Public Address - Cracker (Home)

Bye Wellington | Feb 26, 2008 12:15

I have a friend who's a doctor. Not a real doctor – well I have one of those too, but he's the boring, studious kind who won't help out by writing scripts for all the really fun drugs. No, my other doctor friend is not the boring studious kind, but he does know a lot about politics. He teaches it in fact. So I listened intently to him Opining Under the Influence the other day about the "Black Jesus", Barack Obama.

And lo, it gave me cause to think, and to Google. Indeed the terms "messianic" and "Obama" seem to be quite close pals these days, displayed in pieces such as this by Frank Rich of the New York Times:

In [the view of Clinton fans], their highly substantive candidate was unfairly undone by a lightweight showboat who got a free ride from an often misogynist press and from naïve young people who lap up messianic language as if it were Jim Jones's Kool-Aid.

But does being a good speaker make you a cult leader? Obama supporter (but clearly not devotee) Kathlene Geier thinks it's heading that way:

Excuse me, but this sounds more like a cult than a political campaign. The language used here is the language of evangelical Christianity – the Obama volunteers speak of "coming to Obama" in the same way born-again Christians talk about "coming to Jesus."

Jake Tapper at ABC also has a few opinions about the increasingly self-referential rhetoric spouted in the Obama camp.

The problem I have, is I really want to like Obama, because I really don't like Hillary. She's corrupt, she's power hungry – I just don't like her. But given the choice between a power-hungry woman and a man who seems to be all talk and no substance… well it's just too much like our own upcoming elections, isn't it? Although I don't think anyone will ever accuse John Key of having the charisma required to lead the masses to the Rat-poisoned Raro. But he's the first Opposition leader to have out-rated Helen Clark in the preferred Prime Minister stakes, he's obviously doing something right.

A couple of things for those Wellingtonians among you:

First, I'm leaving town tomorrow, so you're safe to walk the streets again, dreads on display, skirts over trousers, boutique beers in hand without worrying about hearing me snicker. It might be late coming, but I've really had a fabulous time here over the corker summer, and I'm pleased that it sounds like one of my new part-time jobs will see me back down for a night every week or so. Most importantly, I hope to still be able to continue my duties as the reigning Wellingtonista Best Dub-dub-dubber.

Second, I was getting some photos of my Afghanistan and /Pakistan trip developed by the venerable team at Wellington Photographic on Grey Street (the little city store up the top of Lambton Quay, not the big one on Vivian Street) the other day. A couple of the staff there liked what they saw, and hey presto, a dozen or so of my shots have been blown up and are on display there (in two lots, for about a month each).

I'm really happy with the way they've come out, and flattered that they're up on display. Proof that with a good camera, an interesting subject, even an idiot can take the odd nice pic these days. You've seen some of them in the blog, but even at 5" x 7" (in gloss) I was impressed how much better they look in real life than on a computer screen. Perhaps a timely reminder to get some of your own favourite digital shots printed out before they're forever lost when your hard drive corrupts. (And a free plug here, if you get 100 prints done at Wellington Photographic, it works out rool reasonable).

Aucklanders, I'm planning something a bit more elaborate for you guys when I move up. Stay tuned (which in Interweb terms I guess is "keep it bookmarked"?)

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Fear Factor | Feb 20, 2008 13:15

The sun was beating down in Paraparaumu on Monday, as we stood around waiting for the wreckage of a Cessna to be removed from a quiet cul-de-sac. You've probably all seen the photos of what was left of the plane, looking like the result of some capping stunt gone very, very badly.

When the police offered the chance for us to cross the barrier and get the shots we needed, I tagged along with the cameraman. I didn't need to be there, our cameramen (and at TVNZ, they are all men) know far better than I do what's required of them, but human nature said I should go and look.

I've seen car crashes before, and been exposed to countless how many horrors on telly, as well as a lot of footage that never made it to air –one of my first jobs as a current affairs producer was to scroll through hours of footage from the Boxing Day tsunami, looking for the best shots. And I can honestly tell you, sensationalist and gratuitous we might sometimes be, but I saw horrors on those tapes I would never want to inflict on the general public. I've been told, but still can't imagine the impact it had on those who were there filming it. They are unfortunate enough to have learned –and to still recall– what decaying human flesh smells like.

We walked down the close, and at the little thermometer shaped bubble at the end, was most of a Cessna, upside down. It had a far greater impact on me than I'd expected, but the only word I can come up with to describe it was wrong. It sounds simple, but planes aren't supposed to be upside down. They're not generally supposed to be on the ground either, and certainly not upside down. I declined the offer to go inside the house and see where the engine had landed. I had to go and interview the 17 year-old pilot's father.

I have seven days left at work, and if I never have to approach another dead child's parents and ask them to postpone –or better yet, display– their grief so the nation can watch, it'll be too soon. Some reporters can find a convincing argument they should do so – if I was a grieving parent, talking to the media would be the last thing I'd ever do. Some reporters take great pride and build reputations around their ability to 'get the get' in such situations – I'm just not that person.

Hear me now: From this moment on as a journalist, I will only talk to people who want to talk to me. Unless they're politicians, legitimate public figures with a duty of care (such as hospital board chairs and senior civil servants, not paparazzi targets) or crooks. I'm probably writing my own WINZ cheque right there, but that's the way it's going to be.
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My colleague Charlie has been reading to me a list of facts from a Formula One magazine.

Did you know that when it is running at full throttle, a Formula One car sucks in 600 litres of air every second?

I now have a new worst fear. Being trapped in an airtight space with a Formula One car at full throttle. Even in a decent-sized room, how long could the air possibly last?
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Fanta-pants Lindsay Lohan has stripped in yet another attempt by some starlet to recreate photos made famous by Marilyn Monroe. Which begs the question; which photos are starlets of the future going to be recreating? Miss Universe 2050-does-Lindasy-Lohan-doing-Marilyn-Monroe? Or are there going to be a lot of grainy night vision shoots in honour of Miss Hilton's 'One Night in Paris'? Shaky am-cam footage of a busty Baywatch look-a-like performing simulated lewd acts on a well-hung tattooed rocker as their launch steams steadily towards the rocks?

Lindsay's photos shoot is here (N particularly SFW). But based on these, This Gentleman Does Not Prefer Redheads. Madonna made a far better Marilyn all those years ago.

Of course, you could just love Lindsay for her intellect:

"If you saw my house, I have a lot of Marilyn stuff. I've got this painting of her in my house. It's eerie because it's a picture and it's kind of cartoony, and there's a big bottle of pills next to her, and they've fallen over."

Eerie.
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In other news just to hand, Prime Minister Helen Clark has withdrawn the offer made to Owen Glenn to become NZ's Honorary Consul to Monaco. Instead insiders say Labour Party staffers are now drafting legislation to be introduced before the house within the next month. This new law will be known as the "Owen Glenn is Officially the Super Best Coolest Person in the Universe Ever (No Returns) Bill."

And can the increasingly ridiculous Sir Howard "She's too fat to be a Pop Star and by the way I invented 'Chur Chur'" Morrison kindly stick to singing?
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From the 'Too-Soon?' files:

What's Black & White & Hungry?

Heath Ledger's Cat.

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It's (self-employed) Business Time | Feb 11, 2008 22:24

Often, when things go quiet at Cracker HQ, it's not because there's nothing going on behind the scenes. And so my appalling contribution to the year's discussion to date has more to do with great upheavals in my life than simply the fact I've got nothing to write about.

So ironically, as Russell announces his new television show, I've quit my job at TVNZ. Great job, love it and all that, but finally I realised all those local bloggers saying "well if you hate Wellington so much…" have a point. With my employer showing no signs of relieving me from manning the outpost any time soon, I have to do something drastic. So I'm going freelance.


Sunset, Punakaiki

"That's very brave" has been the most common –and somewhat worrying– response. Brave, me? Hardly. Is there something these people aren't telling me? Is being freelance the same as being unemployed, only without the comfort of a weekly WINZ cheque for $148.73?

Backing this up, Mum called the other day. "So have you found a job yet?" was her first question. Being freelance –as far as parents are concerned at least– is clearly synonymous with "job seeker".

Anyway, it's an exciting time. Nothing's yet set in stone, but there have been enough discussions, chance meetings and nibbles on the barbed pilchard of opportunity for me to be reasonably calm about it all. Of course, if you run a small but prosperous media empire and want to try and ease my nerves further, knock yourself out. Mum'd be especially grateful, I'm sure.

Pancake Rocks, West Coast

Over the past couple of weeks I've had a chance to see a lot of the country, which is one thing I hope I won't have to give up in favour of smoking weed and playing Xbox when the freelance gig starts. I took my first trip to the West Coast (of the South Island) and even though it was only for a day, managed to see a few different places. Definitely keen to head back there in the Holden when there's more snow about.

Then I went to Christchurch, where I had a surprisingly good time. Surprising, because I usually feel like I'm trapped in some strange mash-up of The Stepford Wives and Romper Stomper: Skinheads asking what school I went to, before sconing me with a tray of club sandwiches. This time there was a busking festival (so much more than barely talented guitarists singing Eric Clapton ballads on the street) and the weather was perfect.


FUSE Performer, International Buskers Festival

I often think Auckland should have more in the way of events. Wellington has the Arts Festival, the Cuba Street carnival, Wearable Arts and so forth. Christchurch has this busking thing and whatever else they get up to down there. But Auckland really doesn't do a lot. I guess it's hard when there is no proper 'heart' of the city, which is one thing I've come to appreciate about Wellington while I've been here, and seems apparent in Christchurch too. I don't think anything can really be done about it, short of rebuilding the city around a central square or erecting a bucket fountain to attract people from far and wide.

By the by, I was in Christchurch to do a story on the UK's "leading psychic", Colin Fry. I went in with a relatively open mind, but at half time couldn't believe people weren't demanding their money back. I'd sat there with a notepad and pen, and written down everything Colin had asked, everything he'd gotten wrong and everything he'd gotten right. In a two hour show, this guy had fewer hits than Rick Astley, but it didn't seem to detract from the audience's enjoyment. Without the clarity provided by a simple notepad and pen, they picked up on the few good guesses and clung to them like a pitbull to a small child's arm. "How does he do it?" they enthused as they queued at the book signing afterwards.

If you're interested in seeing the story, here's a link (Yes, I'm quite happy with the way it turned out, in case you were wondering).

FUSE Performer, International Buskers Festival

News just in, the Flight of the Conchords have won a Grammy, for best comedy album – not bad when you consider it's actually an EP with only five tracks on it. Five brilliant tracks of course, like this, this and this.

FUSE Performer, International Buskers Festival

Right, that's it for now, I've got to try and blag those little white foam chip things from someone and then work out how best to cohabit a lazy Birman with a spoilt Tabby, not to mention their respectively lazy and spoilt owners. Suggestions welcome.

FUSE Performers, International Buskers Festival

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Welcome Home? | Jan 08, 2008 08:48

After what seems like months away from home, I've arrived back from my Afghanistan/Pakistan trip, which had neatly conflated with my Christmas Break.

I'm broken (from diving), bruised (from learning to waterski), burnt (a minor fireworks incident at two minutes to midnight) and after a few days in Northland, red. Like a fire enginge. A sore fire engine.

I've been boating, fishing, diving, shellfish-gathering, barbequing, sunbathing, drinking, frying and all those things that make for the quintessential Kiwi Christmas.

Smugglers' Cove, near Waipu

And I couldn't be happier to live here. New Zealand that is, not Wellington, where it's all grey and rainy on my first day back at work. Nope, New Zealand, I'm quite stoked with the accident of birth that sees me living here, and the continued presence of mind not to join the increasing number of friends making a go of it in London.

I was in London for a week just before Christmas –a state school education meant I thought it would be easy to 'pop over' from Pakistan, since I was 'in the area anyway'– and I can tell you, I can't see many compelling reasons to trade this life for that. A number of my pals have their own special reasons that justify being there (career opportunities being a big one), but I think the rest of them are kidding themselves. Why else would they be so keen for me to join them? "You should totally move here" they implore, in exactly the same tone I had previously thought reserved for smokers convincing ex-smokers to jump back off the wagon – trying to make the Tube sound appealing when it's about as much fun as a tube in the throat.

Yeah it might be exponentially easier to get to Europe, but at what cost? Living in London the other 98% of the time? But each to their own, and I dare say anyone reading this in London would take the Borough Markets over the Bucket Fountain any day.

Matheson's Bay, near Leigh

I had meant to write about the joys of the Auckland Airport Strip Search. But it seems so long ago now and I've told so many people over so many beers that I've exhausted any raconteurial juice the tale might once have had. But to summarise:

1. If Customs ask you if you've ever smoked pot or what-have-you, just lie. Being helpful will only cost you hours of unnecessary delay.

2. Just because you can buy something over-the-counter-to-help-you-sleep-through-your-food-poisoining-on-the-plane in Pakistan, doesn't mean you should bring it back to New Zealand. You could find yourself charged with importing a Class C substance.

3. After 40 hours in airports and on planes, handing someone your socks and underwear is pleasant for neither party.

4. The person waiting for you at the arrival gate may not be that understanding when you are three hours late, and you will not be able to call them while you are being detained. Unless you pretend you are calling your lawyer (which works!)

5. Being strip-searched is not funny, but my meeting with the police once Customs had finished with me was:

Friendly Samoan Policeman: Okay, right, so you've been pretty upfront about why you've got these sleeping pills, so I'm going to…

[Phone rings]

Friendly Samoan Policeman: …Oh sorry, hang on a sec… Hello?.... Aw, hey Aunty…. Yeah, Aunty, I can't really talk right now….

… Yeah, lunch on Sunday sounds good…

… Nah, yeah, I like corned beef….

… Okay Aunty, that sounds good… Aunty… Aunty… I gotta go… Okay, bye Aunty.

And with a big smile, he told me he was going to let me off with a warning. And a little note on my record in case I'm tempted to import pharmaceuticals again in the future.

Which leaves me a little worried. After (stupidly) telling Customs I once inhaled, and having a 'little note' on my police record, should I tell anyone picking me up from the airport from now on to arrive a few hours late? I've always spoken fondly of arriving back in New Zealand, as the Customs Officials stamp your passport and say "Welcome Home". Will my experiences from here on in be less warm and more, dare I say, latexy? Can anyone shed some light as to what I should expect?

Finally, and freshly arrived in my Inbox, this touching and lengthy press release from music manager Glyn MacLean, announcing that after checking with his lawyers and her music publisher, it's okay for him to get it on with engaged to his young charge, Yulia. Highlights include:

I'm sure we'll write a book about it sometime, but it transpires that after stoically trying to avoid having any feelings for Yulia, it turns out we are each others soul mates, as it were. How does one prove that one has found ones... "soul mate"...? Well, I think it's when you find yourself naturally aligned, naturally sacrificing yourself for the other, when matters of the flesh become irrelevant and when you just know the other person because they are like a version of yourself.

It's also when you go through trials and tribulations and in the darkest moment of servitude to their humanity, you find yourself deeply loving them with the virtues listed in 1st Corinthians 13:4 - 8. I found myself being much more patient, kind, without envy, not boasting, not being rude or easily angered, unable to keep records of wrong, rejoicing in the truth, persevering and most of all, forgiveness.

Awwww.

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