of mourning cherished buildings. Probably it's not so much the buildings they are mourning but rather what the buildings mean to them.

We all have - had - special places down town that may no longer exist.

The Savoy Brown (directly under the tree above) had taken on a special status for me. It was a funky little place at the top (bottom?) end of High Street. At least the building is still standing, and in true Christchurch style there are moves afoot to keep at least the facades of these buildings.

Keep it or not, it will be a year before anybody can go near the place. I wonder if we'll ever get to sip latte there again. I've taken a few photos inside The Savoy Brown. I wish I'd taken more. In fact, I had planned to. It had a particular little room that I loved to be in. There was something romantic about it. It screamed PHOTOSHOOT! to me every time I lounged in the leather chairs and sucked in the tacky 70s decor. I'm glad I got the photos I did.

But alas, it's probably gone. Unless the Heritage people win a small victory. But it won't be the same. The owners may have moved on, gone bankrupt, sold up, or died. Who knows.

So, too, for much of the inner city. I have friends who own a cafe on Hereford Street. It will be October before they can even go back into the place. The chances of actually re-opening are pretty slim.

The Grand Chancellor leans over Cashel Street, mocking us all. Will it fall or won't it.

It probably won't. It'll be knocked down. Like Manchester Courts The Grand Chancellor will be a sticking point for months, maybe years, because even after it comes down it will generate controversy. Already the property developers, the lawyers, and the construction company executives are rubbing their hands together. It will be boom time for them in the coming years.

Meanwhile, I still have to find a new haunt to sip latte.

Subway Takes Cake

2011-05-07T08:56:00.005+12:00

I know this particular theme goes round and round, so much so that whenever we see evidence we just roll our eyes. But it is perhaps indicative of how entrenched our cynicism is, or how successfully we've been duped by marketing and advertising gurus. Or both.

Hugh and I went to Subway for lunch. He had vouchers. The new "Smokin' BBQ Chicken" looked gooooood. Well, in the poster, anyway.

What's wrong with this picture?

Sorry about the size of the photo...the Subway website only had a small picture of their new Smokin' Hot BBQ Chicken sandwich. Probably because they're ashamed. Or afraid someone might compare the real thing with the picture.

This is advertising 101 isn't it. We know that the real thing will never in a million years look anything like the sandwich in the poster. Yet, we order it anyway. And we're still disappointed when, instead of the plump, colourful healthy looking food we're "promised", we get the limp, sad looking squidge of soggy bread, watery chicken and... well, the cucumber wasn't bad.

Why do we put up with this again? Or is it simply a function of modern life that we accept it and roll our eyes when someone points it out?

What does the Advertising Standards Authority say about such things. Obviously I'll have to Google it now and check. Thing is, it's all around us, but it seems to only apply to food. If I put up a photo of a brand new Mustang, but was in fact selling an old clunker car with rust, dents and half the engine missing, I'm thinking surely there'd be room for a complaint. Definite case of misleading and deceptive advertising.

So why are the fast food chains allowed to get away with it? Because I've seen similar things done with hamburgers, tacos, and chicken.

Anyway, I'm off to Google the ASA.

What's in the News Today...

2011-04-28T07:53:00.003+12:00

Some days I read the news on Stuff and giggle. Some days I want to cry.

Today was a bit of a giggle day.

I can't get into the "Royal Wedding". What a joke! But an even bigger joke is that some women are still trying to cash in on being Princess Diana lookalikes. It seems the whole planet is all in a tizzy about the wedding tomorrow. Given that the only marriage that's lasted in that royal family this century is the Queen's, and that probably because she's so stuffy and dedicated to looking proper, I doubt this one will last.

What is it about the marriage of a stuck up, plastic invention (and you could probably interchange them with that description) to a plain looking twinkie-in-waiting half way around the world that has got everyone so excited? Are some people so dissatisfied with their own lives that they need a little vicarious fantasy to get them through? Actually, I think the media has a hand in it, of course. They've driven a lot of it, and we know how desperate that industry is. Anywhere they can make a buck. The money being spent and made on this stupid wedding would probably go a long way to ending poverty in Prince William's home country. Does he have a plan for that? I doubt it. Like he cares about homelessness, poverty and crime right under his stuck-up nose.

I think I've already alluded to what a JOKE I think the whole Don Brash takes over ACT fiasco is. I despise the way politicians assume joe public is a complete moron and cannot see through their greed and attention-seeking behaviour. Brash was a complete failure as a politician before; what's changed? Except that he's a lot older.

The huge haul of P intercepted at Auckland Airport will stall the trade of the drug in New Zealand by about 30 seconds. As with all serious criminals, they should simply be walked around the back of one of the hangars and shot. Don't care what their circumstances or coercions, shoot them. Get the word out. If you commit serious crime in New Zealand, you get a bullet.

These kinds of surveys, and the conclusions drawn from them really irk me. The "greatest fear" of these people is living in a city apartment? OMG! Who are these people? That's their greatest fear? Yeah...forget being murdered in their sleep; having their children kidnapped and killed; a plague wiping out their posh suburb; or their copy of Avenues not turning up on time. As long as they don't have to live in an apartment, life will be sweet.

What is wrong with this country when the pokies are a valid form of income generation?

Is this the pot calling the kettle black? Ooh...sorry, is that a racist thing to say?

Couldn't you just go on and on. It staggers me, some of the things that go on round here. Sigh.

Good God it's Friday

2011-04-22T10:39:00.011+12:00

Are we all looking for something?

Of course we are. Love. Fame. Money. Acceptance. Sex. Power. Control. Revenge.

Every little thing we do, every single action and thought, comes from our deepest longing and is designed to realise it. Of course, we'd like to think our deepest longings are noble - love, altruism, peace - but as often as not they are ignoble. Perhaps more often.

It's Good Friday. Not just any Friday. Good Friday. Not sure why they call it that. 'Cause something good happened? Cause we're supposed to be good today? Gooder than we are on other days? I wonder if there is less crime on Good Friday. Less abuse. Less alcohol drunk. Less swearing. Less "illicit" sex. Less violence. Less pornography downloaded. Less money stolen. Less disrespect of parents. Less idolatry.

Someone told me they were going to church. It's Good Friday. Noble? Maybe. It's more of a community thing, they said. Hmmm. Not quite so noble?

It occurred to me a long long time ago that a significant portion of those who flock to church, whether on Good Friday or any other holy day (Saturday or Sunday), are not going there to look for salvation, or God, or anything ethereal. They are, in fact, looking for something a lot more earthbound. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, except there's a whole disingenuous element to it. The premise is inherently dishonest. The premise is I will pretend to believe in God (however much my private thoughts and actions prove otherwise) because that's ostensibly what is required to get in the door. Once inside, however, the goal emerges. The pretense remains, as is required (a going through the motions, if you will), but even in the going through the motions the true desire is paramount.

For some it's attention. Attention is mostly secondary, but it's a good way to pretend we are getting what is primary: acceptance, belonging. If you're preaching, teaching, or playing in the band or singing, the secondary is automatic. You will get attention. Acceptance however, is a lot less guaranteed.

For some it's sex. For some, church is a way to hook up with potential sexual partners. Better than pubs and bars.

For some it's company. Just an opportunity to spend some time with other human beings. But not too much. You don't want to be bothered by these people during the week, but it's nice to gossip a little one morning a week.

Mostly the churches (and by that I mean the church hierarchy) don't care why you're there. It's a numbers game. The more bums on seats the bigger the contribution, pure and simple. And for some of those in charge, more bums on seats also means more prestige in the church leadership community

For some, it's spiritual. I fail to see how something so secular, in such a secular society, can provide anything spiritual, but I guess spirituality is in the eye of the beholder. Its a couple of hours a week of spirituality and I guess for some that ticks the box.

I've always thought if you're going to play church you have to play it 100%. The consequences of playing it 80, 65, or, god forbid, 14.5% are... well, there are no consequences. But it just seems so dishonest.

For some, it's political. Bill Clinton was a faithful church goer. As was/is George Bush. And Graham Caphill. Apparently, the appearance of being righteous gives you some credibility. You don't have to be righteous, you just have to appear to be righteous.

But isn't that the crux of the hypocrisy inherent in playing church.

One of the enduring memories I have of being a preacher in the buckle of the bible belt was how all the men would stand outside after the Sunday service, and smoke a cigarette together. Many times I SO wanted to join that little circle, rip open a Budweiser and talk with the guys about football. Sadly, I never did it. I was very young and too intent on pretending to be spiritual....I mean being spiritual.

(It should be noted that in the South smoking is much more acceptable in Christian circles than drinking alcohol - of course, most of them drink beer too, just not at church)

So many times I had huge arguments with my (then) wife in the car on the way home from church. I'd probably preached about the importance of loving one another. How's that for hypocrisy? But our deepest longings weren't being satisfied, and it took us another few years to realise that.

It then took me a few more years to discover than none of my needs/longings were being satisfied in church, whether I was in the pulpit or the pew. Many of my secondary longings were met...I liked attention even though it didn't bring acceptance; the company was nice but I didn't want too much; there was an element of spirituality to it, but nothing like I felt it should have been. Ask me some time about the merits of living in a commune. And there was even a little revenge floating around in the mix. Comes a point when the hypocrisy is just too pointless.

Very little of what happens in churches on Sunday or Good Friday or Christmas Eve is about God. We think it is. We pretend it is. We claim it is. But it isn't.

This is the video I started this blog thinking about, but it evolved a little.

Happy Good Friday. Be good, even if it's just for today.

Modern Living

2011-04-17T08:20:00.006+12:00

Is it just me, or do others (you) have blinding moments of sheer panic, generally speaking about how out of control things are in your life?

To be predictably centrist about it, I guess some do and some don't. I'd love to know the percentages and degrees.

Many people seem to be on full throttle and showing no signs of slowing down or taking a break. Days are filled from 5 or 6 am until 7 or 8 at night or later. There's running here to appease this person, dashing over there because there's something vital to the machine that needs to be done and only you can do it. Then it's back again because you just got a phone call and somebody needs something urgently and apparently no one else is available. So on the way you get a take out coffee and a sausage roll at the BP while you fill up the tank at well over two bucks a litre, and chuckle at the furore created a couple of years ago when gas prices inched slowly towards two dollars. It dropped suddenly to one forty nine, but now it's back well over two dollars and not a single word of protest has been heard.

Same with cheese. Remember when there was an uproar and people stopped buying cheese when it hit, like 13 bucks a kilo? Suddenly it was back down to 9.

Now, have you noticed? It's 12 dollars a kilo and nobody has said a word about the price.

We're so stupid.

In the wake of the earthquakes in Christchurch there is good reason to be even more cynical as many come face to face with the corporate leviathan that is the Insurance Company. Good luck, people.

I love all the ads about how the insurance companies and many other businesses are "here to help" you. Yeah right. THEY DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU! All they care about is getting your money back. If The Warehouse really cared about people in Christchurch, they would have had a FREE DAY! Everything you need to help you recover from the earthquake: FREE!

Yeah right. Well, they are a business after all and have to make a profit. Of course. But don't advertise that you're "here to help" us! Advertise that your back on board and need to get our money again!

But who's got time to go to The Warehouse, anyway? There are too many other pressing appointments. You have to drop the kids at school, way too early, to get to the office through the bumper to bumper traffic on Lincoln Road by 9 o'clock. There you work for the man, busting your hump until 4 or 5 or 6 or 7, then rejoin the commute and snake down Lincoln Road again, with the same people you snaked with this morning!

Hopefully the kids have been at day care, or after school care (not that you could do much if they absconded and went to the mall). Dinner by 8 and kids into bed. Dishes by 9. Then you get to sit down and have a romantic hour with your significant other, watching murder and rape and child abduction on any one of the CSI programmes that seem to be on the tele every 45 minutes.

I'm often tempted to wonder what has changed in the last two, three, four, or nine hundred years. Back then the peasants toiled 18 hours a day to scrape a meager living for themselves while their fat cat landlords got rich off the backs of those tenants.

HULLOOOOO!

What's changed? We have nicer toys to play with. We get a "holiday" every now and then (a week or two off from the daily grind - not the kids, the bills, the stress or the murder and rape and child abduction on tele). And we live longer - but that's probably a negative, because what that creates is another 30 years of toiling so the landlord gets 30 more years of graft out of you!

There are a few getting ahead, I guess, and perhaps that's the major difference between now and nine hundred years ago. The chances of getting ahead are greater. But the irony is that, usually, the only way to "get ahead" is to change from peasant to landlord, and get rich on the backs of the poor bastards you used to commute with in the mornings and evenings.

But there's not much of that happening. Most are locked into the 6 til 10 grind with absolutely no chance of ever "getting ahead."

Is it any wonder we're prone to blinding attacks of panic and anxiety? How out of control are we? Are we showing any signs at all of slowing down? Taking a break? Add to that credit card companies calling, and reminding you that, while they understand circumstances in Christchurch may be mitigating - how nice of them - they still want their money. Funny how, in the midst of the debilitating chaos in Christchurch, the bills kept arriving in the letterbox. And don't get me started about taxes due. NOW!

Pull yourself together man.

Quit whining and do something.

I know.

I wish it were that simple.

Update

2011-04-13T14:25:00.002+12:00

Don't you hate blog entries that aren't blog entries? I felt, since I updated the site slightly, that now the blog is front page I should probably blog more regularly. Can't have a front page unchanged since march 19. What would that say about me?

So I've made a few changes, and the best thing is there's no ad at the top! Yay!

Thing is, I'm not sure many people are looking/reading anyway. There was a burst of activity a while ago, but that's about it really. And facebook posts don't count as blog entries do they?

The Photo News page will let you know what I've been doing photographically lately. So I'm not completely inactive. I do have one big job hanging over me thats not photographic. So I do need to get onto that. Then I'll be able to breath a bit more.

Catch you soon.

Earthquake Memorial

2011-03-19T07:13:00.028+13:00

I think John Campbell had the second best quote of the day - after Prince William's "grief is the price we pay for love" (courtesy of his grandmother) - when he said something about how quiet a hundred thousand people could be.

It was a good day, with moments of touching brilliance. The USAR workers - quite rightly - stole the day. The impromptu standing ovation they got was chilling. In a good way. Many of them had come straight from the rubble in the Red Zone. Many of them went straight back there to continue their harrowing work.

They are the unwitting heroes of this tragedy that has befallen us.

All politics were put aside - except for Melissa Lee's epic fail with her stupid tweets about Phil Goff's tie, and she wasn't even there. She could wear red and black but he couldn't? (I must admit he was in the invidious position of being the only man wearing such a bright tie - and Labour red to boot).

John Campbell again. It's happening. Whether too soon or not, it's happening and it is a shame that the pettiness that plagued the preceding days, on that topic, spilled over into the actual event, and even after the fact some people are still going on about it. A hundred thousand people think it wasn't too soon. And as one girl interviewed said: Why not now? If not now, when?

When is it ever a good time to remember a hundred and eighty people (at least) who have died?

It wasn't as sad as I thought it might be. Not that I wanted sad, per se. But I would have liked to have seen a little more emotion, which, for me was probably the responsibility of the speakers.

The speeches were ordinary. I know I go on about this, but it seems the days of rousing oratory are gone. And I think it's as simple as the fact that nobody wants to say anything wrong because careers can end with one simple slip of the tongue. So every speech is carefully prepared so as to be so benign nobody could possibly get into trouble. And is, therefore, boring.

To speak from the heart is to risk saying something someone will be offended by. And with every demographic so intensely offendable, better to not even try.

So, the speeches fell horribly, uninspiringly flat.

The emotional content was left to the musicians. Heyley Westernra's Amazing Grace was...well, amazing. The lone piper was eerily subtle. Was it Malvina Major? I like opera - when it's in an opera. I'm not such a fan of opera music sung on a stage. And How Great Thou Art is not a song to be sung opera-style. She was, as always, hard to listen to. Dobbyn was great. His understated solo was hauntingly apt.

Perhaps the moment that dug deepest into the heart of every Cantabrian, however, was the opening note of Conquest of Paradise. An instantly recognisable intro, it's an attention grabber that pulls so many (I'm sure there are those who hate it) into it's evocative refrains, and was another opportunity via the video screen to applaud the tireless rescue workers and volunteers. It's not just the Crusaders song; it is the unofficial anthem of Canterbury.

Mayor Bob parker did well. I continue to have mixed feelings about him. He didn't seem to be speaking from notes. Some kudos due there? While passionate, however, I just didn't feel inspired by him.

Peter Beck and the other religious leaders, I think, felt keenly the irrelevance of their faith/s, even at such a potentially religious event. You cannot lay claim to a single God in the presence of so many different, and contradictory, beliefs about god.

It's worth considering that many of the people in Hagley Park yesterday were there, primarily, to catch a glimpse of Prince William. His fleeting visit and stilted Maori pronunciation failed to dampen many of the well-wisher's spirits.

At least, that's how it felt as I was being crushed by a wall of screaming devotees who's most exciting life-moment to date may be that they got to shake his hand. These two little girls, and so many others, and even quite a few "mature" ladies seemed overwhelmed just by his presence. To have shaken his hand was just too much.

He is quite pretty tho. And there's just enough sense about him that he's not part of one of the longest histories of land-grabbing, peasant-abusing, commoner-crushing monarchies Western civilisation has seen. I don't want to get into the politics of it here - too late - but suffice it to say I'm not a royalist. If shaking his hand can make a couple of teenage girls feel good about themselves for even just a moment, then what the hell. I'm not sure the trade-offs are worth it tho, cost to value ratio. Standing front-row on the walk-by was interesting. I had my hands full of camera so did not shake his hand. Just nodded a polite hello, and kept clicking.

I was going to ask him about MI6's possible involvement in his mother's demise, but thought better of it.

(Just kidding)

It was a lovely day. I think it was respectful to the families of the deceased; the dignitaries were not overwhelming (except Willy, but that was to be expected); the music by and large was appropriate and not too morose; the crowd was subdued and respectful. The only incident I heard about first-hand was an over-zealous, security-conscious priest - yes, a priest - swore at a fellow photog and threatened to have him excommunicated, or castrated, or something like that (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating). But you get the drift.

There was a heavy security presence, so I think that made the crowd more relaxed.

And there were several touching moments and reminders - floating in the sky above us - of why we were there.

But, in saying that, I'm not sure there was a universal sense of why we were there. Jackie wanted the names of the deceased read out, and while not all of them are yet identified and it would be horrible to miss someone, I think reading the names out would have given a sense of why we were there.

Of course, everyone had their own reasons for being there. I've said somewhere else that every single Cantabrian has been touched by these earthquakes, and everyone is at most a couple of degrees of separation from someone who died. Named or not, at the moment these people are still close to our hearts and in our minds (Jo C ... I doubt you'll read this but all BNZers, former and current, are thinking of you xx) and perhaps they were closest yesterday at 12:51 when we all stood in silence for two minutes, remembering the past, and maybe looking a little to the future.

(Just a note - the photo below was not taken during the two minutes silence. I really struggled with the idea of even going, and then with the notion of taking my cameras. I decided to and was glad that I did. I wondered if too many cameras would be disrespectful, but that was short lived. There were cameras for Africa, in addition to the huge media presence.)

The times they are a changing...

2011-03-13T09:14:00.006+13:00

I'm in the mood for some vitriol. But, of course, I won't vent too much. It's not really socially acceptable, and even if it were I really have nothing to vent about. We haven't lost our house. We haven't even lost our power. We don't have 10 foot waves of debris smashing through our back yard, and there's only a very very small danger of suffering from nuclear fallout (when I say very small, I mean very small).

I should be thankful I have pretty much everything I need; I should greet each new day as a challenge; I should be grateful I can have a shower every day and even though we're still boiling water we probably don't have to. Every now and then I'll forget and take a swig straight from the tap or a mouthful when I'm in the shower. Haven't died. Yet.

There are scales of destruction, and there are scales of dealing with it. Perhaps I'm a simpering weakling but I doubt I would have done very well at all if we had been without power for the last three weeks. I know someone who only got power back a few days ago, and water only yesterday. Apparently it smells like a swimming pool and looks like chamomile tea. And they still have to pee outside in the moonlight. Could be worse, though, I guess.

You look at the TV and watch unprecedented footage of a tsunami sweeping over farmland in Japan, and you just can't believe it. It's UNbelievable.

Three weeks ago, the international community watched unbelievable scenes of down town Christchurch. We watched the same scenes. It was OUR city and we couldn't believe it either.

Compared to what Japan got, our pathetic little shake seems insignificant. Already the social networking sites are abuzz with endless variations of "thank goodness ours wasn't as bad". For surely it could have been. And if Ken Ring is right, it might yet be.

I was driving in Riccarton the other day, and I had the conscious thought that if a 6.3 did this, what devastation an 8 would bring. Until a few weeks or months ago, those comparisons were meaningless. Now, they are all too fearfully real.

The experts would have us believe the 6.3 was the "big" aftershock they were expecting. But expectation is a fickle thing. If we didn't really "expect" the 6.3, we certainly didn't "expect" the 7.1 in September. I have to take issue with all those people who, while I was growing up, promised me that any big earthquake in New Zealand was more than likely going to hit Wellington. Perhaps that's why all my life I've never liked Wellington, despite never having been there until I was well into my 30s.

Nobody in Japan was expecting to have to deal with what they are now having to deal with. Not really. And so, too, in Christchurch. We never really expected to have to deal with what we're dealing with. Not really.

Whether or not our houses are rubble around our feet, or our water looks like chamomile tea, there are things we have to deal with that we were not expecting to have to deal with. Photos of people you once loved are all over the news. Those people are now dead. Hitherto happy go-lucky children are now wetting the bed at night and are afraid to go outside. Jobs have been lost and therefore houses and hopes for the future are seriously threatened. Anxiety levels are through the roof, and all that negative energy is poisoning the city just as surely as a nuclear drift would. Relationships are started and ended in the wake.

There's a lot of talk about how the city will look and feel when all this is over. I suspect that when the dust settles it will be unrecognisable.

Someone glibly said recently that god would not send anything on us that we couldn't handle. Yeah right. Tell that to the millions who commit suicide every year; to those who take up drinking or snorting coke to get through; to those who think violence is an acceptable release; to those who have to take a cocktail of drugs every day to get through it; to those who are shrivelling into their own little isolated corner of the world.

The reality is that regardless of our circumstances, we are all having to deal with things that cannot be quantified. We are all having emotional responses to the things around us that are affecting our daily endeavours.

I do believe in the human spirit. But I believe it can be a very fragile thing, and it doesn't always shine through, or even survive. We see great stories of heroics on the TV. We see beautiful images of kind and caring people doing great things for their communities. We see some people overcoming overwhelming disadvantage to not only survive but succeed. To those I say YAY! It does us good to see the human spirit triumph in adversity.

But so too do we see and hear of tragic stories of defeat and unending despair. For obvious reasons, we don't see them in the media. Nobody really wants to hear about them. We don't glorify weakness. We don't praise despair. Unless there's a particular quirk to the story with significant news value. And as long as there's an element of triumph or success to it in the end.

It'll be years before we're told that 2011 will have seen an increase in the suicide rate, especially in Christchurch and Fukushima. An increase in the uptake of illicit drugs. We're already hearing how domestic violence has increased, but there's a whole other agenda being pushed there.

My point is the whole city is on edge. There's not a single person who lives in Christchurch that has not been significantly impacted by the events of the last three weeks. Or the last six months. It's changing who we are. It's changing how we see the world and each other. It's changing how we feel about each other and the world. Regardless of whether you live in Halswell or Bexley, we are significantly different people than we were six months ago.

The expectation (fickle thing that it is) would be to end a piece like this with something positive. Something to hang your hat on. But what if there's nothing positive? What if I don't see a way through to the light? Am I not entitled to feel that way and express it? It is the way of human nature that there are always more negative stories than positive, more tragedy than comedy. I'm more than confident most of us will survive and be fine (whatever that means). I guess that's more positive than negative. But I'm also aware that many will not. Their lives will be less because of these events. Their lives will have less meaning, and less joy.

Mayor Bob Parker

2011-03-06T09:16:00.005+13:00

I don't know Mayor Bob Parker. I have said maybe two words to him ever, and that was in passing. I voted for him, only because I didn't want to vote for Jim Anderton. I have only ever voted in a local body election once. That's how strongly I didn't want Jim Anderton to be Mayor. As an aside - I think seeing Anderton 24/7 on the TV post Feb 22 would have driven me to the razor blades quicker than a 9.5 aftershock or a brick building falling on my cameras. Thank goodness the September earthquake got Parker re-elected (as surely it did, despite Parker's optimism about winning by a small margin).

The only thing I know for a fact about Bob Parker is that he is a politician. And I make no apologies for the fact that along with that label goes the stereotypical - earned or not - suspicions. Politicians don't consistently rank the least most trusted people on the planet for no reason (not far below journalists it has to be said).

I seem to remember Parker on TV, and not just on This is Your Life. Didn't he do some game shows or University Challenge or something? (I know, that was Peter Sinclair...but didn't Parker do something like that?)

I have a friend who despises him, and she's not alone. I guess when you're Mayor you make decisions that to some may seem glaringly wrong, deceptive, immoral even. Criminal? I doubt that because he has enough powerful enemies that would make sure any criminal activity would be brought to light. See Bill Clinton.

There is another fact that cannot be denied (that's redundant isn't it?) Parker is a consummate front-man. Whether it's real or contrived is anybody's question. The school on either side will demand the high ground on that one. I cannot deny his ability to front this disaster. He's articulate. I guess he has speech writers, but it's a whole other ability to deliver a speech with oratorial flair (please take. note President of the. United. States and Captain James T Kirk. wannabe Barak. Obama.) And it's a whole other talent to work the media, TV cameras, and a despairing public to the degree that general opinion is that he can do nothing wrong.

I'm not necessarily of that opinion. I do, however, think he's doing a good job in incredibly trying circumstances. I don't know what he thinks when he puts his head down on his pillow. I don't know what drives him. I don't know what his portfolio looks like. I don't know what's next for Bob Parker. But I do know that he's rallied the bulk of this city, and even those who have good reason to be aggrieved in the wake of the earthquakes applaud him. One might think that he's the most genuine and righteous politician around.

Except ... this photo (by John Kirk-Anderson) shows up in The Press.

Doesn't this photo reinforce every negative stereotype heaped upon politicians? The forced smile; the awkward handshake; the bereft parent slightly bokehed; the all-is-well fantasy in the midst of chaos and despair; the first-lady in jeans and boots that probably cost more than the guy she's talking to makes in a week. Shall I go on? There's SO much wrong with this photo it's despairing in it's own right.

I cannot understand how someone so media savvy would allow such a photo to be taken let alone published. Fine to pose it like that if mum wants to take a snap of her children with the Mayor on her Finepix P&S. But to pose like that for a Press photographer?

Fail.

When comparisons of a post-Katrina New Orleans and its separation of rich and poor are looking mighty tempting, Parker could/should be doing less of the cheesy posing and more of the much needed reconciliation of the "poorer" suburbs and their sewage systems. Save the child-kissing and schmoozing for when the east-siders can poo in their own homes again. Or at least do it out of the focal range of a Press photographer.

Juxtaposition

2011-03-01T11:37:00.005+13:00

There's a juxtaposition that the media seems to have ignored in the midst of the horror and destruction in the wake of the Christchurch earthquake.

There are large sections of the city where, apart from piles of liquefaction in the streets, life goes on as close to normal as it is possible to be in the middle of all this. Take, for example our street; our house. I can only speak for us.

In the September earthquake we lost power for half the day, and water for a few days. We shuddered with every aftershock. Who knew that after an earthquake like that it was perfectly normal to get 50 smaller aftershocks a day? Who knew what liquefaction was? We soon learned the answers to those and other questions about earthquakes, but with relatively little damage to buildings and practically no injuries, let alone deaths, life returned to a shaky normal quite quickly.

Last week people died. After lulling us into a false sense of security that promised if we survived a 7 relatively unscathed anything less would be a doddle, the earth shook again and a 6 made the 7 look like a 3! And people died.

But still, on the outskirts of the war zone that is shown on TV so regularly, there are people whose lives are relatively untouched. No that's not true. We have all been significantly touched, and will probably be forever changed. But life has a way of sucking you back into its routines, its minutiae.

Jackie has hardly missed an hour at her job. On Wednesday we went and bought bread and milk and some groceries (we didn't stockpile). On Thursday I got petrol because my tank was nearly empty. We never lost power or water, and the only real impact on us is that we have to boil water. Chances are we don't even have to do that, but we're doing it anyway.

When I was heading down town to do some rubbernecking....I know, I shouldn't really have been on the road, but as someone on the fringe of the media I felt a little bit justified being out there - I think there's an obligation to record this historical event ... as I was parked at the lights opposite Hagley park I realised that across the fields in the distance was the Hagley welfare centre in which hundreds of people were mourning the loss of their homes, perhaps their loved ones, and their life as they knew it.

When into the scene walked these three ladies.

Now... I am absolutely not judging them, and I will not pretend to know a single thing about any of them. Everyone deals with stress in different ways, and for many getting a sense of normality ... for example walking the dog ... is very important.

But to me, the fact they were out walking their dogs in Hagley Park suggested they had not been particularly disadvantaged by the earthquake. And the only benchmark I have for that is my own reactions to the tragedy. If I had been evacuated from my home or had lost someone dear to me in the rubble the last thing on my mind would be routine things like walking with the girls and dogs in Hagley Park. But that's just me.

However. Regardless of whether or not these ladies lost home or loved ones, the image reminded me of something that by and large has been ignored by the TV coverage I've seen (which is most of it thanks to MySky). That is, there are significant sections of the city which are functioning relatively normally. Overlooking the chaos, there are entire subsections of Christchurch whose only connection to the earthquake are slightly wider cracks in their walls or piles of silt in their back yard.

There is no liquefaction in our street. Jackie reckons some of our cracks are bigger; I say they're not. Our local supermarket was well stocked and open the next day. Our Challenge ran out of gas on the Wednesday but was open for business again Thursday. There are no gaping holes in our streets. The school is closed but it's not that far past 6 weeks holiday at Christmas so it feels a bit like that. When I drove home on Tuesday night, seven hours after the earthquake, our local fish and chip shop was open and doing a rip roaring trade.

When I drove from Halswell to Hagley Park a few days later it was almost impossible to see any signs of the horror and destruction that was playing almost 24/7 on TV. It really was as if that was a different city.

I don't think the mainstream media are simply leading with the bleeding. I genuinely think the news value of the destruction and the rescue efforts is extraordinarily high. And in no way do I feel left out or isolated, as those poor people in Bexley and Brighton do, because they have been ignored, and even the authorities, by their reaction, have admitted as much.

We in the South-west have been largely left alone because we really have no immediate need.

The thing I'm noticing is that if the rest of the country, and indeed the world, is watching the TV coverage I'm watching they could be forgiven for thinking the entire city has been ravaged beyond repair. And while that may be advantageous in terms of donation appeal (I'm not suggesting that's the motivation), it's giving a slightly skewed impression of what's actually happening in Christchurch.

Earthquake Stories

2011-02-27T09:23:00.003+13:00

There are 400,000 or so earthquake stories. Add to that friends and family in other parts of the country and world, it's not unreasonable to suspect that the Christchurch earthquake has had a significant impact on a million or more people. I have four family members in Hamilton who are at the very least mildly concerned how I am. They're watching the TV; they're texting most days; they worry whenever there is another report of an aftershock; my mother knows someone who had died.

Christchurch is a relatively small town. We are probably all only one or two degrees of separation from someone who is now dead as a direct cause of the February 22 earthquake. I am one degree away from three people who have died. That's just me.

I was talking to a writer friend the other day. We wondered who will be first to publish a novel set in the Christchurch earthquake. I already have a tag line for a romance novel in my mind. A few years ago I looked into writing for Harlequin; perhaps it's time to revisit that idea.

Somehow, the stories need to be told, and I'm sure they will be. Already the poems are being read on the radio (I hate to be cynical but some are pretty crappy); and Radio NZ was reading people's writing pieces about the earthquake. Some is a bit sentimental for my liking, but I'm sure it appeals to some.

Do we have a poet laureate? If we do they're very quiet. I can't remember hearing anything from them after September 4... surely now is the time for a decent bard to speak up?

I'm gonna write my own earthquake poem, in addition to the Mills & Boon novel. Geez...I'd better get writing. Like I don't have enough to do already.

There will be collections of earthquake stories. Won't there?

Having a Go at God

2011-02-25T08:06:00.007+13:00

It's tempting to have a go at God, and easy. But having a go at God is like trying to have a go at Jews or Maoris....there is something deeply entrenched in so many psyches that any criticism at all of these groups is met with such a wall of denial and recrimination that that phenomenon alone is worthy of having a go at.

I have many friends who supposedly believe in God, and I don't wish to offend their sensibilities. But the fact that each of their "Gods" looks quite different seems to escape their powers of reason. It is now perfectly acceptable to believe in pretty much whatever version of god that suits your lifestyle best, and doesn't challenge your actions, feelings, or beliefs. It seems you can be a dope-smoking carousing alcoholic with no intention of repentance whatsoever, and still be a righteous steward, in between your day job as a bookie, and your after hours secondary employment as a drug-dealing pimp.

Hallelujah! God is indeed great!!

Now, volumes and volumes have been written about good v. evil, the existence of god, theodicy, and far be it from me to presume I could begin to deal with the complexities of those arguments in one simple blog post. Which is why I have avoided this topic and others in my blogs in the past. But in the dim light of what will undoubtedly be the worst tragedy in New Zealand's history, surely its poignant to ask some obvious questions about recent events, in relation to some of the religiosity on display. And of course, questions extend beyond the confines of Christchurch. The same questions can be asked of any tragedy in the world, indeed any sinfulness worldwide.

Just where was God on Tuesday? Perhaps this is the most obvious line of questioning. But for the religiously brainwashed it's the easiest to dismiss. But I'll ask anyway. Did he spend the morning in a planning session with the Angels, deciding just which buildings to topple? Which houses to crush? Which sinners to squash? I resisted the urge for years to buy into the logically sound argument that either God is not omnipotent, or he is not omnibenevolent, or he is not omnipresent. He simply cannot be all three.

Does he in fact work in mysterious ways? (I know ...but it is a loose use of Isaiah 55) It seems very mysterious that God saw fit to allow two little children to be crushed in the CTV building, but the staunch gangsta looking dude with the pretty snake tattoo on his neck to walk out unscathed. What sins were the infants so guilty of that God and the Angels saw fit for them to be punished? And their parents?

Apparently there are many many people praying for the people of Christchurch. Jesus has his own Facebook page and is offering comfort to the stricken. (Personally I think he's offering comfort to those doing the praying on his behalf, but that's another story)

God seems to have ignored the prayers of the 103 families whose loved ones have died. And he seems to be oblivious to another 226 sets of prayers being offered. The simple answer that should satisfy even the most enquiring of mind is that "God sometimes says NO!"

You know what? I always found that arrogant, meaningless platitude to be one of the most insensitive, presumptuous, vile statements in the whole of religious excuse. God sometimes says no. Fuck that!

Apparently we cannot understand God's reasons for doing things the way he does. We're too stupid. And if little snippets of doubt do sneak through to the masses, they're quickly reminded that not only are they stupid, they're also arrogant to even question God's ways.

Way to lock up any personal freedom of thought. Somehow modern religion has clouded the reality that its observants are actually as dim-witted and as under-the-thumb as any of those illiterate peasants in the dark and middle ages.

Is this the best of all possible worlds? So you have UNLIMITED power. UNLIMITED ability!!!! And for whatever reason you decide to create a big ball in the middle of nowhere and inhabit it with these cool little playthings called people.

So lets, just for fun, build into this big ball SO many weaknesses and faults and inefficiencies that just those alone will cause intolerable suffering and death every single rotation of the ball. But lets not stop there. Let's also build into the structure and nature of the inhabitants weaknesses and evils that will undermine every positive human endeavour ever undertaken. Let's make a good percentage of the inhabitants so selfish and evil and reprehensible that, for example, in the midst of the Christchurch tragedy they will use that tragedy as an opportunity to steal the belongings of those affected and displaced by the tragedy.

That's the best possible world I, with UNLIMITED power, would create?

Yeah, right.

In times like this God is utterly defenseless. And Christchurch is only one small drop in the ocean of accusation one can direct at God. There's en entire history of human suffering and evil that NO argument in favour of God can ever resolve.

The simple fact is that God does not exist, so to "have a go at God" is meaningless. It's entirely appropriate, however, to have a go at the weakness of the arguments that supposedly support the continued belief in any such God or sentient higher power. If you feel the need to pray, then by all means do so. But don't pray for me. Don't pray for the safety of the hundred or so people already dead in Christchurch or the two or three hundred people missing. Don't pray for their families. Don't pray for the safety and emotional well-being of the residents of Christchurch. Don't pray for the rescue workers. Don't pray for those displaced. Don't pray for the future of this city.

Clearly prayer is pointless. Events are either predetermined (by what or who you may ask) or completely random. Or there are other operations in play. It's easy to speculate, but in the midst of my most heartfelt and honest speculation I just cannot accept the God delusion (not that Richard Dawkins does a very good job of explaining things either).

I'm not really angry at "God" or the universe, though that will be an easy accusation. I'm not really scared of dying or the world falling down around me. I'm not angry that people have died in the earthquake. I am a bit pissed off that looters are taking advantage of vulnerable people, but that happens all the time. It doesn't require an earthquake for the scum to bubble up from the gutters. They are amongst us all the time. If I'm annoyed at anything, I'm annoyed that as a society we tolerate such scum and give them chance after chance to undermine our society and hurt good people.

And if I thought for a second that God actually existed, I'd definitely be ANGRY that in the midst of such human tragedy and upheaval, such uncertainty and terror, such death and destruction, he would still be demanding respect, allegiance and worship.

Fuck that!

Nightmare on Revelation Drive

2011-02-23T22:06:00.008+13:00

What can I say? What I said in September would cover what happened to me on Tuesday. I was inside - although this time it wasn't 4.35 in the morning and it wasn't my place - felt like a truck slammed into the house and for ten seconds all hell broke loose. We didn't fall over, not from any effort of our own, but simply because the earthquake gods decided not to push us over. We were completely powerless and were thrown wherever they wanted us to go.

And then it really got bad. Things started falling,
thankfully not on top of us. Tiles from the roof
showered the patio and a pane of glass blew out
as the kitchen rearranged itself. In the ten
seconds that seemed to last an hour, books fell
off shelves, bottles jars and glasses smashed
on the floor, tvs crashed onto the floor and
angels fell down and broke their legs.

There were a few moments of sheer terror. After the ground had settled down, the water heater had stopped showering water all over the basement (we managed to get the water turned off), the loose tiles had been knocked down, we took a moment to think. Cell phone coverage was sporadic, but I got texts from Jackie and Chris. But I didn't know how Josh was in the previously devastated Halswell School, and I didn't know what our house was like. Apart from losing a loved one, my greatest fear after the September 2010 earthquake was that we would not have a place to live in.

After hearing on the radio that my only route home was impassable, we pulled up our socks and determined to do nothing at all until...well, later. We wandered around the house, stunned at the carnage. From the balcony we could see billows of smoke drifting 9/11ish across the cityscape. We stood out in the street and made small talk with the neighbours. And we needed to pee really badly.

Nearly 36 hours later, I'm home, we have power and running water, no damage to the house, nothing broken.

And I'm a bit angry.

We were complacent after the September quake. Sure we stockpiled a bit of water, some food. For the first few weeks we anticipated a big aftershock, mostly because we were told to expect one. But it wasn't long until, even in the midst of 4000+ aftershocks, we decided that there wasn't really going to be a "big" aftershock. Probably because we didn't want to believe it.

We thought it probably couldn't get any worse. If we and the city survived a 7, surely a 6 would be a doddle. Nobody died. A few buildings got a bit damaged. Core services were back up and running within a week, so to speak. Life was back to normal. Even if there was a 6 coming, we just didn't consider the possibility it would/could be worse than September's 7.

More fool us.

It's worse. It's ten times worse. It's 75 times worse.

I'm in a bit of denial. I watch the TV 24/7 and can't believe...don't want to believe its my city. Our city. The destruction is unbelievable. It's surreal and it's way too cliche to describe it as some dystopian nightmare. And to top it all off a guy who used to be a good friend of mine has become the poster boy for the despair family members holding vigil at the CTV building are feeling, and he's been splashed all over the TV all day. Despite our estrangement it simply breaks my heart.

And this less that 48 hours after the quake. Life was back to normal a week after September 4 (relatively speaking). It was good to say it was behind us and surely nothing in the future could shake our resolve (excuse the pun). I said many times, barring another earthquake as bad as the last one, willing it to not be thus, life could only get better.

But I get the feeling it will truly be a long, long time before life gets back to normal. Down town is not damaged, it's destroyed. More houses are unlivable and their inhabitants displaced. Businesses are ruined.

And people are dead.

Drop Dead Drop Dead Diva

2011-02-16T22:50:00.006+13:00

Most TV programmes I think are pretty stupid; a few are not bad; a couple are really good.

But I really HATE this Drop Dead Diva programme. Not only is it shallow, poorly written and cast, and typical Hollywood shite, it digs a knife into and then makes fun of every overweight person on the planet.

Skinny "gorgeous" blonde twinkie dies accidentally, and what's the worst possible thing that could happen to her? She could come back as a fat chick! OMG! She'd probably rather spend an eternity in the worst hell than have to live in this society as a fattie. God forbid.

Of course, the premise is probably something faux-noble like "Even fat chicks need love too." But the stereotypes are just too smothering, suggesting that your typical skinny American (and the rest) woman would much rather be as thick as two planks, personality minus and the cruellest bitch in the coven than be a fattie.

And that men in Hollywood - for surely this programme was created by men - find more attractive skinny women with no personality than chubby girls with a bit of soul.

How did society come to this? And even the DDD people don't believe their own tripe.

Now, you tell me the two women in these photos are the same woman. The woman in the advertising poster has been edited down 5 dress sizes from the woman in the screenshot from the show. I guess the producers thought nobody would tune in to the pilot if they put a hideously fat woman in the poster. And what might be even scarier is that the shrunken woman in the poster is still considered curvy, plus size, fluffy, fat.

The show does have one positive benefit. It highlights the discrimination fat people, men and women, face every day, even if it does so by, in a veiled way, making fun at them and their hideousness by reinforcing every negative stereotype about women in general, and specifically overweight women.

It's fascinating that this sort of thinking prevails - that many women are obsessed about their weight and every extra ounce over a stick thin twinky frame - in light of the fact that a vast majority of men prefer, and find attractive, a woman with a few curves and, god forbid, a body shape that is, according to the movie, TV, and beauty industries, completely undesirable.*

*I hate to qualify anything, but I thought I'd better add that I realise many/most women do not obsess about their weight solely because they want to be attractive to men. But I do believe it's a factor.

Shoe of the Week

2011-02-14T09:53:00.004+13:00

I'm actually gonna go with a Yes on these.

Age of Aquarius

2011-02-13T22:30:00.003+13:00

And while we're on iconic musicals from the 70s, this is another haunting favourite. I generally have a whole thing about the 70s. Some of it's bitter sweet, but generally I don'y like anything from the 70s...well, thats not true. I tend to have a aversion to anything hippy. But this I love.

Prepare ye the way...

2011-02-13T22:22:00.002+13:00

I remember hearing this haunting intro and feeling a chill run up my spine. I don't remember when (70s tho), but it's burned into my memory...in a good way.

Two Birds with one Post

2011-02-10T06:28:00.005+13:00

I rarely brag. And I hardly ever get excited about electronic gadgets. However, I might break out of that mould just this once and kill two birds with one post

Before Christmas I sent this photo to D-Photo magazine for one of their little competitions. I was pretty stoked when I picked the Feb issue off the shelf to see that I had won. But the printed version of the photo was a bit dark and I didn't like the crop (ever the perfectionist). O well.

I hadn't heard from the D-Photo people, but the other day my prize turned up at the door. It's a really cool printer. And when I say it's really cool, I mean it's...well, it's a printer. But it's really cool. It's wireless; it's really quick and quiet; it's got some cool functions for printing cards and colouring pages for Josh; and it will print photos onto cds, as in like printing a logo onto the disk. Yay.

And unlike most electronic gadgets, especially for someone like me (total not-tech-geek - generally gadgets hate me!), it was relatively easy to install and use. Yay Yay.

So all in all it's looking up. Such a machine will help, I think, in my quest to add photography to the writing. Or is it more the other way round? It seems to be at the moment.

Sorrowful Songs

2011-02-08T11:33:00.002+13:00

I've always found this piece fascinating, the back story as much as the music. This from that fount of knowledge, Wikipedia.

Later that year Górecki learned of an inscription scrawled on the wall of a cell of a Gestapo prison in the town of Zakopane, which lies at the foot of the Tatra mountains in southern Poland. The words were those of 18-year-old Helena Wanda Błażusiakówna, a highland woman incarcerated on 25 September 1944. It read "O Mamo nie płacz nie—Niebios Przeczysta Królowo Ty zawsze wspieraj mnie" (Oh Mamma do not cry—Immaculate Queen of Heaven support me always). The composer recalled, "I have to admit that I have always been irritated by grand words, by calls for revenge. Perhaps in the face of death I would shout out in this way. But the sentence I found is different, almost an apology or explanation for having got herself into such trouble; she is seeking comfort and support in simple, short but meaningful words". He later explained, "In prison, the whole wall was covered with inscriptions screaming out loud: 'I'm innocent', 'Murderers', 'Executioners', 'Free me', 'You have to save me'—it was all so loud, so banal. Adults were writing this, while here it is an eighteen-year-old girl, almost a child. And she is so different. She does not despair, does not cry, does not scream for revenge. She does not think about herself; whether she deserves her fate or not. Instead, she only thinks about her mother: because it is her mother who will experience true despair. This inscription was something extraordinary. And it really fascinated me.

I have the cd with all three movements, but this is my favourite. It's where I go when I'm sad.

How Sad is this Blog?

2011-02-07T12:17:00.003+13:00

It's been reduced to a weekly report on garish, overpriced shoes!

I do like these ones tho.

Yes

I don't feel too guilty tho because I've actually been writing quite a bit!

Next to you, Next to me

2011-02-03T06:41:00.002+13:00

Just a quickie entry for now, but I just had this posted on my Facebook Wall. I love these guys.

Onions Make Me Cry

2011-02-02T11:11:00.008+13:00

Whether it’s the Internet specifically or the evolution of the English language in general, I’m hearing a lot of new words lately.

Remember when “email” was an odd word to use? When "Google" wasn’t even a word (except maybe for math nerds)? Well, now there are armies of clever people coming up with new words to describe/explain the human condition. Urban dictionaries have proliferated online, and as much as they’re everywhere (apparently), it takes a while to filter down to me, and now and then I’ll hear a new word and chuckle.

The latest is “adorkable”. I saw it used in a comment on this photo, and, of course, she is completely adorkable.

Adorkable, if it’s not already very self explanatory, is, according to Urban Dictionary, “Both dorky and adorable. A higher state of being all dorks strive towards.” “Dorky, yet strangely adorable.”

Now… I’m thinking I know some adorkable people. I could name names, but I’m not entirely sure it’s a desirable epithet. So I won’t. (But yes, I was thinking of you! You know who I’m talking about!!)

Tizzy… the onion girl… graciously agreed to let me use her photo, even tho I am holding her up as the poster girl for adorkable. In Tosh.0 style I could break down the photo to really cement the concept of adorkable… but I really just think the goggles speak for themselves.

And of course, to prove how behind the times I really am, there’s a whole Flickr group dedicated to adorkables, and it was a “growing group” 43 months ago! That’s like, 5 years or something. Okay, my maths suck… I only worked in a bank for 30 years! Call me adorkable!

Actually… it may not be such a bad epithet after all. Who do you know that's adorkable?

Shoe of the Week

2011-01-30T16:27:00.003+13:00

I know I know...it's unforgivable there are no blog entries between the shoes of two weeks. Slaps hand. School starts next week. Will be back on the blogboard.

Meanwhile: Yes.

I wonder what socks one would wear with these.

Shoe of the Week

2011-01-24T08:04:00.004+13:00

I'm thinking a grading system fo Shoe of the Week.

YES!
Yes
No
NO!

Pretty simple I reckon.

No

Of course, I don't mind the shoes but my No is based solely (LOL did you see what I did there?) on whether I would wear them.

Jetstar...well, you still suck

2011-01-23T07:57:00.004+13:00

I was sure I was on to a sure fire winner blog subject when we fronted up to Jetstar only to find that Nicholas "won't be flying today".

Now, I'm figuring almost everyone in New Zealand, and possibly the whole Asia-Pacific region, has a Jetstar horror story. Ours potentially was a good one, too, but upon further research, it's not such a horror story (for reasons that will become apparent), but there's still enough culpability on the part of Jetstar to write it up anyway.

When we first heard Nicholas was flying Jetstar back to Wellington I suggested we be ready for a delay or a cancellation, so famous is their inefficiency. Read any Stuff story about Jetstar and the horror stories come flying in the comments section.

So, flight still operating and, surprisingly, on time, we front up to check in. "What High School do you go to, Nick?" "Haven't started High School, yet. But will be starting next week." "Sorry, but you can't fly today, then."

What?

The ticket's booked. In his name. Date of birth stated. So our immediate question was how could he be booked to fly, but unable to fly? No answer to that, except to acknowledge it is a glitch in the system and given an email address to complain to. Perhaps, she said, if enough people complain about it the hole in the system will be closed. Thanks. Doesn't help us right now.

She offered two alternatives. Someone fly with him now and return... for a price, of course. Or try another airline. By which she meant Air New Zealand (have Pacific Blue abandoned the NZ route yet?)

Jetstar girl, bordering on polite, speaks to Nick's father in Wellington.

So, we ended up booking him on Air New Zealand, who have clear policies on unaccompanied children, and all was good. Relatively speaking.

Of course, we wondered how he could be booked on a flight, online, without some sort of flag coming up about his age. Come to find out (without wanting to indict Nick's dad, we did not do the booking) there is a pretty clear link to the restrictions right there in the booking window on the Jetstar website.

Damn! Can't really have a rant about Jetstar except to say that a flag on the date of birth would solve a lot of angst on what, accordng to the almost-polite Jetstar girl, is a common problem.

However, it's common knowledge that Jetstar sucks anyway. On that basis I would never book with them.

Bit of a cynical rant

2011-01-21T07:10:00.004+13:00

What's most frustrating is that this is only one story of many similar stories, both in our city and all over this "beautiful" country.

The pathetic weakness of the human body notwithstanding, how come our welfare state will hand out thousands/millions of dollars to lazy, useless, anti-social layabouts who, to supplement their time at the trough, rob dairies, break into cars, and steal christmas presents, but the Coull family has to struggle on one (probably small) salary and fundraisers held by friends?

Somehow it seems incongruous that my tax dollars, hard earned, will subsidise gang headquarters and the methamphetamine trade, but the Coulls are suffering under the strain of trying to feed their kids and get used to the idea that dad might soon be gone.

If it were allowed, I would feel angry about it. But we're not allowed to be ANGRY anymore. Have you noticed how being ANGRY if frowned upon? The people you would expect to show some ANGER at their particular slice of society - politicians, the religious leaders, doctors, mayors, judges - never show ANGER. Anybody who is ANGRY about anything is quickly closed down. Sorry, you can't talk like that now. We're civilised here.

There is still such a thing as righteous anger.

I know nothing about the Coull family, except what's in the article, but I suspect they are examples of the most undesirable of statistics - white, middle class, employed, mortgaged, uninsured (health) and off the radar of any real help from the government.

What scares me the most - in a bout of selfishness - there but for the grace of god go i. These people are fighting on, and so are the people with the brain tumour who are selling the carrot on TradeMe. I feel I would simply shrivel and give up.

I feel for the Coulls.

Go on...send them some money...I know you want to.

Shoe of the Week

2011-01-19T09:10:00.005+13:00

I will NOT be using the word FETISH (except in the tags to get traffic!). However, this feature is something we've enjoyed for ages. Every week when we got the SUNDAY Magazine, the Shoe of the Week page was one of the first things we looked at. And rated. Yes or No. Completely subjective.

So, I will endeavour to follow the Shoe of the Week here, and I'd be very interested in your thoughts, Yes or No, and feel free to justify your choice, especially if you disagree with me.

This week's shoe: YES

meanwhile...

2011-01-19T08:24:00.003+13:00

There's no way in a million years I would do this, however, I would LOVE to try it.

There was some stick-up-the-bum cop on the radio a minute ago whining about how dangerous it is, as if the guys doing it were unaware of the danger. The danger is probably why they do it!

I guess we should (sigh) be aware of the possibility it's dangerous to innocent people, but, you know....WHO CARES!!! Driving or walking in Chrsitchurch (and Manners Mall apparently) is dangerous.

And very clever editing, check out the videographer's broken and bandaged leg (17 sceonds in). Great cameo.

And they're wearing helmets. Good safety concerns guys! You rock!

FIRE!!!!!

2011-01-19T07:21:00.001+13:00

The freedom of speech v. the freedom of expression. Are they the same?

Blog coming (hehe - after I've finished editing photos)

Freedom of "Speech"

2011-01-17T11:17:00.002+13:00

This subject was on my to do list, but of course it's not exactly a small subject to address. So let me preface it but confessing that I am one of the minority who voted yes on this Herald poll. I'd be interested in hearing your views, which I may then address in a blog post in which I'd like to explore this subject a little deeper.

YouTube

2011-01-15T07:28:00.002+13:00

I started out thinking about Sting and how I don't do concerts, but if I did do concerts Sting is one act I wouldn't mind going to see, and as he's coming to Christchurch in February I thought I would offer my services to photograph the event as the establishment organising said event is one that I have done photos for on a couple of occasions.

(Yes, I'm aware that's a very long sentence)

Anyway. I figured I'd just head on over to YouTube and grab a vid of Gordon to embed here. Have you ever tried to look for just one video on Youtube? It's impossible! You cannot do it. Sure it's easy finding one video; but it's impossible to stick with just one. There are those enticing titles in the sidebar and you think, Hey, that looks interesting, I'll just have a quick look at that video, then head back to the Roxanne. But then in the sidebar of the next video there are more enticing titles and interesting looking grabs. So you think, just one more. But they each open in the same window so it's not long until you're, like, 20 videos away from the original one you looked at.

So, you just start the search again and there he is, Sting at Live Aid (is it just me or did he seem to tank at Live Aid?). But then, oooh... what's that in the sidebar? I'll just check that out quickly.

YouTube is like a rabbit warren. There are diversions everywhere and if you're not careful you can go from the Goo Goo Dolls to videos of moms' reactions to that video (you know the one I mean) in five clicks or less. What? How did I get here?

So I finally got back to Sting, embedded it here, only, for all YouTube's power and diversity I couldn't find the video of my favourite Sting song so went with this one, which is almost as cool.

Oh...and isn't this really cool?

Except... I'm not convinced they're actually playin it!

7th and Main

2011-01-13T06:59:00.005+13:00

I liked U2 before they were popular. I'm not sure why I feel the need to say that, except to suggest there's something noble about "liking" something on its merits rather than joining the bandwagon later on and liking them just because everyone else likes them.

Is U2 the greatest band ever? Same line-up now for five decades. Well, 35 years, but five decades sounds more impressive. Same line-up since 1976, and as far as I know they've never "broken up" then reformed. They're not engaged in come-back tours... they're still touring and making new music.

In a cleverly designed intersection of the two themes I'm exploring this year, one of my favourite U2 songs is Where the Streets Have No Name. I've always loved how so many U2 songs are driven by the drums and lead guitar. Sunday Bloody Sunday is probably one of the greatest songs ever.

The critically acclaimed song, Streets, and its Grammy Award winning video are spine tingling. It's easy to think this was the only song played on that rooftop, but apparently they played 8 songs, including Pride (In the Name of Love) another of my fave U2 songs, not only because of it's link to Martin Luther King, but also for its haunting guitar riffs.

I've said before I don't think I'm very cool. So for me, the whole 7th and Main video shoot is JUST. SO. COOL. There's something about it that encapsulates something really cool. It's inspiring. It's electrifying. And how awesome would it be to have been there and witnessed it?

Megan Hartley introduced me to U2... no idea when. 1980? Where are you now, Megan? Looking back, I thought she was a cool person. A free spirit. Pretty. Sexy. Bohemian. So maybe there's a subconscious attachment to U2 that's a bit about her.

Nevertheless, 7th and Main, 27th of March, 1987. It was as much a protest (in true U2 style) as a video shoot. One of the goals was to close down the streets and to piss off the police. They succeeded in both. That rebel element has a coolness of its own.

There's also something groundbreaking to it (even tho the concept was nothing like original - is anything truly original?).

I've always thought it would be cool to be famous, for example a famous musician, and to just turn up somewhere unannounced and do your thing. Imagine if you're in a little cafe somewhere downtown next month and Sting walks in, grabs a guitar, and belts out a few songs while sipping a latte. How cool would that be? Unfortunately, it would probably turn into a circus.

7th and Main, down town LA, 27th of March 1987. One of my top ten places I'd like to have been in history.

No post today...

2011-01-12T17:15:00.007+13:00

Sorry faithful followers (LOL)... what a busy few days. Since having our car broken in to... don't get me started... and having to drive to Akaroa with no driver's window, in the rain (well, okay, it was a light mist), and Nicholas arriving today from Wellington for 12 days... phew!

How bout some photos instead?

After a photoshoot in Merivale recently (a bit x-rated so you may not get to see any of those! Oops...TMI) I decided since I was half way there, why not head out to the Waimak and catch the sunset. So I got there about 630 thinking the sun should be setting by about 730ish. Wrong. This pic was taken about 930 (despite what the timestamp says on Flickr), so there was a lot of standing around waiting for the sun to drop. But I got some good snaps and will put some up on Flickr next week.

And speaking of Akaroa, I spent the day there when I dropped Chris and his friends off, so I took a few snaps. I wasn't as impressed with Akaroa as I thought I would be, but I got some nice photos, which I will also put up on Flickr over the coming week/s.

Now, this may be a bit naughty, but I thought I might give you a preview of the photoshoot I did at Godley Head which culminated in having our car broken in to. I picked one of the photos to edit that I really liked. I hope Tracey doesn't mind me posting it here.

I'd love to know what you think of this photo. I'm still learning the craft of good portraits, and, remembering how incredibly fragile I am, I'd appreciate some/any feedback on this pic.

Now, off to the airport to get Nick.

Facebook to Face

2011-01-10T09:54:00.003+13:00

There was an article in The Star (7/1/11), “Facebook status: Addicted!”

Keeping in mind it’s The Star, it’s not a bad piece. According to it, half of NZers have a Facebook profile, half of those check it daily, and 1 in 10 claim to be “addicted” to it.

Made me think.

I think claiming to be “addicted” to something has become a bit of a buzz word. As a society we are “addicted” to many things, according to the contemporary definition. We’re addicted to cars; we’re addicted to easy communication – just witness the chaos when the XT network goes down. Or the wireless modem disconnects. We’re addicted to latte.

But are we “addicted”? I suggest someone in rehab trying to kick a heroin problem might feel aggrieved at having that label hijacked. Even someone trying to kick smoking might feel hard done by.

If checking Facebook six times a day equals “addiction” I’d better head off to the CapriTrust now. What if you can’t quantify how many times you “check Facebook”? What if you’re on Facebook every waking moment you’re online? What if you have messages and notifications sent to your cell phone when you’re not near your computer? If checking it 6 times a day is “addicted”, I’m in serious trouble.

Truth is “addicted” has always been a vague thing when it comes to non-physical habits. It’s easy to define an addiction to booze, cigarettes, or (other) mind-altering drugs. A bit harder to define addiction to the other things: gambling, sex, shopping, Twitter.

Two things struck me on the back of the Star article. First, I’ve been suffering friend-envy. I’ve been thinking that because I only have something like 50-80 “friends” on Facebook, clearly I’m anti-social and nobody likes me. Further, if I were cool, I’d have lots of Facebook friends. I don’t. Therefore, I’m not cool. Can’t fault that logic – if P then Q. Not P. Therefore not Q (but feel free to challenge the premise).

However, it seems (according to the article) roughly 50% of us have less than a hundred or so “friends”. And I’ve also comforted myself with one of my favourite quotes (which, yes, is listed as one of my favourite quotes in my Facebook profile): there are people one knows, and people one doesn’t. We shouldn’t cheapen the former by feigning intimacy with the latter.

I’m proud to say that of my 70 friends on Facebook, I have not met in person only 7 of them. Of those 7, one is an “online” connection I’ve had for 13 years; 5 are “professional” contacts with whom I have had considerable online communication, and will undoubtedly meet in person one day; and 1 is a recent contact with whom I’m engaging in online communication, but will probably never meet in person (based on a quirky past coincidence – vague, I know but it’s a long story).

So, I’m happy to know I’m not feigning intimacy with a whole bunch of people I have no clue about, which to me is preferable to being able to say I have a thousand friends but haven't actually met 850 of them. Which segues nicely into the second thing that struck me with regard to the Star article.

It’s an interesting phenomenon when you “meet” someone online (but not in person yet), whether it’s via a dating website or some other method, perhaps someone contacts you via email or your website. You exchange pleasantries, and then you add them of Facebook. You check their profile. You check out their photos, their “likes” and their wall. You feel a bit like a stalker. You follow them. You begin to get a sense of what they’re like, what they’re about. You discover what they think about certain things, how they interact with their real-life friends (which is a very loaded concept); you see what language they use and how their grammar and spelling is. Sometimes you see them at their lowest; sometimes you see what kind of drunk they are (angry, morose or silly).

But then, you begin to make judgments about them. You discover intimate details about them. You interact with them via chat and private message. You make and change plans. You exchange ideas.

And you begin to feel as if you know them.

Which are all the hallmarks of a relationship of old (pre-Internet). Only. You haven’t met in person!

And that’s when it can get tricky. Because when you finally meet them in person, sometimes you go … huh? You’re not the person I “know” from Facebook. You’re completely different. You don’t look anything like your photo/s. You’re voice isn’t at all what I imagined it would be like. You’re speaking a different language. And that accent!

What’s really annoying is when you really feel connected online, and have wonderful conversations and exchange delicious emails/messages (and I don’t necessarily mean romantic ones, I just mean significant, meaningful ones). And then, when you meet in person, you have nothing to say to each other. Or the “professional” relationship is strained because the online chemistry is not present.

What’s that about?

We’re different online than we are in person, aren’t we? I think that’s been established unequivocally. The reasons for which are many. Ten years ago I figured there was a book in it. Now there are many, and none of them mine!

Thankfully I have no such issues with my 70 Facebook friends, although of the few I have not met I do wonder about the nature of how we will get on in person (sorry if you’re one of them and reading this). More often than not I have been pleasantly surprised with how okay the real-life relationship is over the online one. Of the 63 I have met in person, ten started as online contacts. Of those ten I can honestly say, that, while “meeting” has sometimes been a bit awkward, generally that awkwardness has dissipated quickly. But also, to be fair, those connections have been more professional than personal. But all ten I consider real-life friends (not that we’re out socialising frequently or anything, but when I am in their company I enjoy them).

And add to that list a few online contacts I have then met IRL who are part of the 49.7 % of NZers who are not on Facebook. And of course, quite a few over the years that I no longer have any contact with.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences on and of Facebook relationships.

your fish will... what?

2011-01-07T08:59:00.005+13:00

I may be shooting myself in the foot by confessing there may not be a blog entry in this. The thought, though, is kinda stuck in no-man's land... it's too big for a facebook post, but (probably) too small for a blog post. I'm not sure what's in between those two. Maybe a tumblr post, but, as you will notice (if you instinctively click links just because they're there - in which case I have some Nigerian friends who would like your contact details) I haven't actually posted anything at tumblr.

Anyway, we were in a well-known pet factory yesterday (yessss...getting a £*&%@&% kitten, o yay, but don't get me started on that!) and I saw a sign, which for several reasons made me chuckle.

Now, I enjoy advertising when it's done well. I still don't think I buy into it, but the experts would disagree. They would say that when I reach for those "specials" at the end of the supermarket aisle I do so, not because I actually need/want that product, but because it is placed eye-height, there's soft, soothing music playing, there are no clocks in my vision, and there is the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air-conditioning system.

I don't know. I just thought we needed weet-bix. Go figure.

So, when I saw this yesterday, I thought O.M.G. What?

I realise advertising/marketing's number one target is the emotions. And if you're in the pet factory business, appealing to people's emotional attachment to their pets is gold! But come on. A funny photo of a cute little puppy is one thing. A kitten mid-antic is a sure winner. Even a parrot who can swear like a sailor in three languages is right up there in cute-value.

But..."your fish will love these"??? Who came up with that little gem? It's one thing to anthropomorphise a Schnauzer (who demonstrably has some modicum of emotional facility); it's a whole other thing to ascribe to a fish the loftiest of human capacity. Your fish will love these? Yeah right.

Your fish will swim past it and before it's out of eye-sight have forgotten it. At least, I guess, it will be a whole new exciting experience for fishy on the return journey from the far side of the bowl to see anew the characters from one of the most popular fish movies of all time. But in saying that I may be undermining my own argument and have fallen into the trap so cleverly designed by the "your fish will love these" people!

Fish (apparently) have a memory-span of about 3 seconds. Only slightly shorter than my 6 year old, but in my most generous moments I reckon Joshua has more capacity to "love" than your average goldfish. Of course, I could be wrong there.

So, and no offense to stupid people, but surely only the most stupid would be pulled in by this most basic attempts to appeal to the emotions. Oohhh...wouldn't little Guppylicious just LOVE that? Let's get it for him. Huh? Can we? Huh?

Good grief. I may have been sucked into buying weet-bix with fake bread smells and clockless warehouses, but I'm pretty sure even I could resist this "your fish will love these" ploy!

let freedom ring

2011-01-06T08:24:00.013+13:00

Another "theme" I want to weave into my bog this year is something I might call great moments in history. It's completely subjective. I'm sure there are teams of historians debating what are the actual "greatest" moments in history. In thumbing my nose at them out of pure jealousy because at university I studied religion (instead of what my heart was telling me to study - history), I'm going to highlight some very cool events of the past that for some reason resonate with me.

There are many. Some I would like to have witnessed; some I did witness (I'll get to reincarnation and cosmology in the future).

I feel compelled to start in Washington, August 28, 1963 (I was a month old...). Martin Luther King Jr. stood in front of 200,000 people and delivered what has been adjudged the most powerful and influential speech of the 20th Century. It has been dubbed the "i have a dream" speech but I heard a whisper that King himself said that if it should be dubbed anything it should be the "let freedom ring" speech ("i have a dream" features nine times and focuses on the man; "let freedom ring" features ten times - plus two close variations - and focuses on the issue).

It's 17 minutes 28 seconds long, but if you give it 17 minutes of your life, and really listen, I promise it will be worth it. I thought that at nearly eleven million views on Youtube (a whole heap of which are mine - and I have the speech on my phone and iPod) it would be doing well in terms of most views. However, that honourable distinction goes to...justin beiber. OMG. If any evidence were required to prove the inanity of so much of human interest, that's it. But I digress.

MLK's speech was a feat of "mastery and magic" that "persuasively articulated the american dream within the context of the civil rights struggle" (University of Wisconsin-Madison). For the average joe, and especially the average joe african-american, it ROCKED!

As far as speeches go there are none better, and I wonder what speeches topped the list in previous centuries - geez, isn't the Internet wonderful? I just googled it and TIME magazine has Socrates at the top of all time rhetoric, with which I may tend to agree. But TIME has King behind JFK. That's clearly wrong if only on the basis that Kennedy's plum-in-the-mouth Mass. accent was horribly annoying. Anyway, another digression.

I don't see Barack Obama on the list. In the liberal, pro-Obama no-matter-what-because-he's-black school his "oratory" has frequently been compared to King's. OMG. Are you kidding me? I think one of the all time DUD speeches was Obama's inaugural speech. I got up early to watch it, and depsite my doubts (given some of Obama's previous speeches) I had hoped his writers would rise to the challenge of addressing over a billion people and give Obama something to say worthy of the audience. What a flop.

I have previously compared Obama's speech pattern to Captain Kirk's of Starship Enterprise fame. He speaks with. Punctuated timing. Designed, no doubt. To. Create emphasis and higlight. His. Main points. But especially in that he. Fails. Miserably. Better stick to. Playing basketball and. Throwing a frisbee. For his. Dog.

Obama's inauguration speech was one of the greatest disappointments of the 20th Century. Second only to his presidency so far.

What would this administration have done with King? Oranges and lemons, really, but I do wonder where America would be now if the CIA (or the FBI) had not killed King (and the Kennedys). Would little black boys and black girls have joined hands with little white boys and white girls? Would the Alabama governor (didn't he get shot in harlem? or maryland somewhere?) now have his lips dripping with the words of political correctness and restitution?

I've met some of the viscious racists "down in Alabama". They're still there, alive and kicking, glorying in the continued subjugation of King's brothers and sisters.

The "let freedom ring" speech changed America, and therefore the world. What would it be like to have been in that crowd?

What crowd in history would you like to have been in?

A Cool Change

2011-01-05T11:46:00.004+13:00

Does everyone have songs that in a significant way attach them to their past?

When I was about ten I had a t-shirt (that I’m pretty sure was an op shop special – my mother was the Queen of op shops) which read on the front: Orange Music – the Voice of the World. Now, at the time and even to this day I have no clue what “orange” music is/was, so over the decades in my mind I’ve dropped the orange bit, and discovered that music is indeed the voice of the world. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say it is the voice of the universe.

“Music is the soul’s primitive and primary speech” (Allan Bloom), and in order to “take the spiritual temperature of an individual or a society”, Plato suggests one should check out the music.

I am firmly in the school which says “popular music” has seriously undermined the integrity of human civilisation. It’s part of a catalogue of things that have contributed to the degradation we are faced with every day in the news and on the Internet at which we continually, and naively, shake our collective head and ask how did we ever come to this?

The contradiction for me, however, is that I have bought into it hook, line and sinker. I was born in the sixties by which time popular music was so indelibly entrenched (is that redundant?) in the human psyche that it was inevitable I be born addicted. TV was boring; movies were expensive; books were for the elite; but music… music was everywhere, and free to the masses 24/7 on the radio and on the record player (free to me because my parents and siblings were well addicted before I arrived).

Music touches something deep and alogon within us. We know it, but more significantly advertisers know it and music industry entrepreneurs (musicians and executives alike) know it.

It is their agenda we have unwittingly become the prime movers of. At one level we have made music industry icons incredibly rich; at another level we have handed over what should be the most precious parts of ourselves and bought into a lifestyle, even a psychology that is ultimately more destructive to us than wars, famines, terrorism, cancers or pollution could ever be.

Now, all this (and more in the future) is said to introduce, and preface, one of several themes I want to introduce in my blog this year. The theme is far less lofty than the philosophy that underpins it.

When I asked if everyone has songs (music) that attach them to their past, it was mostly rhetorical. I'm (almost) sure they do. We pinpoint times in our lives, people we’ve loved and mourn, special moments with tunes that instantly transport us back in time. Music reaches into the recesses of our soul and reminds us of what is ultimately most important to us (even if we don't recognise it as such).

So, in the spirit of online journaling (of old?) and shameless self-revelation (the point of blogging), one of the themes I want to address in my blog are those special moments, times, and people in the recesses of my soul and the songs/music that touch them.

What I would love more is to hear your thoughts on the matter, and what songs touch your soul and why.

To kick off I thought I’d go to summer of 1989. We were cruising I-65 with the skyline of Nashville, Tennessee in the distance before us, and Cool Change came on the radio.

I’d heard it many many times before, but at this particular instant I heard it in a way I had never heard it before. Suddenly it seemed to be talking to me at a much deeper level, and telling me it was indeed time for a change. And all the better if the change could result in a “cooler” me…or at least, someone I could feel better about.

I’m not sure it worked. Things have certainly changed, but I’m not even close to being cooler (but that’s a whole other revelation). But every time I hear the song (it’s on my iPod – which, Allan Bloom and probably Plato, would say is evidence of my complete destruction) it’s as if I’m back in that car on I-65 with two of the (then) dearest people to me and I am resolved to make in my life a Cool Change.

january three

2011-01-03T10:13:00.008+13:00

My wife will attest that I get annoyed at small, inanimate objects. She maintains it is the result of some deep, unexpressed rage I feel at the universe. I reckon it's attached to my deep disappointment that human civilisation is incredibly fragile, even frail. After hundreds of millions of years of evolution (if you buy into that premise), the universe - including humanity - really doesn't work very well.

Case in point. Cold Power. All of human civilisation and its achievements (or lack of) can be summed up in the example of this Cold Power box.

I have opened many of these boxes. We go through ... ummm, one a month? Six weeks? So, over the years, and since this particular design of box came out, I can honestly lay claim to having opened enough of them to consider myself very experienced at it.

And lest I be accused of picking on Cold Power, I have to say that other brands of washing detergent use the same design of box. And, lest I be further accused of picking on the washing detergent industry, I am happy to indict other industries, for example the cereal box industry, among others.

In my many years of opening these boxes, whether washing detergent, cereal, or, for example, tomato sauce refill boxes, I have yet to successfully open one of them according to the manufacturer's instructions.

I've ripped slowly; I've ripped fast; I've carefully slid my finger along the inside of the perforations; I've grabbed the "lid" and yanked; I've ripped it from the opposite end. Never once have I succeeded in opening a Cold power box so that the entire "tab" rips off smoothly creating a perfectly "re-closable lid". Never once have any of these boxes lived up to their simplistic promise - that pulling the tab will, in fact, open the box.

Now, before you side with my wife and adjudge me an angry old man, in my defense it simply disappoints me that after a couple million years of human evolution (if you buy that, too), the best minds in the universe can't make a cardboard box that opens easily every time. Is that expecting too much? Is that too lofty a goal for gurus in the box-making industry?

And don't get me started on the recent trend of encasing anything and everything from small plastic toys to barbeques in vacuum shrink-wrapped industrial strength plastic that is double-welded at the edges.

Is there an underground school of designers whose raison d'etre is to make packaging more and more difficult and complex? Is it some evil executive's practical joke?

So (Jackie et al), getting annoyed by the Cold Power box's intrinsic inefficiency has less to do with repressed rage than a heartfelt disappointment in human civilisation.

january one

2011-01-01T09:11:00.002+13:00

there’s something cathartic about writing a blog post on january the first, especially if you haven’t written a blog post for a while. is it kind of twee to note that this in no way constitutes the result of a new year’s resolution?

however, in the spirit of a new year’s resolutionesque mindset, i thought i might put on record a list of things i’d like to accomplish in 2011. please feel free to hold me accountable for any of these three hundred and sixty six days from now.

in no particular order, i’d like to… no, i will :

start, and feel good about, writing a classic novel

sort and edit the four thousand or so photos i have waiting to be edited in my “to be edited” folder (to be fair, only about a thousand need “editing”)

throw myself into my wordies’ project, a photographic/literary expose

put celia to bed. or in the bin.

reconnect with my wife.

take the perfect photo

blog more

get more involved in my son’s school, and help rebuild it after 4/9

write more meaningfully and not care whether it’s read or not

spend two years living at walden pond (okay, that one’s a stretch)

use as few capital letters as is literarily acceptable

take some half decent photos

write the several articles i have ideas for in my mind.

offer said articles to real publishers, and feel better about calling myself a writer

hug more

tomorrow, this list will have evolved. it may have even desolved. these things, however, have been fermenting in my mind and if i don’t make them a reality i’m going to go nuts, or at the very least be more pissed off.

several people have suggested 2010 sucked, and i can see their point. but for some reason i feel deeply satisfied with how my 2010 went, and despite numerous lows and turns on the roller-coaster, right now i feel excited about 2011. one of my failings, however, is an ability to be tossed about by every wind of calamity and personality. i need to be more solid. i need to be more confident in my ability and my purpose. i need to take charge of my own destiny (if it's not too late).

Thanx for dropping by . . .

2010-01-28T07:48:00.003+13:00

I'm updating this post because for a while, I was blogging at threechairs. But since webs.com put the banner back up and increased the cost of removing it, I thought I may as well come back to blogspot.

It's a rat

2009-12-08T09:20:00.006+13:00

A couple of things disturb me about this report.

The first and most disturbing thing is that it is concrete proof of the monster we have created. It's out of control at so many levels that mere humans should be very afraid.

Two men, "stranded" somewhere killed and ate a rat.

Now similar things have occurred a million times over history. But in this instance, several variables have colluded to bring us insight into how precarious our modern civilisation really is.

The variables?

The two men are "celebrities."

There was a TV crew there to record it.

Both of those are players in a ruse so cleverly orchestrated that millions of people suspend their common sense and tune in to see it every week.

The ruse has one sole purpose: to make money (careful lest we delude ourselves into thinking its purpose is to entertain).

Other money making industries have hijacked the ruse and are cleverly using it for their own purpose (which is also to make money).

And all of these money-making industries have such a stranglehold on society that we are slowly losing our identity.

So the RSPCA is all offended because these guys killed and ate the rat. Well, it seems they are more concerned that it was done on TV than it was actually done.

It's a rat. It's a fucking rat. What if the same guys had caught and gutted a fish? Or cut the head off a snake? Or boiled cockroaches in chocolate and eaten them?

Why, if what they did was SO offensive and illegal, did the camera crew not step in and stop it. If it was, as the RSPCA is saying, done for entertainment, the camera crew should be prosecuted for its participation too.

The RSPCA "didn't have an officer" on site because there was no scheduled animal activity (here's a hint at how orchestrated "reality tv" is). I wonder if the RSPCA provides that facility free of charge. Yeah, right.

There's a code of practice for such things? I wonder how much such a thing cost to construct? Lawyers, consultants, media people, RSPCA . . . I'd be surprised if it come out under seven figures. That's a lot of cash.

I'm so sick and tired of this sort of shite. I'm sick of snivelling liberals parading as moral guardians of the universe. I'm sick and tired of weak kneed politicians bowing down to these power hungry, greedy organisations. I'm sick and tired of the rampant commercialism entrenched in our society, to the point that money, profit, and more money is the ONLY consideration in any equation. I'm sick and tired of special interest groups, like the RSPCA, wielding such power in politics and the way society is structured.

And this is the tip of the iceberg.

2009-12-03T21:03:00.003+13:00

I am on record on two things. First, for adoring Marilyn Monroe (nothing unique there). Second, for being completely disgusted by smoking of any kind. I even hate saying the word. Smoking. Eeeww.

The latter is probably a leftover from my childhood where most of my family polluted the house with cigarettes. I don’t remember it distinctly, but I guess the house stunk of it. Did I, having been saturated by second-hand smoke, stink all the time the way smokers do? Eeew.

I think I have an aversion more intense than anybody else, even those annoying ex-smokers who crusade for the abolition of anything smoking related, even human rights. I doubt there’s anyone more disgusted by smoking than me. And smoking pot I find not only disgusting, but pathetic and stupid as well.

So, when the biggest news yesterday was the discovery of an old home-movie of Marilyn Monroe smoking what appears (to the experts) to be a joint, my heart sank.

Not that I didn’t suspect such a thing in the back of my mind. She smoked cigarettes and did every other drug imaginable, so why not pot? But it’s still disappointing to have it confirmed in 3D Technicolor. How can something so gorgeous be associated with something so disgusting? It’s like finding a cockroach I your trifle at Christmas.

I’ve never understood the whole smoking thing. I’ve never done it. Never even seen pot let alone smoked it. Why would you? What kind of mindset says that’s a reasonable thing to do?

I’m not a wowser, and I would defend people’s right to freedom, but there are always limits and conditions on those. You have the right to smoke in my face, but I have the right to punch yours. You have the right to kill someone, but collectively we have the right to then punish you for doing that. You know what I mean, but I digress. In these PC times our rights are being eroded under the guise of being expanded, so good is the political marketing machine.

Anyway, smoking. Eeeewww!

Marilyn’s still gorgeous tho. I’d still jump her, as long as she didn’t want a toke afterwards!

Something different required

2009-11-22T11:02:00.009+13:00

I've been taking a lot of photos. Mostly they are clean-lined, minimal, well-structured things. Such as this. Or this.

I went out Friday to take some more pics . . . it seems to be relaxing . . . but couldn't get into it. None of the shots were working. The light was wrong. The angles didn't add up.

Then I realised, it was my mind that wasn't adding up. I was looking for clean, ordered structured lines, but my mind was totally on another plane. So I ended up at The Pump House and suddenly I felt comfortable again. What my mind was craving was clutter. Disorder. Chaos. So I ended up with this, and this, and, my favourite, this.

Who'd have thought, me, so ANTI-clutter, would crave it and feel comfortable with it? Psychology students . . please advise.

too little too late

2009-11-07T15:59:00.005+13:00

I just love all this MP spending scandal stuff. It keeps us distracted from how screwed we really are in this country. As if Hone's jaunt to Paris or Rodney's to Hawaii is even the tip of the iceberg on what's wrong in New Zealand. It's only the tip of the tip.

However, another thing in a long list of things that pisses me off is the faux humility in the apologies, and even worse the all-too-willing-ness of these troughers to pay back the money they've stolen from us and then carry on as business as usual. If we take a conservative approach to how things normally go, if he's paying back the cost of ONE trip he's taken, there are TEN others he's taken that we don't know about which he should be paying us back for. Too little too late Rodney!

Same with Hone.

If I walked into Harvey Norman and stole a $5000 video camera, and was caught with it a few months later, would I just be able to say "Ooh, sorry . . I didn't think I'd get caught. Here's $5000 to pay for it" and go about my business?

Yeah right.

It just highlights how STUPID politicians think we are. "Ooh, gee . . if I pay it back, they're so stoopid maybe they'll forget I stole it from them in the first place."

Take note Hone. And Bill. Sir Roger. And every single other MP, their troughing partners, and their thousands of hangers-on who eat crumbs from their tables. We may not be able to make you accountable, and we may never get any recompense for the millions of dollars every one of you has stolen from us, but please do not delude yourselves thinking that you have any integrity, any human decency at all, or that anybody with half a brain respects you. YOU are what's wrong with this country. YOU are the problem, not the solution. YOU are the stain. You're all mongrels.

Freedom of Speech

2009-11-06T14:27:00.003+13:00

Hone Harawira has the right to say (or write) what he likes about "white mo-fos".

We know he hates white people. We know he's a loose cannon. We know he's a racist idiot. That's not news. And it's certainly not anything that many many Maori in New Zealand think. If you want to say he's ignorant, then go ahead. His comments will surely not advance race relations in this country. But that's not his concern. He and his ilk have no interest in advancing race relations in New Zealand. Him and many of his bros would be out of a job if there were no animosity between Maoris and Pakehas. His comments are politically dangerous because an incresing number of people, Maori and Pakeha, are calling for his head. On a plate, preferably. So if he wants to keep troughing on the public tit, he needs to be a bit more careful.

But I totally think he has the right to say what he thinks.

I do wish a white person in this country could say the same thing about Maoris. But that's not going to happen, at least if they want to avoid jail. But the harsh reality in New Zealand is that Maori can say and do things that Pakeha cannot.

I don't think he should go. I like him. I totally disagree with every single thing he thinks and says about Maori. But I like him.

Only in America

2009-11-05T12:44:00.002+13:00

This is just screaming out for comment. Apart from the draconian moralistic outrage, what's the crime here? Poor horse? Is there evidence the horse has suffered? Given the thousand pound horse could have objected and squashed Mr. Vereen at any time, but didn't, could that be interpreted as consent? Unless Vereen slipped the horse some rohypnol over some nachos at the local pub first, but there's no suggestion of that.

Poor horse? It's okay to slam nails into its hooves, stick chunky heavy metal and leather gadgets into its mouth, strap an uncomfortable, heavy saddle on its back and sit on it, or imprison it in a smelly 6 by 6 cell, but it's not okay to show the horse a little man lovin' from time to time?

Have there been any complaints from the horse? Any evidence of trauma?

As Vereen has previously had sex with the same horse, clearly there is a special relationship here. In the human world they'd be practically married! Is this fatuous criminal charge, then, motivated by jealousy on the part of Ms. Kenley? Just who is she jealous of - the horse or Mr. Vereen? And has she uploaded the video to Youtube?

I thought the world had become more sexually tolerant lately. Of course, it is South Carolina where basically everyone is related, which, on that basis, I'd have thought a little horse play would be right up there in outrage value with finding a Playboy mag in your teenage son's drawer. A bit ho-hum really.

Woe to you . . . Matthew 23

2009-11-03T15:00:00.006+13:00

As I have not signed the covenant, I am still free to publically disagree with Bishop Brian Tamaki, even if I risk getting a visit from the Tamaki Protection Squad.

There is no self-respecting Christ-centred religious organisation that could possibly take Destiny Church's Protocols and Requirements Between Spiritual Father and His Spiritual Sons seriously. If there ever was a devil, it is entrenched in the details of this blashpemous covenant.

I should state that I think BBT has done some great things. He's turned around lives, and there's a hint in Scripture that it doesn't necessarily hurt how or by whom Christ is preached, it can still acheive good things. One can also argue, however, that Adolf Hitler took the down and out and turned many of them into clean living, excellent Stormtroopers. The residents of the People's Temple in Guyana were also clean living, seemingly happy people.

BBT has done something no other New Zealand religious leader has done. He has successfully modelled the glitzy, corrupt health and wealth preaching American televangelists so popular in the the 80s and 90s. And of whom only a handful remain who have not succumbed to the temptations of their success. Yet.

Many New Zealand men of God are deeply envious of the empire BBT is creating.

Nevertheless, BBT's empire is built, like so many of the 1980s US ones, on the backs of the low-incomed, poorly educated, easily manipulated. Nothing is more true than while many of Destiny's members struggle to feed their family, the Tamakis eat very well on the balcony of their 1.2 million dollar cliff-top house.

Jesus saved his harshest condemnation for two groups of people: those who abused the little guy, and those who sought to honour themselves above all else. BBT is both.

I don't know what BBT is like behind closed doors. He's probably a nice guy. All those charismatic church leaders are. At least to your face. You cannot get 7000, or even 700 loyal followers without being a likeable person.

But I don't have to know what BBT is like behind closed doors. I can make a judgement from what he's like outside closed doors. He's arrogant. He's profligate. He's condescending. He's rude. He's controlling. He's slick. He's sleazy. He's narcissistic. And he's not a very good public speaker.

If reports in the media are true, he is the antithesis of what a man of God should be. He is profoundly guilty of the two things Jesus criticised most harshly.

Of course, it's hard, if not impossible, to draw parallels with men of God from of old. If you use the New Testament as an authoritative guide (or even the Old Testament), BBT fails on all accounts. If you don't hold up the NT as authoritative, then anything goes. But there's no middle ground. Most people know hypocrisy when they see it.

BBT may have turned some lives around. Good for him, even if the long term cost may be his subjects' freedom, and their soul - and I don't mean that in a salvific way. I mean it in a humanistic, philoshical kind of way.

If I put my Christian minister's hat on for a moment, I applaud some of what BBT is doing. I always thought the church can never be a democracy. It cannot be a PC, wishy-washy body. Individual congregations should be ruled firmly by a spiritual man with Godly wisdom, and a counter-intuitive humility who genuinely has his spiritual children's best interests at heart.

And that's where BBT has crossed the line. Such a man as above, ministering in South Auckland, simply cannot live in a $1.2m house; drive a 150K car, and ride a Harley down to the marina on weekends to spend the day on his boat. No amount of justification - he wants to model success to his children - can overlook such wanton excess.

Such a man cannot command his spiritual children to stand when he walks into the room; to wait until he starts eating before they do; to even accept let alone demand a half million dollar "first fruits" offering, in addition to an as yet undisclosed annual salary, and special "gifts" on his birthday; or to excuse or hide his indescretions.

When Jesus said some church leaders make their converts twice as much the sons of hell as they, I'm pretty sure he was thinking of BBT.

Blowing My Own Trumpet

2009-09-29T04:39:00.002+13:00

I rarely . . . okay, never blow my own trumpet. Outside I'm pretty reticent; inside I'm the most self-deprecating person you could ever meet. True.

However, I think this is absolutely the best photograph I've ever seen. It's gorgeous. I love it. I can stare at it and analyse it for ages. It's absolutely the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I love the colour combinations (the black and white versions are okay in a different kind of way); I love the construction; I love the underlying tension (between the red and the black shakers) - there's even a hint of tension between two factions of the black shakers; I love the suggestion of something grand (the frame); I love the shadows hiding behind the vase; I love the Orchid reaching out to touch the red shaker; I love the ledge that separates the image at a third; I love the mystery (what is that shadow on the right? - I know, but do you? You would never guess!) I love the reflection in the shakers (I love "reflections" - they're often a metaphor); just what is that green object behind the orchid?; I love how the ledge perfectly, symmetrically dissects the top of the red shakers; Like the odds between the warring groups - the black's numbers versus the red's size; there's a chess metaphor somewhere here.

I love this photograph!

There was no staging here at all. I was in a little cafe on Sunday with some friends and thats exactly how it was set up. During our lunch a couple of the black shakers came and went. But I took the photograph without moving anything.

I had to apologise to my friends because for a while as we had our coffees and bagels I was utterly distracted by the potential of this scene, which was diagonally opposite us. So I moved the the table next to us, which, fortunately was empty, and took a few shots.

Did I say how much I love this photo?

Serial Troughing

2009-09-28T11:43:00.002+13:00

From one trough to the next?

There is nothing left to chance in politics. When Sue Bradford announced she was leaving Parliament, it was obvious the last rat was leaving the sinking Green ship. Disillusioned? Yeah right. How could such a seasoned irritant, a thick-skinned trouble-maker with the tenacity of a rutting rhinoceros get “disillusioned” by a little thing like losing out on the co-leadership of a rag-tag band of misfits, militants, and vegans?

Not before it’s due, the Green Party is over. They’ve reached the outer fringe of society and unless they make Waiheke Island an electorate of its own I’ll be surprised if the Greens have any role at all in the next government.

So Bradford, unable to sustain feeding at the public trough for much longer, has hung up her stilettos and has her eye on a more local, and probably lucrative trough, the new Auckland Super-City (sounds too much like Stoopid-City to be taken seriously.)

Name me ONE thing, ONE organisation that has become more efficient, more cost-effective, and more effective by becoming LARGER, by being swallowed up by an even larger organisation. Name me one.

So even though Len Brown – and his new best friend and potential 2IC Sue Bradford – don’t have a hope in Hell of winning the Mayoralty of the new metropolis, they’re still going to give it a go.

So I think it’s a bit rich that only a few days after dumping her political toys out of the cot, suddenly the possibility of running for council in her own back yard pops up over herbal tea and vegan scones?

Yeah, right!

fashion weak

2009-09-24T10:24:00.003+12:00

I think "fashion" is the most pretentious waste of time. Of course, I'm a middle aged chubby white guy, so what would I know.

The most interesting thing to come out of Fashion Weak so far has been the headline "When goody bags go bad . . ." If anything symbolises how pathetic New Zealand is on the world stage, it's the fact that the most exciting gift in the goody bags at Fashion Weak was tea bags!

No Chanel, no diamond jewellery, no airline tickets to exotic destinations, no iPods or Blackberrys, no 1 ounce gold bars, no cars. Tea bags. A tea towel. An apple.

And second hand books? What's that about. I'm guessing it wasn't an autographed copy of Catcher in the Rye. The mind boggles.

More driving woes

2009-09-22T05:58:00.005+12:00

So, I'm turning out of my street, turning right. There's no give way so the bozo coming from my left and turning into my street has to give way, right? Yes! He's a young punk in a Subaru, and get this - with iPod headphones in his ears. He sails around the corner cutting me off without even hesitating or slowing down. And when I deliver him some appropriate chastisement, HE FLIPS ME!!! Can you believe that? He gives ME the finger, like I've done something wrong!

And speaking of dickheads on the road, just after that I heard on the news that a hundred and something drivers in Auckland had been caught driving drunk. And then follows the usual bleating about how the message isn't getting through. How many hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars over the last 20 years?

Here's a simple public service ad that I guarantee will half the drink driving rate:

If you drink, drive and get caught, on the first offence you will be:
Disqualified from driving for two years (no exemptions);
Fined $10,000 (to be vigorously pursued by the IRD)
Sent to jail for three months.

First offence. No exceptions, no excuses. If you're caught, that's what will happen. Second offence? Twice the above. Third, throw away the key. Let the Bros in PRISON have you for their plaything.

And if our pussy pathetic justice system actually followed through with it, I have to think that would cut out a lot of drivers who are sober enough to think they can get away with it, and even if they are caught the penalties really aren't that harsh anyway. You have to have a dozen convictions before you do any jail time.

If you KILL someone while driving drunk you only get a couple years in the hole. What sort of deterrent/punishment is that?

We need to come down really hard on crime in this country.

Starting with that little toe-rag who cut me off!

2009-09-15T07:14:00.004+12:00

Ghosts. I remember my sister telling a story about someone she knew who had had some kind of experience with a spectre on a lonely road at night, and somehow a possum or some possums featured. I’m not sure how, but I was only six or seven or eight. I remember being terrified. I had a kind of Blair Witch vision in my head, which has stuck with me.

Did that pre-dispose me to “believe” in ghosts?

Who knows. And I’m not sure “believe” is the right word. I’ve never seen a ghost. I know people who say they have. I tolerate Ghost Whisperer, only because my wife likes it. I thought Sixth Sense was a very good movie and I confess I never saw it coming!

For want of a better word, then, I will say I believe in ghosts. So when this story popped up on Stuff I thought how cool.

I was a bit frustrated at how shallow the story was, hence my comment requesting a follow-up. Any journalist with a bit of salt would do some research into this. Who might the Maori woman be? What’s her story? And the cat?

This story has made front page news (on the website at least). It’s either a hoax, or a concrete example of a paranormal phenomenon. Either way, it deserves a follow-up. I know you can’t trust the photo. It could be something hanging on the pole. It’s hard to tell it’s a woman. And wearing a t-shirt? Who is Janet Stansfield? Does she have a history similar to the Whoopie Goldberg character in Ghost, a history of deception?

Most would probably approach this with an element of scepticism, which is okay. But to approach it with a “scientific” method would be fruitless, and unfortunately the only method that gets any serious credibility nowadays is the scientific one. That’s sad.

I look forward to the follow-up.

Send in the marines!

2009-09-14T09:42:00.004+12:00

Ahh . . the Undie 500, eh. Just a few lads and ladettes, letting go of the stress of exams, the pressures of lectures. Letting off a bit of steam. Boys being boys (and girls being girls).

Here’s what I think should happen.

The police dropped the ball. Again. It’s not as if there was no warning. And their role was containment only, until it got out of hand. Did anybody – ANYBODY – think it wasn’t going to get out of hand? It should have been shut down before it started, and I don’t mean by pussy council bylaws that said it can’t happen, but are toothless in the actual execution of them. The police, armed to the teeth, and even the army, should have shut it down before the engines started.

Failing that, the police and the army should have been patrolling the streets of Dunedin and arresting anyone who even LOOKED like a student, herd them into a hall somewhere, and held indefinitely while they are processed through the courts.

When the parties inevitably started with those who got through the police lines, they should have been cordoned off, and closed down.

80 arrests? There should have been hundreds of arrest, and every one of them should be:

Convicted to the fullest extent of the law;
Expelled from university for life;
Forced to pay back every cent of student loan they are no doubt owing;
Divested of their passport so they can’t skip the country, and the debt;
Sent to JAIL.

I cannot believe we as a society stand for this sort of crap, this sort of anti-social behaviour. I can’t believe that these idiots will be allowed to be the leaders of this country, as some of them inevitably will be. They will be like Sue Bradfor who in later life has used her former anti-social behaviour as a badge. Just as she should have been locked up, so too should these morons.

Same with the boy racers, and the gangs. I cannot believe we as a society stand for it.

"We got it wrong"

2009-09-12T07:11:00.009+12:00

Funny I should mention The Block yesterday, as it seems the Labour Party Conference was being held in Rotorua. Who knows why. But in a tired, depressed, brown town, it's probably only fitting that the tired, depressed Labour Party poke its head above ground in that dump. They've finally admitted they might have "got it wrong" on a few things they did while in Government.

Obviously the same script writer was active, with all the head boffins admitting to having "priorities" that were not necessarily in line with the rest of the country. They even dragged Jim Anderton's tired old bones up on stage to apologise for, yep, "moving on to other priorities." Sorry, Jim, the New World Order will have to wait another round. But don't worry, the last great white hope is still flurrying away in New York. Don't give up the dream.

John Key and his cronies should beware, however. Labour's catastrophic defeat in the election last year had little to do with "priorities" and everything to do with arrogance. They thought they knew what was best for Joe Citizen, even if Joe disagreed.

It would be simplistic to say that Labour was defeated because of the anti-smacking legislation. But I'm gonna say it anyway. Labour was defeated because of the anti-smacking legislation. It was the final straw, but it also represented the arrogance that was, and still is, inherent in the political system. Despite overwhelming opposition by the New Zealand public, Labour went ahead and did it anyway. And if there had been a viable alternative, John Key wouldn't have won either because of his sychophantic collaboration with the Red Team.

Problem is, if we get sick of the Blue Team, who else is there to vote for? Which characterises the whole "democratic" system. Rarely do you get the best Government. You just don't get the worst one.

I guess the mutterings in Rotorua are the closest thing we're going to get to an apology. Their priorities might have been a little askew. Yeah, right.

“The idea that taking rights and conditions off working people will help the economy, and conversely that shoring up rights and improving incomes will wreck it, has been exposed for the contempt that underpins it.”

Is this irony writ large from Andrew Little? Who better than Labour knows about taking rights and conditions off working people? Labour, like National, did NOTHING for "working " people . . at least for the 80% in the middle. If you were rich under Labour, you got richer. If you were on a low income under Labour you did better (even if you became more dependent on their welfare). If you were "middle class" under Labour . . you got squat. Except more taxes, more costs, and less slack. And you couldn't smack your children (not that I did anyway - I want that on record).

So, thanks for the apology, Andrew. I will take it with the grain of salt I'm sure it was delivered with.