Public Address - Cracker (Home)

Give 'em Enough Rope | Dec 02, 2005 10:00

What's up with the deification of Van Nguyen?

As the United States nears its 1000th execution, why are there candlelit vigils and calls to have a minute's silence for a convicted heroin smuggler?

400 grams of heroin. 27,000 hits, apparently. That's a lot of lives fucked up.

Should he be hanged? Probably not, but why is he such a cause celebre? 'Person gets killed in Asian country for drug smuggling'. Stop the presses.

Back in the nineties, some dodgy guys I knew of tried to smuggle a few thousand Es from England to New Zealand. They booked their flights with a stop-off in Kuala Lumpur.

Now I'm no drug smuggler, but surely when you're in the illegal narcotic exportation game, your first priority is not getting killed. Not getting caught is second. Cheap flights are third, Airpoints fourth, and choice of in-flight movie is a distant fifth. "Discount getaways flying Malaysian Airlines?" No thanks.

Luckily for these guys, one of them got stopped at Heathrow. He spent six years in Wormwood Scrubs. His nose was regularly broken by people who probably looked a lot like Vinnie Jones.

An hour out of KL, the others realised their mate wasn't with them (they'd at least had the foresight not to sit together). One went to the airline toilet and tried to flush his cargo. The toilet choked and backed up, spraying little coloured treats all over the small cubicle.

"I just felt like giving up", he later told me. Reason prevailed, and even though the plane was descending, he picked every incriminating piece of evidence off the walls, floor and roof of the toilet, flushing them away. Probably the smartest thing he did in an otherwise startlingly stupid series of events.

He moved into real estate.

So Van Nguyen. Who cares? People die every day. Most of them have done a lot less to destroy others' lives than a heroin smuggler. I'm more concerned about the crema on Russell's coffee.

Time wasters on a Friday - for those of you who enjoyed hearing Ashley Highfield at the Great Blend, the lovely Noelle has made my bFM interview with him available as a bCast.

Also, I've been a bit underwhelmed with the response to my "tell me a story" post. Come on people, you know you wanna. Did I mention there would be free stuff?

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Telling Tales | Nov 28, 2005 08:39

There's an aphorism, "most people have a book in them; and that's where it should probably stay".

Six months ago I wrote of my fledgling novel – Pirates! (possible subtitle, "A Metaphor"). Well surprise of surprises, it hasn't progressed much past the initial flurry of six pages. Although I did decide a while later that those six pages were probably enough to comprise the first chapter. So I have made progress in theory, if not in practice. And I still consider my novel to be embryonic, rather than abortive.

Increasingly though, I've become interested in stories. Everyone's novel might be best left internalised, but I'm sure everyone has at least one story worth telling. One really cracker story that stands on its own merit and appeals to everyone – you don't have to know Uncle John to see the humour, it's not 'a guy thing', and you didn't have to be there.

My mate Ben and I have been friends for years. We've heard each other's tales - the good, the bad and the boring - far too many times, so much so we can recite them verbatim. One night at a party, surrounded by strangers, Ben just started telling my stories as though they were his own. "Yeah, I used to live in Upper Hutt," he'd begin, and before I could protest he'd be recounting the lowlights of my school years. I'd counter with how *I* used to get beaten up each day getting off the bus in Mt Roskill.

It was amusing, frustrating and probably completely boring to the strangers. But who cares, surely that's why God makes Strangers? That'll learn 'em for always trying to offer kids sweets and rides home.

Anyhoo. Even knowing all Ben's stories, I'm still hungry for more. I want a story from everyone. Eventually I might try and do something with the idea, a doco, a short film, a book – who knows. But knowing me, probably not. The least I can do for now is post my favourites, and probably give them a prize or something, a book or computer game or whatever. Christmas is coming after all.

So would you mind? Telling me a story? Short or long; funny, sad, heartbreaking, romantic, dirty, poignant, coincidental. The more colour, flavour and relevant detail the better.

I only ask two things:

1. It's true.

2. It happened to you. Not your wife, sister, grandfather or my mate Ben.

Change the names if you need to, or just tell me not to post your name if you want to be completely anonymous. If I do ever decide to use these for anything bigger, I will seek express permission.

I'll get you started with my favourite story.

When I was growing up, my father was in the army. We moved around quite a bit, but for two and a half incredible years, we lived in Singapore. Always having a bit of a knot fetish, I joined Scouts. My friend Joshua called it Hitler Youth, but I think that was just because his dad, a liberal English teacher, wouldn't let him join.

As the Scout leaders were generally military men, we always went on the coolest trips. On one occasion we paddled two-person kayaks, leaving from the NZ Navy wharf, which was often full of huge foreign naval vessels, and paddled a few kilometres out to an island in the Johore Strait.

We camped on the island at night and went crab hunting, while those kids old enough to use deodorant set fire to things by spraying it onto a flame. During the day we practiced tying knots, learnt how to right capsized kayaks and other pursuits bound to prove useful in later life.

After a couple of days on the island we paddled back. My kayak companion was my Scout leader, whose name escapes me. As we approached the navy yard an enormous US battleship, many storeys high, was docked at the wharf. Steps on the side of the wharf led down to concrete jetty at sea level. We slid our kayak between the towering battleship and the jetty.

We got out of the kayak and started to unload our gear. A slight change in the wind, or maybe a small swell caused the huge battleship to list ever-so-slightly. It became noticeable down at sea-level though, as the little kayak wedged itself between the jetty and the battleship. As the ship listed further, the fibreglass of the kayak splintered with a loud crack.

The funniest thing I have ever seen in my life – the most preposterous, ridiculous illustration of the word "optimism" – was my Scout leader standing on the jetty, with every ounce of effort in his body, pushing at the huge grey wall of iron, trying to displace tens of thousands of tonnes in order to save the little kayak. He looked at me, face red, veins bulging and gasped "push".

And that was the day a Battleship destroyed our Kayak.

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Harry, Satan etc. | Nov 21, 2005 17:03

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Everything is moving very quickly indeed.

Last time I wrote I'd just found out I'd be going to Oxford at some point in the next year or so. Last week the call came in: I'm there in seven weeks. It's a bit sooner and, er, colder than I was expecting, but it's all good.

So there are flights to book, stopovers to arrange, laptops to purchase and warm winter clothing to invest in. The first two are taken care of, but if anyone out there has a good notebook for sale, or happens to be a major investor in say, Icebreaker, feel free to send me feedback.

Harry Potter & the Goblet of Fire: A review of sorts

My mate Ben and I went to see HP&tGOF last week.

The fourth of the Harry Potter films is apparently Not For Kids, receiving a PG13 rating in some jurisdictions and generally getting the thumbs down for anyone under 10. This is a shame, because it's by far the best (and darkest) of the films to date, and if you've got to drag your kids along to anything these coming holidays it'd be better if the film wasn't drowning in treacle.

At 157 minutes some say it's a bit long, but it was a breeze compared with the 730-odd page novel. Being a billionaire has done nothing for JK Rowling's ability to self-edit, I can tell you that.

Despite the age warning, my friend Lisa took an eight year old along, and by all accounts he loved it. Sure, he'll never set foot in water having been shown what lurks beneath (the underwater scene is fantastically thrilling), but I'm told for the most part, guardian was more nervous than the child. I suspect most eight year olds will cope.

I should add here, this recommendation is based on the natural assumption you don't mind your little ones turning into Satanists. That's right, it's the whole Dungeon & Dragons debacle all over again.

I played D&D when I was growing up, and while it did nothing for my adolescent love life ("But baby, I'm a Cleric with +17 Charisma, what's not to like?"), nor did it see me worshipping the Dark Lord. Sure, I've ritually sacrificed a goat or two, but who can honestly say they never did anything like that in their wild University days?

Look at the spooky list of similarities between Harry Potter and D&D. Spells… wizards… dragons. Wow, it's like they're both, um, fantasy or something! But wait. The scariest similarity of all: Unicorns. Creatures straight from Satan's workshop, surely…

I'm interested to hear from any young women out there who played with My Little Pony unicorns growing up, and now find themselves projectile vomiting green matter, speaking in tongues, or able to twist their head 360 degrees.

If you're able to twist any other body parts significantly, feel free to drop me a line too. I won't call you a freak, baby.

Did I mention I have +17 Charisma?

_____________________________

Two small coincidences since writing this post:

Update: Great Christian comic dealing with the darkside of D&D addiction (thanks NZBC for the link) - wow, that was exaclty what happened when I played D&D too!

Update 2: I just went to an art exhibition on at the Whitehouse (yes, the strip club on Queen St) featuring inter alia My Little Ponies with vibrating devices inside them, and little speed control remotes coming out their arses. As far as I can tell, not part of the official Hasbro series but - somewhat disturbingly - not the first person to think of MLP's in a sexual way.

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The Simpsons Are Going to England! | Nov 10, 2005 18:16

I've never been to England before. It makes me a constant source of mirth and bewilderment among my more windswept and interesting friends. "Hey England virgin" they taunt, or at least they would if they had the same lack of imagination as me.

Despite this, I'm a committed Anglophile. I've had a string of imaginary English girlfriends, starting with Sam from Me & My Girl (my adolescent phase), Emma Thompson (my romantic phase), Joanna Lumley circa Sapphire & Steel (my cult TV nostalgia phase) and then Patsy Kensit (my dirty phase).

Rather than visions of dirty old London town, my dream UK getaway was always the hallowed halls of Oxford. Unfortunately a fairly lackadaisical approach to my early university years saw that dream slowly disappear like urinal cakes in a student pub toilet.

Funny how these things work out.

Despite my last (self) published work being about the relative employment merits of monkeys and elephants, I've been selected to spend three months next year at Oxford University. Yeah I know, that's what I thought too. It's called the Chevening Reuters Fellowship. It's a journalism thing.

If I know me, and I do, it won't be the last you'll be hearing about this. I'll try and keep the crowing to a tasteful minimum. And also work on lowering my expectations. I was speaking to an English friend today, describing what I hoped to experience. "You're aware you're going to Oxford, and not Hogwarts?" he inquired, probably with some justification.

So um yeah. Huge can't-put-it-into-words-you've-changed-my-life-forever-and-you-probably-don't-even-know-it thanks to the British Council, the Foreign & Commonwealth Office and everyone further up the line responsible for sending me, and to my fantastic referees - you know who you are.

If I was some cheesy Oscar actress I'd be crying right now, and mentioning the fact that I was born in South Auckland and managed to overcome huge adversity. But that's not true. The great thing about living in a small pond is that this sort of shit happens to people all the time.

Speaking of awards ceremonies, if you're around (by which I mean home) this Saturday night, the inaugural Qantas TV awards are on Saturday evening, 9.30 on One. I mention this not out of a sense of corporate loyalty, but because me and my amigo Garth are finalists in the Best Current Affairs Report category. So you might just see my teary "born in Papakura/overcame adversity" speech yet.

So it's been a good week at Cracker HQ, and to top it off, the sun has been shining wherever I've been (take a bow Wellington). Next post I'll write about something other than myself, promise. Yeah I know, why change the habit of a lifetime?

It's Friday though, so I'll leave you with a joke doing the rounds. Use it to win friends and influence people over the weekend.

A man goes to a zoo. But when he gets there, all he sees is one dog.

It was a shitzu.

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It's been buggin' me | Nov 07, 2005 12:37

Why do I bother locking my cats in on Guy Fawkes Night when their way of rewarding my concern is to take a big crap on my bed?

Rather than reducing the speed limit to 30kph, couldn't Wellingtonians instead learn to look before crossing the road? Or are all those one-way roads leading to dumbed-down pedestrians?

Speaking of which, is there anything Wellington Coroner Garry Evans doesn't feel qualified to speak out on?

Why do they say you can't make an Omelette without breaking a few eggs? Patently not true.

Why do they also say "pay peanuts, get monkeys"? Again not true. Pay peanuts, get elephants. Everyone knows elephants love peanuts. They can even fire them from their trunk like a machine gun if cornered. Elephants are particularly useful as workers, as long as you need logs dragged around, heavy lifting, remembering stuff, that kind of thing.

[Monkeys are also useful, in their own way, but if you want monkeys you should seriously consider paying in bananas, rather than peanuts. If you have enough monkeys (and even more bananas) you could try testing the old theory about a million monkeys typing on a million typewriters eventually writing the entire works of Shakespeare. If you don't have the finances, patience or storage space to try your own Shakespearian monkey sweatshop, you could just use this simulator.]

Is there anything Auckland gossirazzo Bridget Saunders doesn't feel qualified to expound on? Last Sunday it an appraisal of the nation's television news. What next, stock market advice?

Why are six of the top ten search terms for publicaddress related to pornography?

Are people searching for "Hard Nudes" disappointed to find the considered opinions of a 40-something socialist?

Did the person searching for "Address of Jesus" find what they were looking for?

What about "Elton John in a Nappy"? "Uma Thurman Hardly Has a Belly Button"? "A Condom with a Picture of Spongebob on It?"

Should I quit while I'm ahead?

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