Tuesday, February 28, 2006

The Blank Days

I'm not complaining that I don't have to go to uni on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, but deciding what to do with the free time is a more difficult task than one would think. I was pleased initially with being able to set up my classes like this, because I see the possibility that I could work all day on these two weekdays, thus keeping the weekends free so that I can go to gigs or the like on Friday or Saturday nights. However, the trick is finding a job where the management will be willing to provide me with such strange shifts, and also to reshuffle my position on the roster when next semester comes around (then, I will have Mondays and Tuesdays off uni). Dad has suggested that I contact Allied Workforce (0800 LABOUR), but pretty much needless to say, that sort of thing's not really up my alley.

The idea of selling my time on Tuesdays and Wednesdays to an employer is less appealing now that I have made good use of this morning doing the readings for ethnomusicology and media studies. One thing about this year at uni is that it's going to be intense -- yes, regardless of the fact that I'm an arts student and that I only have to attend classes on three days. I just get the feeling that my time may be better spent studying rather than working, particularly considering that I am aiming very high this year. Looking ahead, the readings are very long. I had to read twenty-one pages for media studies today (well, it was recommended reading) and I will need to read a further forty sometime before the next lecture on Monday. That's what tomorrow's for. Ultimately, I need a job so that I can pay my uni fees and avoid the dreaded loan, but I can't help but ponder that I may be doing myself more good academically if I were to stay unemployed.

I realised when I was lying in bed this morning that my bedroom has a ceiling, and that the room itself is virtually a perfect square. This perspective-changing really appears to be working well so far. I would have never thought about stuff like my ceiling before I started making this effort, because I would have been distracted by everything that I was worrying about. At the same time it's a strange sensation to have changed so dramatically in such a short space of time. I think going back to uni has helped significantly. In the latter parts of the summer I had found myself being driven up the wall by boredom and monotony (that said, there's prog rock to be listened to at any time of day, and it's always a welcome comfort). I haven't bitten my nails in five whole days now, although the pseudo-sharp nail on my right index finger is becoming increasingly tantalising; I keep running it along my upper lip without knowing it, surveying its edibility. Refrain.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Dodge The Leafleteers

I had my first ethnomusicology class today. It was in a lovely cosy little room nestled underneath the Clock Tower on Princes Street. The class is a fusion of Anthro 219 Contemporary Perspectives on Music and Culture, and Music 250 Approaches to Music Studies. This makes for a very unique, mixed class full of some perceptibly elite students. It was an excellent first lecture -- intense, but excellent nonetheless. I knew practically as soon as the lecturer began talking and the numerous budding musicologists around the classroom started having their say that I had made a good choice. The intensity today was offset significantly by the inspiring lecturer, the small size of the class (just over sixty students) and the humble-but-adequate nature of the lecture theatre.

My FTVMS 204 Media Analysis lecture in the afternoon was, similarly, enjoyable. I can tell that this paper focusses more on the technical elements of reading media texts, as opposed to the factors that were covered in the other papers that I found depressing at times, so I am pleased about that and definitely anticipating a bit more from this one. It was interesting to hear how the exam system works for this particular paper -- the lecturer has authority to show us the exam script in advance, because unlike most other exams, this one requires the students to do research beforehand and then apply the skills that they have acquired throughout the semester to fulfill the exam requirements with the help of the research material. At first contact, I think I like this idea better than the normal method of having to cram facts into one's head for an exam, but it remains to be seen how I find it in practice.

Whenever I go back to uni, I am very pleased to start taking the trains again. Despite the fact that my service had to sit in the crossing loop at Henderson for fifteen minutes this morning, the environment on board Auckland's trains always feels welcoming, and I do not mind spending that extra bit of time on there. Admittedly, my attitude is probably helped by the fact that Western Line trains are usually scheduled to arrive in town at quarter past the hour -- so if one is ever running late, I have three quarters of an hour's leeway before my lecture. It is a much more relaxing way to travel into town than in any road vehicle regardless, that's for sure. I do keep plugging the trains because I believe that people ought to persevere with them, that they may become an effective future backbone for Auckland's transport network. Public transport as a whole -- particularly rail -- is not being given enough credit recently. I'm very excited, because the ferry service that sails from Westpark Marina, five minutes' walk from my house, to the Downtown Ferry Terminal, has just introduced new low prices for tertiary students -- I think I'll be giving that service a go before the week is done.

How much more do you think we're going to hear about the David Benson-Pope excuse-for-a-debacle? As if the initial claims of tennis balls being put in children's mouths decades ago weren't enough to drive the stake into the heart of the proverbial bat, people have kept hammering at Benson-Pope with the allegations of him locking disorderly female students outside in their nighties. Then there's the accusations that he checked out girls' legs underneath their desks, and
most recently the proclaimation that he "burst into female dormitories and showers without warning while 14-year-old girls were undressed in 1997 at a school camp." With police investigations having occurred, and Benson-Pope's reputation being harmed enough already, it would be fair to say that the issue is bordering on done and dusted by now. Ironic that historic allegations of this nature could come back to bite Benson-Pope in the oversight of several MPs who have pledged not to support the anti-smacking legislation that is before Parliament at present.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Turning Over A New Tree

Whilst I was in Australia, the clarity of mind with which it provided me meant that I was finally able to decide on the last paper I am going to sit at university this year -- Anthropology 219, Contemporary Perspectives on Music and Culture. It sounds like it's right up my alley and I'm surprised that I didn't think of it before. Whatever alternative I took to this, it would have been either a sociology or philosophy paper. The former choice turned out to clash with one of my politics classes in which I was already enrolled, whilst Alison intelligently pointed out that it would be better for me to do anthropology than philosophy, as it would provide me with some variation (philosophy is similar to politics in many ways, and is obviously largely opinion-based). The other papers that I am taking this semester are: Politics 232, New Zealand Parties and Elections; Politics 241, Foreign Policy Analysis; and FTVMS 204, Media Analysis. It is official that I am now a politics major, with there being not enough media studies papers that appeal to me to enable me to double-major.

I realised on Wednesday that I am wasting the opportunities I have to live a happy, prosperous and fulfilling life. My pessimism and cynicism are getting the better of me. As such, as of Wednesday night, I resolved to embark on a change in lifestyle that will hopefully result in a change of perspective as well. I'm starting at the bottom, making sure to do things such as drinking plenty of water (eight glasses a day) and eating proper meals to ensure mental clarity -- as without mental clarity, it will be impossible to achieve my final goal. I have been for substantial walks every day since finding my resolve. I've also started looking after my skin properly so that I can feel better about myself, zealously maintaining the tidiness of my room so as to maintain a sense of organisation, and applying that disgusting-tasting coating to my nails and fingertips to deter myself from eating them (although I have found myself able to refrain for three days on my newfound willpower alone).

Of course, a perspective-changing effort is nothing without some positive thought to kick it off -- so I have total confidence in this effort, having even had a great dream about it on Wednesday night, after tossing and turning in bed thinking about my plan all that evening. When I catch myself perceiving something negatively, I try to produce counter-thoughts of the positive variety. Everything I worry about really is very petty now that I think about it. This is the biggest effort I have ever made to change my perspective. I have even gone so far as to be mindful of what music I listen to, choosing to largely avoid more sombre material and listen to some upbeat stuff (Phil Collins-led Genesis, anyone?). I'm looking forward to seeing where my plan takes me. Perhaps I will even become a completely different person -- in that I will be much happier, and nicer to be around as well. Thanks Alison, Nicola, Eric and Cynthia for the contributions each of you made to my life on Wednesday -- your advice has not gone ignored.

On Thursday I went for bush walks on the Goldie Bush and Te Henga tracks between Muriwai and Bethells. I must have hit the area at the wrong time, because there appeared to be some sort of cicada festival going on -- I have never heard these insects sound so loud in New Zealand. It reached the point where it was making my ear drums itch, and individual animals were giving me goosebumps as their rhythm sections blasted at me as I ducked under the branches on which they were situated. Now, I certainly am one who is partial to the beauty of nature and all its various evolutionary features, but that doesn't mean that it can't repeatedly shock me by using the same trick over and over. Cicadas frequently took off from either side of the path, sounding like B-52s, and swooped slowly, intimidatingly, in front of me. Squishy green replicas of their former selves, cicadas that had just shed their skins, perched all over my shirt and cap. I did not want to touch them for fear of hurting them. Kauri trunks were heavily populated with the fat bugs. On one section of the Te Henga track, the path was so steep that I found myself having to run down it -- this, of course, enraged dozens of cicadas who sounded off frighteningly and repeatedly crashed into me, causing my head to become comically retracted down between my shoulders.



Friday saw me take a two-and-a-half hour walk around my neighbourhood and beyond. I had not done this since I stopped walking to a distant school bus stop after I left high school. The fact that none of my friends live in West Auckland and that I took ownership of my car last year have contributed as well. Needless to say, the walk was one of a very nostalgic nature, past many places of undying significance to me -- my former closest friends' houses; my first crush's house; the various places from which I used to catch buses; the sections of road where I once frequently crossed over to the other side for fear of having to actually talk to the people who were on the side I was on previously, out on their morning walk (I was a very shy child). I walked in front of the garden centre where my parents bought most of the plants for our garden when we moved to West Harbour (although it is now a derelict yard), and along the perimeter of the air force base where I used to watch the planes. A school bus I used to catch even passed me by -- and it had the same driver, by the perpetually awesome name of Bob.

As if things were not exciting enough for Pink Floyd fans already, with guitarist David Gilmour's solo album On An Island set for a release on 6 March and to be accompanied by a European tour, a very special event is to be announced as part of bassist Roger Waters's equivalent tour. The specific date and location is not due to be announced until a press conference that will take place in a couple of days, and that will be viewable via webcast
at this address, but it has emerged that Roger Waters will be performing The Dark Side of the Moon, live and in its entirety, with Pink Floyd drummer Nick Mason, somewhere in France this year. This is, of course, an event of huge significance, with Roger himself having not performed the complete masterpiece in many years, let alone in the company of Nick. Although I am disappointed that I won't be able to attend, I can appreciate the affinity that must exist between the members of Pink Floyd to hold them together like this and encourage them to keep bringing enjoyment to so many people. Of course, there's still the possibility that Roger will set out on a world tour next year that will see him visit Australia -- and you can bet that I will be there for that.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Phase Two

Everyone seems to be taking things all too seriously in the wake of the initial publication in a Danish newspaper of cartoons depicting the Islamic prophet Mohammed. Muslims around the world have taken a none-too-small amount of offense at the drawings. The widespread protests have resulted in many injuries and deaths, in Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan (check out the eery headline on that one), and most recently in Libya where eleven people are reported to have been killed as a result of increasingly violent protest action. Expressions of dismay and offense are yet to begin abating.

But it's not just the Muslim world that has its knickers in a twist over this. A foremost concern of New Zealand is that the publication of the cartoons here has the potential to be detrimental to trade, following Jordan and Iran's threats to cancel trade with New Zealand. Helen Clark has expressed disagreement with some of our media's decisions to publish the cartoons. Although I do understand that she is significantly responsible for the task of maintaining diplomacy with other countries, it surprised me that she would take such a stance on the cartoons given that I would have perceived her to err on the side of free speech. It is no hyperbole saying that it is stupid for Jordan and Iran to be taking the positions that they are against New Zealand in its entirety merely as a result of the actions of our media. The media are, of course, independent organisations that should not always be taken to speak for the rest of society.


For many journalistic organisations, the climate provided by the initial publication of the cartoons has formed a proving ground on which they are able to put their particular output's ethics on possibly-even-more-public-than-usual display; to make a stand either in favour of free speech, or self-censorship to avoid offense and conflict. One vivid example of this being exploited was a German newspaper's creation and publication of their own separate but similarly offensive cartoon. It featured caricatured Iranian football players dressed as suicide bombers and was apparently employed to highlight the reason why troops would be warranted as security at the football World Cup that will be held in Germany this year. It would be fair to say that this cartoon would not have been published had the stage not already been set for it, and that it was intended as a test of freedom of speech. Predictably, the Iranian government has threatened to take legal action if no written apology (cop-out) is issued.

As all this rages on, the Iran nuclear situation is heating up -- as it appears to do, periodically. This has been not-insignificantly spurred on by a media report that claimed the United States were preparing for "possible airstrikes" against the Middle Eastern nation. The Bush administration was quick to denounce the suggestions that had been made. It remains fact, however, that a conflict of some kind and at some point is an inevitability; certainly that Iran is likely to be the next on Bush's list. This is despite the statements of the British Foreign Minister Jack Straw, which one could be forgiven for taking as an attempt to cover the Bush administration's back. It's interesting to note that just over a week before the laying of the claims, United States Vice President Dick Cheney spoke out about the precarious nature of the stand-off situation, but made a point to place the blame squarely on the "outrageous statements" of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran. If the claims about the United States' military preparations were revealed to be true, then Cheney would have some quite obvious egg on his face, having tried and failed to divert the spotlight of accusations of militancy onto Iran.

Ironically, further still in the background, Bush has noted in his State of the Union speech that "America is addicted to oil, which is often imported from unstable parts of the world," adding that the United States must "move beyond a petroleum-based economy, and make our dependence on Middle Eastern oil a thing of the past." Considering that the Bush administration has itself actually contributed to the destabilisation of a part of the world -- Iraq -- in its quest for oil, this seems pretty rich coming from the man himself. Only of further detriment to his credibility, he went on -- perceivably inconsistent with the earlier part of his speech -- to suggest that Iran must not be allowed to develop nuclear weapons, consequently showing a possible favouring of more pre-emptive strike action against nations. Bush also claimed that Tehran is being "held hostage" by Muslim clerics which will serve him well in providing a token humanitarian reason for the imperialist act that he may be about to initiate.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Force Feeding

It turns out that the wastefulness of the Japanese "scientific whaling" operation knows no bounds to an extent so severe that it would have been hard to predict. Not only is the commercially-driven killing being dishonestly carried out under the guise of scientific study, but -- as an article in The Times highlighted a few days ago -- the actual commercial demand for whale meat in Japan is steadily decreasing. The result is an exponentially hard-to-fathom amount of meat sitting in storage with nowhere to go. Now the whalers are not only illegally killing the creatures, but they are taking even more than they need. One could almost get the impression that the Japanese are now performing these atrocities purely out of spite for those who would seek to stop them.

The Japanese government itself has gone so far as to mount a large-scale campaign to encourage people to eat more whale meat, in light of the fact that the industry is burdened with an excess of supply. The meat is also being increasingly intensively marketed as pet food for the same reason. So much for an alleged delicacy -- it has been reduced to the level of being fed to dogs. As if the human consumption of whale was not revolting and irreverent enough, this must be the pinnacle of wastefulness and sacrilege. Hopefully it doesn't get any worse.

More meat still is being dispatched to schools for use in the creation of whale burgers and whale spaghetti bolognese, both of which are being included on school menus. This action could be taken as recognitive of the fact that young Japanese people are becoming evermore disinterested in eating whale meat; as some sort of move to reclaim that section of the population as a market for it. As things stand now, it is proven to generally be the elder, more traditionally-minded people who savour the cuisine and maintain the perception that it has cultural significance to Japan. This is contrary to arguments that have been put forward in recent months, suggesting that Japan has a right, bestowed on them by their cultural traditions, to illegally take a share of whales from the sea, as if the majority of the population have an interest in actually eating the product.

If lack of demand is not enough to stop the slaughter, then that begs the question, what is? The actions of Greenpeace must surely be in vain if the very unprofitability of the operation itself fails to phase the whalers. A comment provider on the Greenpeace Ocean Defenders' blog suggested that Japanese government officials may have interests tied up in the whaling industry. This would mean that they are essentially manipulating the fate of the industry for their own individual benefit, not dissimilar to the relationship that exists between US oil interests and the Bush administration. Unfortunately, the idea that the comment raises is not so farfetched given that we have seen the utter deviancy Japan is capable of in relation to the whaling issue.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Kookaburra Gay Your Life Must Be

I hope you all had as good a time as I did whilst I was in Australia, because I can confidently say that I had the time of my life. The experience was such that I can't even begin to do it justice with a mere blog entry. Australia has earned a place in my heart as a potential holiday destination and home of the future.

The large town in which my relatives live, and consequently in which I stayed, is located on the Central Coast of New South Wales and is called Gosford. My aunt Jenny hailed it as "having the feeling of a country town while having all the good parts of a city." It is a one-and-a-half-hour, wonderfully scenic drive away from Sydney so in effect it literally is a country town. The frequent train trips to Sydney were not tedious at all as one was treated to views of sprawling eucalypt forests and dramatic cuttings in the sandstone, mindblowing in their scale. Evidence of the bush fires that occurred in the area on New Year's Day was impossible to miss, with charcoal black trees being visible as far as the eye could see at certain points along the transport corridors. Jenny pointed out to me the places where fire had narrowly missed some houses, literally skirting people's front yards, only to continue on to the next house and consume it.

It would appear that I overestimated the havoc that the heat of the Australian summer would wreak on my body. Despite the fact that the temperature was often hovering in the late twenties to mid-thirties, the dry heat was never at any point as oppressive as a high-humidity Auckland day. I did not sweat at all during my time in Australia. Instead, I, along with others, tended to get "sticky"; I often found myself sticking to my seat. When the breeze blew, it was just as hot on one's skin as the sun, due to the fact that it had passed over the desert on its way to where we were. It stung to stand in direct sunlight -- one could feel it eating away at one's skin -- and the heat was so intense that it made my eyes water. It felt like standing in front of a massive hairdryer. At one stage, when I was visiting my uncle Greg's father Charlie in Maitland in the Hunter Valley, I was in forty degree heat. Menacing though all this may sound, its effects still don't compare to New Zealand's humidity. Shortly after returning I was reminded again of how uncomfortable and physically draining it is to have sweat dripping off of oneself.


Something I noticed about Australia was that the authorities are generally a lot more sensible in their managing of civic issues. They have in play a lot of good ideas that are blatantly obvious, but at the same time I have never thought about. In an effort to reduce road fatalities during the holiday periods, any driving offense will attract double demerit points. Speed limits around schools are strictly enforced -- whereas in New Zealand it is down to the driver's discretion to adjust their speed to suit the conditions, in Australia the signposted speed limit around schools is forty kilometres per hour. Any speed limit is not allowed to be exceeded by more than a few kilometres per hour, so if someone were to drive at sixty in a fifty zone in Australia, they could be prosecuted, whereas in New Zealand such behaviour is legally acceptable. While I was over there, a mother was ticketed for double-parking outside her childrens' school when she was dropping them off; she abused the police and was arrested and put in handcuffs. The police's actions in this case indicate to me that the Australian authorities have a genuine concern for the safety of children on the roads around schools.

In addition to the aforementioned enforcements of road safety, just before many side roads there is an additional lane on the left-hand side that drivers can use to get out of the traffic flow and slow down before making the left-hand turn. Median strips are also much more intelligently designed, with clearly defined bays in which cars can stop in preparation to cross, or merge into, the flow of traffic. It all makes so much more sense than the New Zealand system. To top it all off, middle Australia seems to be making a solid effort to preserve the environment -- even moreso than New Zealand -- with Gosford City Council having possession of their very own recycling plant. Many public rubbish bins were accompanied by a recycling bin directly beside them.

The activities I took part in whilst in Australia were varied, but the most important thing was that every day I did something. Everything is so much bigger there and takes a far longer time to take in. Erina Fair shopping centre, about a fifteen minute drive away from Gosford, was impossibly huge, encompassing countless carparks, a massive multi-level mall, a comparably massive, airy, open-plan outdoor area, an ice skating rink, a movie theatre, and a record store called JB Hi-Fi that really is what Real Groovy should be. The beaches in the area, whose sand ranged from red to truly white in colour, were a definite spectacle, along with the flights of pelicans located around The Entrance.

The Australian Reptile Park in Somersby near Gosford was among the definite highlights of my holiday, with Eric the crocodile putting on a great show for Jenny, my cousin Damian and I despite seeming not too keen on having yet another dead chicken for lunch. The deadly Sydney funnel web spiders brought out for the spider talk were shockingly big. One of them, a ten year old female, had allegedly grown unnaturally large due to her being so well looked after by the park staff. Although we did not go to the Tasmanian devil feeding ritual, the creature's stygian screams were easily audible throughout the park. During the reptile show, it was illustrated to us how much more aggressive crocodiles are than alligators by a curator who prodded the respective animals with his boot. My favourite animal was the albino eastern diamondback rattlesnake -- one of the most sinisterly beautiful living things I have ever seen. Its pale pigment meant that its scales were very easy to see, along with its powerful muscles flexing as it hauled itself along the floor of its enclosure.


Sydney is a great city, though its formidable scale tends to be somewhat wearying and after many visits I am of the opinion that I need the rest from it that I am being made to take. Nonetheless, I was humbled to see the Sydney Opera House again, having not been there in more than ten years. Darling Harbour had also been improved upon significantly since my last visit -- not that it wasn't great before. Jenny, Damian and I walked all the way across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, also climbing up inside one of the gargantuan stone pylons at the city end of the bridge for the sake of getting the fantastic view that was to be had from the top. We could have stood up there for hours because there was so much to look at, however we were restricted for time due to the fact that we had to catch a fairly early train if we wished to make it back to Gosford for dinner. We spent a considerable amount of time in Paddy's markets ("You haven't been to market 'til you've been to Paddy's") and at The Rocks, the original site of European settlement in Australia, which has now been transformed into a posh waterfront hang-out that, for some reason, I found vaguely reminiscient of Parnell in Auckland.


Of course, the Big Day Out took place in Sydney at the Olympic Park at Homebush Bay, and was the focal event of my Australian visit. Cousin Alannah introduced me to her thoroughly good-natured and welcoming group of friends and I travelled with them to the Big Day Out. Having never been to a Big Day Out before, it was an overwhelmingly exciting experience, amplified by the idea that I was in Australia. For me, the standout acts were most certainly Franz Ferdinand and The Mars Volta. Australian punk rockers The Living End were also a definite highlight, along with Wolfmother hailing from the same country. The former offered one of the more energetic acts of the day and probably succeeded more than any other at getting the crowd going. I was standing more-or-less at the front of the crowd for the duration of Franz Ferdinand and they got me really excited. Everyone around me was smiling all the way through it. I was to have Do You Want To and Take Me Out repeating in my head for the next few days. The Mars Volta played much later, but I found their celestial jamming to be just right for how I was feeling by that stage. I had not heard much of their material before and I was set on formulating an opinion based on first experiencing their music at a live show. They triumphantly failed to disappoint. I felt more at home amongst the progheads in front of the green stage during The Mars Volta's set than anywhere else at the Big Day Out, and a few days later I keenly grabbed their latest studio album Frances The Mute for a bargain fifteen Australian dollars. The Mars Volta rightfully won me over.

I exponentially appreciated Greg taking the day off work on the Sunday before last for the sake of taking Jenny, Damian and I to the Blue Mountains. I went there during my last visit but was too young to be able to remember it. Jenny and Damian had, surprisingly enough, never been there before, and Greg not since he was a toddler. Effectively it was a new experience for all of us. Again, the scale of Australia never ceased to impress me. The Blue Mountains were like the Waitakere Ranges on twenty times the scale. One difference that I did notice about the Australian bush was that a lot less bird calls seem to come from it. Occassionally some exotic species would vocalise lavishly, but for the most part all that was to be heard was the wind, and sometimes the excited chatter of crowds of tourists on a ten minute photo stop. Then there was, of course, the blood-sucking horseflies that I had to constantly fend off whilst we were on a short bush walk. We visited the Zig-Zag Railway, not far from Bathurst, where we rode the steam train that zig-zagged down the walls of the impossibly steep gully to the valley below. It was a thoroughly enjoyable day out and one that I felt really put me in tune with what the Australian environment is like in comparison to that of New Zealand. I've always been fascinated by it, so I was glad to finally experience it in person at an age at which I could appreciate it.

Since arriving home I've been fighting to resist the return to my usual time-wasting routine. Sadly, two days after I arrived I had already begun failing to do so, having messed around all morning and consequently not been able to get ready in time to be able to go to the Kai Iwi Lakes with Alison and Jessi. Whilst I was in Australia, I was living how I have always known I should be living. A combination of how much the return plane ticket cost and the limited time I was able to spend over there encouraged me to make the most of every day. For those two great weeks I was living every day as if it were my last, and living in the moment as opposed to endlessly stewing about what was around the bend. That's how I was meant to live; however the fact that doing things costs money means that it is not possible to keep up that kind of lifestyle for extended periods, so one has to live it in small bits. That lifestyle -- that outlook -- is only all the more tantalising now that I have experienced a small taste of it. I am now homesick for Australia.