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All the leaves are brown | Mar 12, 2004 08:45
Well, she's been a cracker couple of weeks. I was halfway through a post last week complaining about the Summer that Never Was. I'd planned a weekend of cricket, drive-in movies and diving at the Poor Knights. It rained and everything was postponed. As March ticked over and Autumn fell upon us it became pretty clear that this was Little Summer that Just Wouldn't.
I don't want to sound all Season Obsessed or anything, but it's becoming important to the inner gardener in me. My tree fern clippings aren't taking, and my lilies, which had only just opened, took a hammering in the storms.
Everything I wrote about in the last week of November has failed to materialise. My gym membership has been and gone, and while I'm slightly trimmer than I was four months ago, I'm no Peter Andre.
Actually, can I just digress for a second to ask – what the HELL is up with Peter Andre having pole position on Top of the Pops with a re-release of the same song that annoyed us all in 1996? Does this open the door for all mediocre 90s artists (and really, the 90s were about as bad as it gets for pop music) to churn out the same old crap once again: MC Hammer? Bobby Brown? Who's buying into this?
The car I was hoping would be ready for Summer isn't quite there either. To recap, I dropped my old Austin Healey into the mechanic in October sometime to get a new gearbox. I wanted it ready for Summer. It's now March. Anyone get the feeling they're taking the piss? I called them up the other day.
"I kinda wanted it for Summer… it's now Autumn."
"Yeah, well you didn't miss much, Summer was crap."
"Thanks for that."
It's not all bad news however. There are huge piles of the crunchiest of crunchy leaves just begging to be jumped on in Albert Park. I was walking through said park the other day (you will have worked out by now it's a bit of a fave of mine) when I came upon something I'd never seen before. It was a well. A big, brick well. I've walked through that park so many times before and never seen it.
"It must be new", my brain suggested, not entirely helpfully.
The plaque ("reconstructed in 1979…") and general old scuffed brickness of it suggested it was anything but. It might seem like a small thing, noticing something for the first time, but it really threw me. Glitch in the Matrix kinda styles.
Anyway, if anyone has any information backing up my particularly paranoid Someone's Out to Mess with my Head conspiracy theory, feel free to let me know. Similarly, if anyone knows why there's a huge letter D in Albert Park, send me feedback. I have my theory, but again I fear it's unlikely and perhaps slightly egocentric.
I haven't posted for a wee while, I know, and thanks for the concerned feedback. Yes, the pills are working, cheers. The real reason is that I've changed jobs (yes, again) and have made the big move up to that monolith on Hobson Street, Television New Zealand. And I'm having a great time. Still planning to do something on the mighty b, just not sure exactly what at the moment.
Issues wise, weather aside, I've been mulling over a few bits and pieces, but this is a Friday post, and I'd rather not weigh you down with my half-arsed theories on this that or the other when Russell's been so prolific this week and nicely covered just about everything I was going to talk about. Ain't he a champ.
Oh oh, try and check out the latest issue of Staple Magazine. Not only is it a great little read, but there's an interview in there I did with John Tamihere a month ago, which since the time I wrote it, has become even more relevant, given the talk of a new Maori party, etc.
Finally I'll provide you with a Waste Time on a Friday link – for you film buffs, here's The Exorcist in 30 seconds as performed by some rabbits.
Enjoy the weekend. See you at the Garden Centre.
Swap Meet | Feb 19, 2004 11:47
You wanna know what I think is great? I love the fact that I can write about the most salient issues facing us; wars, the geopolitical crisis, the race relations gulch and people read it. But the one time I decide to tell you about boy sparrows and girl sparrows, the feedback starts flowing. The lesson? Sex sells.
The same happened on my radio show last week. I thought I'd pass on the sparrow message (I'm a one-trick pony) and ended up learning all about sexing goldfish. Apparently with practice you can tell the difference by looking at their anal openings. I'm a grown up (almost) so that doesn't disturb me particularly. It's the practice bit that makes me nervous.
I have a confession I've been meaning to make, and it has nothing to do with goldfish. The other week I posted about my generally unsatisfactory dealings with the New Zealand Police Force. The next day I was on my way to do a voice job for an ad. It was raining and I was running late. I drove through a light that could optimistically be described as amber. The policeman who happened to be two cars behind me noticed, and began tailing me. Some minutes later after a quick game of "try to lose the tail without breaking any more laws or looking dodgy as all hell" he switched on his lights and pulled me over.
I got out and put my umbrella up, offering him some respite from the now pelting rain. I held my breath. He was the nicest policeman I've ever met in my life. Polite Mr Plod, with an accent similar to Jamie Oliver, but not as annoying. He's obviously one of the new English imports, and if the rest are anything like him, they're a welcome addition.
"Uh hi, noticed you going through a red light there, yeah?… Yeah, raining pretty hard today, roads a bit slippery, easy to have an accident, yeah, knowhatimean? Now, normally that's a $150 fine, but today I just want you to take a Bit More Care, awright? Thanks for your time, me ol' sparrow." Or words that effect.
Sooooo nice. Why must you mock me, oh Lord?
Anyway, I thanked him, and drove off safely and carefully to the voice job. 'He's new', I thought, 'It's not his fault he didn't know that in Auckland orange means green.' I turned up a few minutes late for my voice job. It was for the Ministry of Justice, "pay your traffic fines." Alanis Morrisette would've had a field day.
I've started reading the Central Leader. Well it's free and they stuff it in my box twice a week, it seems rude not to. A lot of stuff is kicking off for the year this week, so why not get out there and get involved . My pick of the Community notices this week:
Enjoy
Joyologist Pat Armistead will talk about ways to bring yourself joy at the Avondale Library, 93 Roseband Rd, on Wednesday February 25, from 11am to noon. For more information, phone…
[A friend informs me he received quite a telling off for bringing himself joy at the Avondale Library, so make sure if you do so, it only happens between the hours designated above.]
Laptops
Visitors are invited to the New Zealand Computer Club's first evening meeting of 2004 at 7.30, Thursday, February 19, at the Presbyterian Church community centre, 10 Gardner Rd, Epsom. The latest in laptop computers will be discussed.
Love in
The first Meeting of the Minds for 2004 is at the Mt Albert Community Library on Thursday, February 19, from 10am to 11am. Author and founder of the Romance Writers of New Zealand, Jean Drew, will speak. For more details, call...
Dollar Mixture | Feb 13, 2004 17:11
Just a few bits and pieces today I've been mulling over, for what it's worth.
First, something that's been on my mind for a couple of weeks. Don't try and read anything into it, it's not a metaphor. It's not an analogy, and there's no moral to it. It just is.
I've been surprised how many people out there can't tell the difference between a boy sparrow and a girl sparrow. Obviously as children, you all had more interesting lives than me. If you do know, then just read on, but from anecdotal evidence (you know, the sort they use for Sunday Star Times polls) you're in the minority.
It's pretty simple, and while it won't radically change your life, I feel mine is just that Little Bit Better for knowing. It means I can discriminate on the basis of gender when I'm throwing bread crumbs around. Okay, I guess that says more about me than it does about sparrows, but regardless. You can also say "come here little fella", or "how d'ya like that bread little missy" with a degree of certainty. Small things, small minds perhaps, but try it and see if you agree.
Boy sparrows are the ones with black bibs. Girl sparrows are the ones without. Here's a picture of the two, although it's pretty obvious when you look.
Good to have that off my chest.
I was reading last week's Independent this week (again, says more about me…) and found something that amused me slightly, albeit in a despairing sort of way. Under the headline "ACT opts for independence", Richard Prebble is quoted as saying "Maori culture plays a vital role in defining New Zealand as a nation, with films such as Whale Rider."
A couple of weeks back I made a call about Don Brash's speech, inferring he'd quite like it if the role of Maori in Aotearoa/New Zealand was limited to posing for photos with tourists and greeting rockstars at the airport. It seems Prebble is in agreement.
I should mention that last Thursday, before Waitangi Day, I interviewed the Maori Affairs spokespeople for National, Act, United Future and the Greens. Labour's Parekura Horomia wasn't available – quelle surprise, as he never is – but this time he had a believable excuse, being on a marae somewhere out of range. The Progressives don't have one (a Maori Affairs spokesperson), not even outside of Parliament, and NZ First's Pita Paraone didn't get back to us.
Faced with names like Gerry Brownlee, Stephen Franks and Murray Smith, I was glad I'd boned up on my Maori pronunciation. However, I was more interested in what they had to say, how they kept up with Maori issues, and what their policies were than the colour of their skin. Finishing up each interview, I asked a couple of questions relating to Maori history. I assured them it wasn't a stitch-up, nor some circus, I was merely interested in their knowledge of the portfolio. Brownlee wasn't having a bar of it, sounded pissed off, didn't know the answers to the questions, and didn't even attempt to offer an "I've only been in this job two days, but I'm learning" explanation.
The winners, first equal, were Act's Stephen Franks and Metiria Turei of the Greens. Franks seemed to know his stuff, which to me only makes Act's position on Maori Affairs even more disappointing. Murray Smith from United Future scored one from two, but what was more interesting was hearing him talk about United's position on Maori affairs. I won't go into details, but it all seemed very sensible, a good middle ground between Labour's perceived excesses and the destructive policies of the parties of the right. United and their common sense solutions – when will they stop being so damned reasonable!
(What were the questions you ask? – Which article of the Treaty explicitly grants Maori "all the Rights and Privileges of British Subjects" (the Third) and "Which Act passed in 1908 oppressed Maori" (The Tohunga Suppression Act, which effectively prevented Maori having their own religion)).
Finally, a plug for a mate of mine, but one that fully deserves the publicity – starting this February 27th is the Cinema Circus, a series of films screened in various beautiful locations outdoors around Auckland and the North Island. It begins with a couple of drive-ins, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Faster Pussycat Kill Kill – real date flicks! Check out the site for a schedule and bookings.
Happy as a Pig In Shit | Feb 03, 2004 14:50
I was speaking with John Tamihere the other day. I wondered, did he despair every time the papers ran yet another story of "A Maori does wrong"? No, came his reply. The New Zealand psyche has moved on significantly in the last ten years, such that now when one Maori does something wrong, the rest of Maoridom isn't, well, tarred with the same brush.
I'd like to agree, I really would. Unfortunately I've been in too many cabs, and listened to far too much talkback to believe it entirely true. The odd Sunday Star Times poll suggests, methodological doubts aside, many New Zealanders aren't happy with the perceived privileges held by the tangata whenua.
As I read the Sunday paper, and then the front pages of yesterday's and today's Herald, I wonder if police face the same problems when it comes to public perception. There are allegations of a pack rape, subsequent cover-up or botched investigation, and then the elevation of one of the protagonists up the ranks. The case raises a number of questions, and very few of them relate to what happened or did not happen in Rotorua, circa 1986.
For me at least – and I welcome your feedback on this – this latest drama does cast a pall over the force as a whole. If the allegations are true, it shows evil among some bottom ranks, and collusion at the top. There might be a whole lotta goodness in the middle.
I'd love to swallow the "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" line. Unfortunately I've heard too many stories, and personally run into too many Cops With Attitude. A relative of mine, perhaps not the most upstanding of citizens, but a nice guy nonetheless tells a great yarn of having his head rammed repeatedly into the panel of the police car that bears the decal "Safer Communities Together."
I suppose the genesis of my attitude towards police, and vice versa, stems from the legislation they are required to enforce. This is not some "legalise it" post, and I'm hardly the poster boy for cannabis, having not had a smoke in quite some time (never Mum, I mean never). But the reality is that a majority of my friends do, to a greater or lesser extent, indulge in recreational drug use. Drug use of a recreational nature is, of course, against the law. Therefore, police are People To Beware Of.
This is a shame, it really is. It would be a great thing – not least of all because my tax dollars go in part to pay for this service – if I felt able to approach a copper for directions, the time of day, if not a light for my joint. Sadly no, and almost every time I try and extend the olive branch with a friendly "howzit?" I get a look which – in my mind – conveys the message, "Bugger off, you smart little shit." I dare say this look has been developed after years of taunts from the ever-increasingly irreverent youth of today, but as I say, it's a shame.
The more I think about the Don Brash speech, and its pernicious sub-text, the more it pisses me off. If I made a list entitled "Issues that shouldn't become political footballs," race relations would be right near the top. Unfortunately my list seems to have been leaked to National, Act, New Zealand First and renamed "Political Mileage."
I walked through Albert Park today on my way down to buy a 2004 diary (January I just wing). They were setting up for the Chinese Lantern Festival this Waitangi weekend, an event I've attended for the last couple of years. Thousands now attend, and it's hardly a secret, but if you live in the City O' Sails and haven't been, get there this year. One of New Zealand's most beautiful parks lit up dramatically is quite something to behold.
As I traipsed through amid the preparations, I couldn't help but think: If having this 2000 year old festival in my town is part of what you're warning us about, then I'm sorry Mr Peters, but I'm going to have to disagree with you.
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