Random Play by Graham Reid

This may sound strange, but bridges are my thing. At their best they possess a magical quality; they arch across a landscape, ocean or sea; they skim low over a bayou, small islands in the Florida Keys or a desertscape to allow road-trains or railway lines to pass beneath.

I have travelled very long distances to see great bridges such as Norman Foster’s beautiful span in the south of France

Without getting all mystical, I can get slightly misty-eyed when I read a passage like this in John Berendt’s remarkable book about Venice, The City of Falling Angels.

Count Marcello inhaled deeply. “How do you see a bridge?”
“Pardon me?” I asked. “A bridge?”
“Do you see a bridge as an obstacle -- as just another set of steps to climb to get from one side of a canal to the other? We Venetians do not see bridges as obstacles. To us bridges are transitions. We go over them very slowly. They are part of the rhythm. They are links between two parts of a theatre, like changes in scenery, or like the progression from Act One of a play to Act Two. Our role changes as we go over bridges. We cross from one reality . . . to another reality. From one street . . . to another street. From one setting . . . to another setting.”

I don’t imagine too many Aucklanders feel such a poetic attachment to our Harbour Bridge -- I saw an exact replica, sans clip-ons, in Texas one day -- because for us it is just another bit of State Highway One where there is some controversy about flags from time to time, and traffic hold-ups at most other times.

It is easy to criticise those who proposed that structure about five decades ago as lacking in foresight and vision, that they didn’t see just how mobile people would be half a century later, how demanding we would be on smooth traffic flow and our right to live about 50 kilometres from our workplace -- just because we could.

This weekend on Public Address Radio on Radio Live (Saturday, 5pm) however is a man with a vision for a new harbour crossing -- and just hearing him speak for 10 minutes on the matter was inspirational.

I could envision a sweeping arc of steel, rivets and cement soaring gracefully above the beautiful Waitemata, a smooth curve from Wynyard Wharf to Onewa Road on the North Shore, a multi-modal bridge that would allow for rail, cyclists and pedestrians as well as the sacred automobile.

The man with the bold and dramatic vision is Richard Simpson, a former Auckland City transport committee chairman whose plan would also remove existing motorways from along the foreshore and allow St Mary’s Bay to have a bay once again. Almost three kilometres of existing motorway would be deconstructed under this scheme and by virtue of its direct route 100 million kms of travel would be saved annually, he says.

Since hearing him speak I have checked out what such a thing might look like. It is impressive.

And I have been wooed and won.

First ask yourself this: does anyone wax poetic about a tunnel?

Simpson’s team have a vision -- something woefully lacking in most Auckland development projects -- and I think it worth serious consideration.

Of course he says the old bridge would have to go (Where? To beside its twin in Texas, perhaps?) and I need to think about that a little more. As we saw with proposals to name a mountain after Sir Ed, people were pretty quick to discard one historic name because they didn’t know its history and go for this year’s model.

I’d prefer we think as hard about what that old bridge means to us and what alternative use it might be put to rather just bowl, or worse, let it stand until some disaster befalls it like the old Patea freezing works.

This proposal seems to have a lot going for it, and at a time when people talk of cut’n’cover (Oh, how romantic) or more slices of wide roading to again segment our already dispirit city, I think we might want to stop and think.

Let’s not see the bridge as an obstacle, it could be poetic and practical. When Simpson is on radio on Saturday I’m going to tune in again, just so that I can dream on . . .

Also: Since many of you might last have looked www.elsewhere.co.nz has had much added for your amusement: there is a new link on the homepage to Essential Elsewhere, a series of essays about albums (and the odd music DVD) which should be in any interesting record collection -- and these are albums (from Pere Ubu to Old School hip-hop to Ravi Shankar) which can provide cornerstones to build a music collection around.

New music posted this week includes an early heads-up on Welsh soul singer Duffy who harks back to Phil Spector girl groups and Motown soul, and some music from Azerbaijan -- among many others.

There are also a lot more essays and interviews under Absolute Elsewhere, and many more Images from Elsewhere and Windows on Elsewhere. Just a place to waste some time -- and hear interesting and often very different music.

It’s all right here.

In its own modest way I like to think Elsewhere is "a bridge" too.

To be honest, I have just had one of those wonderful, lazy and indulgent days. I dropped Megan off at her work in central Auckland at about 8.30 then drove down to Okahu Bay for a swim. Not a beach I have ever much liked, largely because my Dad always used to say it had a muddy bottom -- and at anything less than mid-tide that was always true.

So when I was a kid we’d always drive on to Mission Bay, summer and winter, and swim there.

Lately, maybe these past few years in fact, Mission Bay is where I have gone again to swim in the mornings when office workers are at their laptop-toil. And I have had the beach to myself mostly.

Increasingly and without regret, I think I have become my father: that lone swimmer, the middle-aged man who plunges deep and sucks in the morning air, who loves being alive and a part of the salty sea.

I often think of my Dad when I swim on these empty mornings and of how many, given how far apart we always were, of his habits I have adopted. Probably good for me actually, I always feel better after having been in the ocean.

At around 10am the young mothers pushing baby strollers the size of small cars would arrive at Mission Bay -- my God, my three adults sons endured prams which you could fold into a glove box -- and about then I would leave.

Today however, because it has been high tide, I pulled in at deserted Okahu, the third day in a row in fact. Surprisingly, this morning I was not alone: a Maori family of two adults and a bunch of kids were there wading in the shallows, laughing and splashing.

We nodded at each other, and I took myself off a little further down the short crescent of sand and shells, and swam with ridiculous and perhaps undeserved pleasure. Later an Asian guy in a wetsuit dived in at the far end.

Just us.

I walked that empty beach as expensive cars whizzed along the waterfront drive and then went home, had a shower, and went into the city for a business meeting. It was just another pleasurable day. And it wasn’t even close to noon.

I had also, I thought, put a full-stop on my next travel book and so -- as was my long practice when I worked at the Herald when an assignment was just about done -- I took myself to Tony’s on Wellesley St for a long lunch of wine and a steak burger while I read it through for what I hoped was the last time.

I chatted to Donna about her Christmas -- she is one of this city’s most cherishable people -- then indulged myself in plenty of Three Sisters shiraz. This was me celebrating, and re-editing, a book for which I have yet to find a publisher.

It was a fine lunch of the kind I like: solitary and self-indulgent, much like my swimming.

Then Megan sent a text to ask if I knew Sir Ed had died.

I didn’t of course -- and for a few moments I imagined what must be happening at the Herald where they would have been pulling out an already written obituary, manning phones for comment, and getting the photo essay ready.

Then I went back to my print-out manuscript, finished my long lunch and came home, tidied the house because Megan has family over from London and the girls were going out for the night, and sat down to do . . . oh, just something at the laptop.

There was knock at the door. A neighbour across the courtyard was there and apologising for disturbing me, but she just wanted to say if we were wondering why there were police around it was because Marcus had been found dead in his unit.

She was longtime drinking buddy of Marcus who lived in the opposite block and whom we only knew as a pain in the arse for his complaints about people parking in the wrong places when he’d a bottle of wine too many, and of how the body corporate had let us down on the leaky building saga, and so on . . .

She said, through barely suppressed tears, she knew some people would be glad but . . .

I couldn’t think of anything to say: I think I asked how old he was (maybe she said early 60s?), how sad I was, asked if he has been alone and how he had been found.

A neighbour had taken a bottle of wine over she said, he hadn’t been well for a while, heart or something. It’s a blur to me now. I felt utterly empty.

I went over to Marcus’ place -- for some unspecified reason -- and saw a couple of cops in their Thirties, guys who didn’t flinch at a situation I would cower from.

I muttered something about passing our condolences on to whatever family he might have had -- they said a sister had been notified -- and then I walked home in something like a strange and disembodied stupor. I don’t even remember it now.

Everything in my day seemed to have dissipated: the swim and the eyebrow flash to the kids on Okahu; the business meeting which I hope works out but is looking more time-urgent than I had thought; laughing with Donna about prolonging our summer mood; a good steak in a place that makes me feel at home; happy house cleaning; the new Ruby Suns album on the stereo on a cloudless afternoon . . .

I struggled to remember any of it. And in all that, the passing of one of our very few fellow citizens who made us feel better about ourselves simply because of that coincidence of sharing a common country.

But mostly I thought of my long-gone Dad, of the short time we are here, and of Marcus lying alone in his townhouse which has a floor plan exactly like ours.

I hugged Megan very, very hard when she came home.

In a surprising but welcome announcement the duty minister said yesterday that Parliament would not be reconvening in the foreseeable future as “the country seems to be getting on pretty well without politicians”.

Speaking from Kakamoana Motor Camp in Northland where he is currently holidaying, Trevor Mallard said he has spoken with the leaders of all other parties and they were in agreement that the summer break from the House should be extended indefinitely.

“The fact is,” said Mr Mallard who was wearing an old fishing hat, an aloha shirt and cut-off baggies from Glassons, “people really don’t care much for politics at this time, if they care at all.

“Right now we’re all happy watching the tennis or movie reruns on Sky after the barbecue, and frankly the cricket thing in Australia and the American primaries are far more interesting than any name-calling and bagging that we in Parliament could offer.

“So in consultation with my colleagues we have decided we might as well stay on holiday for quite a bit longer.’

The first sitting day for Parliament was to be February 12 with parties reconvening in the weeks beforehand, but Mr Mallard says it will be unlikely any politicians will be troubling the public with announcements, manufactured outrage or personal insults until the weather starts to pack up, in maybe late April.

“Look, the country and economy seems to be getting on just fine without us and although a few newspapers and media outfits might be short of copy, in the long run that really doesn’t matter. We’ll be guided by the weather and as long as the sun is shining we’ll keep out of the public’s way.

“People I speak to in the pub up here don’t give a shit about politicians and never have -- and when I spoke to my colleagues last week they all said they were finding pretty much the same thing where they were. John Key told me he was at the Warehouse the other day exchanging some Christmas gifts and no bugger knew who he was.

“And Simon Power said that when he went to buy a cask of Vellutto Rosso from Foodtown the kid there asked him for his ID.

“So maybe the country is getting on fine without us -- and it would be a shame to spoil the good mood by us going back to work. We’re urging all others to extend the holiday mood as well. You know, just don’t turn up to work and take the kids to the beach, invite your neighbours over for a beer even if they do have a leaf blower and weed-eater, and just kick back. Smoke a doobie and listen to Katchafire. Just stay chilled.

“Anyway, for us we can make up time when we do finally get back, we’ll just push a whole bunch of bills through under urgency like we do before Christmas.”

Leaders of other parties could not be contacted for comment although a worker at the Greens headquarters in Auckland confirmed that their office had been very quiet for weeks.

“All the RMA stuff is on hold and mostly we get calls about rubbish left on the streets and that kind of thing. In fact we’ve been closing early here most days -- and this afternoon I’m going to shut up shop at about 3pm because we’re all off to Jeanette’s place for a barbecue. She’s doing a whole lamb on a spit and some of the blokes are putting down a hangi with chicken and meat from the Mad Butcher. It’s going to be awesome.”

A spokesman for National leader John Key said the party had happily agreed with Mr Mallard’s suggestion of an extended break as this year was going to be a big one and party members would need all their energy.

“This being an election year means that we on all sides of the House need to prepare new and much lower thresholds of invective, spite, personal insults and abuse. I think all parties know what is at stake this time round so we are all going to be going for the jugular and can promise the New Zealand public that this will be the dirtiest and most personally insulting campaign they have ever seen.

“So that is something for everyone to look forward to, but in the meantime we might as well kick back and get our energy levels up.

“Mr Key said to me the other day that he was enjoying the ‘silly season’ and knew people’s brain cells were a bit fried at this time when he heard Simon Morris on National Radio saying that Peter Cape’s bloody awful old song Down the Hall on a Saturday Night was the Kiwi equivalent to the Beatles’ Penny Lane and Lou Reed’s Walk on the Wild Side.

“With that kind of idiocy in the air, how could politicians possibly compete?”

Mr Mallard also said that while Kiwis should be enjoying their extended break from politicians, they did need to be cautious.

“This can be a trying time for many families and individuals so I would be urging people to be careful when swimming in jeans and driving while a bit pissed, and don’t do anything rash like joining a gym or one of those Christmas hamper clubs.

“Just enjoy your holidays, crack open a can, and put your feet up. And to all loyal party workers I would add this: conserve your energies -- because we shits will be hitting you fans soon enough.”

-- NZAP

In keeping with the season when people make resolutions they will probably never observe, I offer here my New Year’s Resolutions -- which I will probably never observe. But it feels good to get them off my sun-tanned chest.

I will watch to the bitter end any television programme in which Peta Mathias takes us to some exotically foreign country to indulge her passion for its food.

I will read to the bitter end -- without wailing “Why are they bothering?” -- any newspaper review of Coronation Street.

I will express genuine surprise when one of our high profile, overpaid and over-indulged sportsmen is involved in a fracas in a bar at 3am.

I will wave cheerfully at any driver who just about ploughs into me because they are gabbing on their cellphone, and I will smile at cyclists I just about wipe out because the morons have just run a red light.

I will not delight in the downfall of any idiot in Parliament, of whatever party or persuasion.

I will listen to my wife when she says, “Don’t do that, it’s dangerous”.

I will read an article about one of our famous fashion designers without wondering where the journalist’s critical thinking went while the interview was happening.

I will watch an episode of Shortland Street. Because it is there.

I will stop saying, “But where are the policies?” every time I see John Key appear on television.

I will never again wonder aloud why news items obviously desperate to create drama are allowed to air -- such as the recent Radio NZ one which said graffiti kids had “targeted” the prime minister’s residence (only to have the police say the kids didn’t know it was her house).

I will not be sceptical about Kiwi bands who are said to be making it big overseas.

I will go to a movie starring Lindsay Lohan, Brittany Someone or one of the cast of Desperate Housewives.

I will buy local produce even if it is waaaay more expensive.

I will read more blogs, because they are “citizen journalism” and are therefore probably giving me more truth than long established media outlets.

I will stop being self-indulgent, over eating, opinionated, lazy, remote-hogging and selfish. (I will stop being me.)

And I will stop saying that “I don’t drink too much, I drink exactly the right amount”.

Righto: your resolutions welcomed.

Finally, if you are interested -- Music From Elsewhere currently has posted (with tracks you can listen to) about 50 of the best albums of last year, in my not-so humble opinion.

I doubt you’ll see another list which has everything from piano jazz to music from the sub-Sahara of Africa, to alt.rock and bent folk, to dark Southern music to belly dance. It’s a wide and eclectic -- some might say eccentric -- sweep and it’s all right here under Music From Elsewhere.

If you wish to subscribe to Music From Elsewhere just flick me an e-mail using the link from the site. It’s free and you’ll get a weekly newsletter telling you about the new music posted. I do extravagant CD and book giveaways every week also.

And actually finally: For many years I, and then one of my sons, bought the UK music magazine Q every month.

We stopped about two years ago. But I have, free to a good home, about four or five year’s worth of these fat glossies sitting in boxes in a cupboard.

I could do the whole TradeMe thing, but I think someone out there -- maybe an institution like a library, school or music college -- might like them. They contain literally hundreds of articles on rock, alt.country, reggae, hip-hop etc -- and many thousands of CD, book and DVD reviews.

Send me an e-mail via this site if you are interested. You’d have to pick them up from central/suburban Auckland.

Cheers, and have a good 2008.

For some time we've been hearing how bloggers and the Net are going to change elections. Maybe. I have another suggestion as to what could alter voting patterns: plasma screens.

Last week I was in Australia and by coincidence they were tossing out a government by that charming method called democracy. Which meant lots of interviews on television for the prime offenders: John Howard and Kevin Rudd.

By my good fortune I stayed in a couple of hotels where there were plasma screens the size of my desk at the end of my bed. I love television and consider myself more well-viewed than well-read, but I haven’t made the leap to a plasma screen. Yet.

But we’ll need a bigger and less leaky apartment before I can watch boxing and really feel like I am in the ring.

I have had very few encounters with a large plasma screen, and I have to say watching these in Australia it wasn’t a pretty sight.

The first thing you learn is that old footage shot on video, so-called classic movies from the 70s and 80s, and anyone with poor skin tone or acne aren’t that pleasant to watch.

The televised debates between Richard Nixon and John F Kennedy are considered milestones in how the small screen could swing the popular mood: Nixon was ill-prepared and looked unshaven and shady, JFK came off as good looking, poised and honest because he and his advisors understood how the small screen works.

Well, here’s my theory for what it’s worth: the big screen -- that 40” sucker -- is the new threshold for political parties to come to grips with. John Howard on a screen the size of a pool table wasn’t an attractive sight, and pasty faced Rudd who looked like he was made of margarine was not much better. But he was better and that was all that mattered.

There was an interesting election night special (I don’t know what channel, I just caught a few minutes before going out) which also illuminated another aspect of the plasma screen: men need to be scrupulously shaven, have every nose and ear hair plucked, and the ladies need to avoid fake tan and have a $1000 an hour groomer on hand. A few hairs out of place or a wonky false eyelash blown up big can be inordinately distracting.

My guess is that this technology means we are going to enter an age of more and more telegenic presenters, studio guests, commentators and, of course, politicians.

Consider our current representatives and ask yourself, who would you like to be so up close with that you could see every pore on their nose and every shaving nick, every rheumy eye or poorly applied lipstick?

Because that’s how close plasma screens -- and people are buying them like crazy these days -- take you. You will be seeing politicians closer and more frequently than you see you mum. It’s a scary thought.

Scary because I am guessing right now in party headquarters the puppet masters are also recognising this and maybe even suggesting that a smarter candidate should be nudged in favour of someone with better teeth and skin.

Given that Australia’s election took on the manner of a presidential race (Howard v Rudd) and that we are shaping up the same way, the look and sound of the leader will be as important as what they say. More so is my guess.

One morning I saw a breakfast television talking-head thing which allowed Howard and Rudd equal time as the winning line drew near. Howard wasn’t bad I have to say and of course spoke of standing on his record and the like (he has enjoyed an economy which was going to boom with or without him, but that’s neither here noir there). Then Rudd had his turn. It was illuminating.

He noted that Howard hadn’t articulated any new policies in the time he had been given -- then hammered home one phrase with nagging repetition, “positive policies for the future”.

As an economical phrase (which also doesn’t exactly say anything of course) it is hard to beat. Analyse just those few words: by implication they suggest the opposition’s policies are negative. “positive policies” suggest a thought out and appealing platform, and the whole tenor is of looking ahead rather than to the past. The phrase conveys excitement about the future.

It’s a very clever phrase and I’m waiting to see who here adopts it, or something similar.

Whoever it is though better look good saying it on a massive screen that would be unflattering to the best Hollywood make-up artists have to offer, let alone the hapless politician being projected into people‘s homes and sports bars about four times life-size.

“Pretty people for the future” might seem a more apt phrase.