Welcome Home Mark Inglis

Mark Inglis returned home to New Zealand yesterday after achieving the decidedly admirable accomplishment of scaling Mount Everest -- one that is accentuated by the fact that he's a double amputee. But the media have seemed intent on focusing on Inglis's (and dozens of other climbers') failure to stop and help a lone British climber, David Sharp, who was found sheltering in a small cave on the mountainside, three hundred metres from the top. This, combined with Sir Edmund Hillary's criticism, has significantly eclipsed Mark Inglis's achievement.

It's been said that David Sharp was a dead man breathing as the rest of the climbers were passing him -- "He could not speak, his limbs were frozen solid and the only sign of life was slight movement in his eyes." On this basis, there was an understanding that he was beyond help. On the assumption that this was the case, though, would it not have been the right thing to do to give him some human contact in his dying minutes? Even if it were to be "just" a sherpa that was accompanying one of the other parties (it has been said that some of the sherpas had summited Everest seven times before), I'm sure that if David had been conscious of what was going on around him at all, he would have appreciated that a lot more than watching forty people file past him in the will to get to the top.

At the same time, the media coverage has spawned a lot of self-righteous comment from the public as to how they would have responded confronted with such a situation, as Herald contributor Jim Hopkins has pointed out. People have been talking as if they know how they would respond in that situation, which it is of course practically impossible to know exactly. We may have morals as to going out of our way to help human beings (we may) but this doesn't necessarily mean that we would potentially risk our own lives, as Mark Inglis may well have been doing if he himself had stopped, at the top of Mount Everest to attempt to save someone who by many accounts was acknowledgeably pretty much dead. Sir Edmund Hillary's comments about the response from the other climbers being "pathetic" certainly have a lot of weight behind them because of the simple fact that he is Sir Ed. They've added a lot of fire to the public controversy. However, it's important to take into account that if Sir Ed had been in such a situation "in his time," it would have been vastly different to the situation Mark Inglis was in, with notions of camaradarie and the like having been far more prominent back then, and obviously also that not as many people did the climb.

Significantly, the Everest climb has become considerably more commercial -- many, many people attempt it each season, and a significant handful fail, some losing their lives. Climbers have the choice to spend-up large, as Mark did, to get an experienced party that will greatly increase their chances of getting to the top; or, as David did, get in on what Inglis called "a pittance" of as little as eight thousand dollars, and attempt to conquer the mountain on their own. David didn't even have oxygen with him. Mark used this as the basis for an argument that the climb is "not commercial enough," that if it were more commercially regulated people would have better accompaniment to ensure they get up the mountain as opposed to getting into the situation that David did.

David's family aren't even complaining about what has happened to him. They are saying that they don't want anyone to be blamed for his death. But there's obviously too much in it for the media to not have a field day over the ethical dilemma. The only thing that is really making this a controversy at all, is the media's now-constant acknowledgement that it is in fact a "controversy," and Sir Ed's apparent will to help reinforce the wall of opinion that builds against Mark. Every article about Mark's achievement includes a mention of what happened to David, and indeed a mention of Sir Ed's criticism. It just irritates me that this man isn't being allowed to have his moment in the sun.

When I first heard about the story of Mark walking past David, the only sort of doubt that crossed my mind briefly was that "do we want New Zealanders representing us in the world like that?". But I realised soon after that that's completely beside the point. Mark was not representing New Zealand in climbing Everest; it was a personal conquest, to overcome his demons after having lost his legs in previous climbs. Certainly, the potential positive impact that he's had on the world because of his achievement -- a double amputee climbed Mount Everest! It's a feat that is testament to all human ability -- is massive, and should outweigh any controversy. He's a great man. The media still seem intent on focusing on the dirt however and putting all of the pressure on Mark's shoulders, forgetting to a large extent the responsibilities of the other climbers and sherpas, which could technically even be greater than Mark's because of his being a double amputee.

The FrENZy (Up To The Eyeballs)

Going to a gig when I'm sick was a good idea. Singing along to screamo music at the top of my lungs when I already have a sore throat was even better. Dancing furiously until I made myself dizzy when I have an ear infection was better still. That was all sarcasm.

That's the beginning and the end of my account of 1QC, Malenky Robot and Shaky Hands at the Schooner Tavern on Saturday. I am now bordering on having a chest infection. I have abused muscles in my body that I didn't even know I had (mostly in my torso), and when I cough, they all hurt accordingly. Thanks Mat and Andrew for a good night, though.

And I can't help feeling so happy that I am alive. Everything has crystallised -- it all makes sense. If I had died on any of those occasions that I could have, or if anything had happened differently in my life, I wouldn't know the friends I do now or be the person that I am now. Everything about my life and my whole world is as it is for a reason. Everything is as it should be, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Everything is perfect.

Achtung

You may have heard by now that Radiohead vocalist and songwriter Thom Yorke is going to be releasing a solo album, called The Eraser, in July. The announcement was made by Thom himself on Sunday, New Zealand time. I came across the news after I had gone to bed on Sunday night, and was looking at Xtra News on my mobile phone, perversely trying anything to keep myself awake. When I read the news, understandably I was excited to the point that I had no hope of falling asleep for a couple of hours at least. Hearing that one of my favourite musicians, and certainly my favourite singer, is going to be releasing a solo album was a great end to the day. I'll be sure to plan financially so that I'll be able to buy The Eraser on the day that it is released. This news came as a very nice surprise as I haven't been paying attention to Radiohead-related news in my state of unexpectantness of anything happening on that front -- to the contrary, they've set out on a tour in addition to the announcement of Thom's album! Cor blimey. I must also apologise to the omnipotence of Thom for my interpretation of Karma Police that I gave at Grant's karaoke evening on Saturday night. We won't go any further into that.

Earlier on in the evening in which I had received the exponentially fantastic news, I had been watching Dancing With The Stars with Alison, Cynthia and Nicola -- extra incentive courtesy of Rodney Hide. Unlike in the first episode, where he and Krystal were made to dance last, this one saw them the second couple to take to the floor. Rodney acted as a swooning, posturing post around which Krystal danced for most of the time, and they were scored poorly, although I certainly respect the man more for doing what he's doing. That's why I gave Rodney, Krystal and Saint John five votes, and I feel good for having contributed to them making it through to the next around -- but I also feel a twinge of guilt that Christine Rankin got out. She was a better dancer than Rodney. Yesterday afternoon, I was provided with a burst of excitement as Rodney drove across in front of me as I waited to cross Victoria Street, the Smart Car high-revving as he dove into the Victoria Street car park without braking. He really is just one of us, somehow in Parliament. What a brilliant man.


Whether or not I'll be taking Anthro 215 Human Sexuality is in question. I am sexually bitter and frustrated. If I took that paper, I don't know how I would cope. As it is I feel unwell when people talk about sexuality sometimes, because I'm aware of my lack of proficiency for lack of a better term, and feel distanced from it all in that sense. This is despite the fact that I recognise myself as a sexual being and have for several years placed my sexual orientation and gender identity at the centre of things that make me who I am. It's determined my political philosophy, my views on people, and thus my entire perception of the world. It makes sense for me to take the paper on those latter grounds. But on the basis of the aforementioned feelings of frustration, is it really a good idea? Would it help me with those feelings, or would I just detest it? I guess it's hard to know. Essentially I'm wondering too whether it would be worth it, getting up at seven o' clock every Tuesday morning, to attend a single one-hour lecture (if I didn't take Human Sexuality I would have no classes on Tuesday).

My Internet has been out for the past seventeen hours, and I know Grant's has too, and I've only just been able to get back on. I don't know how widespread the problem was but I don't think it reflects very well on Xtra, particularly considering the recent unbundling that's been enforced. I'm on dial-up, but it's been playing up for several months -- oddly, ever since Xtra started promoting their "faster, cheaper broadband" offer. Being kicked offline has been an overly frequent, irritating occurrence that didn't happen to me prior to the broadband push. It made me realise how much the Internet is woven into my daily routine when I found that it was unavailable. I started pulling my non-existent hair out over not being able to use Voyager to do my media studies assignment that I should be working on right now; to find out what gig I am going to go to this weekend, for the purposes of fieldwork for my ethnomusicology assignment; to get quick and easy access to news to find out why the Internet was down! Well, it's back now, which means I can appreciate it more. Still -- tsk, tsk, tsk, Xtra.

From One Extreme To The Other, And Back Again

I can no longer deny how handy it would be for me to own some kind of reasonably high-capacity MP3 player. My dad's workmate recently won an iPod Nano -- but he doesn't have a computer. This has resulted in Dad being bestowed with the task of putting music on it, using our computer. It's already proven to be a pretty impractical system by which to do things, but I took the chance to have a play with the Nano as it was sitting there on the floor, plugged into the computer's USB drive, charging up. Apart from the fact that my entire one and a half gigabyte collection of music, painstakingly downloaded over a period of years via dial-up, had been automatically loaded onto the iPod, I was impressed. I've never really tried out an iPod before, and finally doing so drove home to me the concept of just how much music it is possible to fit on an MP3 player (even a small one like this, which is two gigabytes).

Owning an MP3 player would be a damn sight better than having to engage in the intense, life-defining deliberation that currently I partake in every morning as to which single CD album I am going to take with me to listen to on public transport. From there, there also arises the problem that what I am in the mood to listen to on the way to university may well not be what I am in the mood to listen to on the way home. Then of course there's the spontaneous cravings to listen to a certain song that you get during the day and which are unsatiable unless you actually listen to the song. As Alison and Cynthia pointed out, as if to enrage my anti-dilemma, these cravings become less of an issue if you have an MP3 player. So, overall the costs of getting an MP3 player far outweigh the benefits -- or do they?

It's my feeling that the current iPod range gives you poor gigabyte-per-dollar value, at least when you're focussing on the lower price ranges. I'm certainly not going to be paying in excess of seven hundred dollars for any gimmicky video functions, and impossibly big sixty-gigabyte hard drives that you are never going to fill. At the same time, I'm not going to buy a four-gigabyte Nano for around four-hundred and thirty dollars when a thirty-gigabyte video-playing beast would cost only a slight bit more at five-hundred and forty. In that particular case, the Nano is overpriced for the amount of space you get, and the behemoth iPod I would consider to be out of my price range. If I bought that Nano I'd feel like I'd been ripped off, and I surmise that I have at least one gigabyte of Pink Floyd music alone, so I don't think such a small unit would suffice. The only course of action I can think of is to start looking at the other brands such as iRiver and Creative Nomad, considering in the case of iPod I feel like you're paying extra for the brand anyway. Your thoughts on all this would be appreciated, from anyone who owns iPods or other MP3 players.

Taking an ethnomusicology paper has turned out to be an even more successful experiment than I first thought. Not only have I been thoroughly enjoying Anthro 219 Contemporary Perspectives on Music and Culture -- moreso than any other paper I've done at university so far -- but in my five-hundred word article review that I got back on Monday, I got ninety-five per cent -- an A+. That's top of the class. I was sitting behind the tutor in the lecture, and when she turned around and discretely told me my mark, I thought she'd got the wrong person. Yes, I did put a lot of effort into the assignment, having got an A in the last one and seeking to improve on that, but I didn't realise that it was that good. She asked for permission to photocopy it and distribute it to the class. When she handed it out in the tutorial, someone asked what mark it got. "Ninety-five," the tutor said. Everyone ooh'd and aah'd. I tried to make my pride unnoticeable. "Who's is it?" the other student probed some more. "Aha, I can't tell ya that!" laughed the tutor. I smiled uncontrollably under the peak of my cap; it's lucky people weren't scanning the room. Not that I would mind them knowing, but you know, it's a game. The next day, I looked on Cecil to find that the class average was fifty per cent. Cor blimey.

Needless to say, if I do take on an anthropology minor, I pick that a significant number of the papers are going to be ethnomusicological now. I'm hooked to the field. It makes sense that two big interests, anthropology and music, have combined so well in a subject for me.

Redefinition

Yesterday Alison, Cynthia and I took receipt of our Amiina EPs. AnimaminA is the only official recording released so far from the all-female Icelandic quartet. Edda Rún Ólafsdóttir, Hildur Ársælsdóttir, Maria Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir and Sólrún Sumarliðadóttir are known for their collaborations with Sigur Rós since 2000, contributing the string sections to their pieces on ( ) and Takk... Of course, more people are coming to discover Amiina (formerly Amina) as they tour the world in support of Sigur Rós, including recently New Zealanders.

The EP is a pristinely-produced musical marvel of just over eighteen minutes, featuring four of Amiina's own pieces that they performed in concert at the Saint James. The bowed saw, which was one of my favourite aspects of the live experience, does not seem anywhere to be heard on AnimaminA but this does not prevent it from being a very solid creation. The EP opens with Skakka, a hauntingly beautiful piece in which masterfully tuned wine glasses layer over the top of one another, set to a delicate rhythm provided by the xylophone, and underlaid with the unintrusive and atmospheric sound of a roaring fireplace. The crackling flames waft over into the second composition on AnimaminA -- Hemipode -- with a sublimely catchy melodic element that ascends swiftly into a dramatic, uplifting climax as the strings come in in support of the office bells, classical guitar, and the Apple computer providing the bass.

Fjarskanistan is the longest piece on the EP. Rounding out at six minutes and twenty-nine seconds, it is a more solemn piece than those previous, and certainly the most straightforwardly classical, seeing the violins and cello take pride of place. The closing track Bláskjár is founded on a misty classical guitar progression that gives the impression of a musical box, with conservatively-played keyboards and mournful strings adding texture to the proceedings. With that, AnimaminA concludes as wondrously as it began and you find yourself reaching over to spin the mini-album again.

This is in no way rock music. This is modern avant-garde classical music at its most adventurous. AnimanimA is a tantalising experience that leaves you itching for more. At the same time, it is a nicely bite-sized piece of surreality that is not as emotionally intense as a Sigur Rós album, but is plainly beautiful music. It would undoubtedly make a welcome listen when you feel like listening to this kind of music but do not feel up to listening to a whole Sigur Rós album. But Amiina are in a class of their own. Having been signed to a new label, it is recent news that they will be releasing another EP in September, with an album coming at an unspecified time after that. AnimaminA is an absolutely necessary purchase for anyone who has been lucky enough to experience these girls performing live -- I believe that having that experience greatly enhances the enjoyability of these studio recordings -- and indeed anyone with an appreciation for Sigur Rós, avant-garde classical music, and other forms of progressive art. Amiina need to be experienced to be done justice.

When I Was Young, I Thought It Was Spelled "S.A."

I finished my four thousand word essay (the night before the night before it was due, for once!) but I get the feeling that it is one of the worst things I have ever written. When you have only really gathered the necessary amount of material to turn out a half-decent two thousand worder, but you need to write an essay twice that length, what do you do? You pad it out. You make sure to take three paragraphs to say what would usually take only one paragraph, or maybe even half a paragraph. The result is a slow-paced, faux-intellectual meandering in the "discursive, discussive style" of my tutor for the paper in question. I can only hope that he will enjoy reading it. The decidedly dissatisfactory C mark that I "achieved" in my similarly hastily-produced foreign policy analysis essay -- and the comment that I received from the marker that my bibliography was "lite" -- doesn't bode well for how I'll do with my other sprawling piece. But I'm not too worried; I'm just glad it's out of the way.

I spent yesterday afternoon -- which I had free -- washing the orchard off my car, and throwing literally dozens of fetid rubber gloves out of the doors. I'd waited a long time to be able to do this -- it's been high season for assignments, despite the holidays, for a long time, and the fact that I was committing a substantial amount of time to my job didn't help the situation. The frequently-wet gravel driveway of the orchard had taken its toll on the entire body of Oculus. Inside, it seems indelibly tainted by the smell of feijoas -- a smell that I used to find alluring, but that now reminds me only of melancholy monotony -- and I can't even drive with the windows open to suck it all out because it would increase petrol consumption! I guess I only have myself to blame for repeatedly taking substantial crate- or chilly bin-loads of the fruit home. That said, I would like to put it down somewhat to there usually being feijoas all over the driveway, and that consequently they have splattered up into the bodywork.

On Sunday last week, I left my house at nine o' clock in the morning, bound for uni, in stunning conditions. I think it was probably the best day, in terms of weather, of the holidays. It was one of those occasions where the sun is at just the right position in the sky; everything has that soft, warm tinge to it visually -- enough to release your endorphins, but not so much that it gives you a headache. That put me in a good mood. At uni, I renewed an excessive (by my standards) quantity of books that I had gathered on a preliminary basis for my now-finished assignment, without the knowledge that I actually could have renewed them online; and also borrowed a few more relevant pieces of material. On the way to the Shore to see Alison, I paid a visit to the Sounds Megastore on Queen Street, as I had a twenty dollar voucher to spend that my grandma had given me for my birthday.

I used the voucher to help me buy Von, completing my collection of Sigur Rós albums. I had read mixed reviews about this 1997 album -- it seems that people either love it or they hate it. It sounded like the sort of thing I'd be into so I gave it a try, and I'm very impressed. It's hardly recognisable as the band that is known and loved today, not least because only two of the current members were in the band at the time that it was produced (those members being vocalist-guitarist Jonsi, and Georg on the bass), and because it takes a far less melodic approach in favour of spacey washes of ambient instrumental and sound effects. Nonetheless I really like it -- it is pleasingly reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine or pre-The Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd in many respects, I find.

The self-titled opening track is Von's second longest piece, bordering on ten minutes, and is characterised by blood-curdling screams weaving in and out of the foreboding rumbling sounds and thunderous, intermittent drums. It is quite disconcerting, but that's what's so great about this whole album -- the atmosphere. Hún jörð is a highlight for me, being the piece that reminds me the most of My Bloody Valentine. Jonsi's vocals on this album are a lot more feminine and choral in nature than on Sigur Rós's later releases and this is accentuated by the fact that he is often multi-tracked, giving the impression of a phalanx of eery singers. The song Von is a more straightforward, melody-oriented piece than most on the album, but is one of its strongest; it is an obvious link to the more hopeful, positive, melodic bent that Sigur Rós was to take on their second album Ágætis byrjun. Syndir Guðs (opinberun frelsarans) is, in my opinion, the standout piece on the album. It showcases the most superb bowed guitar work by Jonsi that is to be found anywhere on Von in an excellently-crafted example of space rock, carried by a droney bassline, and I would rank it up there with some of the material on ( ). Von is certainly Sigur Rós's least accessible album, and that really is saying something, so I wouldn't suggest it to anyone who isn't really familar with their music. Otherwise, you should give it a listen. I'd be interested to hear from anyone else who has heard this album and what you thought of it.

It's somewhat official that I'm doing Anthro 215 Human Sexuality next semester now -- I'm enrolled in it, anyway. The concern is that it adds an extra day to my weekly schedule (that makes four days), and it would be the only class that I came to uni for on a Tuesday -- and it would start at nine in the morning on that day. Basically, I'd thought too much about how significantly I was likely to dislike that media paper, to the point that I don't think I'd be able to face myself doing it now, so I just enrolled in Human Sexuality. Also, opinion I've heard expressed by others constantly reaffirms my general feelings that media is a bad subject and is making me seriously consider never taking a media paper again, in which case my minor would of course change to anthropology. We'll see.

I had written up a nice comment to put on Rodney's blog wishing him good luck for tonight and praising him generally as a person, but when I proceeded to do so I got an error message saying only registered members can comment on the blog. Well, go figure, if you want to be like that, then fine.

Pride Tripping

The issue with the orchard is over now, and I intend to leave it behind me, but I want to spiel a little bit more. On Tuesday, on the advice that I had received directly from the Department of Labour, I left a letter on the owners' desk setting out my requests for time and a half for the four hours I worked on Easter Monday, as well as a fixed-term contractual agreement, both of which I am entitled to under law. They did not speak to me for most of the day, but later in the piece I ran into one of them, who went literally hysterical at me over the fact that I had not stacked the empty crates tidily. It's never been procedure to do this, as the crates have to be quickly deposited around the orchard so that they can be accepted by the pickers and filled with feijoas in as short a time as possible. It was apparent that the only reason anyone should be angry at me was because I was holding them to the law. Relations between me and my employers had officially dissolved.

Come Wednesday morning, I really did not want to go to work after I had been yelled at by the owner, but if I was to have a leg to stand on with the Department of Labour -- should events reach the point that I required their intervention -- I had to fulfill my obligations as an employee (although speaking very technically, I had no official obligations as I had no contract). I was somewhat expecting the employers to respond to my request and, given the way that I had been spoken to the day before, that I was going to be sent packing. As if it were an omen, the weather took a rapid turn for the worse, and of course pickers are required to work no matter what the conditions. The worst thing about bad weather is that even when it stops raining, the slightest breeze will bring a hail of dirty water drops down off of the trees.

I ate lunch with the Tuvaluans for once, instead of going home -- bearing the alienation of having everyone in my company speaking a language that I do not understand, in the hope that the sight of me would lure the owners out of the packhouse to finally deal with me. It was all being drawn out too long, and was very stressful. During lunch, I saw an executive-looking woman arrive and enter the packhouse. I pondered that maybe she was from the Department of Labour. But when I got back to work after the break, she came into the orchard with a plastic bag (in an attempt to make it look like she was another picker, I perceive) and said "Hello Gary." She knew my name? She must be someone from the Department of Labour, I thought.

When she came closer, I realised she looked exactly like the male owner, and then she introduced herself to me as the owners' daughter. I was very taken aback. I wouldn't have been surprised if my mouth was hanging open the whole time this woman was guilt tripping me with the details that her parents are "facing severe economic hardship because of this harvest," are having to pay the workers' wages out of their own income (sorry, isn't that part of running a business?), that they're old people who are not very well and she believes said hardship will prove to have taken its toll on their health, and that they "don't need people making trouble for them" (a clear reference to me politely asking for what I am legally entitled to). She said all this very sternly and I could not believe that she had tried it on with me. I didn't say anything to her except to acknowledge that she was speaking to me. Yes, I did feel guilty -- exponentially so in fact. But the excuses did not stand up. As she trounced off she added "...and they need people to work hard..." as if to imply that I don't work hard. I friggin' bust my back for them.

I was psyching myself up for the prospect of handing in my notice and calling in the Department of Labour when, less than three hours after the owners' daughter had spoken to me, I was told by the supervisor Paul -- who I am on good terms with -- that the harvest is to end on Monday. Moreover, he said of my confrontation with the owners: "I think you win." I had won, indeed in more ways than one. I was concerned that even if the owners had acted upon my requests, it was going to be hard to continue working at the orchard because of the strained relationship between us. They certainly weren't putting across the impression that they'd ever want to talk to me again. So it was very welcome when they left the orchard yesterday, homeward bound and without saying goodbye, and having left a pleasingly-sized pay cheque in the hands of Paul for me. I got my time and a half, and what's more, I got my six per cent holiday pay -- something I was expecting I was going to have to fight for. Yesterday, I happily drove out of the orchard for the last time.

Although I'll miss Paul, as well as Sia -- a Tuvaluan woman who could speak basic English and who I became pretty good friends with (only at the end did I realise how close I was to her) -- and having to drive only four minutes to work, there's not much else that the orchard had going for it. I really did get good vibes when I first went there for my job interview, I suspect because the weather was great and the owners were very kind. Interestingly, in retrospect, one of the first things they asked me was if I had been at the Big Pay Out. I'll leave it to you to read into that one.

Rodney's going to be on Dancing With The Stars this weekend! It's certainly an unexpected eventuation, given his bumbling demeanor and tendency to belittle politicians that waste time and pull publicity stunts, let alone the fact that he's the leader of a political party himself (albeit one that is decidedly unprominent in Parliament). It is bound to be entertaining, and everyone must watch, regardless of whether you can handle watching all the dancing or not! Rodney's already taking the piss out of himself, choosing to emphasise his inadequacy, and sporadic comments in regards to the upcoming "show" are taking pride of place on his blog. The fact that it seems to be just a bit of fun for him as opposed to a really serious contest suggests that we can expect something similar from Rodney to what Tim Shadbolt offered up in the last series, only even more amusing.
As a side note, this is the one hundredth entry I've written for this blog. Who would've thought at the start that I would put this much into it?