Am I alone in really not loving the Beck thing? The things I love about the original are its sparseness and the emotional flatness of the lyric. It's the song of a man who is right at the end of his ability to express how he feels. The song's charm lies in it's awkwardness and sadness.
I ws unsurprised to learn Beck's version was made for a car manufacturer. I admit that it's very clever but, to me, it looks like showing off and rings a bit hollow.*
*i am tired from an overnight school camp and am coming down with a cold so am probably being a bit curmudgeonly.
My parents are staying with us. We took them to the new C1 for lunch and then for a walk in the botanic gardens. Dinner was pasta with pesto made from basil I grew myself and then we left the children at home with my parents and and went off to see Alan Davies who was utterly wonderful.. So, nothing particularly Waitangi-ish but a really lovely day.
Buggerizing has gotten a fair bit of traction around here.
I was a little older than many of my peers when I saw Star Wars, still a kid but beyond the truly impressionable stage, so these are films I enjoyed rather than defining experiences.
We showed the original trilogy to the kids a couple of years back and they loved them. Every tube became a lightsaber.
We debated the prequels and decided not to show them but then there was an earthquake. We were staying with my partner's father while our house was inaccessable and the only appealing movies in his collection were those three. At that stage a few hours of distraction for the small guys seemed more important than considerations such as artistic merit. Son the younger (five years old at the time) thought they were great and, to our horror, adored Jar Jar Binks. The nine year old was, blessedly, less impressed.
It is disgusting out there. 20cm of water on our drive and probably worse on the street. Storm water going the wrong way so the toilet won't drain and bubbles ominously. We rang the council who recommended sealing it with gladwrap and a brick. We have the chemical loo on the go again. Partner is obsessively looking at property listings for suburbs west of here.
It really doesn't matter to me who wrote the bill or whether its passing would affect them in any way. It also doesn't matter how I feel about marriage as an institution. All that matters is that some same sex couples do wish to marry and there is no just reason why they should not be able to.
I'd been largely avoiding reading anything for fear of acknowledging the fact making it all become real but then my kids' school (where I am a teacher aide) spent today crafting notes and stories and poems which will adorn Margaret Mahy's coffin and it's all a bit too much.
Margaret and my mother were childrens librarians at the same time (though in different cities) and she was an enormous influence on my Mum and thereby me as well. Somewhere I have signed copies of several of her books - always with a little doodle of a lion or a crocodile.
I think my favourite of her picture books is The Witch in the Cherry Tree. The mother being delightfully vague and half engaged with her son's ideas, the witch yearning for the cosy domesticity inside the house and the little boy, David, who is cannier than either of them.
The teen books came out at just the right time for me. All those "ordinary" girls who were anything but left me with powerful feelings which never quite subsided but I think it was the adults who left the biggest impression - parents who were fully rounded characters with flaws and fears and dreams of their own.
The only damage I can see from sex blogging ( assuming a certain degree of non-arsehattery from the blogger) is in not having enough of it or, more specifically, not having a wide enough variety of voices out there.
Were we to ever get married there would be this:
and maybe this:
And then, because maybe it shouldn't be all Bowie all the time we could have:
I suspect my darling would, however, prefer discreet jazz and nothing that encouraged dancing which may be why we continue to live without benefit of wedlock (as my uncle once described how we were raising our kids).
Bowie for funerals? For me it has to be this: