Club Politique by Che Tibby

You gotta wonder

The announcement that a bunch of New Zealanders are a bit on the cuddly side should hardly be surprising. As reader Tony mentioned to me a wee while back, the application of the label 'obesity epidemic' is just using a fancy medical term to justify 'letting yourself go'.

Ok, so Tony actually had a little rant. But I laughed because it is very true. His main suggestion for not getting too broad in the beam was to sidle up to a really large person in the supermarket, and glance in their trolley. Whatever they have in there, don't buy it.

Now that is a very simple suggestion for those of us who are worried about the puku turning into a small mountain of lard.

The far more complex suggestion, and the one I alluded to in this post, and which I heard suggested by some wowser on the telly, is to get the gubbermint to sort it out.

People... for christssakes... Aunty Helen cannot hold your hand forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to get that great fat arse of the couch and... dare I say it... get the fuck out of the house... and go for a walk. It's not difficult. Really. If two year olds can do it, so can you. Usually it involves just kind of putting one gigantic chubby foot down on the ground. Then, you lift the other hoof and put it down out in front of the first one. Repeat with the first. Before you know it you'll we wedging that spacious tookus through the front door and into the fresh air.

Next, walk to the nearest greengrocer and buy an apple. Just one. Then walk home. Do not, repeat, do not stop at the Dairy for a Trumpet, a bag of Eskimos or a Toppa. Tomorrow, do the same thing again.

Because I'm a man who doesn't just do the talking I can reveal that my solution to the need to get out and about, wandering into stores and pricing electronics I can't actually afford, has the people at the local Harvey Norman thinking I'm a well(ish)-dressed bum. One day I'll buy that damn speaker set. In the meantime though, the all-too-frequent visits are stopping all that duck I ingest from making me waddle.

But seriously, 'The State' cannot regulate to prevent people getting tubby. While I agree that there is some mighty exploitative advertising out there, and that kids do eat too much fat and sugar for their own good, having regulations in place to do the thinking for people is just too much. When it boils down to it, no one is tying you to the couch and stuffing crap in your mouth. If they are... seek help.

Another alternative is to become a journalist. Especially when you attend a gala event, which apparently has a "wonderful three course meal", you are likely to only be fed cheese and crackers. Sure-fire way to lose weight there I reckon. Strangely enough though, I don't actually remember any media coverage of said gala event. Did I miss something?

Journo's aeh? Who needs those nosey parkers who take all those self-aggrandising things you say and you know, publicise them, for free?

Finally, if like me you've never really trusted mobile phones then you'll be even more worried by this story. I heard one of those 'way-out' and 'disproven' theories a few years back that mobiles phones will cause cancer if used heavily, but I've never heard any evidence that convinced me either way. But it seems that people continue to seriously consider the issue.

It's one of those stories that seem to produce different outcomes dependent on who you're talking to. But, it's not as crazy as this theory I uncovered while Googling the subject.

The Melbourne Age story linked to above has seven staff members developing brain tumours, the apparent link between them being exposure to mobile phone towers on the roof of their building. Phones themselves don't put out as much juice as a tower, but it will be interesting to see if the link between the mobile frequencies and the illness is established anything like conclusively. Especially when the conspiracy theorists have been claiming for years that phones are a danger.

As they say, ma te wā.

PS. How could I forget! To all those people leaving Godzone for the fair shores of Australia. Bloody good on you. Seriously. The whole situation sounds a lot like the unhappy days of Muldoon, but I’m guessing that today there’s probably a lot more South Africans and Britons splitting now they’ve got their New Zealand citizenship.

For those of you who’ve forgotten, during the First ACT Government (1987-1990), we installed this miraculous thing called ‘the Market’. What this thing ‘does’ is ensure that things are paid for at their ‘current going [read: ‘Market’] rate’, without state intervention. Now, theoretically, ‘the Market’ causes salaries to rise when ‘demand’ is high.

So to all you skilled workers pissing off to Australia, I thank you, and my credit card thanks you.

And to all those kicking up a big fuss, I guess you’ve already made your money. Please be quiet then and let the rest of us get rich. I’m sure actual Kiwis will come home again when salaries, and especially wages, rise to something worth enduring the shitty weather.