A Hole In The Wall

Comfort Stop

2006-10-16T15:31:00.000+13:00

A cold, crappy day. My feet are wet. A single screw has come loose on my umbrella, resulting in the entire oddly fragile, oddly ubiquitous, oddly beautiful contraption to function only with great difficulty. I dare not close it because it will be too hard to open again. But, repeatedly, I do close it, through force of habit, thus condemning me to the task of forcing it open whenever I need to use it to walk my middle-class arse a few metres under open, active sky.

The DVD in the AV library skips, often during montage sequences accompanied by music that I greatly enjoy. I don't get irritated but I am aware that it is happening. People near to me snort amusedly at audio-visual content that to me is neither audible nor visible. I think about how much I want a companion as I watch the based-on-a-true-story people on the screen have amazing relationships with willy-nilly ease; an illusion that they are possessive of prowess being provided by the fact that their life story has been condensed into two hours and, because many of them are homosexuals and probably because the directors are such people, seemingly placing emphasis on every successful relationship that they had ever had.

I stew about how the guy at the Saint James supposedly overcharged me by five dollars each in purchasing tickets to the last Th' Dudes, Hello Sailor and Hammond Gamble show for me and Mat. I stew about the fact that I had to pay for a ticket at all, but justify my purchase on the basis that it is a good bargain and that I thoroughly enjoyed it last time. I might not get drunk this time, particularly considering that I will, more than more than likely, not have any money. Borrow, borrow, borrow, I don't want to miss out on this bargain and that bargain and help me, I have driven too far afield for my bank account to allow, in other words Hamilton City, where I do not like being.

It costs a lot of money to live life, unfortunately, and as such I find myself boxed into the situation of having to decide whether I will sell my tomorrow to an air conditioning firm -- which will have me sweeping small shreds of steel off the floor, dressing differently and pretending to be a homophobe so as not to attract negative attention from companions in wage labour -- or spend it doing my two thousand five hundred word essay about a misogynistic Marxist and a homosexual libertarian, both of which I feel to be self-contradictory personality type identifications. I should be writing the essay right now. Nay, I should be in class. But what am I missing out on anyway?

Never Work / Diligence

2006-10-07T11:04:00.000+13:00

Last night I went to Th' Dudes, Hello Sailor and Hammond Gamble at the Saint James, which manifested itself as a quality experience. The investment of additional money in drink enhanced it further. At present I am still reeling, drunk, at Mat's work. I don't feel safe driving home until I've fully given the alcohol a proper chance to wear off, and as such I'm overdaying here until four o' clock, when Mat will finish and take me back to my car. You can tell how bored I am by the fact that I'm blogging. I was intending to get back to it anyway, but partly I didn't feel it was appropriate to follow up the Steve Irwin "obituary" (RIP) with, well, anything really, and otherwise I've just been trying to live life directly for once as opposed to letting it be mediated through inauthenticies and falsities and imagery as the Internet has a tendency to do (Situationist International for the win).

Anyway, the concert was excellent. Hello Sailor was supposed to be playing acoustic sets on this, Radio Hauraki's fourtieth anniversary commemorative tour, in conjunction with their recently-released acoustic album When The Lights Are Out, however, it seemed that they had thought better of doing this by the time they reached Auckland last night (it is quite a way into the tour) perhaps spurred on by audience response at previous shows. The result was that they really rocked out in a spectacular performance that would probably easily set itself on a par with the Hello Sailor of the seventies. Highlights were Graham Brazier's awesome harmonica work and interestingly interesting dance movements and methods et ceterahhh. Th' Dudes were of course comparably awes9ome with me being drunk to the point that I took my shirt off during Bliss, yes, and repeatedly shouted "Peter Urlich is the man!" through all the songs instead of listening to them. People got annoyed with me. Mat collaborated, with me, not the annoying people.

I also bore a striking five dollar shirt from the Warehouse that I had emblazoned in fabric marker "HELLO SAILOR" across the front (Mat's idea and he also went ahead with it). Incoherent. The night was punctuated in grammatically incorrect places by people we were passing by being told "Hello, Sailor!" in a jolly manner. Line Red. Panic! At The Disco are, for the record, a horrendous band and I am led to believe by my expert telling apart of wannabe-emo vocalists that I am being forced to listen to them right now by Mat's co-worker, whose name I don't know because I can't concentrate and who I went to the bakery with before to get a massive tank of a croissant for one dollars and eighty cents' worth of twenty cent coins, as he is cranking it in the shop but now there is lots of customers so everybody better be shush (PS his name is Ony). Mat thought the boss was here before and he was gonna smack my bitch ass off the computer, that he may look like a good man. He's leaving the position soon anyway. Tomorrow he has to try and remember to bring the TV to work so that he can watch Bathurst all day. Oh yes and we only got one hour of sleep last night which probably doesn't help my decidedly artistically miffed state. Save the Rails.

I don't know what the heck kind of idea Toll Holdings think they're doing by threatening to close the North Island Main Trunk Railway, which is of course a very important transport artery of New Zealand and which many of the towns throughout the North Island were built as a result of its existence, just because high track access fees pushed by Ontrack -- that being the former New Zealand Railways Corporation, the government, which now owns the tracks -- are going to cause them to pull less of an absolutely gargantuan profit. Haven't these Australian business imperialists ever heard of social responsibility to a nation? I guess not because we are New Zealand, but these idiots want to put tonnes more trucks on the roads instead of having trains, because it saves on costs. You capitalist bastards. You, capitalist bastards. It's kind of weird that this is happening right after Toll feigned the will to completely shut down the legendary Overlander train service between Wellington and Auckland in what seemed to be an attempt to milk aid out of the government.

I don't know who what you're kidding by deciding that Latin American was a good subject for me to take and that it is money well spent. I am going to fail the bloody thing. And guess what? I took it that I may get into a Paul Buchanan paper, but with the release of the 2007 Arts Course Handbook it has turned out that the prerequisites for that course have been broadened now anyway so I'm just going to be able to get in having passed two stage politics papers already! So it's a complete waste of suffering and time and effort. Also, one of the other Paul Buchanan papers that was supposed to be happening next year for stage three has taken a crap and died and been taken off the list. Less fetish material less fetish material. Not fair not fair. What an arse. Primo, he's got this philosophy. Art student. You fine arts student. You're fine.

This has been time well spent doing a poofaced blog that I have given up on when I should slash not could have been doing ethnomusicology and Latin American suckful assignments due on Friday, Friday on which I will be occupied chasing steam trains around the south of Auckland and the north of the Waikato with Mat's camera that I have yet to ask him if I can borrow. Yes I am a trainspotter. Marcus Lush is. That makes it even more cool. Don't deny that you like steam trains. Diesels even, or electrics. Trains are good, even though some Situationist theorists seem to take the approach that it symbolises the dehumanising bullcrap procedure of not swearing and of blimmin' shuffling along to work each day, line red. But this is hopeless, atrocious. I'm still working at ze air conditioning manufakturer at the teh moment buttt, buttttocks I have some potential jobs lined up, I hope that I will perhaps get them. It is always a possibility. Yea Mat stop talking to that lady.

Alex put the 9 in the awesome. I hope you enjoyed the post Pie. I have MSN anyway. See ya there.

This is the chemical dump, boy.

Mmmmate.

mate.

Here's me being Graham.

Stephen Robert Irwin 1962 - 2006

2006-09-04T19:14:00.000+12:00

I don't even have words but I have tears.

My hero.

Full Circle

2006-08-28T16:56:00.000+12:00

Today, as the first birthday of this blog falls, I plunge violently from the brilliant experiences of Wellington and the Overlander back into work. Eleven of the next thirteen days will be spent working in the factory, where I will be constantly asked "Did you go to Erotica?", and then face technically incorrect accusations of homosexuality when I give the answer that I didn't.

The up-side is that at the end of all this I should be free from debt to my parents and able to buy my first CD in a long time. I've already made my mind up as to what it is.

Elaborations on my experiences come when more convenient pictures come.

On Track

2006-08-18T20:52:00.000+12:00

I'm so glad I got those assignments out of the way. Only just, mind you, but I did it.

So I'm going to Wellington on the Overlander tomorrow. I'm off to bed pronto -- as in right now -- because mum and I are getting up at five o' clock tomorrow morning to get to the station excessively early for the train. The goal: to get seats in one of the carriages with gargantuan windows rather than the little portholes.

This is the first and probably the only time I'm going to get to do this trip that I've been wanting to do for years. And boy, am I going to enjoy it, especially since I've got all my assignments out of the way. To boot, that's just the train trip -- then there's the experience of Wellington...

Pictures on my return, hopefully. Hooroo.

At Least The Weather Was Nice

2006-08-15T21:26:00.000+12:00

It's been interesting to see how hard it can be to perform supposed bum jobs in a factory, to the point that you are chronically hassled by factory workers who openly refer to themselves as "scum" -- jobs like reading five two-digit numbers on a piece of paper and adding them together with a calculator to find out how wide you must cut a piece of steel; or like holding a cylinder in position against a metal plate whilst a menacing, formerly-dangerous machine (it once took the end of a guy's thumb off, but then OSH came in and insisted a safety guard be put on it) puts a crease in it. Factory workers must think in a completely different way to arts students -- obviously to such an extent that my apparent intelligence does not allow me to perform the most mundane of physically tangible technical tasks, that even a high school drop-out can carry out with ease.

It's also been annoyingly interesting to discover how deceptively hard my last two assignments that I want to complete before Saturday are. I've been stressing out of my head today, trying to find Web sites -- it was specified that my sources must be Web sites -- about the traditional and contemporary music and dance of a Polynesian island group of my choice. It turns out that just about all of the Web sites about these island groups are tourism Web sites, that approach the music and dance on a very shallow, yuppie self-indulgent level.

What's worse is now that I've got the idea into my head that it could be possible to finish all of my assignments before I go away on this trip, it's going to feel extra-bad if I don't finish them, and there would be definite potential for it to harm the experience for me. I am gruff.

Yeah Yeah Yeah

2006-08-14T21:40:00.000+12:00

Two assignments started and finished in one day! I'd say that's pretty good going wouldn't you? Especially considering I've never before completed an assignment more than a week before the due date. These weren't due until the eighteenth and the twenty-fifth.

I wanted to get them done because I'm going away to Wellington on the Overlander on Saturday the nineteenth. Then I'll come back on the twenty-second. I want to be able to enjoy that trip as much as possible so that's why I'm trying to get all my assignments out of the way.

I hope uni's going well for those of you who are there.

Why is the reception for bFM on my pocket radio stronger out West than it is when I'm in town?

It makes you think.

Berlin

2006-08-13T18:42:00.000+12:00

The High School Womb

2006-08-12T12:17:00.000+12:00

The Telegraph Road.

I Know What I Like.

GET YA HAND OFF IT.

(i put the pro in airpro)

Latinam 201 mate.

2006-08-11T20:05:00.000+12:00

To Get The Seat

2006-08-11T12:15:00.000+12:00

The secret to getting a window seat on a Western Line train bound for Britomart is to get in closer to the front of the train.

The rear part is full of more characteristically patient individuals, hunkering down for a long trip, and thus very few of them debark from the train early on at Henderson (where I get on). The front, however, seems to inherently contain most of the Henderson High School students, most of whom do get off at Henderson.

Still, my seat I got today was going backwards, but it was on the correct side of the train for the interesting views. The indie girl who got on at Glen Eden didn't sit next to me, because a seat closer to the door was free.

I don't like Fridays. Four hours of non-stop classes is bad enough. Three of those being Latin American is terrible. But worst of all, I've had to call off drinks after uni to take part in a filming for my sister's sixth form media studies film... about a monster that terrorises a school or something.

And then I have work tomorrow, where I will doubtless again be hassled for not having handy hands or for not being able to perform masculine tasks.

What about the arts, y'know?

But one of my sister's friends who is coming to film the film is one of only two Genesis fans I know in the offline world, the other being Mat, so that's good.

I was staring at the Ricies bag this morning. I don't think it's right that amongst all of the edu-factual hooey about rice that is written all over it (1/3 of the world's population eat rice doncha know!) it has a picture of a globe, on which New Zealand occupies the entire Pacific Ocean. What are we teaching our kids? What has happened to the values of this society?

Next thing there'll be a pedophile rights movement.

Airy fairy. This is what happens when you listen to too much talkback. Log on.

Art as Idea as Idea

2006-08-10T18:37:00.000+12:00

I went to the lecture. It was mediocre. I imagined I was eating a chocolate muffin. That was good. It was probably purchased from Pak 'n Save but I don't know.

I'm quite the airy fairy one today. Voila -- a tighter than usual chain of bog entries (mispelling intended) (please see them below).

I briefly contemplated driving to Hamilton tonight and meeting the Overlander train (one of the last) that I would subsequently chase to Auckland. I decided against this when I took into account that I would have to eat dinner at an uncomfortable speed in order to make it to Hamilton in time.

This, of course, is in turn not taking into account that the train will probably be late.

Marcus Lush -- Radio Live -- seven until ten, weeknights. Thoroughly good. He brings me closer to the infinite and the sublime. You don't even need a radio -- log on.

If I am truthful, I did pay attention in the art history lecture -- hence the title of this blog entry, derived from a series of conceptual art by one Joseph Kosuth (see below) -- other than the time I spent formulating this particular paragraph, and all those amongst whom it is situated. They are alive too.

Please close your pompous boobies. And get me a cup of coffee while you're at it, you Marxist bastard.

We Keep To The Left In This Country

2006-08-10T15:03:00.000+12:00

I noticed something intriguing as I walked through the Britomart Transport Centre today. The vertical sides of numerous steps on an escalator that I passed were labelled "KEEP LEFT". It's about time too.

It's a shame that the escalator was downward bound, and thus the signs would not be visible to people using the escalator and achieve the effect desired. Also, generally people travel in one direction on any particular escalator -- so what is the relative importance of the KEEP LEFT proclaimation, other than perhaps to clear the way for those impatient individuals who insist on running up or down escalators?

I should go to art history now -- not that, of course, I have any positive feelings about being about to attend it. Interesting course material? Yes. Elitist snobbery? Also present.

POLITICS.237SC ANNOUNCEMENT: Lecture today for Politics 237 has been cancelled

2006-08-10T10:04:00.000+12:00

It's things like this popping up in your email whilst you stand at the kitchen bench, eating Ricies and watching Marcus Lush's Off The Rails at ten to ten on a sunny Thursday morning, that create those little moments of ecstasy that you're constantly waiting for in life.

Provisional. Basic. But good.

Did you know that the cups created by New Zealand Railways and used on their services in the golden days of long-distance passenger trains can now be worth three hundred dollars?

Of course it's not nice that the lecturer is sick. But this means that I don't have to catch the bus for another three hours. I've just picked up a bunch of extra time.

Break Away

2006-08-03T09:44:00.000+12:00

It's not so much that I'm not liking the Internet at the moment, rather that I just don't feel compelled to be on it all the time as would usually be the case. There seems to have been a drop-off in activity in much of what I know as my blogosphere. I don't feel the need to check the Pink Floyd, Genesis and Sigur Ros news so often anymore, given that it has all consisted of announcements of European tour dates and obscure, crappy ex-vocalists' album releases anyway. Using MSN has seldom been a rewarding experience at any stage in my life, and the recent stint was no exception. Simply, there's better things to do offline. Now I'm still spending similar portions of the Internet hours, but that time isn't being spent at the computer -- I've begun to use P2P again and I'm using it to collect Pink Floyd b-sides and various other bits and bobs. I just start the downloads and walk away, to the sofa which is actually about a metre away but there you go.

I've also been having great difficulty putting images into my blog entries for the past month at least. Blogger's been pretty uncooperative. I find it interesting that I'm having this trouble whilst Hannah is simultaneously turning her clog into a photo album of sorts, a lot of which is quality. In my case, the Syd Barrett photo was only appended to the relevant entry after over an hour of struggle -- I wouldn't want to spend that time on any other picture; here it was simply that it would have been disgusting not to include a photo of Syd. I'm still dissatisfied with my recently imageless entries, though.

Working at the air conditioning factory is semi-officially my part-time job now. I say semi-officially because I'm not necessarily secure in the position -- if the current inundation of work the company's receiving dies down, then I'll be laid off as an unskilled worker; the other young guys there at the very least did well in metalwork at school, whereas I sucked. But I've settled into a routine of working fourteen hours a week now, pleasantly padded out -- four and a half hours before uni on Monday and Wednesday mornings, and five hours on Saturday morning -- and earning a good amount of money with which I can progressively pay my parents back for the various things I owe them.

I was going to do an entry about the scrapping of the Overlander passenger train service between Auckland and Wellington -- for a brief time I was even set on creating a blog to provide a commentary on the state of New Zealand's railways -- and I may yet, but I soon realised that I felt too strongly about the issues to evoke them in writing in such a way that I would find satisfactory afterwards. I've found this has been the case with a lot of things recently. I don't know what's happened, but I have a feeling it's got something to do with my thoughts being organised much more spasmodically than they ever have been before, now that I'm moving into a new phase of my life. It's not a bad thing at all -- I feel far freer. Not allowing myself to be controlled by the constraints of what other people may think of me if I do something has made me a markedly happier person. These are the virtues of selling out, of being a hypocrit, of being incoherent or of being extremely angry or ecstatic about anything -- this is authentic human expression not about dumbing yourself down so that other people may understand you better. If you understand yourself then that's all that matters.

Lastly, about the train: the Labour Party has failed this country and proved its short-sightedness in letting money take prevalence over the interests of New Zealand developing an efficient transport infrastructure in the build-up to Peak Oil and by not recognising the Overlander's social value. John Broadwell put the argument for the retention of the train forward best, in a succint form.

The Ad That Rips Off Hoppípolla

2006-07-24T20:56:00.000+12:00

Those of you who are fans of Sigur Rós may have noticed the Lotto advertisement that has begun airing on New Zealand television recently which features a poor imitation of the song Hoppípolla.

When I first heard the start of it last night I immediately identified the music as Sigur Rós, and as would be expected it grabbed my attention. However, shortly thereafter it became apparent that the beautiful piano progression written by the band has been altered to such an extent that I personally feel like Lotto are making some sort of sick attempt to skirt intellectual property rights (I am sceptical as to whether Sigur Rós would approve of their music being featured in some cheesy lottery ad; and even if the case happened to be that they do in fact approve, why does Lotto not use the real song instead of an inauthentic bludgeoned version cobbled together specifically for the advertisement?).

The imitation of the song contains no vocals, obviously not only because they are too hard to imitate, but because that would constitute really really running across the intellectual property line. In Lotto's interests, caution in rip-offery must be exercised. This hasn't stopped them from applying exactly the same muffling effect to the piano sound, the same splashing effect to the drum sound and even incorporating brass into the arpeggios of the climax, though. The sacrilegious fake plays in the background as potential Lotto winners look to the night sky to see shooting stars, as they fantasise about how great it would be to suddenly be a filthy rich self-indulgent monster through no effort whatsoever of their own other than buying a Lotto ticket.

In a state of outrage that was a little more than mild, I embarked on some investigation today and was disheartened to come across a thread on the Sigur Rós Message Boards describing another instance of Hoppípolla being ripped off -- in a sequence in Scary Movie 4. This one is an even poorer attempt, as I discovered upon watching the sequence myself. In a sense, for me this renders it not so unbearable as the Lotto commercial -- it's different enough that it could almost be a horrible coincidence, and merely a score typically written for this type of scene, although it is discernable from the climax, what the melody develops into and the piano work in this particular forgery that it is definitely trying to sound like Hoppípolla. It's certainly not as bad as the Lotto ad, which is a far, far more blatant theft of artistic work.

To hear the real beauty of Sigur Rós's wonderful piece of artwork, you can download the Hoppípolla music video.

Daze

2006-07-23T15:06:00.000+12:00

What a first week. I can tell already that this semester is going to be intense but awesome.

The most remarkable of my classes have been ARTHIST 204 and LATINAM 201, both of which are almost entirely new subject areas for me, but both of which count towards my media studies minor. Contemporary Art and Theory is characterised by a class in which, on first (intoxicated) count, there are five men in the congregation of about one hundred and fifty students; and impenetrable but gloriously pretentious readings (pretension is a good thing). Here’s a sample for you from Jean Baudrillard’s piece, ‘Astral America’:

Astral America. The lyrical nature of pure circulation. As against the melancholy of European analyses. The direct star-blast from vectors and signals, from the vertical and the spatial. As against the fevered distance of cultural gaze.

Joy in the collapse of metaphor, which here in Europe we merely grieve over. The exhilaration of obscenity, the obscenity of obviousness, the obviousness of power, the power of simulation. As against our disappointed virginity, our chasms of affectation.

Sideration. Star-blasted, horizontally by the car, altitudinally by the plane, electronically by television, geologically by deserts, stereolithically by the megalopoloi, transpolitically by the power game, the power museum that America has become for the whole world.

Obviously the course is right up my alley, but that in writing this entry in Microsoft Word the majority of the above-quoted sentences have been underlined green, suggesting grammatical nonsensicality, or red, suggesting retarded words, says a lot. I’ve got a lot of wide reading to do to catch up on this paper. Media studies students, having been encouraged to take the paper as part of their degree, have been advised to read up on modernity – because the course has jumped right into postmodernism, which is of course a little hard to grasp if you aren’t familiar enough with modernity already.

I get the feeling that the media studies students in the class are a significant minority (not that what I just said makes sense). Most class members are Elam students – interesting individuals, not that I’ve gathered up the courage to talk to any yet. I think the entire back row in which I sit is comprised of apprehensive media studies students. You can tell by the way they speak and how they don’t wear berets. Dodgy dodgy naff naff. It may be that the general androgyny of class members might be part of the reason why I am under the impression that there are so few men in the class, but we’ll have to wait and see.

Latin American History and Culture Through Film shows promise to be the most exotic course I have taken yet, aside from ARTHIST 204 of course. From the lecturer’s unique South American accent fused with a decidedly United States-sounding drawl, to the class comprised mainly of adults and the separate tutorials for English and Spanish speakers, and the fact that the course reader is massive as well as free, it has this strange effect of making me feel as if I’m not even part of the university environment whilst I am in the class. I would think that the dimmed lights and constant showing of film clips adds to the effect as well. It’s already obvious that it’s a much more sensible way of accumulating points for one’s media degree than doing ‘actual’ media courses.

On Thursday I had the pleasure of seeing Caveh Zahedi’s film I Am A Sex Addict, that is being screened as part of the International Film Festival, with Mat and Tina. A humourous self-effacing account of the director’s own addiction to prostitutes and how he overcame it, the film intersperses and layers narration and speeches to the camera provided by Caveh with dramatisations of the various situations that he encountered, featuring Caveh as himself. The various women whom Caveh had been in relationships with throughout his life – and whom he had attempted to render accommodating of his fetish – were played by a succession of superb actresses, although as Caveh commented in the narration, he attempted to get the real women themselves to take part in the film and play themselves. Such is the autobiographical intensity that Caveh obviously perceives I Am A Sex Addict to carry.

It is a reasonably simple film that manages to show the audience a great degree of the depth of Caveh’s personality. On the surface this is done through the filmic construction of his past experiences as they would have been seen through his own eyes, in an appropriately faux-realistic, melodramatic-hyperbolic style – allowing the audience to identify directly with his perception of events and evoking an endearingly awkward and precious character that a lot of us can identify with.

However, on a deeper level it shows Caveh’s increased strength as a human being, having personally progressed to such a degree in overcoming his prostitute fetish that he can now look back on all the problems that it caused for him and laugh. It shows that he is now far enough removed from his struggle that he can make fun of the events that it involved and make entertainment of it, whilst also acknowledging it enough to not deny the effect that it had on him and how it has influenced who he has become sexually.

I think for me I Am A Sex Addict was a decidedly good film to watch after having drunk two jugs of beer at Shadows twenty minutes beforehand. Considering that having had a jug before my ethnomusicology lecture the previous day had resulted in me taking intense amusement to the lecturer innocently noting that if it were in fact true that the Pacific Islands were originally founded by a group including only two women, “they were busy, and very productive,” the film was destined to be eye-wateringly funny after two jugs. In the latter parts of the film I had my scarf draped over the peak of my cap and was twiddling the tassles imagining that it was my fringe, and was pushing, prodding and poking my open eyes with my fingers because I was too gone to hesitate.

Friday night contained the Westlake Boys’ and Westlake Girls’ High Schools’ stage production of Footloose which was held at the just-opened-this-year Westlake Boys’ Auditorium. Although rife with crude, unfunny humour (“So what do you do around here for fun?” was replied to by another character with the hand signal for masturbation, for example) it was thoroughly entertaining, with reasonable timelessness, an epic scale and most of all great music all being part of the experience.

At the commencement of the musical, the audience was invited to get up and dance in the aisles during the show. Mat, Andrew and I saved it to the last song, but we put on a good show ourselves, with the stage being empty besides the band and the majority of the auditorium’s attention on us. The deputy headmaster was not pleased – apparently he was staring us down – but we’d had the invitation to dance.

After the auditorium had been vacated we continued to dance outside the music block, to an isolated cry of “faggot!”. Going to Footloose was a rewarding experience, not just because it was a great show, but because it reaffirmed to me how much I’ve been able to distance myself from the culture of Westlake during my short time at university, emphasising that I really was never a part of it, and highlighting the phantasmagoric levels of individual freedom of expression that university students are lucky to be afforded.

Last night was the night of the Australian Pink Floyd Project with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra at the Aotea Centre. The orchestra opened on its own with a beautiful, gentle, uplifting and tear-jerking performance of Comfortably Numb which, interestingly, without rock accompaniment was not discernable by many people around me as a Pink Floyd piece (“I don’t recognise this -- this isn’t Pink Floyd!” gasped the mum next to me in mild annoyance). I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet so to speak but this gave me something of an impression that I have more of an ear for Pink Floyd’s music than the average ‘fan’ – for once, it wasn’t as simple as picking out the opening bassline or knowing the lyrics (there was, of course, no singing at this point), so suddenly scores of people were dumbfounded. It was quite a strange concept to suddenly be taking on. It made me feel good about myself though.

Following that, a wake-up call came in the form of a spirited and thunderous rendition of Bring The Boys Back Home, before the fantastically flamboyant and down-to-earth orchestral conductor introduced the rock band onstage, for a considerably lengthy moment forgetting the lattermost word in their name. The familiar heartbeat heralded the beginning of the full compliment’s run-through of The Dark Side of the Moon. In the first half of this section, On The Run in particular was evoked surprisingly spectacularly, with flute weaving skilfully in and out of the old faithful synthesiser progression, cymbals being worked nimbly by John Zak and trumpets believe it or not effectively providing the airplane sounds.

During Time I realised that the electric guitar was probably not high up enough in the mix, although undoubtedly this was to compensate for the presence of the orchestra (the audience did want to be able to hear it, after all) and the prominence of the two male singers’ powerful voices. I found myself a tad frustrated at having to squint my ears to hear the execution of one of the best guitar solos ever written, but the band redeemed themselves here with Jamie Messenger’s great keyboard effects that super-effectively conveyed the sound of Rick Wright’s Hammond organ (Messenger is also one of the two awesome men responsible for writing the superb orchestral score especially for this project).

The Great Gig In The Sky was simply gobsmacking, with not only the three female backing singers proving themselves but the orchestra fully coming into its own with what was to be one of the most incredible interpretations of the whole night. Money issued the first massive wave of ecstasy from the audience, with one of the most well-known basslines in rock music being unexpectedly substituted for the gorgeous throaty sound of all the cellos in the orchestra entering the fray at once. It was fantastic watching all the cellists enthusiastically bobbing their heads to the 7/4 time signature whilst the truly superb saxophonist soloed over the top and Rob Pippan wielded his axe with silky smooth precision.

Us And Them and Brain Damage both stood out spectacularly in terms of the orchestral compositions that had been written for them – unfortunately, Any Colour You Like was skipped; it is strange to note the regular criticism this piece comes under for sounding “dated.” I’ve even heard it said that it contains “faintly hilarious axemanship”! Personally I think it’s a fantastic piece and I hope the Australian Pink Floyd Project didn’t leave it out for the aforementioned reasons. However, I must say that the soaring arpeggios of Eclipse were the best I’ve ever heard them sound with a full orchestra backing them up. The piece was made appropriately epic and exultant in the league that I’ve always wished it was on the studio album (although it is undeniably mindblowing on there, too).

After a break the orchestra performed The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn Suite – this was a rendition of the Syd Barrett-penned songs Scarecrow, Bike and Astronomy Domine in tribute to the man himself. These sounded fantastic played by the orchestra, particularly the menacing take on Astronomy Domine and the two male vocalists did a superb vocal job.

Then came what was inevitably going to be the musical and emotional highlight of the night – Shine On You Crazy Diamond. The song has never sounded so sorrowful and this was only made all the more poignant by Syd Barrett’s recent passing. One could hear the members of the audience taking deep shaky breaths in and out amidst the swelling violins and cellos and between what would have usually been keyboard solos, but which now were replaced by absolutely gorgeous, ornate bass flute work and trumpet work at different times. The final guitar solo before the opening lyrics of “Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun” was substituted for a stunning violin solo that actually did a very good job at sounding like it was caught somewhere halfway between violin and guitar. I was afraid to move my body at all during this song for fear of breaking out in emotion or feeling disrespectful to Syd. But the explosion of applause and cheering at the end made up for this.

In the closing quarter of the concert the Australian Pink Floyd Project showed a welcome liking for A Momentary Lapse of Reason material, with the ensemble conjuring up a fiery Dogs of War, precise and spine-tingling Signs of Life, and levitating Learning To Fly, as well as a repetition of Comfortably Numb – this time with the rock band helping out – and the obligatory singalong of Wish You Were Here. Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2 occurred as a rousing encore. With that, the massive gathering of performers took a bow and a fantastic night was done. To anyone who didn’t go to the Australian Pink Floyd Project this time but would have considered it, I thoroughly recommend that you go when you get another chance.

Not only was the evening utterly enjoyable for me as a Pink Floyd fan but it has increased the interest that I’ve always had in me to attend orchestral performances exponentially and I’m certainly going to have to look at going to see the Auckland Philharmonia perform again in the near future. This is the start of something great and it’s all thanks to my favourite musicians having written such versatile music that can flawlessly transcend the boundaries between pop and classical music. Fantastic.

Thom Yorke’s The Eraser has been the soundtrack of my past week of life. I will say now that I’m extremely keen on the new album – it is brilliant, and he has nailed it -- but I’ll save the run-down for another entry.

Chapter Four

2006-07-17T19:00:00.000+12:00

An attempt was made to plug back in
To the loop, but only to be smitten
By shocking recoil
Recoil
Recoil

A clean start marks also the end
Of nonsense struggle
False hope
Nonsense struggle
False hope
But this is a new circuit
It starts with a long straight
I'm at the front of the grid
This time

Little boys tackle punching bags
And pummel them when they're down
But I'm a big boy
And I'm not the bag
Not the bag
Look behind you
I am not the bag

Erasing the dark, a light appears
An unspeakable beauty and warmth
It just wasn't meant to be
Just wasn't meant to be
Why did I allow myself to become
Quademo?

But this is Chapter Four
And I'm dazzled

Shine On You Crazy Diamond: Roger Keith Barrett 1946 - 2006

2006-07-12T10:21:00.000+12:00

Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun
Shine on you crazy diamond
Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky
Shine on you crazy diamond
You were caught in the cross-fire of childhood and stardom, blown on the steel breeze
Come on you target for far away laughter, come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!
You reached for the secret too soon,
you cried for the moon
Shine on you crazy diamond
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed to the light
Shine on you crazy diamond
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision
Rode on the steel breeze
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you
painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!

Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far,
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph,
and sail on the steel breeze
Come on you boy-child, you winner and loser,
Come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine!

- Waters, Wright, Gilmour

The founding frontman, vocalist and lead guitarist of Pink Floyd, affectionately known as Syd, passed away on the seventh of July, UK time, due to complications with his diabetes. The announcement was not made until today.

He will live on forever, remembered as the visionary that he was, and leaving a legacy of fantastic art that has altered the history of rock music.

Words cannot describe how deeply I feel about this. But all my worldly problems suddenly seemed insignificant upon hearing this news.

If you have the Pink Floyd albums Wish You Were Here and The Piper At The Gates of Dawn, please give them both a spin tonight, and play them loud. Let's give Syd a cosmic send-off.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond.

A Povvo Play

2006-07-07T17:22:00.000+12:00

Tax rebate of one hundred and seven dollars was supposed to have saved me by now.

This July's an expensive month. First there's Thom Yorke's solo album The Eraser coming out at the start of next week. Please keep your eyes pield if you like (caution of: desiccation). Sigur Rós's Saeglopur EP, which will feature the title track along with three new compositions, and come with a bonus DVD featuring the music videos for all of the singles that have been released from the album Takk... so far, is due around the same time.

I'm looking forward to seeing the Australian Pink Floyd Project at the Aotea Centre on the twenty-second. They're a ten-piece rock band who will be accompanied by the full-strength Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra as they perform a Pink Floyd tribute concert with a twist -- a specially-written orchestral score that will no doubt give an even more epic interpretation of Pink Floyd's music. It's going to be brilliant.

Dungen are a reknowned Swedish progressive rock band who are scheduled to visit New Zealand for one show at the Kings Arms in Auckland on the twenty-fifth of this month. I'm interested in going to the gig not only because we don't get enough chances to see these sorts of acts perform in New Zealand, but on the basis of how great I think their music sounds as heard on their MySpace page, and having read rave reviews of Dungen's live performances, with their extended psychedelic wig-outs punctuated by Zeppelin-like riffing. It could also give me a chance to meet some other people in Auckland who, like me, might aspire to seeing the meshing together of a proper local art rock scene.

In order to cover the costs of these numerous expensive events that will be taking place throughout the month of July, as well as the bill of almost nine hundred dollars for the servicing and repair of my car (trust me, the old Oculus is a different beast now... No more engine gagging and bunny-hopping at speed in the cold, to name but one massively significant improvement), I have had to take up full-time work at my dad's work for the rest of the holidays, performing “the bum jobs.” That means I'm sacrificing every weekday remaining in the holidays for money. It's an interesting working environment. I've worked there several times before.

The job involves factory work and the types of people appropriate to such activities. They speak in a different dialect entirely to my usual student co-workers – a dialect that I've found I'm able to tune into quite well after my constant dual piss-taking and embracing of the Radio Hauraki-listening tradesman stereotype in the company of friends. But it's not all like this at the factory. One individual in particular has proved interesting -- an ex-philosophy student of the University of Auckland, now a middle-aged factory worker who boasts that because cannabis stays in one's system for six weeks after one has smoked it, he has technically not been clean since 1970. His voice is constantly cracking in excitement as I tell him of Arts lecturers that I know of at the University of Auckland whom he apparently had for classes in his time and that are still teaching the same classes now.

This afternoon, after he illustrated to me an alternative, more effective method of assembling a certain component, I made the observation, "Oh, logic," to which he classically replied, "It's as if Aristotle was never even born to you, isn't it?" A few moments later he sought assurance from me that Aristotle was in fact the person who invented logic. After I confirmed this, he laughed, "This is going back a few years." His face then took on a more serious expression -- "I should know by now not to doubt myself." People at work call him a "weirdo" behind his back, but I think that everybody needs to make more of an effort to understand this guy and his choice of car, a humble Hillman Imp. He's obviously awesome.

Illusion of Certainty

2006-07-01T11:20:00.000+12:00

Finally, it is definite what papers I will be taking next semester:

ARTHIST 204 Contemporary Art and Theory;
ANTHRO 238 Musics of the Pacific;
LATINAM 201 Latin American History and Culture Through Film;
POLITICS 237 Security Studies

Sorry, Pie, I just thought ANTHRO 219 would have been too frustrating for me.

Lovely weather, isn't it? Auckland's been so lucky to have had this weather for practically all of the past week, especially considering what's been going on in the South Island -- eighteen days without power? As an Aucklander, I certainly would have trouble coping with that. Then there's been the snowfall in the central North Island that caused all of the main roads through there to be closed, which also makes me ponder, how might that have affected the skiing holiday of Pie and friends?

It's been very cold -- I don't remember a previous winter that has required me to wear several sweatshirts over the top of one another -- but the overwhelmingly sunny skies have made up for it. Last Sunday I went for an epic and emotionally refreshing walk along the Te Henga track from Muriwai to Bethells Beach (which I had attempted but aborted in the summer due to unpleasant cicada swarming), only to find that I had been walking for so long that I wouldn't be able to make it back across the cliff faces to where my car was before dark. I had to get Dad to pick me up and take me on the decidedly long circumnavigational trip to my ailing vehicle.

Since then, winter has also claimed my car -- not really surprising considering I've driven it for around twenty-five thousand kilometres since I bought it and it hasn't been serviced in that time. The people at the garage couldn't start it when it was left there -- they had to roll it into the workshop! This is after it stalled at a set of traffic lights on the way there (in its state of disrepair, the car required you to rev the shit out of it when stationary to keep the engine running) and had to be bump-started down a hill in reverse. I won't have it back until at least Tuesday, and the repairs are going to cost a lot, but that's the way it goes. I'm heading to reapply at Pak 'n Save as soon as I get the car back because I'm in such need of money. I am currently rationing seven dollars.

I hope everyone who had exams found them alright and are enjoying their new freedom now that exams are over. I feel good about my ethnomusicology and politics exam efforts, but not so much about my one in media studies -- I'm in limbo over that one and have no idea whether I am going to pass the paper. Roughly thirty-five per cent in the exam will pass me. Not that I'm too concerned. The main bother would be that I'd endured a semester of a terrible subject, only for my time spent to yield no fruit. Ooh yeah.

Pachiderm

2006-06-05T11:45:00.000+12:00

I felt the need to comment on the Green Party's annual general meeting which was held over the earlier part of the weekend.

Russel Norman was elected as the new male co-leader of the party. He's no Rod Donald yet, but he seems to have what it takes to be a practical face for the party. Norman's election to the co-leadership is important because I believe it heralds a move towards the Green Party attempting to deradicalise their public image. Nandor Tanczos is associated with particularly contentious issues -- ones that certainly don't have the populist potential of some of the Greens' other approaches -- and had he secured the co-leadership, which would have been a possibility because he was second in the party election behind Norman, it's possible the party would be on borrowed time. People from outside of the party faithful have already started complaining about the fact that he's Australian but that's the way it goes I guess; and ultimately their opinion doesn't matter anyway, because they're not in the Green pool of support.

Another significant feature of the event was the Greens' adjustment of their alignment with Labour. As the Herald noted, the Greens are seeking to "reassert their independence and disown the political left as their home." This could be taken as an attempt to appeal further to their support pool, many of whom are in fact students or other people who perceive themselves to be radical, alternative and unique. It would be fair to say that many supporters do not want to feel associated with the Labour Party, especially in light of its recent forays rightwards towards the centre, and its stance on roads that was revealed in the most recent Budget.

But perhaps the biggest upset was Jeanette Fitzsimons's declaration that the Green Party would consider entering into an agreement with National if the major party were to commit to policies of sustainable growth, even though as reported in the Herald they "would work with National and Labour on an issue basis and any closer relationships would be determined election by election." This is despite the Greens' decidedly left-wing disposition ("support for the oppressed and disadvantaged and in the battle over more social services or tax cuts") being in significant contrast to National's more neo-liberal, entrepreneurially-oriented approaches to the same areas. Whether this is a divergence from the key social democratic principles of the Green Party in favour of putting the environmental issues at the fore remains to be seen in practice.

Throughout the meeting the speakers emphasised their perceived folly of Finance Minister Michael Cullen's extra road funding that was assigned in the Budget, repeatedly alluding to the fact that he should "get out of his limo" and take public transport with the common man, to get an idea of how overcrowded and generally inadequate it is. Jeanette Fitzsimons also ventured at one point that "if the battle is between tax cuts and a massive spending splurge on new roads in the middle of a long-term oil crisis, we might even go for tax cuts." The scope for moving further astray from the left ideology of the party is certainly there and it seems to me that the Greens are planning such moves.

riPPLed iriss

2006-06-03T16:19:00.000+12:00

I got seventy-six per cent -- a B+ -- in my four thousand word politics essay about MMP. All I can say is the tutor must be a very easy marker because I was convinced that that was one of the sloppiest essays I had ever written. It was all padding. Considering the C mark I got for my foreign policy analysis essay which was one thousand five hundred words (the conclusion has been reached that the tutor for that paper was a comparatively hard marker), this actual good mark is quite surprising. The essay was worth fifty per cent of the course marks!

It's strange to think that classes for semester one are over already. On Thursday I will be sitting my first exam, and the one that is the most important to me -- ethnomusicology. I could be studying for that right now but I think I deserve a break after the massive, consistent effort I've put into my assignments over the past couple of weaks (chortle chortle). In less than a month, it will be the holidays proper. After those, it'll be back to uni, which will be very different. The current paper line-up is:

Politics 222 Public Policy: Power and Processes
Politics 237 Security Studies
Latinam 201 Latin American History and Culture Through Film; and
Sociology 208 Work and Leisure

The former two are under question. The only reason they came first in the list is because they are the most important to my degree, which includes a politics major. It is bad that Paul Buchanan has pulled out of Security Studies because he was a significant motivation for my enrolling in the paper -- in fact, practically the only motivation. There is much deliberation ahead.

I have bought two albums in the past two weeks, at a total cost of twenty-four dollars and ninety-five cents (they were bargains, but that is beside the point). This is not wise behaviour considering I do not have a job, and at the same time have a car to run and a weekly contribution of forty dollars to pay to my parents towards uni fees. I now have forty dollars to last myself until after the exams, when I will finally get back into work. The reason I'm not doing it now is not because I need time to study, but it's because I wouldn't want to piss off my new employer by requiring leave for exams virtually straight away. In other news, my mother continues to reiterate that if I change my minor from media studies to anthropology, she will pull funding from my degree and I will have to get a student loan. She can't see me getting a job in any other area, besides the media. She doesn't believe I could be an academic. Pfeh.

I still haven't showered today yet. It would mean I'd have to wrap a plastic bag around my foot.

Welcome Home Mark Inglis

2006-05-26T07:55:00.000+12:00

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)

2006-05-22T18:11:00.000+12:00

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.

2006-05-19T21:21:00.000+12:00

Everything is perfect.

Achtung

2006-05-16T10:42:00.000+12:00

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

2006-05-11T09:43:00.000+12:00

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

2006-05-08T20:16:00.000+12:00

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."

2006-05-07T12:30:00.000+12:00

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

2006-05-04T20:40:00.000+12:00

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?

The Right Way

2006-04-29T19:55:00.000+12:00

Anything I said about staying at the orchard long-term is hereby taken back. It's clear to me that the owners place practically no value in individual workers. All they're concerned about is having a platoon of people who are desperate to work that they can swindle as they see fit to achieve their dark goals of having an absolutely continuous, tsunamatic cashflow. I gave them the benefit of the doubt when I found they hadn't paid me time and a half for Easter Monday, as they are legally entitled to do. I put it down to human error and felt confident that they would reimburse me soon enough. But it turns out that the company policy is not to pay anybody time and a half at all, regardless of whether it is the law.

When I confronted the owners about it, first they said they consider me a casual worker and as such I am "not actually entitled to time and a half." I quickly despatched that argument by citing that it is required by law that all workers who work on a public holiday are entitled to time and a half, whether they are casual or not. Their argument was also easily rubbished because I am aware that the man who supervises work in the orchard and who has worked there for eight years has never once been paid time and a half in his entire time there. Only recently has the fact that he's being ripped off been brought to his attention, when his wife pointed it out on his payslip with outrage.

With that argument discredited, they moved to try and excuse themselves, saying that they're "pretty flexible" in their allowing me to come back "ten minutes late from lunch," as if my missteps would make up for their breaching the law in underpaying the entire workforce. All the while, the male owner opted to twiddling an appendage of a nearby feijoa tree, making minimal eye contact with me -- because he knows I'm right, and he knows the workers cannot be fooled. A continuation of the argument, which was by now becoming very heated due to the owners' malicious confrontational style, involved the final claim that they have never paid people time and a half before, and that as such it would be unfair to the other workers to pay it to me now. Effectively they just admitted that ever since the Holidays Act 2003 kicked in, they have been abusing workers' rights and breaking the law. Also, none of us have contracts, and the law requires that employers provide workers -- even if they are casual -- with these. With that, they gave me my undersized pay packet and with a wry "bye," drove away together on their freakish off-road mobility scooter.

You can understand that part of me wants to see the orchard levelled and a massive Midnight Oil concert held on the former site, and I can say I will certainly be showing the owners the documents off of the Department of Labour Web site that specify all of our rights as workers. If they don't comply then, I'll be calling the Department of Labour inspectors to the site to force the owners to pull their fingers out. Then, I'll leave. It's times like these you wish unions were more prominent in this society. But I'm actually really excited about the prospect of getting a new job, and have been searching for one as of the start of this week -- I'm considering retail, as I'm sure I don't want to be involved in manual labour ever again. In retrospect, Pak 'n Save was even alright. If I got anywhere near as assertive to the Pak 'n Save management as I did to the owners of the orchard yesterday, I'd have all my concerns acted upon. Maybe I'll even get a job on the Shore.

I've yet to start work on my four thousand word politics essay that is due on Friday. I can certainly do it -- it's feasible -- but it's going to require some intensive effort, not like I've been putting in today -- playing Genesis loudly on my fantastic Transonic boombox and dancing in my bedroom is too much of a distraction. It's gotten to the stage where I'm feeling a touch unenthused about uni at the moment. Two of my four papers have turned out to be pretty much dissatisfactory. One has been alright, while ethnomusicology is undoubtedly my best choice this semester. I couldn't fault it, but could merely fault myself for not knowing how to read and perform music, or sing properly in the technical sense, because I think those skills would've helped me get more out of this paper.

I was blown away upon arriving at Cynthia's house last night, expecting the usual dinner and America's Next Top Model-watching session with Cynthia, Alison and Nicola that graces every Friday night, to find an awesome surprise party had been organised for me. I made a distinctly "Gary" entrance, in that I was displeased with the slight tongue-in-cheek reprimand that I received from Cynth as a result of my being late, and made no secret of this; after all, I had already had to go and buy a certain kind of ice cream (I am the specified provider of desserts to our evenings). This only serves to accentuate how much I wasn't expecting a surprise party. First Ali's and Cynth's painting and pinata, now this! I was only just starting to realise that people actually like me until now, when it's suddenly hit me. It's wonderful and touching and I am so grateful for all of my friends. Ali had even invited Mat and Andrew to the party, so all of my best friends were there. I had a crown, a throne, a Winston Peters pinata and The Dark Side of the Moon birthday cake! Unbelievable. It was seriously the best birthday party ever and made me feel really special. I never, ever dreamed that I would have such awesome friends that would do something like this for me. But I do.

Nimrod

2006-04-25T12:56:00.000+12:00

I have a job working at a feijoa orchard now. I've actually been there for at least a month. Its good points include the fact that it's literally a four minute drive away from my house, and that I have the opportunity to eat feijoas constantly as I work. I am responsible for picking the fruit -- both fresh ones from trees, and ones from the ground that are to be used by Marc Ellis's company Charlie's to make juice. It was supposed to be that I'd be required to grade and pack them as well, but it seems the owners are content having me strain my back outside of the packhouse (you'd be surprised how much of a toll being constantly bent over for eight and a half hours a day has on your body).

So this brings me to the bad points. The work is not exactly easy. Although picking fruit from the trees may be alright physically, it's very much a knack that one has to acquire to be able to determine which fruit are ripe and ready for picking, and which are the almost-ripe-but-not-really kind that Alison likes but that are apparently not fit for sale. Also, as with all jobs of this kind, the management are rubbish. The job advertisement on Student Job Search said I'd be paid twelve dollars an hour; upon my arrival for my interview I was told I'd start on ten dollars and fifty cents an hour, and work my way up once they felt I was picking the fruit quickly and efficiently enough. However, I've been there for at least a month, as I said, and I haven't received a pay rise. A quite well-skilled Brazilian worker who has been there since before me is also earning the same 'non-optimum' amount.

Almost all of the other pickers are Tuvaluans who understandably speak to each other in their native tongue as often as possible, because they are not very clear English speakers. This is not a racist sentiment I am expressing here, but it does make me feel alienated -- decidedly lonely -- when I'm told where to sit at lunchtime, away from their group, whilst they talk and laugh in another language and listen to loud music that is sung in another language with an irritating, cheap synthesised instrumental in the background. I started trying to strike up conversations with the Brazilian man, who also does not know much English, with significant success, but suddenly and without warning he stopped coming to work, so I tend to go home for my lunch now. It's a welcome chance to watch a snippet of bullshit daytime TV and speak to my sisters.

Obviously one of the most significant factors against my job is that the work is mundane, repetitive and boring and has me climbing up the walls once I get home at about four thirty in the afternoon. The fact that it's outdoors means that rainy days are not only depressing, but they actually have the physical effect of soaking me to the skin, and (oh my goodness no) leaking through the cover of my mobile and making the ink in my custom cover run. So I'm currently conceptualising a Sigur Ros cover to replace my Pink Floyd one that I've had since I bought the phone. There are also mosquitoes positively everywhere, and roosters that never shut the heck up. Yesterday, I stood in a rooster poo. It was as big as a rooster and almost made me slip over. But I've just rattled off a rant here and the job is in reality better than I have made it sound. It's good working so close to home, when the weather is good it is actually enjoyable to work outdoors, and the owners are flexible enough to allow me to work only on the two weekdays that I don't have uni, Tuesday and Wednesday -- though at the moment I am working full-time, since it is the holidays.

This is a low-quality-but-still-neat-to-listen-to recording of the Sigur Rós concert in Auckland last Monday (follow the initial link, then right-click and save target as IC_B_002.mp3), recorded by frenger.jp of the Sigur Rós Message Boards. I am still entranced by this concert, more than a week on, and all the music I've listened to since has been Sigur Rós. Listening to this recording now, I realise that Georg Holm's bass playing that night was so superb. Rather than the smooth, almost bass synth-esque sound that he usually contributes to Sigur Ros's music, the bass tone was coarse and throaty, while maintaining the long residual notes that are so important to the nature of the music. I really liked it. One of my favourite Sigur Ros moments is on Takk... when Georg's wonderful thrumming bassline carries the residual tinkling of Hoppípolla into Með Blóðnasir, and this was delivered even better live.

Jonsi's singing was at peak perfection as well. A highlight of the concert for me was the performance of Ný Batterí, where Jonsi alternated between vocal lines, from ethereally gentle baby-like coos to dramatic, emotional uses of the full capacity of his lungs. There were several points like this throughout the concert where I found myself getting quite choked up. Wow, I mean it was just brilliant. This recording of course doesn't do the experience proper justice, but for people who were at the concert in particular it is a great way to reminisce and tap into some of those amazing feelings again. All the memorable moments are there. As an aside, I discovered as I was writing my blog entry the other day that I share my birthday with Jonsi, when I saw the birthday thread on the Sigur Rós Message Boards. I thought that was pretty cool, personally...

I love how he sometimes shows this immense pain in his face when he sings, and it's down to the audience to interpret what is causing that pain, through the visuals and the music alone because we do not understand the Icelandic lyrics and in many cases Jonsi's not even singing in a real language at all. Sigur Rós are so good. And Jonsi is so good...

Good Weather For Airstrikes

2006-04-23T11:11:00.000+12:00

It turns out that, funnily enough, the ceasing of writing political commentary on my blog was a natural progression from starting to take a more positive approach to life. In my opinion I've had enough to deal with in my own life without feeling the need to complain about the state of the rest of the world. That sentiment may seem selfish, but it's not intended to be. I was taking blogging too seriously. Making A Hole In The Wall was never supposed to yield intense commentary; it was supposed to help people get to know me better by allowing me to express myself more openly and coherently, giving them a window into my personality. It was meant to prove that personal blogs can in fact be of high quality. That's the role this blog shall play from now on. Writing blog entries won't feel like writing essays anymore.

Also, partly in recognition of my belief that blogs are not something to be taken too seriously, I'm seriously considering swapping the FTVMS 203 Techno-culture and New Media paper that I am currently enrolled in for next semester with ANTHRO 215 Human Sexuality. I understand that the new media paper does not focus solely on blogs, but I am becoming decreasingly enthused by the media as a whole and am thinking about changing my minor to Anthropology.

The holidays have been very good so far and I feel I've had a full two weeks' worth of fun even though in reality only one week has passed. Two concerts and a comedy show have graced my past week of life. The Rolling Stones last Sunday were impressive, but Sigur Rós surpassed that. From closing my eyes and beaming uncontrollably during Hoppípolla to singing along to the dramatic Popplagið encore-finale, the Icelandic quartet and their support Amiina fulfilled all of my expectations and then some. The audience was the most rightfully enthusiastic one I have ever been a part of and the atmosphere comprised a cool wash of intense positivity and contentment. I'll never forget the sensation I had during Hoppípolla; all that energy of genuine, beautiful good nature.

The New Zealand Herald review of the concert feels as though the author is restraining himself. People have a tendency to gush when they write about Sigur Rós's music (see my 'review' of the album Takk..., of which I am extremely proud, from last October, to which Hannah commented we should e-mail-rally the band to come to New Zealand). Russell Baillie, who wrote the Herald article, mentioned that he had "a lump in [his] throat and the makings of tears" but that's as far as he wandered into the territory of attempting to describe the in many cases indescribable emotional response that Sigur Rós's music has a tendency to evoke in people. It's a review worth reading nonetheless. Monday night's concert was the single best musical experience I have ever had in my life. It was the best $61 I have ever spent, and I say that with not a skerrick of doubt. It would have been worth the admission price to see Amiina, let alone the best band recording in the world today as well.

These two photos were taken at the Auckland show by Vic_ of the Sigur Rós Message Board. Amiina are visible on the strings in the background in both photos. The bottom photo shows (left to right) Jónsi Birgisson, Georg Holm and Orri Páll Dýrason. Keyboardist-guitarist Kjartan Sveinsson was off to the left of the shot. Now, I'm not really one to have crushes on "famous" people, but I must confess I've always had a massive crush on Jónsi and the spectacular show has only served to throw oil on the fire. I know it's trivial, but hey, you know more about me now.

Dylan Moran, who you may be familiar with as the actor who plays the character Bernard in the British comedy Black Books, provided a brilliant stand-up comedy routine on Friday night -- which I attended with Alison and Cynthia -- in the tradition of Bernard's slurring, wearied-by-the-world attitude that is a lot to do with why the television show is so entertaining. Quips as to the way that modern people live life were mixed in with the exploitation of stereotypes of nationality and piss-takes of New Zealand, producing a potent comedic cocktail which it felt as though Dylan had certainly consumed his fair share of! (Sorry, that really was a heinously entertainment-journalistic sentence.)

Since it's my birthday today, Alison and Cynthia painted me an awesome picture featuring a mixture of their respective awesome artistic styles, and also made me a domino pinata with Aviator sunglasses and a handlebar moustache. Sheer brilliance. I was really surprised. I didn't think they even knew when my birthday was, let alone that any kind of deal would be made about it. I'm really touched. This is the first time in my life where I've had heaps of friends genuinely wishing me a happy birthday. It just sums up for me how brilliant the past year-and-a-bit has been and how wonderful all the people I have met are. I was going to pretend that I hadn't had a birthday and that I hadn't reached the age of nineteen, but now I'm not worried about that because I'm excited about growing up with all my great friends.

Gig Ears

2006-03-02T20:45:00.000+13:00

I'm becoming concerned with the damage that is being done to my hearing. I understand that it is my entirely my fault that this is happening, but I really don't like to think that my ability to enjoy music and hold efficient conversations is going to decrease over time. I am certainly looking forward to seeing Cold By Winter perform at Eden's Bar tomorrow night; however, the ringing in my ears that it will inevitably cause is not something that I am looking forward to. Eric is going to call me a "pussy" for this, but I'm resolving never to go to a gig without ear plugs again -- except Sigur Rós, because some things should just remain unadultered. I don't socialise at gigs anyway -- I'm there for the art -- so wearing ear plugs shouldn't make much difference to my existence except that it will prevent my ears from being mutilated internally. Consider it a part of my perspective-changing -- how can I be happy if I can't get the most out of music anymore?

As well as wearing ear plugs, I have resolved not to read Craccum anymore. I will still be collecting the issues and adding them to my collection (funnily enough), but I intend not to turn a page or read a word of Craccum again. Yes, it contains some good articles, and is edited by one Mr Sproull, but most of the "content" is rubbish and deserving of being described inside of quotation marks that denote the fact that it isn't really content at all. I'm not sure if I want to be a journalist anymore, but if I was, I know I would be ashamed to have had early experience in Craccum, as some "current" media personalities have. I am not being negative. Craccum is something that makes me negative and cynical and as such, I am ridding myself of it for the sake of my mental clarity. Just to clarify, this means that if you have read this magazine, you do not refer me to articles or wave the thing in my face, please.

I caught the ferry home for the first time today, and am very glad I did so. Six dollars and fifty cents to get from the city to my doorstep in half an hour is well worth it if you ask me. Even waiting for the ferry was lovely, sitting on the steps down at the quay -- though I do imagine this case would have been significantly different if it weren't for the fact that this is such a mild and inoffensive evening, not just in terms of weather conditions but everything else as well. The vessel itself was like a larger-than-usual watertaxi, and travelled like a speedboat, complete with all the bucking. The splashes caused by the bow repeatedly gouging into the water's surface went right over the top of the boat and ran down the windows. It was great fun. The ferry was flash inside too, with all properly upholstered seats. I listened to Peter Gabriel on my head phones whilst the suit in front of me played Solitaire on his laptop, and kicked arse I might add. Overall, I was very impressed with the experience and I can confidently say that I'll be making frequent use of the service from now on.

I'll be catching the ferry on Friday mornings as well as Thursday evenings. To get to uni in time for my eight o' clock class on Friday on a train would require me to catch a service so early that my mum wouldn't be able to drop me off at the station for it (the station is a long way from my house, but right next to Mum's work, so if I time it right she can take me when she goes to work in the morning). That's why I caught the ferry home today as well -- my last class finished at six o' clock, which meant I couldn't have caught a train back in time for Mum to pick me up from the train station. Goodness me, I adore public transport. Forget the stress of driving, the guilt of destroying the environment, and the bastards who run the car park and increased the charge as soon as they had no competition from the other car park next to it. It all ceases to matter when one's on a bus, ferry, or train (moreso the latter two) with one's headphones in one's ears, or talking to one of those awesome public transport acquaintances that we all have.

The Blank Days

2006-02-28T11:50:00.000+13:00

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.

Dodge The Leafleteers

2006-02-27T21:38:00.000+13:00

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.

Turning Over A New Tree

2006-02-26T11:58:00.000+13:00

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.

Phase Two

2006-02-18T15:38:00.000+13:00

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.

Force Feeding

2006-02-17T15:12:00.000+13:00

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.

Kookaburra Gay Your Life Must Be

2006-02-14T21:44:00.000+13:00

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.

Cross-Culture

2006-01-20T15:01:00.000+13:00

Rodney offered a few days ago a piece of commentary that I feel compelled to refer back to, due to the fact that I found it to so skew the perceived response to the issue in question. What happened, according to the Herald article, is that on 24 November a Dutch tourist allegedly cracked a "nervous grin" during a traditional Maori welcoming ritual. Other reports suggest that he was showing an expression of disrespectful amusement towards what was going on. One performer in the welcome, Richard Minarapa Mitai-Ngatai, impulsively took the latter to be the factual case and proceeded to assault the tourist by headbutting him in the face.

The performer has been sentenced to one hundred and fifty hours' worth of community service, with the judge having agreeably stated that although he understands Mitai-Ngatai's feelings of cultural pride, an attack on a tourist would have been unacceptable no matter the circumstance; whether the tourist was silently ridiculing the ritual or not. It would appear that no conclusion has yet been reached as to whether the tourist was intending to convey the offense that was perceived. The Herald article mentions that the judge covered the idea that it is important that tourists are able to feel that they are safe when they visit New Zealand.

It would appear that Rodney made leverage of that last point with the intent of painting Maori cultural performers as some kind of public health risk. "Traditional welcomes need to include a government health warning and tourists need an education programme before arriving in New Zealand," he says. "The call follows Dutch tourist Johannes Scheffers being headbutted 'backwards with blood ejecting from his nose' following his nervous grin." Rodney refers to "the call" in such a way that could provide the impression that it's a position being taken on by the court when, amusingly, it is in fact nothing but his own dishonourable attempt to paint Maori culture as primitive and savage on the basis of one man's kneejerk reaction.

Today is my last full day in the country before I leave for Australia tomorrow morning. I'll be there for two weeks. I must say that now that the time has almost come to leave, in retrospect it somehow feels thoroughly rewarding to have sold my summer of 2004 and 2005 in order to secure a bit of money. It's all about to pay off. Having not been overseas since 1999 I am very much looking forward to the experience; I feel that it's really going to mean something to me to spend some time in a different, albeit comfortingly similar, society. During the previous times I've been to Australia, I haven't had the maturity to understand the significance of my being overseas. This time it's going to be a thoroughly interesting personal growth experience. As if the fact that I'm travelling internationally under my own financial power isn't enough, I'll have more-or-less free boarding with my cousins, which is sure to make the overall experience all the more enjoyable! I hope you all have a great two weeks and that I don't miss out on anything too major. Take care!

To Kill The Whale

2006-01-19T11:32:00.000+13:00

It has been interesting, but at the same time shocking and eye-opening, to read Greenpeace's Ocean Defenders' blog. Among those who publish there are a tight-knit band of people who are not only providing moral, financial and intellectual support to the global anti-whaling movement -- as many everyday citizens of various countries do very willingly -- but are involved on the very front lines, confronting the Japanese whale-slaughtering armada head-on in the interests of saving the lives of some of the Earth's most intelligent, beautiful and vulnerable creatures. Their accounts tell the brutal reality of the sorts of crimes against nature that Japan's modern "scientific whaling" programme entails.

The concept that supposedly rational human beings are doing away with these beautiful creatures is hard enough to stomach. The fact that they're doing it inside the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary, the one area in the world where whales are supposed to be able to find true safety from the likes of commercial interests, adds to one's disgust. But the manner in which they are killed is the cyanide icing on the profit-driven cake. People not directly involved in the events are often not aware of exactly how the whales are slaughtered. The Ocean Defenders blog provides a much-needed wake-up call by presenting unadulterated accounts of the deaths of whales and the aggression of the crew of the Japanese expedition.

Gone are the days when the only thing used to kill a whale was a simple harpoon, often driven by hand into the whale's flesh -- as if that wasn't bad enough. Modern technology has allowed increasingly violent, but seemingly not much more effective, methods of murder to be produced and utilised. The harpoons are now launched out of a cannon, weighing forty-five kilograms and tipped with a grenade. Upon impact -- more often than not with a whale -- the grenade explodes, yielding horrific effects. A whale will frequently survive this first part of the ordeal, only to find itself in no-doubt unbearable amounts of pain, already mortally wounded and with a harpoon embedded in its flesh. It is then reeled in towards the ship, via the cable attached to the harpoon, as it writhes in agony and is shot with guns by the crew onboard the vessel. Death is not a quick process. Greenpeace activists often find themselves having to put whales out of their misery. In the past I have even seen footage where a whale is electrocuted until it dies just over twelve minutes after having been initially hit with the harpoon. I am not aware that that technique has been used most recently, but the prior method of murder that I described is how the total of more than nine-hundred whales taken so far this "season" have died.

The whalers are now even showing a disregard for human life, with the highly-publicised firing of a harpoon directly over the top of a Greenpeace protest speedboat on 14 January having raised tensions markedly. The activists had positioned themselves in between the bow of a whaling vessel and its otherwise helpless prey in an attempt to protect the creature, but the harpoon operator launched his weapon at the whale regardless of the fact that there were human beings that could have been caught in its path. When the cable, caught on the console of the much smaller boat, went taut, it threw one activist into the water. This incident follows the aggressive actions of the ship's harpoon operator that morning, when he allegedly took aim at the protest speedboats with the loaded rifle used to shoot at whales. Although the activists are understandably upset by all of this carry on, the harpoon operators' actions may yet prove to be of tactical benefit to their cause -- the whalers now appear to be making no secret of their own inhumanity, and the scrutinising eyes of the world are set firmly on their behaviour.

He's Just A Dumb Animal

2006-01-18T09:34:00.000+13:00

I at last saw Peter Jackson's King Kong yesterday, and it's probably just as well because I was probably nearing prosecution for having not seen it yet and thus being un-Kiwi. I was sceptical as to whether I personally was going to be able to last the whole three hours of the epic, especially considering that Alison, Nicola, Brendan and I ended up sitting in the the very front row -- much of the film's duration was spent in an almost limbo-like position -- but it turned out to be alright. There was not a point at which I recall being bored, and my back held out. On those grounds alone the movie has a lot going for it.

The scenes involving the creatures on the island were superbly well-imagined, with the awesome logistics of creating such a spectacle being very apparent. During these scenes there was usually an incomprehensible, but somehow appreciable, amount of things going on at any one moment. Of course, there were a lot of single moments -- three hours worth of them, in fact -- so I surmise that they had to be action-packed in order to maintain the audience's attention. I had the feeling that the action served to offset the slow pace of the decidedly long-winded narrative, making the time pass a lot faster and thus making the experience in its entirety more palletable. The introduction of new island inhabitants that were not seen in the original King Kong film of 1933 impressed me also. They were fittingly selected, and seemed just plain right; although I was vaguely disconcerted by the water-borne mutilated phallic entities, which were just plain wrong.

Let it be known, however, that as the duration of the long action scenes wear further on, they have a tendency to become more and more overblown and reach the point where they are almost comical and fun as a result. I'll admit it was some good light relief but I thought it was possibly detrimental to the overall experience. It's the only significant qualm that I have about Peter Jackson's film. To have people laughing doesn't seem particularly appropriate given the huge weight afforded to the narrative by Ann Darrow's elaborately-depicted development of empathy with Kong.

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the way that said empathy was painted -- although I am certainly of the opinion that it got excessively Mighty Joe Young at many points, I recognise that the overly emotional connection between the creature and its captor, as well as the blatantly-illustrated human traits of Kong's character, added important weight to the tragic finale (which, I am pleased to say, had an audible effect on people). The conclusion of the original King Kong film made me feel a skerrick of sadness at the fate of the beast, but the sadness was prevented from becoming anything more due to the fact that Kong's underlying compassionate nature had not been explored much at all. This was improved on in the re-make, however. All of Peter Jackson's King Kong's excesses came together to powerfully portray the indescribable shame that is the refusal of the vast majority of the human species to even attempt to empathise with their animal acquaintances, and the results of such ignorance, making for a moving -- if depressing -- ending.

Thought For Thought

2006-01-12T09:53:00.000+13:00

When I was away camping, I spent many of the frequent periods of recouperation reading David Brin's science fiction novel Earth. The author is a former consultant to NASA and graduate-level physics professor, so when it comes to science, one can be confident he knows what he's talking about. The range of themes covered in-depth by the epic also proves that Brin has a solid grasp on sociological dissection. Earth is futurist Brin's depiction of one possible future of the planet, set in 2038.

What is probably one of the most compelling, and at the same time chilling, factors about this book is that it was first published in 1990, and yet already many of Brin's predictions for the far future have come true, including -- but not limited to -- the rise of an international data network (the Internet) to intense prominence in world citizens' day-to-day lives and, most unfortunately, the drowning of New Orleans.

New Zealand holds a pivotal role in the novel to boot, with significant events taking place in the ground underneath the volcanic plateau in the central North Island, and even in the Waitomo Caves. The cavitronic operation to remove a theoretically-inspired micro black hole from the Earth's core, which provides the locus to the story, is overseen by a highly successful Maori entrepreneur named George Hutton. It's good to see someone depicting a positive, prosperous future for Maori for once, especially without neglecting to furnish the character with the appropriate cultural allegiance and pride.

Our culture's depiction in the novel is even more heartening in that Brin paints the country as a true environmental oasis in his carefully and thoughtfully constructed idea of a future world. It's one of the few places remaining on the entire globe where legally designated "quiet zones" are not needed to be established in pieces of wilderness in order to create locations where there are no intrusive influences of technology, such as the sounds of jets flying over and the like. New Zealand's rainforests are rendered as among the most healthy prosperous in the world, having not suffered the massive die-offs and climate changes evident in other countries.

I found Brin's forays into the philosophy of the mind to be of particular relevance to what I have been thinking about recently. The idea is that I apparently do not know my "self" well enough to be able to properly express who I really am, and as a result people close to me are getting the impression that I am holding back. In the novel, Doctor Jen Wolling and her young student Nelson Grayson discuss the status of "the self" in the human mind:

[Nelson said] "We talked before about how--how the cells in my body compete and cooperate to make a whole person. And I been reading some of those theories 'bout how individual people could be looked at the same way ... like, y'know, organs or cells cooperating and competing to make up societies. And how the same ... metaphor--"
"How the same metaphor's been applied to the role species play in Earth's ecosphere, yes. Those are useful comparisons, so long as we remember that's all they are. Just comparisons, similes, models of a much more complicated reality."
He nodded. "But now you're sayin' even our minds are like that?"
"And why not?" Dr. Wolling laughed. "The same processes formed complexity in nature, in our bodies, and in cultures. Why shouldn't they work in our minds as well?"
Put that way, it sounded reasonable enough. "But then, why do we think we're individuals? Why do we hide from ourselves the fact we're so many inside? What's the me that's thinkin' this, right now?"

My inclusion of this excerpt serves to introduce in reasonably-easy-to-understand terms the theoretical concept that the human mind, as opposed to consisting of a single self, is rather made up of a countless number of subselves, all competing to establish themselves as the consciousness -- that is, the limited few aspects of a person's mind that are outwardly expressed. The subselves are also cooperating in a sense whilst they engage in this competition, as it directly results in them constantly increasing in complexity and clarity for the purposes of outdoing each other. The collection of highly developed subselves or metaphorical "organisms" that results, is "the mind." Later on in Brin's narrative, Wolling goes on to consider why people feel the need to identify a singular self, or identity, that may be attributed to their mind.

Our subselves usually aren't distinct, except in multiple personality disorder. Rather, a normal person's drives and impulses merge and cleave, marry and sunder, forming temporary alliances to make us feel and act in certain ways.
So far so good. The evidence for some form of multimind model was overwhelming. But then came the rub.
If I consist of many, why do I persist in perceiving a central me at all! What is this consciousness that even now, as I think these thoughts, contemplates its own existence?
Jen remembered back when Thomas had tried to interest her in reading novels. He had promised that the best ones would prove enlightening. That their characters would "seem to come alive." But the protagonists were never realistic to Jen. Even when portrayed as confused or introspective, their thought processes seemed too straightforward. Too decisive. Only Joyce ever came close to depicting the real hurricane of internal conflict and negotiation, those vast, turbid seascapes surrounding an island of semi-calm that named itself "me."
Is that why I must imagine a unitary self? To give the storm a center? An "eye" to revolve around? An illusion of serenity, so the storm might be ignored most of the time? Or is it a way to rationalize a semblance of consistency? To present a coherent face to the outside world?

Most all of us seek to identify "a unitary self" for the reasons described here. These reasons partially explain why it has been suggested to me that I try and discover myself further; because people are not seeing much of a "coherent face" being expressed. Bearing Brin's theories in mind, however, and if they were to be true, this would essentially indicate that the effort that any of us is making is futile -- including my own. The fact that the subselves are endlessly competing and changing means that there is never a solid unitary self. So that would entail that consistency is actually impossible to achieve, and this is why such an undefined image of my mind is projected for other people to behold. In order for people to really "know" each other, the entire mass of subselves would have to be expressed at once; and of course that expression would be mindbogglingly complex to the point that nobody would be able to comprehend it anyway.

People want to be able to identify those close to them by associating them with sets of attributes that the subject outwardly expresses with the need for comprehensibility in mind. But as long as comprehensibility is regarded as of importance, only a handful of anyone's subselves are being exhibited. The true unitary self comprises the absolute entirety of the mind -- that's all of the countless subselves. In other words, ultimately, it could be argued that it's impossible to truly know one's self, let alone someone else's, because it is complex beyond the comprehension ability of the human mind. I, along with everyone else, "hold back" from partaking in overtly revealing expression for comprehensibility's sake. As an afterthought, it's interesting to consider that people with multiple personality disorders -- "insane" people -- are actually giving air to more of their subselves than "sane" individuals. That gives you an idea how confusing the world would be if everyone really knew everyone else. Everybody would seem even more incoherent. I'm extremely interested to hear your thoughts, whether about my situation, your own, or the overall theory. Do you think we should all stop trying to pin our respective unitary selves down? Is the task that I've just taken on with renewed fervour a proverbial wild goose chase? If you think you might be interested in reading David Brin's Earth, and if what you've heard about it here hasn't been enough to convince you to look into it, there is a sample in the form of the first ten chapters on the author's Web site.

The Commencement Of The 2006 Political Year

2006-01-10T19:45:00.000+13:00

I had half expected there to have been some sort of an upsurge in local political activity during the past couple of days, in reverence of Parliament's reconvening after its Christmas break. However, as span avidly pointed out, this particular hope would not appear to have come to pass. Since Winston Peters arrived home from his first outings as foreign minister, there's been little of real, significant interest on the local political front, with the socially attentive citizenry having been left to -- if they so wished -- follow the seemingly endless David Benson-Pope tennis-ball-in-mouth excuse-for-a-debacle.

Not even Rodney Hide had anything to say about this mildly momentous time of take-off, instead offering up some interesting, albeit brief, commentary on an issue that he felt keen to highlight. I fail to perceive the injustice that Rodney has chosen to see in this situation apparently for the purpose of gaining possession of decidedly weak ammunition to use against the Waitangi Tribunal. For a start his entry is successful in making it sound as if the Waitangi Tribunal is promoting these medal reallocations on a mass scale. Anyone who makes the effort to read the article will discover that the entry is misleading; that the reallocation request only in fact applies to one case. I believe that it is a very one-sided case at that, and do not understand why it has taken so many years to have any progress achieved towards Manahi rightfully receiving the award that he deserves.

At sea, however, the political climate is distinctly more turbulent, as a long battle continues to be fought in the Southern Ocean between Japanese commercial whalers -- who claim to be taking the creatures' lives for scientific purposes -- and various protest groups, including Greenpeace and the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. The event of the whaling factory ship Nisshin Maru colliding with Arctic Sunrise, a Greenpeace vessel that is involved in the protest action, has resulted in a rapid increase in the heat of the situation, virtually simultaneous to the reconvening of Parliament in New Zealand.

The Sea Shepherds appear to have responded by sideswiping the Oriental Bluebird, a Japanese-operated tanker allegedly being used to refuel whaling ships, using their leader Paul Watson's ship Farley Mowat as a weapon. Farley Mowat is equipped with a hull-mounted "heavy steel blade" that the Shepherds dub "the can opener." The Herald reports that the implement inflicted a long scratch along the side of the commercial vessel, and note is also made of the fact that since beginning their anti-whaling protest actions in 1979, the Shepherds have "sunk nine illegal whaling ships without causing injury." They are evidently a formidable organisation.
I read this piece by Greg Barns in the Herald last week with great interest. The overall idea that he is pushing, however, I find thoroughly disagreeable even though he provides a significant number of valid points. I am still staunchly of the opinion that, in the end, it is wrong to slaughter whales, as the Japanese are presently doing in breach of the Southern Ocean sanctuary, whether for scientific purposes, "sustainably," or especially commercially. It is wrong to argue that Japan has some kind of culturally-given right to commit these crimes against nature. There is no such thing as sustainable whaling. It is another situation in which humans need to put wildlife's rights ahead of those that they themselves perceive to be entitled to, particularly considering that although global whale numbers are slowly recovering, they still represent only a fraction of the original population.

Creature Comforts

2006-01-09T16:59:00.000+13:00

In stark contrast to the reasonably well-behaved conditions that were present during our last visit to Tawharanui, this time my family and I found ourselves hunkering down for the lightning and hail storms that had been forecast. Fortunately, neither of those things eventuated, but the overall nature of the holiday in my mind was still completely different to that of the prior adventure. I found myself instilled with an alternative set of goals. Now I was not there "merely" to appreciate the natural wonders of the sanctuary, but also to begin finding myself again after the onset of a massive identity crisis, brought on indirectly by the turning of the year. It appears to be the case that, cushioned in all the bourgeois complacency that I had developed with who I had become during the course of 2005 -- as exhibited in my last post of the year -- I had forgotten that I was in fact still partaking in the venerable task of finding myself. Hence, in retrospect of the past week, I guess this shock is something of a harsh return to reality more than anything.

One of the last things that my family did before leaving Tawharanui following our earlier visit was go for a walk along the "Ecology Trail" that does a loop along the coastline and through the bush, starting and finishing at Anchor Bay (although we took a shortcut that skipped the coastline section that time, due to the fact that my mother and aunt are not capable of walking that route). It was a truly heartening experience that I will not forget for some time to come. We had been warned beforehand that part of a bees' hive had fallen onto the bush track and that people were being advised to proceed with caution. The warnings didn't actually give one an idea of exactly how many bees were present in the forest, and how many were involved in the operation of retrieving the honey from the fallen honeycomb. It had to be seen to be believed. The phenomenon, to which words will never truly do justice, no doubt, was inspirational evidence that the sanctuary concept really works -- a positively prosperous empire of innumerable wild bees spread throughout the Tawharanui rainforest. One couldn't go anywhere in the shady oasis without hearing the constant drone of tiny transparent wings beating furiously, or without seeing the bees seemingly gliding spread-legged in majestic formation over the track, commuting between rich tea trees in their neverending labour of nectar collection.

You can understand how internally distraught I was when I overheard the friendly ranger Graham explaining to my parents that there had been some further developments in the situation. Apparently, during our absence another section of the hive had fallen down from the trees, causing the bees to become even more -- allegedly -- "instrusive" onto the track. That event had, by sheer coincidence, been followed by a massive branch falling off of a nearby tree in the vicinity of the hive -- and when I say a massive branch, I mean practically a secondary trunk extending out of the side of the tree. It was massive. The naturally-occurring wound to the probably-ancient puriri had caused a gaping hole in the forest canopy to open up, bathing the usually-gloomy area in shafts of life-giving sunlight. The disintegration of the monolithic plant will be of future benefit to the rainforest, as it will allow the small plants that have until now been subjugated to growing on the forest floor to properly mature. However, it had enraged the already-techy bees and the point had been reached where they were posing an apparently unignorable threat to passing bushwalkers.

So humanity took it upon themselves to murder that entire glorious empire and destroy everything that the bees had accomplished in the form of a thriving forest-wide plant gamete transfer system and a hive over two metres long. That terrific testament to nature's ingenuity of perfection, to the prosperity and the soul of the rainforest, was not to be tolerated as long as it might possibly pose any kind of threat to humans. It would seem possible that despite the fact that Tawharanui is supposed to be a sanctuary for wildlife, people still ultimately take priority. This reinforces my confidence in my quiet ponderences as to whether the peninsula has truly been fortified from introduced mammalian pestilence primarily in the interests of the native flora and fauna, or rather more with the intention of maintaining some kind of amusement park for humans. My idea is also backed up by the irreverant attitudes towards nature shown by many of the campers -- including, I am pained to say, my own Earth-raping family, who insist on hammering harmless spiders into the ground with tent pegs; and also those utter bastards who set off fireworks near the dune systems in the middle of the night. Graham said it was unfortunate that the bees had had to be exterminated but explained that it was likely some of the workers would limp off to found a new colony somewhere. Nonetheless I strongly believe that the reasonable, ethical thing to do would have been to close the track to public traffic and let nature and the hopefully-good-natured anti-pest ranger force go about their business in the forest.

I do not for one moment deny the potential for huge emotional, psychological and spiritual enrichment to be experienced by humans as a result of being involved with a pristine natural environment. I think it's a great immaterial resource for us to have at hand. But if we are serious about creating such living, breathing multi-organism entities, then we really have to start putting other species before ourselves, for once. Perhaps the reason for the murder of those bees, along with the countless other heinous compromises that have no doubt been committed by conservation groups all over the planet, is that humanity has become too used to crafting its circumstances to suit itself. Perhaps it is time that we considered doing what all life is intended to do, and adapt in order to overcome the natural adversities that we face. At the very least, individuals apparently working to save Earth's ecosystems should at this early stage accept the inherent benefits to humanity as perks and nothing more. Otherwise, I do not believe it can be legitimately argued that they are acting in the interests of the natural world as opposed to out of self-interest.

Discrete Retreat

2006-01-01T18:06:00.000+13:00

The tactical handing-in of my notice of resignation to the supermarket went ahead without any problems yesterday. For a while it was looking as if I was going to have to face the department manager directly in order to have the termination of my employment scheduled. Thankfully, with the help of some old friends, I was made aware when he graciously left the store to leave the lowly workers suffering under the burden of the New Year's Eve shift. I was then able to bestow the honourable task of giving me the required paperwork on Joseph, the most deservant of individuals.

My co-worker Anand had informed me earlier in the month of a method by which I could attain some extra pay towards the end of my employment, without having to put any hours of labour in. He pointed out that since the only days of the week that I was rostered to work were Monday and Sunday, and because all of the public holidays that occur around this part of the calendar cycle -- Christmas Day, Boxing Day, New Year's Day, and the Day After New Year's Day -- fell on those two days of the week, I would be entitled to pay whether I worked those days or not. Anand suggested that in recognition of this, I shouldn't hand my notice in until after my first camping trip, so as to gain the stay pay from those four days. His tactical intelligence is most certainly appreciated.

It would appear that something of a minor miracle has occurred -- I may well have, within the past hour, come to the almost-final decision as to which papers I will be taking at university this year, and indeed which course I will be taking towards my obtainment of a degree. Politics was always obviously the subject that was going to win out. As such, politics is guaranteed to be my choice of major. The original plan was that media studies was going to be my other major, but it turns out that there's practically not enough media papers worth taking to get me the one hundred and twenty points necessary to claim a major in it. In the context of my degree, I plan that media will now be subjugated to a minor.

The great thing about this set-up is that I can now concentrate on the selection of the interest papers that will contribute the additional required points to my academic credential arsenal that will allow me to obtain my degree. I'm spoilt for choice in that regard. One idea would be to take Anthro 200 Archaeology in the first semester. That would allow me entry into at least three archaeology-related anthropology papers in my third year, and that would be all that was required to earn me the total of three hundred and sixty points that I need to get my BA. Or, I could take the sociology paper on popular culture in the first semester. There are not many sociology papers of huge interest to me to be taken in stage three, however two of them would be attributable to a media studies major if I in the end wished that I wanted to go that way after all. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on all this. Nevermind how confusingly and intimidatingly I may have worded it.

I'm glad of the fact that I'll be off camping again tomorrow. It was very refreshing to escape last time, with the only real knowledge of what is going on in industralised society being provided by talkback radio whenever I was asked to listen to the news in order to get a weather report. Don Brash's Christmas greeting was most entertaining, with him delivering in the standard tone -- and complete with pauses -- something along the lines of "I would like to take the opportunity to wish all New Zealanders, a Merry Christmas, and a safe, and prosperous, 2006." The station reported that they didn't know what Helen would be doing for Christmas, but rather they knew what she wouldn't be doing. A sound byte was then played that involved her stating that she's terrified of melanoma and won't be showing any skin on the beach. I'll tell you what, though -- one of the best parts of going away last time was being so far removed from the constant, overwhelming distraction of the Internet. Happy New Year.

Oh-Five!

2005-12-31T12:23:00.000+13:00

I had never put the railways to practical use before. As I boarded the train into the city for the first time in order to attend university, the Manic Street Preachers' A Design For Life playing pleasantly, anthemically, in my headphones, that was the first manifestation of the attributes of a year that was going to prove to be a very different one to those past indeed. I can still remember sitting rather nervously in my first official lecture -- Politics 107 New Zealand Politics with Raymond Miller, in a small library basement theatre that did not have enough seats for all of the students. Not knowing any people in the class yet, it was a decidedly lonely experience, albeit a bearable one. The awkwardness was subdued briefly as a representative of the university debating club accused Raymond of being about to expose us to socialist republican propaganda throughout the course.

The repeated train trips in and out of the city never grew loathsome at any point, despite the somewhat frequent delays. Taking a train is nothing like taking a bus. There is no manic acceleration and braking, no whiplash-inducing cornering and the vehicle doesn't continuously clip warning signs along the route of travel. People seem content to enjoy the peace and quiet provided by the more-than-adequate soundproofing. Not that I would usually be aware of their silence -- my music would be on, not too loud, but loud enough to mostly drown out the few environmental sounds. Compared to the agony of the bus commutes to high school over the past years especially, consistently taking the train has been a thoroughly enriching experience. It's not in many circumstances that one can be careening through the middle of suburbia and yet have the chance to have some quiet time to oneself. As an added bonus, one can be confident that one is doing the planet a favour by using clean mass transit.

My enthusiasm for progressive music, particularly progressive rock, has become an extremely important part of my life as of this year and provided the soundtrack throughout, and I am convinced that it is set to become a life-long passion. After a lull in musical interest that had lasted a few years, brought on by my disenchantment with the less-than-meagre artistic offerings of the popular music industry, it has been intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually refreshing to find art that I feel I can relate to in terms of how I tend to think and feel. Pink Floyd lead me to discover Yes, early Genesis, Radiohead, Mike Oldfield, and the bubble of my aural diet is still expanding. It was with indescribable contentment that I entered the world of Sigur Rós earlier this year and began to have virtually inarguably some of the most spiritually uplifting experiences that I have ever had. Progressive rock, to me, conveys such a sense of depth that I do not see as apparent in any other medium.

The political and sociological consciousness and understanding that I further accumulated throughout the year as a result of the great media, politics, sociology and anthropology classes that I took (as well as some of the bad ones) provided essential tools with which to comprehend the nature of the build-up to, and the aftermath of, the General Election -- probably the most hair-raising event of the year, so-to-speak. Like most people taking the same subjects as me, the results of this election were bound to be very important to me. It turned out that the ideological left got as best as they could have hoped for, considering the fact that the New Zealand public in general would appear to be becoming increasingly disenchanted with the Labour Party, and indeed with the opportunities to be represented by minor parties that are provided by the mixed member proportional system of parliamentary representation. In my opinion, Winston Peters has hardly been as disagreeable as was expected so far in his new role as foreign minister, despite the negative reflections provided by the media, rendering the longevity of the government as seeming somewhat more promising than it did in the beginning. Of course, it's great that Rodney Hide made it back into Parliament. In the end he is not so ideologically, nor characteristically, different to you and me, and he has genuine, good intentions. The tragic death of Rod Donald caused us to identify closer still with our noble politicians and united people of all ideologies in respectful, heartfelt grief. Let's make sure he is never forgotten. Likewise all those lives and livelihoods that were destroyed by the rampage of Hurricane Katrina; the sad inevitability that could so easily have been prevented with a bit more progressive thought and associated action.

It was way back in the second week of the first semester of university, when tutorials for the majority of subjects began, that I started to enter into the social environment of university and my eventful and wonderous year was truly rendered so. Through the people that I met in tutorials, I came to know the caring, supportive, beautiful people that I know as my friends now. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before to find so many good-natured people, all so tightly connected already, and yet so willing to welcome me into their circle with open arms. I had no idea just how socially cold my high school had been until I started university this year, which involved me taking on a distinctly new perception of humanity as I was at last exposed to people with whom I really do feel I have a lot in common, and by whom I feel I am genuinely liked. It has helped me learn a lot about myself and become the most comfortable with who I am that I have ever been in my life. I can't even begin to appropriately describe the value that I have found in true friends and warm smiles, but I would like to say thank you to everyone who has been there for me and included me in their lives throughout the year. Because you all really are what has made this year the best year of my life. The Year of Change and Progress.

Kiekie

2005-12-29T18:22:00.000+13:00

The Tawharanui Peninsula was claimed as Auckland regional parkland many years ago. However, only recently has a concerted effort been made to make it into an open sanctuary -- a "mainland island." The landscape in the area could be said to resemble something of a microcosm of the geography of New Zealand's North Island. It incorporates the elemental joys of long, white sandy beaches, solid dune formations, rolling hill country, open paddocks, rich underwater vestiges, towering cliffs and lush, healthy native rainforest. That is only part of the magic of the place.

The park is located not far from the popular holiday home settlement of Omaha that is situated on the volatile Mangatawhiri Spit, and is barely a ninety minute drive away from Auckland -- but one wouldn't know it when one is there. For despite its relatively close proximity to the hustle and bustle of the city, Tawharanui feels as though it is as far away from anywhere as one can get. It helps that the side of the peninsula on which the camping ground is situated faces away from the city, out towards the alluring silhouette of Little Barrier Island.

Being there is an especially enjoyable experience when the wind is calm -- which allows one some relative peace and quiet in which to relax virtually unhindered -- as it indeed was from the morning of the twenty-fifth onwards. On that day the constant, disruptive tugging of the wind on the tent's Velcro window tabs and the whip-cracking sound of the ballooning roof finally ceased. It was a blessing. What little rain there was during the subsequent days was not an issue; if anything it was soothing. The absence of wind just seemed to slow the pace down so.

The dreams that I had during my periods of sleep at Tawharanui were vivid beyond description; of the sorts that stimulate long contemplative processes when one wakes up in the morning. Perhaps it was the no-doubt-therapeutic aural cocktail of the sounds of the bush and Pink Floyd and Sigur Rós that I listened to at bedtime that made me one very lucky oneironaut? Whatever the cause was, its effects also seeped over into my waking state. It's odd when one's restful daydreams begin to take on the almost psychedelic attributes of their nocturnal brothers and sisters.

Much like its counterparts in the Hauraki Gulf, the "island" of Tawharanui has thrived and blossomed into an oasis of hope near the humming heart of the increasingly industrialised nation state of New Zealand. It is a haven for all manner of creatures, including the New Zealand dotterel, the pukeko, paradise shellduck, morepork, oystercatcher, wood pigeon or kereru, tui, bellbird, snapper, stringray and bottlenose dolphin, and also humans. It is with exquisite sensual and spiritual experiences such as Tawharanui that the individual may replenish their sanity in the midst of an otherwise insane world.

The Provisional End

2005-12-21T11:21:00.000+13:00

As my last shift of wage labour at the supermarket began to draw itself to a close on Monday night, I found myself experiencing mixed feelings, much to my surprise. Throughout my time working there I had shown a tendency to focus intensively on all of the negative aspects of my state of employment -- receiving near minimum wage; having good uni days ruined by being required to spend several hours at wage labour in the latter parts; and the manipulative behaviour of the departmental manager. I had not gone to much depth at all to consider that every day I spent at work, during my term of employment of just over one year and seven months, was solidifying sentimental feelings towards the place.

Ultimately, the produce manager has become the primary reason for my departure and also the other sixteen confirmed resignations that have occurred during the build-up to the Christmas week. This is largely due to the fact that he has consistently refused to allow anyone to make use of their three weeks' holiday pay, to which employees of a minimum of twelve months are legally entitled. In one case the manager even went so far as to lie to Joseph, a friend and former co-worker of mine, telling him that he had not accrued any holiday pay when in fact he had. The upper echelons of management have been informed and, hopefully, appropriate action should be taken against this perpetrator before long.

But the manager's actions around this time of year are only the tip of a truly gargantuan iceberg. He has been cunning and manipulative of the workers ever since I was first employed there in May last year. It was not uncommon that the manager would change our rosters at his convenience, without consulting us first. This inevitably resulted in many of my shifts clashing with university classes. Whenever I requested that he sort these problems out, the manager would say that he would do it if I took it upon myself to find replacements for me during the conflicting shifts whilst he found a remedy, despite the fact that it was not at all my fault.

The "end" result would usually be that he'd forget about me in his flurry of other work, and not make any effort to clean up his own mess in which I was caught up. I eventually stopped calling other workers to fill in for me on the shifts in question, and my would-be supervisors crossed off the shifts on my roster in recognition of the fact that neither I, nor a replacement, ever attended. The manager himself also came to acknowledge that I didn't work those shifts, because I couldn't. However, every single time he printed out new rosters throughout the year, he failed to edit the document in order to make it indicate that I was not rostered for the problem shifts. Me and my friends and former co-workers took it upon ourselves to amend any new roster when it was put up on the wall.

One of the most disgraceful practices of produce management was their tactical selection of workers on public holidays. To put it as simply as I can, the legal fact is that any worker who is rostered to work on a given public holiday will receive time and a half, as well as be owed a day in lieu (essentially a holiday), if they turn up to wage labour. However, if a worker not rostered to work on that day is drafted over, they will only receive time and a half -- no day in lieu. This means that shifting other labour in, and forcing the normally-rostered workers out of the shift, is beneficial to the company as they aren't required to give the alternate workers as much money.

In recognition of this loophole, management made a habit of making it a policy that workers for public holidays would be selected on a "first come, first served" basis. This ensured that a significant number of the workers on, say, a Queen's Birthday Monday, would not be ones usually rostered to work Monday -- and as such, the company would not end up in a position where it owed them days in lieu. It also ensured that most of the workers -- the more expensive workers -- who would usually be rostered to work on a Monday, would miss out. As a Monday evening worker, I was significantly affected by all of this.

It turned out that for Labour Day -- of all days -- this year, the manager actually called around all of the workers that were not usually rostered to work Mondays and drafted them over to the Labour Day shift. He had actively swindled all of the workers involved, including the ones that had been unwittingly forced off the shift. I wasn't about to let the manager get away with this, so prior to the public holiday I explained the situation to Joseph who had, like me, been forced out of working Labour Day. Eventually the explaination spread around most of the department, and most people were now venomously aware of their rights and that they were being unethically ripped off.

When Labour Day did come, much to my delight, everybody turned up -- not just the people who the manager had asked to work, but all of the more expensive workers that he had temporarily kicked off the shift as well. The result was that the department was around two hundred per cent overstaffed, with us for the most part just standing around with our hands in pockets, leeching money off of the company that had sought to fool us. Management had attempted to be as cost effective as possible, but the workers' actions and consciousness of the fact that we were being exploited meant it had backfired on them and a disproportionate amount of company money had been spent on that particular shift. That success is one very fond memory that I will hold with me for a long time to come.

So in the end the fact is that the job that I complained about so much wasn't all doom and gloom after all. Certainly, the work itself wasn't exactly hard. I've also met some great people during my time there, such as mulleted Michael (also known as Whitey), and Joseph who I organised the protest action with. Anand deserves honourable mention for having been a loyal acquaintance since the very beginning and also for helping me by identifying a method by which I could pick up another two weeks' pay for free at the end. Aside from offering to provide me with certain raw materials for free, Chris has been an invaluable friend to me as of late, being the only remaining worker who can come close to equalling my raucousness. I expect to keep in contact with all of those individuals

I can't truly do the numerous positivities of my experience of being employed at the supermarket much justice by simply writing about them here, at least without developing textual diarrhoea. It really is interesting to me that I feel that I have so much to say, though. I had never thought that I would actually get the sense that I'm going to miss my job. Nonetheless, I'm better off, now that I'm free of the governance of the produce manager, and to be quite frank, it almost was time to move on. But there is a conscious reason that I have hung in there at the supermarket for all of this time -- I am wary of the mission of settling into a new workplace. It's going to be a tricky transition. This will probably be my last entry for a few days as I'm off camping tomorrow -- I hope all have a good week.

It's Just A Paper War

2005-12-18T08:07:00.000+13:00

It's little more than a month after the conclusion of my first year of university, and my mum is already insisting that I should have decided on all of my courses for next year by today. Needless to say, the selection of what papers I am going to do is certainly not a process to be taken lightly. My choices will determine my academic route throughout the rest of my university life, with mum not wanting me to take more than three years to get my Bachelor of Arts degree, proclaiming that I will be cut off financially if I fail to meet the family's expectations.

The diversity of the possibilities is virtually limitless -- at least, limitless enough to cause me some serious trouble. One choice I could make is simply to continue on with my media studies/politics double major, with a minor in sociology complementing it. That is the route that my mum and I sat down and planned out together, so it's all prepped and ready to be taken up. However, as many of you will know, I'm really not sure if I stand on favourable ground in terms of my opinions towards the media anymore.

For me, the recent events in Australia have painted a clear picture of the sort of influence that the media has over the rest of society. The media does not so much reflect society as opposed to actually moulding and shaping society to disagreeable, very often corporate whims. In the case of Australia the media has played the role of perpetuating fear of difference for a long period and this has virtually directly resulted in the horrendous violence that has been occurring there since this time last week. Fear is the news media's middle name.

Despite my stance, I still have aspirations of becoming a journalist -- it seems to be something within me that cannot be fought down. I feel as if I am supposed to make that particular "contribution" to society. But numerous people, including my parents, try to encourage me by saying that I could "make a difference," and I find that hard to agree with. Contrary to what some extraneous stories may suggest, the power of one is minute. Besides which, it needs to be taken into account that journalists are under the governance of their publication.

In the end the fact is that the news companies are selling the information to an audience. They want this audience to be as broad as possible, and as such journalists are required to turn out palletable material that people of a wide range of ideologies can bear to read. The journalists' ideas are watered down so as to ensure the publication pulls a constant profit. There is also the unrealistic, but nonetheless aesthetically upheld in most circumstances, expectation that journalism should be as moderate or as neutral as possible. But there's no such thing as an absence of bias.

The two directly news-related papers that I have sat this year -- Media Studies, and Politics of the Media -- have both brought me uncomfortably to the realisation that the media is not a good thing, in that it has completely changed the face of our society to suit the interests of profit. I am of the strong belief that all of us are significantly a construct of the ideas that we are exposed to through the media as opposed to legitimate soul-searching. As such I see the role of the media as immoral, and although I recognise I could be a part of it, I don't know if I could live with myself.

Ultimately the question that I should be asking myself today as I make my decisions as to what papers I will take next year is, "what do I want to do for the rest of my life?" I feel unfavourably towards that question and towards the fact that I am sternly expected to have a career. I hope to enter into postgraduate study after I get my degree and as such I feel a need to focus on a specific area in my undergraduate years, and then carry that over into postgraduate. There is no sign of the freedom of the Bachelor of Arts that so many people cite as being there.

Journalism is the only profession that I have truly aspired to at any time in my life and I virtually dreamed about it throughout my high school years. My teachers had constantly asserted that they thought I would make a good journalist. I had psyched myself up to become a journalist. It is all that I have ever known as a life goal, so it feels decidedly odd to be in a position now where I am considering casting it off. Many people scoff at my proposed alternative of joining the academic staff at the university. It certainly may be a less realistic aspiration than becoming a journalist, but the upside is I wouldn't have to become a walking contradiction of everything that I have come to believe.

Long Time Festering

2005-12-14T09:05:00.000+13:00

Racial violence erupts in Sydney do silently scream the headlines in newspapers the world over. It turns out that Sydney is full of racists after all. It turns out that the average Australian may well be more in line with their prime minister, John Howard, than one would have first thought. One could be forgiven for expecting more from the Australians, given that the country is so similar, culturally and socially, to New Zealand. However, these recent events have the potential to topple any preconceived notions of Australians' inherent good nature that have been held by many people until now.

Many observers, including Sydney's hard-hit Islamic community, are citing the media as having played a significant role in the perpetuation of an underlying xenophobic mentality in Sydney. This article published by the University of Sydney a significant amount of time ago -- almost three years ago, in fact -- highlights the issue of the mainstream Australian media making links between ethnicity and crime. It, of course, would also serve to make it apparent that the negative media coverage is something that has been a problem for a long time. This week's events are being attributed to media-spawned racial tensions, as well as recent crime, finally reaching boiling point.

Although the violence commenced on Sunday, with a series of attacks on men and women of Middle Eastern appearance occurring at Cronulla beach in the south of Sydney, and the ransacking of an ambulance that was transporting five victims from the scene, it continues even now. Apparently, racist text messages have been circulating, one of which issues a declaration of war between Middle Eastern youths and Australians, and police are still struggling to control the atrocities that are being committed, including not just beatings but stabbings as well. Neo-fascist groups appear to be having a field day -- unabatedly, drunkenly expressing their hate.

The text messages echo methods that were employed when the violence first began in Cronulla, which involved mobile phones being used to attempt to tactically organise the racist mobs. One report gave description to a text message that alleged Lebanese young people were attempting to escape from Cronulla via rail, and that they were assembling at the train station. Racists ran from the beach to the station, however faced only police resistance, with the text having been false and the police having been tipped off to it. Nonetheless it is absolutely disturbing that such efforts are being taken by the racists to optimise their obscene rampage.
What is likely one of the saddest aspects of this situation is the fact that not all of the perpetrators of the violence are white supremecists as one would probably expect. A significant number of them appear to look little different to you and me. Of course, what sets us apart from them is that we have minds. However, it is tragic that such seemingly average, everyday people are becoming swept up in the xenophobic hysteria that is becoming ever more prominent in Western countries post-11 September, 2001. With extensive nationalism apparently on the rise, the only way to go from here for Australia is down.

Wondering Around

2005-12-10T09:39:00.000+13:00

All of this widespread playing of StarCraft within recent days has caused me to get into a space phase. By a phase I mean one of those states where a certain something is one's main interest and the primary influence over many of the things that one does. In recognition of this I have been watching the BBC TV series Space, hosted by Sam Neill, that I have on video. It's a great series. I feel it really makes one appreciate our planet that we humans so often take for granted. At the same time it also draws one's attention to the fact that the planet is actually but a miniscule part of the Universe, serving to reinforce the odd feeling that Earth isn't ultimately all that there is to "life."

The other night, I was lying in bed watching Space whilst nursing my sunburn. Yes, I'm still suffering from it, even though it's been several weeks since it was inflicted upon me. Then I started thinking about how exactly I would have got my sunburn. The particular episode of Space that I was watching was about stars and how they are created. I ended up in a state where I was eerily conscious of the fact that our sun is a massive nuclear furnace and that, freakishly, the constant blaze of energy that it is producing is responsible for my injury. When any of us suffers a sunburn we are experiencing the side-effects of a faraway, monolithic nuclear reaction.

Some other interesting food for thought is that eventually, Earth won't actually be here any more. It will be destroyed by the sun as it grows ever-larger with age, and that's only if the surface of the Earth isn't rendered uninhabitable by petty war or an asteroid strike before that time comes. It is possible that humanity will not have spread forth substantially, from the Earth and the solar system in which it is located, by the time one of those events happens. This is due to the fact that to do so would be a very difficult task. It's likely that the first colonies on other worlds will only be made up of a few overly privileged (overly skilled if you want to put it that way) individuals, and that a number of them are likely to be distanced subtly, but nonetheless significantly, from the "original" human strain as a result of genetic modification.

So if it were to be the case that the human race, almost as we know it, was completely obliterated along with its homeworld planet Earth, what would this mean for the future of humanity in the Universe? And what would become of the vast numbers who had possibly moved onto some alternate, spiritual plane? It serves to boggle the mind that all traces of humanity and everything that it knew could have potentially been wiped off of the cosmic placard of the Universe, and yet our race could still very much be present in some other realm not of this Universe. Perversely, the thought almost crosses my mind that we could not in fact exist in such a state, without people being present in the physical Universe to believe in it. As far as the cosmos would be concerned, humanity would no longer be a part of it save for the physical energy derived from our bodies that would have been recycled back into the fabric of everything.

Here's some very good news that was broken yesterday on Hannah's sceneclog -- where you are probably likely to hear all hip music-related things first: the Icelandic progressive quartet Sigur Rós have, in seeming defiance of the preconceived expectations of me and undoubtedly many other people, announced that they are going to be playing a show in New Zealand next year on 17 April as a part of their international tour. It will be at the Saint James Theatre and I am already starting to imagine how absolutely mindblowing a show this is bound to be, enhanced by the great venue. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that one of my first thoughts after finding out about this was that it's going to sell out and I might be one of the unlucky individuals who doesn't manage to get a ticket. But then I stopped and realised that there is no way I'm ever going to let that happen.

I was thinking just the other day that I might not ever get to see one of my utmost favourite bands play a show in New Zealand, due primarily to the fact that either they've broken up or they're all too famous to come down here and receive the only minor profit that a New Zealand show would likely afford them. I had virtually got it into my head that Sigur Rós was one such band that was too big for the little country. However, as it turns out they really are a cult band that would not forsake their fans in this part of the world, a country whose inhabitants most likely have more in common with the Icelandic people than any other state Sigur Rós have toured outside of Scandinavia. I can't begin to articulate how thoroughly happy and grateful I am about this.

But there's another thing that has crossed my mind that I feel may be perceived as somewhat odd. Part of the sheer magic of Sigur Rós is all of the mystery that exists within, and behind, the immense apparent depth of the music. The band members try to minimise the numbers of interviews that they open themselves to, so as to maintain an air of anonymity, or at least more of an air of anonymity than the other, more posturing rock stars that are all over the place in contemporary music. Vocalist and guitarist Jónsi Birgisson once said that people living outside of Iceland experience the band's music on a much more pure level, because less lyrics understood means more is left to the imagination. In this light, could a Sigur Rós live performance have the potential to remove a lot of the mystery surrounding the outfit, and to consequently sully the celestial trip that is lying in bed in the dark whilst listening to Svefn-g-englar or Viðrar vel til loftárása? The last sentence was certainly one of a concerned nature, in recognition of the fact that one must never omit the small factors for the mere reason that they are small. For they could turn out to be much, much bigger. Ponder it.

Despite the fact that there is that odd irking feeling of concern within me, it goes without saying that we are very lucky to have this incredible band coming to New Zealand. It really is the best thing that I, at least, could have hoped for, with Sigur Rós being my absolute favourite contemporary band. For those who attend the show, it will undoubtedly be something that they never wish to forget. I think it is apparent already that this is a show that would be better enjoyed not drunk, or intoxicated by any other substance, but rather experienced in the purity that Sigur Rós themselves have always intended. It is the music that will take you away on the night of 17 April. No augmentation necessary. That is the sheer magic of Sigur Rós.

Who Set All These Lab Monkeys Free?

2005-12-07T14:12:00.000+13:00

In an effort to combat the abundance of boredom that has the tendency to be brought forward by having nothing do -- and which, despite being contrary to what I probably often say, I must say I appreciate a great deal -- I have started playing StarCraft again for the first time in a long time. In fact it is probably several years since my last seriously avid stint. It's a great, although strange, sensation to have all those memories and feelings from intermediate school come flooding back.

I've noticed that I can appreciate the storyline of the game much more now, too. Blizzard Entertainment, the creators of StarCraft, are well-known for their exciting and well-integrated narratives. It must not be easy to get it to function so well with a real-time strategy game. My new perceptions on the storyline are obviously reflective of the fact that the last time I was really into this game was back before 11 September, 2001, when I possessed virtually no political or sociological consciousness to speak of. I was blissfully unaware.

There is an organisation within the game known as the Kel-Morian Combine, an interplanetary mining coalition and renegade pirate group that operates outside of the law of the Terran Confederate government (that is, the main representation of human empire in the game -- they all have southern United States accents). One would expect the Combine to be in the bad books of the Confederacy -- not so however, because the pirates actually supply the dominant power with fuel and resources. As such, no military action is taken against them. Personally I can't help but draw parellels between that in-game scenario, and the real-life situation that exists in the relationship that the United States has with Saudi Arabia.

The case of the cracks forming in the culture of the highly spiritual, alien Protoss race also seem poignantly relevant. Since its inception, Protoss society had operated under a complex tribal system. Although this did afford extra significance to the members and specific cultures of individual tribes, some Protoss of the more recent generations saw it as an archaic and ancient tradition that had the potential to breed separatism and they sought to discard the tribal set-up in favour of a simple heirarchical caste system. The transition was not made, however, until post an extended period of tribal conflict known as the Aeon of Strife that resulted in the subjugation of many tribes' values. This seems to me, to almost mirror the forced real-world decline of religion being perceived as relevant to societal politics, particularly when one takes into account the fact that individual Protoss still refer back to their tribal ties, but merely for tradition's sake as opposed to practicality's sake.

Even if I am reading too much into all of that, I'm having a lot of fun doing it. I guess you'll only really get the relevance if you've played the game. I saw The Exorcism of Emily Rose at the cinema with Alison and Cynthia last night. Leitch made some interesting comments over at his space. I think that the motive of the narrative certainly was to encourage the viewer to question their beliefs; indeed, it made me think a lot. Not believing in angels and demons as such, but also not believing in the non-existence of a spiritual plane, I found it quite thought-provoking. At some points I found myself trying to refer back to my own spiritual beliefs as I thought it all over, however I was so immersed in the film that it was hard to stray from the path that it had set out, which I think is a credit to the director (sorry for omitting names here). There was also some very solid acting in the film, and Father More was portrayed endearingly. The casting really couldn't have been better.

Supergroup

2005-12-04T08:59:00.000+13:00

It seems as though a lull has fallen over the blog circles, probably in light of the fact that it is somehow potentially more worthwhile to be outside, ruining one's eyes in the sunlight, than it is to be inside, ruining one's eyes in front of the computer screen. I know that I've been making a concerted effort to not spend too much time on the computer each day; this became a particularly important factor once the Internet hours started running down. There was also the issue to contemplate that sometimes, when I get off the computer, I really do feel as if I've achieved nothing within my several hours of browsing. The case of information overload contributes especially to this feeling. It all has it's upsides sometimes though. Time spent online can be rewarding, I admit.

I've been thinking about this on and off for a few months after seeing a thread about it on the message boards at Prog Archives -- if you ever were to conceive of what you personally would believe to be the ultimate band, who do you think the members would be? It's a surprisingly hard question, I believe, having thought about it for a significant amount of time and still not yet come to a positively definitive conclusion. The difficulty of the task is accentuated by the Prog Archives regular's insistence at the time that no two band members that you select may originate from the same band. For me, this meant that I had to write out a lot of my favourite musicians, albeit I accept it at the same time because if the restriction were not in place, people would undoubtedly simply be doing things such as merging their two favourite bands together.

There are a number of factors that it would pay for one to take into account when arranging their ultimate band, but probably the first thing that should be considered is what not to take into account. The most important aspect of the latter action is that one should not even bother to consider one's various chosen artists' social compatibility. Compatibility is, to put it simply, a practically incomprehensible part of the structure of a band, at least from the lowly fan's point of view, especially given all of the arrogant posturing that tends to go on. However, factors that one might want to consider include how the musicians' respective styles would complement each other in performance, and who would be the provider or providers of showpersonship on-stage.

After much deliberation this is the "ultimate band" that I have come up with myself, however, as I said earlier on in the piece it is not any sort of official arrangement. Some very difficult decisions had to be made in selecting which members were going to be lined up, and which were not. Individual bands that are great appropriately have the tendency to contain several great musicians. In an advancement from what was done on Prog Archives I've listed the musicians with their name and original band (primary band if they have been members of multiple), which roles they will play in this particular band, and a song that I believe to effectively showcase the skills that I would wish them to put to use in my ultimate band. I'd be interested to see what line-ups other people come up with and hear what you think of mine.

David Gilmour of Pink Floyd
Electric Guitar, Acoustic Guitar, Lead Vocals
Echoes

Christopher Squire of Yes
Electric Bass Guitar, Acoustic Guitar, Vocal Harmonies
Yours Is No Disgrace

Jónsi Birgisson of Sigur Rós
Bowed Electric Guitar, Alternative Lead Vocals
Viðrar vel til loftárása (Tk. 7 on Ágætis byrjun)

Phil Selway of Radiohead
Drums, Percussion
Paranoid Android

Tony Banks of Genesis
Piano, Keyboards, Hammond Organ, Mellotron
The Cinema Show

John Helliwell of Supertramp
Saxophone
Crime Of The Century

Petty Pity

2005-12-03T21:35:00.000+13:00

Rodney Hide's Thursday last week appears to have been a pleasant one. Evidently he spent a significant portion of it on the computer, turning out a total of six rivetting entries in one day, the more amusing of which was a valiant articulation of his "computer forensics" skills that allowed him to discover the decidedly odd name of a folder from which a Labour MP David Benson-Pope press release sprang forth. It seemed distinctly as though Rodney was making an attempt to contribute a new element of scandal to the proceedings in regards to the inquiry into Benson-Pope's behaviour treatment of students whilst he was a schoolteacher, an issue that he made sure to comment on slightly later in the day.

As if his Thursday wasn't fun enough, it would be fair to say that Friday held an even more exciting occasion for Rodney. He was keen to emphasise his thrill upon taking receipt of his newly-decorated and unsuitably-environmentally-friendly transportation device. The smart car is intended to serve as a billboard to rally support for Rodney's admirable electoral position, but ultimately of course it is a toy with which he can travel to the astoundingly numerous gun club meetings and gun shows that it would appear he chooses to attend throughout the average week. Funnily enough, one of Rodney's motives for going to those shows is most probably for the purpose of gaining votes.

Without delay Rodney received a generous flood of suggestions for potential personalised plates from his noble supporters, which included such intellectual jests as "PC FREE" and "IRDSUX." He appears to have been particularly impressed with the decidedly bland "4EPSOM," that he gave a prominent position in his entry on Monday, and indeed went as far as to introduce it into the publicised fray as an "UPDATE." Rodney also made sure to give mention to the fact that he took the smart car to a Sporting Shooters Association of New Zealand meeting and that it attracted a significant crowd. One wonders if the people were checking it out because it is so remarkably comical. A regular to Rodney's blog by the name of fairway pointed to the "nose ring" effect produced by the image of Rodney on the side of the car overlapping the side windows and vents. It is hard to forgive oneself for pondering lowly of Rodney's car, given that he is of course simply a great politician.

Rodney's visit to Carlson School for students with cerebral palsy was acknowledged admirably without literal mention of his vehicle, however it was to be expected that the smart car would not go completely ignored in this edition of Rodney's catalogue of his day-to-day activities. He posed with Ronnie, a cerebral palsy sufferer, in front of the smart car, most probably at Rodney's discrete insistence. "Cool wheels, both sets!" said blog regular Gunner in recognition of the position of prominence that the smart car receives in the photograph. It's probably among the most recent images published of Rodney's car before it was -- yes -- broken into a couple of days ago. You've got to feel sorry for the guy. His very favourite component, the Navman iCN520 In-Car GPS, which is so awesome that its name deserves to be written in bold and at its full length every time, was taken. Without it Rodney may have nary a hope of finding the way to his various business visits. Dare I say it I'm sure he didn't expect this sort of misfortune to occur for him in Remuera!

Laying Them Off

2005-12-01T18:19:00.000+13:00

The Engineering, Printing and Manufacturing Union has been reported to be taking action against Air New Zealand in an effort to save the jobs of a significant number of workers that are employed by the airline, but who have recently been told that they are going to be laid off as a result of cost-cutting moves of outsourcing being performed by the company. In recognition of Air New Zealand's apparent slipping commercial status, the increasing competitiveness emerging in the industry in the wake of the events of 11 September, 2001, and the fact that New Zealanders are more expensive to employ than many overseas workers, heavy aircraft maintenance roles are being outsourced to operations in other nations, primarily China.

As a result it can be expected that the six hundred and seventeen skilled New Zealand workers standing to lose their jobs are going to end up in a situation where it is substantially more difficult for them to put food on their families' tables. It also highlights a distinct attitude in the upper echelons of the company that it is very much the case that not much value ought to be placed on the individual situations of the workers. Undeniably, the airline is of national importance, being New Zealand's primary flag carrier within the industry, and as such it can be confidently said that its wellbeing must be maintained. However, it is also undeniable that this maintenance of corporate wellbeing must not be enacted at skilled workers' expenses.

It was identified, when this cost-cutting measure was first announced by company management, that Helen Clark had received documentation that would have rendered her aware of the airline's apparently-dire financial situation and the fact that it was planning to embark on the laying off of several hundred workers. This obviously put her and the only-just-confirmed Labour-led coalition government in an awkward situation in which they were expected to take some sort of action in the interests of New Zealanders, or at least to acknowledge the fact that the state of the company was partly the government's responsibility. The government, of course, bailed the airline out of a negative financial situation in recent years via buying a significant proportion of the company shares and rendering itself a majority shareholder.

Despite the perception being valid that the government's status in terms of its partial ownership of Air New Zealand should essentially afford to it a degree of responsibility in the maintenance of the company's viability -- particularly considering that the shares were purchased in the first place with that intention in mind -- it has been confirmed recently that the government is hesitant to take such a position. Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister Michael Cullen cites the reason for this hesitation as being a concern that numerous companies in New Zealand would be "lining up for restructuring" if such a helping hand were to be given to Air New Zealand in the (apparently mere) interests of protecting the company's engineers' jobs. This could be perceived as surprising, given that Labour governments past have already shown favourable feelings towards helping Air New Zealand, and that the airline's significance to the nation is widely acknowledged.

One of the most displeasing aspects of this significant venture into sacrificial competitiveness in which Air New Zealand management is engaging is that the company has made the decision to explain to budding engineers studying under the support of Air New Zealand-funded scholarships that they are each now not guaranteed a job in the company's engineering division. Of course, the reason for the engineering students having to be told this is that their jobs are now destined to be handed over to Chinese workers who may well be made to carry out the same tasks as New Zealanders would have, but for a fraction of the cost to the company. It's exponentially unfortunate that this announcement of job position losses has come right at the end of the year; a year which many of the students will now, no doubt, feel has completely and utterly been put to waste.

With Only Minor Hitches

2005-11-29T09:59:00.000+13:00

Winston Peters returned home in the past week with the apparent intention of defying the naysayers' -- that is, the media's -- subliminal claims that he had performed the tasks involved in his role of foreign minister inadequately when he was at the Commonwealth conference in Malta recently. Much like in the case of his visit to the Apec meetings in South Korea, political observers were looking to pull Winston up on small factors so as to lead him to fail at his new job before he had even really started it.

Winston's defences of his own integrity upon his return to New Zealand were reinforced by Helen Clark who allegedly commented that he had made a "pretty good effort" whilst at the overseas engagements, and that also he has made a concerted attempt to further New Zealand's interests, particularly in terms of the potential vulnerability of it and other small nations to terrorist attacks given that they have only small military forces. Winston at least recognises the potential benefits for New Zealand that come from its being a part of the British Commonwealth and at the conference he admirably made attempts to reap them.

However, it would appear that Winston's decidedly triumphant return home, dampened only by the extensive negative commentary provided by the various local media sources, caused him to drift into a notably cocky state of mind and lead to apparent throwaway comments that could well be further detrimental to Winston's image as projected in the media. On One News a couple of nights ago Winston was seen to say, disregarding the digs from the media and holding up the coalition deal as a success, "The facts are that the prime minister's happy with it, the government's happy with it, and I'm happy with it." The failure to acknowledge the New Zealand people's stance on his decision in this widely-publicised comment could well prove to be one that his detractors choose to pick at in order to further their argument that Winston joined in coalition with Labour only in the pursuit of the baubles of office.

A Trip To The Beach

2005-11-28T09:56:00.000+13:00

I'm lucky to live where I do. Despite the fact that I complain constantly to my parents about how far we are away from the Shore, making it a slight pain every time I want to go and see any of my friends, living on the edge of the urban sprawl certainly has its upsides. West Harbour is virtually the closest that one can live to the countryside without actually being in a rural area. One of my favourite weekend activities is to drive out towards Kumeu and Helensville, often sidetracking to the surfbeach at Muriwai. Living so far out makes doing this that much easier!

It usually takes around twenty minutes to get to Muriwai, and as a bonus it's a nice drive because there is not really a significant amount of traffic travelling in there on an average weekend. Upon reaching one's destination it is very easy to be overcome by sheer awe at the majesty of it all. As of this year, most of the times that I have been to Muriwai I have gone on my own. This affords me more ability to do exactly what I want to do; which is usually just to relax and make an attempt at taking it all in. There are carparks on the clifftops at Maori Bay. I can pull in there, put on my music and watch the waves, the surfers, and the paragliders taking off from the slope that leads down to the sea.

However, the real drawcard of Muriwai is most probably the gannet colony, which occupies a group of rock formations at the point that lies between Maori Bay and the main, occasionally over-populated surfbeach. The way that the water churns around there serves to boggle the mind. When I stand out on the viewing platform I feel completely separated from all the fuss that is going on in civilisation (which is, nonetheless, only twenty minutes away). There is a sense of being much more involved with the forces that are acting upon those cliffs than anything else. It's humbling to look out over the overwhelmingly blue Tasman Sea, which stretches uninterrupted all the way to the horizon, and down into the natural washing machine at the base of the gannet colony. At Muriwai, the scale of everything is accentuated tenfold. It's surreal in its scope.

It is easy for one to come to realise that the forces of nature acting upon Muriwai could easily destroy them. But in turn it's also established in the beholder that they could just as easily destroy the ocean, which harbours so many important aspects of the Earth, through various human means; in fact the ocean is the very reason that the entire coastal landscape at Muriwai exists in the form that it does. This brings one to the humbling realisation that every aspect of the entire system is important.

I very much like the idea that any individual on its own is insignificant, but the united whole of which it is a part is the absolute epitome of significance. It gives a thoroughly comforting sense that in the end, everything of nature is connected, and that as a result of that connection all of the Earth's creatures really do mean something. Every component of the Universe is special because without each one, the entirety would simply not be the same. Every person, every seabird, every wave and every tussock, every rock and every gust of wind, are all a part of the universal balance; and for the most seemingly tiny aspect missing there is a consequence.

Born To Quash

2005-11-24T17:26:00.000+13:00

It has emerged that, in alleged recognition of information that was featured in an article in British newspaper The Daily Mirror being potentially detrimental to international relations, the British government has threatened to take court action against the media if any further information regarding the sensitive issue in question is leaked. As was probably to be expected, the memo containing the information reached a number of publications throughout the United Kingdom, meaning that it is now located in a variety of organisations' hands; organisations that could possibly all choose to utilise it in different ways.

The memo was leaked from the British attorney general and is said to highlight that United States President George W. Bush expressed the intention to order the bombing of the headquarters of Al Jazeera, the Arabic television network that was relatively unknown to the Western world until it rose to prominence as a significant media outlet following the terrorist attacks in the United States on 11 September, 2001. Apparently, British Prime Minister Tony Blair had to "talk Bush out of bombing the broadcaster in April last year." Bush's alleged intent is obviously in light of the fact that his administration, as its past actions could be strongly taken to support, solidly suspects Al Jazeera of being a "pro-insurgent" media source in the Middle East that is opposed to the so-called Coalition of the Willing's war in Iraq.

The article in The Daily Mirror that initially broke the news is swift to point out that Qatar, where Al Jazeera is located, is actually on the side of the United States, thus rendering the fact that Bush raised this suggestion as even more unethical and, as a consequence, decidedly disagreeable. It has certainly not been made a secret throughout the years since the "war on terror" first began that the Bush administration feels distinctly unfavourably towards the Arabic network. What with the office in Kabul, Saudi Arabia having been bombed in 2001, and a reporter named Tareq Ayyoub having been murdered in 2003 when United States forces conducted a raid upon Al Jazeera's office in Baghdad, it could be confidently assumed that Bush's intentions expressed earlier this year are certainly not intended to be "humourous," as a British government official apparently suggested. How such a morbid statement could be taken as humourous anyway is beyond me.

One of the most disheartening aspects of this scenario is that all but the most casual observer could be forgiven for perceiving that Tony Blair is something of a hypocrit. It was evident that, in the performance of the act of talking Bush out of bombing Al Jazeera, Blair was showing a far more pacifistic and libertine-prone stance than his United States partner-in-arms. The effect was that he was standing up for the right of media services to express the sort of opinion that they see fit. By the proponents of democracy, he could be looked upon almost favourably in light of this. However, the British government's action that it is taking now -- threatening British media publications with legal repurcussions under the Official Secrets Act if they are to give air to what they may wish to -- is a distinct contradiction to the compassion that Blair could be taken to have shown before.

Winston Cries Foul Once More

2005-11-21T11:10:00.000+13:00

With Foreign Minister Winston Peters having returned to the country on Friday -- following his trip to the Apec forum in Korea, where he oddly stated that he was concerned with the decreasing number of Asian students coming to New Zealand to do their studies -- it was reported yesterday that he had another bone to pick with the media, and that he was going to go about denouncing the coverage of his trip at a party conference later in the day. He is said to have expressed the belief that the New Zealand media trivialised exactly what did occur whilst he was attending the forum.

From what I saw of the coverage, it would appear that Winston's accusations are, in fact, to as much of an extent as the statements of such a man can be, justified. As Winston has been quick to point out since arriving home, consumers of the media in New Zealand received no real reports as to what exactly went on in the meetings, with none of journalists having actually attended them at all. Most of what was broadcast by both television networks seemed to focus on Winston's inexperience in his new position, making a special concerted effort to highlight awkward moments.

For example, when Winston first met with the Chinese Foreign Minister Li Zhaoxing, he took to barely-visibly shaking his counterpart's hand -- on the side of his body that was facing away from the cameras -- whilst clutching his briefcase in the hand that was closest to the reporters. When Zhaoxing discretely broke it to Winston that they needed to pose for the media as opposed to pretend that they were not there, Winston hurriedly put his briefcase aside and whipped around to smile crookedly at the cameras whilst slightly over-enthusiastically shaking Zhaoxing's hand.

These are the sorts of moments that observers in New Zealand were exposed to, as opposed to the real political content of the forum that should undoubtedly have been rendered of higher importance. A big deal was made and a degree of surprise issued from all quarters when, last week, it was heard that Winston had made statements in Korea that could possibly be construed as not anti-Asian. However, in the end, the consequences of those statements were not made known to the New Zealand public because of the media's intention to focus on Winston's ineptness.

It felt somewhat as if the media were making a concerted effort to paint Winston as some kind of excitable child. They placed liberal emphasis upon the fact that he had claimed he was eager to have a meeting with the United States Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice, apparently trying to put across the impression that he idolised her. The amount of media attention accorded to this aspect of the trip could certainly give some people the idea that meeting Condoleeza Rice was Winston's own primary purpose of being in attendance at the Apec forum. The fact that she is a representative of the United States could be made to serve to suggest that Winston was not going about government business whilst in Korea, but rather Winston business.

This is, of course, certainly not the first time that Winston has taken a dig at the media for their alleged attempts to create significant spin against him. The most recent previous occasion was when New Zealand First entered into the coalition with Labour under Winston's leadership. He was widely denounced in the media for retreating on his election promises for the sake of securing the perks of a ministerial job; perks that he has now experienced the first of in meeting Condoleeza Rice. However, it could perhaps be said that this time around, his complaints against the media are more justified than ever. As has been said, it would appear that many journalists have the distinct intention of making Winston fail at his role of foreign minister.

It was noted that, following prior reporting that Winston was going to address his acceptance of the ministerial post at a New Zealand First Party conference yesterday, he skirted the issue altogether in the end for the alleged reason of not "being subsumed" by the past. The prediction that he was going to focus heavily on what he sees as the flawed nature of the media's reporting was proved correct, however, with Winston going as far as to accuse the Herald of treason. The Herald had, allegedly incorrectly, read his friendly interactions with Condoleeza Rice as an attempt to strengthen ties between New Zealand and the United States.

Overall, however, thanks to Winston's omission of certain undesirable topics at the conference, such as the manner in which he played the electorate during New Zealand First's election campaign, things seem to be looking up for Winston in terms of his support base, with it having been said that he received significant statements of support at the conference for his decision to enter into a coalition with the Labour Party. He also provided the assurance that he is not, in fact, as many have speculated, going to retire at the end of this Parliamentary term. There now appears to be the potential that Winston will be around for quite a while yet.

Windmilling

2005-11-20T11:00:00.000+13:00

The residents of Awhitu Peninsula, south-west of Auckland, have given up in their battle against Genesis Energy. Their plight was aimed at preventing the green power company from setting up a wind farm in their area. However, the community's two hundred thousand dollars that was spent taking their case to the Environment Court would appear to have gone to waste, with the go-ahead having already been given for Genesis to begin operations. In recognition of the fact that Awhitu is a significant rural tourism area, Genesis has promised to provide the community with cash over the next five years, so that it may fund tree planting projects and also with the purpose in mind of combating erosion. Erosion is a significant problem for Awhitu due to that it is essentially a sand dune, or spit, protruding out into the sea.

It is easy to perceive that these hastily-contracted compensatory reparations effectively symbolise the event of the company purchasing the Awhitu residents' support, or at least buying itself some room to manoeuvre when it comes to getting down to the business of starting construction on the windmills themselves. Richard Gordon, the spokesman for Genesis Energy, has insisted, however, that this is not the case and that the company genuinely cares about the natural environment. Given the overall efforts that Genesis appears to have been taking to integrate the use of sustainable energy sources into their operations, and the approval that it has recently received from various environmental organisations such as Greenpeace, it could probably be safely assumed that Richard is not being dishonest.

Nonetheless, in many people's eyes, Awhitu still stands to potentially lose a significant amount of its natural beauty in light of the eighteen windmills that are going to be situated there. As a rural tourism area it is dependent to a great degree on that natural beauty to attract the consistent flow of visitors that much of the community undoubtedly relies on for their income. However, the mention that there are racing stables and an equestrian centre nearby leads me personally in the direction of the conclusion that perhaps Awhitu isn't so untouched after all, as the notably zealous actions of the residents would have suggested. It also turns out that Awhitu is not a community that distances itself from an involvement in eco-tourism; in fact it prides itself on this.

It's quite possible that this new wind farm project -- the Auckland region's first -- could actually serve to mark the beginning of a new era for Awhitu, and contrary to the attitudes that are apparently being expressed by the locals, it has the potential to be a very good one. The presence of an operation in sustainable energy production, in addition to the tree planting and erosion prevention works that Genesis Energy will be funding, and the fact that it is all taking place in such a unique location -- on a sandspit -- could likely provide completely new business opportunities to the Awhitu community. It wouldn't be surprising at all -- indeed, it would be very heartening -- if Awhitu were to develop into some kind of exemplary model of thoughtful, progressive-minded interaction between people and the environment for the good of the Earth as a whole. This, of course, could prove in the end to be very lucrative for the local community.

Self-Caricature

2005-11-18T09:05:00.000+13:00

Appropriately, given that the idea of selling off state-owned enterprises has been brought to the fore by the Treasury report, Rodney's opinions on just what the status of TVNZ should be have been floated in the mainstream media. Contrary to what the Herald article may suggest, the ACT leader has held this opinion, and indeed has been pushing it, for a significant amount of time now. It is only now that Rodney's idea has properly made its way into the public eye, due to the fact that it fits in nicely alongside the news stories of Cullen's embarassment at the expressions of the Treasury.

It is surprising what one can find out about Rodney and his personal convictions just by reading his blog. When I say personal, I am meaning that some of the views expressed are somewhat beyond political, in that they would appear to be based on reactionary kneejerking as opposed to sound political thought. I completely accept that Rodney is, indeed, a right-wing politician, and as such he is virtually inherently opposed to socialist ideologies. However, I find it somewhat interesting that, as who I perceive to be an ever-more legitimate politician, Rodney appears to buy into the fear of so-called communism.

Earlier on in the week he described his meeting with his alleged "hero" Wei Jingsheng, a Chinese human rights advocate who, admittedly very bravely, opposes the misleadingly-named Communist Party that is, of course, in power in his home country. It was all very good-natured between them, but despite this I get the general feeling that Rodney is more concerned about the fact that the Chinese state is apparently "communist" than he is about the fact that it's a government that is mercilessly oppressing and repressing people systematically. In his blog entry he mentions that "the communist authorities tried hard to break his [Wei's] spirit" -- to me this shows direct identification with paranoid anti-communism. That Rodney did not capitalise the word "communist" serves to indicate that he is talking about the ideology, as opposed to the party that is in power in China. Ultimately it sounds to me as though Rodney is very afraid of a political system that is, in theory, good natured, and has never actually been realised on a significant scale anywhere in the world.

In the days that have passed since then, on the other hand, Rodney has come out with a number of amusing light-hearted jests that, in my eyes, serve to reinforce the notion that he is, after all, human just like all the people of this country. The jests have the same sort of effect as when footage of Parliament in session is shown on TV, and the MPs are all laughing at each other's statements and saying "ooooh" when one of them takes a stab at another. One example of Rodney's jests was this comment on a statement by Jeanette, which could possibly suggest that he recognises those factors that people unjustly pull him up on, and that he can maintain a sense of humour about them. That's a very admirable and very human position to be able to take.

The best and definitely the most amusing comment, entitled "Oops," was provided by Rodney on Wednesday evening. "Bother," he says, "I just got chucked out of the House by Assistant Speaker Ann Hartley. Unfortunately I am the first MP this session. Not good." Poor Rodney. It is clear that it really is being driven home to him that his ways are not without significant, pseudo-infantile error. In this case he was virtually trying to make satire over the fact that he has been pulled up "countless times" for mispronouncing Tau Henare's name. He thought that he was being intelligently abrasive with the initial comment. It would be apparant that he still thought he was being intelligently abrasive when he objected to the Assistant Speaker's ruling, in what could be perceived to be a performance of heat-of-the-moment antagonism. He would have been brought to back to reality when he was kicked out. One could certainly perceive, though, that he was in touch with reality for the whole spell -- Rodney, after all, acted just like any average person would have in a similar circumstance.

Rather Taxing

2005-11-17T16:34:00.000+13:00

In light of advice recently given to the government by the Treasury, suggesting that it should look to including plans for tax cuts as a part of the next Budget, Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister Michael Cullen has gone on the defence, going so far as to state on Close-Up last night that he believed that the problems that "high" taxes allegedly pose may possibly cease to exist over the next year. The Treasury has identified what it perceives to be a potential risk inherent within the practise of what is (apparently) high taxation -- that economic growth is being stifled significantly, and that it will be stifled further should the current tax rates be maintained.

The counter-punches to these risks that were cited were, in fact, somewhat to the contrary of what the National Party chose to argue in the lead-up to the election; but they nonetheless provide the opposition with a significant amount of clout that it may wield against the Labour-led coalition government. The alleged need was pressed for the growth rate in government spending to be decreased substantially, in order to allow for minor-yet-meaningful incremental changes in personal and company tax rates at the high end of the scale. Other possible solutions put forward by the Treasury included the weakening of established tariffs, a rethought of the carbon tax plan, and the sale of further state-owned enterprises.

Michael Cullen has been quick to jump on the Treasury's words and point out to all concerned that the ministry is not, after all, suggesting that tax cuts be implemented for all New Zealanders, but merely that the most highly-taxed individuals and companies be given a break. This served to emphasise that the advice that has been issued is not exactly supportive of National's economic policy. However, that hasn't deprived the National Party of the opportunity to tell Labour "I told you so," in light of the fact that the potential benefits of tax cuts have, effectively, been announced by a decidedly reputable authority -- no less, one that is working in the interests of the established government. The Treasury's focus on the importance of significantly decreasing tax rates in the highest brackets in particular, also potentially shows a slant to which Labour is directly philosophically opposed.

National came under extensive fire from the bulk of the left of Parliament during the election campaign, with Labour taking advantage of the fact that the National Party's tax policy could very easily be perceived to distinctly favour those families and individuals included within the highest income brackets. It was successfully made clear that National's promise to provide tax cuts to all New Zealanders would, in reality, probably only have a noticeable effect on a small number of people, should the party have made it into power. Thus, that the Treasury has now identified that such rich-favouring policies would be the most lucrative for the national economy puts the government in a bad position, in which it can easily be picked to bits over this issue.

Double Substandards

2005-11-15T09:52:00.000+13:00

Winston Peters, leader of the New Zealand First Party and self-styled anti-immigration voice of apparent reason in Parliament, has issued a shock revelation today in the form of the announcement of his taking up of a new position on the international student issue. He has said he is going to engage in discussions with the Chinese Foreign Minister Li Zhaoxing, in light of the declining numbers of Chinese students that are coming to New Zealand for their educations. The new stance that he appears to have taken up on the issue is, of course, a significant contradiction to the ideas that he has been espousing for the past several years.

Winston has said that the perception of him having very hardline views on immigration -- a perception that has been established both locally and internationally -- is one that has emerged simply as a result of some of his statements being "misconstrued." He is now, apparently, becoming "increasingly concerned" about the falling numbers of international students coming from Asia to New Zealand to partake in their studies. This is despite the statement that Winston issued earlier this year, that "We have now reached the point where you wander down Queen Street in Auckland and wonder if you are in New Zealand or some other country."

It's quite possible that this sudden change in his key stance is a result of Winston's being present in Asia at this point in time. It was something that should have been expected, and by many people undoubtedly was expected, that Winston would alternate his hardline tone a bit whilst overseas. As the Foreign Affairs Minister, he is of course supposed to be representative of the New Zealand government as opposed to himself, despite the fact that New Zealand First is not actually a component of the government proper and that Winston has recently strongly taken to asserting himself as still a part of the opposition. He also doesn't have the tenacity to stride into the Apec meeting in South Korea and declare that New Zealand is undergoing "Asianisation by stealth." That would undoubtedly be a reckless move even by Winstonian standards.

The Herald article gives one the impression that Prime Minister Helen Clark has issued a positive, if somewhat muted response to Winston's apparent one hundred and eighty degree turnaround, quoting her as saying his help is "much appreciated." Needless to say, it is quite possible that she recognises the plainly obvious -- that Winston always intended to draw back his stance whilst in the presence of Asian leaders, and in doing so on this occasion he has maybe gone further back than was expected of him. However, in the end it is still apparent that at his core, Winston is quite something of an ethnic purist. He has asserted that the deals he brokered in the past to bring Chinese students into New Zealand included the request that they return home after completing their educations, and he does not believe that New Zealand has kept that end of the deal.

Time Immaterial?

2005-11-13T12:39:00.000+13:00

It seems impossible to fathom. The epic struggle that was the last university exam period of the year is over. I am hoping that I have passed every course, because if I haven't my mum's certainly going to have something to say about it. Somehow all of that doesn't matter now, though. The holidays are here and I, along with many other people, have an absolutely gargantuan amount of free time sprawling out in front of me; imploring me to make actual use of it, as opposed to just wage labouring sixty hours a week like I did last summer.

In anticipation of the fact that if I did not make plans I would inevitably waste this summer, however, I have ensured that there is a significant amount of productive (productively fun) activity in store for me. Contrasting with that, I will wage labour a mere eleven hours per week, for the sole reasons of paying for petrol (I shouldn't even be driving anyway) and saving up to help pay next year's university tuition fees. I can say with a great degree of confidence that I am going to find it thoroughly pleasurable to give my manager one week's notice of the fact that I am going to leave, come late December. He deserves no better considering the way that he has treated me.

The ball last night, organised by Jenni and her father, was great fun. I don't think that I could have done without something like that after my last exam. It gave a sense of resolution and it was important for me to have a gathering with some of my best friends to mark the end of the university year, which I do not hesitate to say has been something of a battle at a significant number of points. It really is my new friends that got me through this year. Everybody put so much effort into looking good for the ball that I felt rather guilty having gone in the clothes that I wore to my exam. Nonetheless it was very fun anyway. Alison and Cynthia were resplendent in fantastic 1920s-esque garb. Jenni and her dad had decorated the scout cub den with streamers, balloons and fairy lights. Nicola had prepared a massive feast of nibbles.

It is now that those of us who attended university this year stand on a milestone, having survived the first year of our tertiary education and come out the other end more-or-less psychologically intact. To be honest, I was virtually already in "holiday mode" when I honourably completed my film exam on Thursday, due to the fact that passing sociology (my final exam proper, which I sat yesterday) meant nothing to me in comparison. I'm slightly disconcerted by the fact that in the time between the two exams, I was already feeling myself becoming rather bored, with nothing to do. Also, I am conscious of the fact that the holidays do not really start until Tuesday -- since I have wage labour today and tomorrow -- and until the sun comes back. All of this, however, fails to belittle the fact that this point in the year has been reached at last. There is much fun to be had. I'm looking forward to being able to take my time.

Enhanced Tragedy

2005-11-12T12:43:00.000+13:00

The fact that Rod Donald's death has been revealed to have been caused by a lowly and subversive viral infection serves only to to make his untimely death seem all the more tragic. One of the things that has really struck people about this exponentially unfortunate happenstance is how Rod died so suddenly, when he was the last person that anyone had expected to reach the end of the line. Now the idea that it could happen to virtually anyone is a thought that is bound to further upset many people.

Rod's passing, I feel, has not only caused an outpouring of sympathy for the man himself, but it has prompted people like you and me to look at themselves and their friends in the consideration of mortality. Given the hazy, almost automated state that the complacent Westerners of this day and age have a tendency to constantly be engulfed in, seeing a high-profile case of someone that most of us did not know personally -- but who felt we knew rather well through the media -- passing away this easily has really hammered home the idea that eventually, we will all come to an end after all.

I am one of the individuals guilty of taking my life for granted at many points throughout, but I can certainly be more grateful that I am alive after Rod's passing and the grief that I have seen it cause. When the news broke that Rod had died due to a "suspected heart attack," I felt as if this tragedy was particularly relevant to me, despite the fact that I did not know Rod personally. As a person with very high blood pressure at a very young age, a history of such problems in the family, and a grandmother who recently suffered from a heart attack (but survived, thank goodness), I have found myself preparing for the prospect that I may die as a result of some sort of cardiac mulfunction when I am middle-aged.

It's hard to describe, but Rod's passing has really made me realise that when your time is up, that's it, and you have no more chance to do anything for the world. You have no idea when exactly you are going to die, so you may as well start right now in your contributions of what you perceive to be for the betterment of society. I can only dream that I will have contributed as much as Rod once my time comes. You can watch a stream of Rod's funeral that pays tribute to his life achievements and the wonderful personality that he was at the TVNZ Web site.

The most significant effect of Rod's passing for people in general, I think, is, as I said earlier, just about everyone who has been touched by this tragedy has violently come to the realisation that they and their loved ones are only human, and that their time will come eventually. This is accentuated by the fact that Rod was so vibrant and so full of life. Rod's story serves as an example that -- no matter how successful a person is in all of their endeavours, how good-natured they are, how much they remain on top of things, how much promise they show and how much respect they are accorded by all who know them -- we are all mortal in the end.

A Significant Setback

2005-11-11T10:42:00.000+13:00

It is looking distinctly as though British Prime Minister Tony Blair may be in a fair degree of trouble, electorally, in light of his personally-favoured Terrorism Bill being officially defeated by a series of votes in the British Parliament that have taken place over the past few days. The highly controversial piece of legislation was voted against not only by MPs in the opposition to the government, but also by a significant number of members of Blair's own Labour Party. This denotes a growing degree of disagreement within the party that may eventually lead to Blair's prime ministerial downfall before Britain's next general election, which will take place in 2008 or 2009.

The legislation, which many MPs and citizens of Britain alike often chose to cite as "draconian," would have allowed terror suspects to be held without charge for up to ninety days; that is certainly substantial in comparison to the original time limit of fourteen days. After the bill was defeated by a clearer-than-expected majority of the votes, a Labour Party backbench MP proposed a less severe, but nonetheless significant increase in the amount of time that suspects could be held to twenty-eight days. That decidedly softer measure was passed with roughly the same majority, asserting that Britain's members of Parliament are possibly fence-sitters; they do not want to impose legislation deemed "draconian" upon the people, but neither do they want to be too complacent.

Blair is still convinced that the MPs who voted against the original Terrorism Bill have made a wrong decision, as the BBC reports, and is wary that they may come to regret their decision in the future if a major event of a negative nature were to occur. However, Blair's loss of support could be, to a degree, reflective of the fact that the Labour Party has betrayed its social democratic routes. It no longer has involvement with Britain's workers' unions and seems to have chosen to take an approach to democracy that is to the expense of listening to its constituents -- the very people who helped the party to get into power in the first place. Britain's Labour has also completely changed direction since the "beginning" of the "war on terror," bearing a much closer resemblance to a Conservative government in light of the military action that it has taken against various alleged threats.

Apparently, the Conservative Party were in fact part of the bastion of MPs that voted against the Terrorism Bill, despite the legislation's authoritarian nature being stringently consistent with the policy of that party. Concerns have been expressed that the Conservatives are engaging in this, which would essentially be a tactical action, in order to ensure that they maintain a degree of credibility in the eyes of the public. Following their defeat by a wide margin in the most recent election, which took place in May this year, the Conservatives need to scrape together every additional nuance of support that they can get. Not only does having contributed significantly to the voting down of the Terrorism Bill establish the Conservatives as a politically relevant force, but it sets them on a clear populist path that has the strong potential to serve them well in the event of Blair falling down before the next election.

All Over Again

2005-11-09T21:28:00.000+13:00

Four straight hours already spent online, repeatedly perusing the blog roll in search of outrageous revelations, as well as camping on the Trade Me site in the hopes of finding something to recklessly fritter my much-needed cash reserves away on, and also making futile attempts at getting my stressed message across via IM, appears to have not been enough. Hence, I am now back on the computer, steaming steadily towards my fifth hour of Internet usage today. The synopsis with which I have just provided you would have been identical to that which I would have entered into my blog yesterday. In effect, this is, yesterday's blog entry, today.

It would appear that there were no major revelations to be found amongst my extended network's commentaries today. This is probably attributable to the fact that it is exam season, and that consequently it is only sensible for one to be making intelligent use of one's time. It doesn't really make sense that I'm not doing the same thing; unlike others, I have engaged in no preliminary study. Technically, I would have done myself a favour by doing that. At least I would have something to fall back on in the event of these last two exams actually being a challenge.

The MPs are back in attendance at their place of work and, unsurprisingly, Winston Peters has been one of the first individuals to get a rocket. The article clearly describes that as Rodney's big guns came out (do pardon me for the unintended pun), Winston sat back in his seat grinning, which of course serves to suggest that questions as to Winston's legitimacy post-taking-up-of-the-baubles are not going to be taken seriously by the man himself. He wishes to show no visible doubts that what he did was the right thing. As Rodney points out, some of Winston's supposed teammates may beg to differ. It's going to be an interesting parliamentary term for New Zealand First, an organisation in which fractures are already beginning to emerge.

Winston has been swift in his attempts to shift the negative political limelight onto other individuals that are part of the opposition to the government. Immediately after Rodney criticised him in the House, Winston responded, arguably rather feebly -- but nonetheless quickly -- with the stock response of accusing Rodney of overspending in his Epsom electorate campaign. He also dug his claws into National Party deputy leader Gerry Brownlee today, in light of the opposition MP's criticism of the Governor-General that was spurred on by the decidedly messy way in which this government came together.

Also today, Parliament paid tribute to the late politicians David Lange and Rod Donald. On that note, for me personally it is a cause of concern that so much focus is being placed, by both the media and casual political observers, on speculation as to who will be the Green Party's new co-leader and whether Nandor Tanczos will re-enter Parliament. Some leftists are excited by the prospect of hearing that Nandor is to return, whilst their right-wing counterparts are feeling a degree of apprehension. I absolutely understand that one of the central tenets of politics is that one should look to the future. However, I find it disheartening that people seem so keen to speculate what is going to happen that they have virtually shouldered aside the notion that a great New Zealand politician and citizen has just passed away. The Greens are going about it the right way -- they're not rushing anything; they are taking the time to grieve. A lot of other people seem inappropriately wrapped up in speculative self-interest to me. For those of you who have the day free tomorrow, TVNZ will air a live stream of Rod's funeral service from half past ten in the morning. You may also wish to sign a condolence book at one of the Green Party's regional offices.

The notion that there may be a lack of unfairness in the world today is further dismissed by the sheer horror that appears to be taking place in France right at this very moment. The violence that has been rife in that country for the past twelve days is continuing to rage, with the last thing I heard about the events being that they have apparently crossed over into Germany -- cars there are being torched now as well. If you are not aware as to what is going on, the riots in France were triggered as a result of two suspects, who were being chased by police, running into an electric sub-station to hide and ending up being electrocuted. As Dad put it, in a way that I find disagreeable, "they happened to be coloured." This has led to widespread accusations of racism. While they're at it, people have raised the concerns that they have about other problems too, including such things as unemployment. With France looking as if it might be on the edge of civil war, things are, unfortunately, bound to get even worse. Such is the way things tend to go.

On an exponentially more light-hearted note, it has emerged today that there is a distinctly increasing degree of likelihood that veteran rock band Genesis -- the outfit that took the two pop stars Peter Gabriel and Phil Collins to international fame -- is going to indulge in a reunion in the near future, to the delight of the old band's fans all over the world. So far the vocalist, flute-player, dancer and actor Peter, as well as the drummer Phil, and the band's greatest guitarist Steve Hackett, are already on-board. With bassist Mike Rutherford having previously declared the intention to take part in a reunion, this leaves only keyboardist Tony Banks to be roped in before we are finally in action. If the reunion goes ahead it will be the second recent high-profile reformation of a rock band that reached its artistic height in the progressive area of the seventies, with Pink Floyd having got back together for the Live 8 charity cause in July this year.

Rod Donald 1957 - 2005

2005-11-07T16:00:00.000+13:00

By this stage you will have undoubtedly already heard that Rod Donald, co-leader of the Green Party, passed away on Saturday night as a result of a heart attack, but I'd just like to pay my respects to this great New Zealander. He was a powerful driving force behind progressive politics in this country as well as internationally, and also was one of the strongest advocates for the system of proportional presentation in Parliament that the citizens of this society reap the benefits of today. People located at all points along the length and breadth of the political spectrum can appreciate that Rod was a remarkable individual who contributed richly to New Zealand as a whole.

In my eyes, Rod was the embodiment of the courage, the positivity and the persistence that the Green Party managed to exhibit during the recent adversity brought on by the party's disappointing election result and its rejection from Labour's coalition arrangement. Despite the grillings that he underwent in numerous television interviews post-election, Rod always stood tall for the values of the Green Party, and never let the commentators pull him down. He was consistent in his citing of the factors that he believed to have caused the Greens to suffer in the final election results -- a fear of a National government leading would-be Green voters to shift their support to the Labour Party.

Rod was also to be the face of the imminent implementation of the Buy NZ-Made campaign, a programme that he had made extensive efforts to have put in place should the Labour government be re-elected -- which of course it has been. Although the campaign will now be fronted by another individual, the New Zealand people have Rod to thank for having secured the go-ahead for it. Most tragically, of course, this indescribable misfortune occurs with Rod having made it only to a mere forty-eight years of age. The fact that he was a healthy-living middle-aged person serves only to increase the sense of disbelief that one is compelled to feel towards this sudden, shocking and unexpected event. It is undoubtable that he would have had further ambitions still, in the interests of making New Zealand an even better place. Rod Donald's noble legacy will ensure that his contributions to society are felt for years to come.

Drama At The Meteor

2005-11-05T22:13:00.000+13:00

As it turned out, last night's gig was in fact open to people of all ages. This resulted in a diverse range of scene denominations being represented in the audience. However, there was not the omnipresent rabble of MySpace users and prominently-fringed emo children that is usually present at all ages shows, in particular those shows that include The Bleeders in their line-up, as I have heard there is a tendency to be the case. As is the feeling I have most often when I attend a gig, I did not go home disappointed last night. All of the bands were impressive in their own rights and a decent atmosphere was produced by the venue, The Meteor, in its decidedly peripheral location in the Hamilton city centre.

I had the privilege of seeing a number of bands that I had in fact been meaning to see for a considerable long time. Eric and I arrived via carpool (or perhaps more appropriately vanpool), courtesy of Scott Penk, near to the end of The Antagonist's set. The Antagonist were the first band of the evening and judging by what I heard of them, it would have been a very worthwhile set to have heard the whole of, despite the fact that the sound system seemed inappropriately quiet. The Cinix followed up as the second act, with an energetic performance that was, however, apparently not without extensive errors (my relatively-untrained-in-hardcore ears did not detect any faults amidst the unrelenting powerchording).

It was interesting to see that someone I knew from my media studies tutorial last semester was the drummer for this band. I was always aware that he was in a band, but I did not realise that it would be one as locally prominent as The Cinix. As was the case with Hanharr and Hayden's birthday gig last weekend, it's surprising just how much seeing someone who one knows, however vaguely, playing in a band can increase one's sense of affinity with the music and the feeling that is being put into it. Taking into account that I had run into this person at gigs in the past, and also that I overheard someone in Penk's van talking about a Disney-themed party that I am aware Jordan attended, one really begins to get the idea that it's a small scene after all.

The highlight of the night was undoubtedly the performance that we were treated to by The Warpath, a band in which Eric's friend Zak now plays one of the two guitars. During The Warpath's blistering set, two fascists -- looking to be aged in their mid twenties, resplendent in National Front gear and who had been hanging around the gig for a significant amount of time, seemingly for the purpose of making a statement -- stood just to the left of the stage, in front of the PA, nodding their heads in overly masculine, subdued approval for the band's artistic output. In a gap between songs, The Warpath's vocalist Dylan Knuckles took it upon himself to decry their presence ("In case you hadn't noticed there are two people who don't belong here"), prompting at least one of the two men to raise his arm in a gesture of pride.

Dylan then carried on to proclaim that "Racism does not belong in this scene" and made a remark to the audience that was something closely along the lines of "If you have any sense I suggest you beat their heads in." The audience gave a light-hearted response, with some laughing and others cheekily "ooh"-ing. The fascists remained staunch. As The Warpath ripped into their next piece, however, a boy began hardcore dancing in the circle. He careered off to the side and lightly knocked into one of the fascists. This was too much of a coincidence for an inherently hateful individual, who had just heard the order issued for him to be beaten up. He grabbed the punk's shirt.

With it being apparent that the boy was possibly about to be beaten up himself, at least twenty people from the audience overcame both of the National Front members en masse, forcing them to the ground before proceeding to pummel them whilst they were down. The huge mob followed the facists out of the doors amidst resounding cheers from the rest of the audience. The Warpath apparently made a significant number of musical errors during the few minutes following on from those events. Dylan apologised for this, explaining that they were "distracted by the goings-on." At the end of The Warpath's otherwise flawless set, he said "Congratulations" to the audience for having not tolerated the allegedly antagonistic presence of fascists.

The Warpath were followed by Cobra Khan, who were excellent and marred only by some questionable mix settings that had been applied by the sound technician, and The Bleeders who of course played the last set of the night. A fanatical audience made it a decidedly uncomfortable experience to be trapped at the front, being forced to meld into the stage by the surging mass of "tuff" kids. Contrary to what it had felt like whilst standing at the front, I found when I moved to the back of the crowd and observed the goings-on that the majority of the crowd was relatively subdued. As a result of this, frequent attempts made by audience members to crowd surf failed miserably. Nonetheless The Bleeders whipped out a brilliant set with certainly the most animated live performance of the night, and a fair amount of new material to boot. A third consecutive Friday night well-spent.

Bugger The Pollsters

2005-11-04T15:10:00.000+13:00

A TV3 political poll released today has provided a result which could easily be perceived by many to be exemplary of the flawed nature of the polling system. It indicates that the gap in support between Labour and National has widened to seven per cent, relative to a discrepancy of two per cent that was the case on election night. This is despite the quite clearly evident dissatisfaction that is rife amongst Labour voters in the wake of New Zealand First being brought into the finalised coalition arrangements, and the provision of the position of Foreign Minister to Winston Peters.

With Labour having campaigned on the platform that it would aim to achieve something of a unified left-wing in Parliament, involving the Greens in coalition and striving to overcome the new right -- a category which could be expected to contain Winston, who Helen has often unashamedly referred to as a "bigot" -- it comes as little surprise that the party's voters are feeling noticeably disenfranchised. It is somewhat surprising, however, that these feelings were not reflected in the recently released poll results. One would assume that a significant poll slump for Labour would have been appropriate.

What this poll result essentially serves to do most effectively is justify, to a degree, the lack of confidence that a lot of people have held in the validity of the polls, particularly that which was expressed in the lead-up to the election. What is perhaps the worst effect of the unrepresentative and inaccurate nature of the polls is that it has a significant influence on people's voting decisions, with tactical voting having become a significant aspect of the electoral workings of MMP now that the system has become properly entrenched. For example, it is certainly fair to say that the polls caused the Greens to lose a significant amount of their support on election night. Fearing the potential for a National-led government to come into existence, and observing National's strong showings in the polls, left-wing voters transferred their support over to Labour.

To today's poll's credit, however, it could be assumed that its depiction of the Greens' rise to seven per cent of the party vote may well be somewhat accurate -- now that we are back to media polls as opposed to official electoral polls, Green voters are being honest with themselves and others and embracing their support for their party of choice. Media polls are not a situation in which one must vote tactically. Unfortunately, this could well serve to highlight another flaw in the polling system, in that it may indicate that it is not properly reflective of the tactical voting activity that takes place under MMP. The fact that there are so many of these polls, showing such diversity of results and drawing statistics from such small samples of the population is also another glaring flaw. It is obvious that there's a lot to be done to the polling system if it is ever to function properly.

I'm off to Hamilton with Eric tonight for a hardcore gig that is to be headlined by The Bleeders. It is not an all-ages gig (as many that The Bleeders attend unfortunately have the tendency to be) so I expect that it will be a significantly enjoyable night. I haven't heard The Bleeders live before and am looking forward to doing so at long last. As I am particularly conscious of my finances at the moment, in recognition of the fact that the summer is fast approaching, I am feeling somewhat wary as to whether I will end up having to catch the bus home to Auckland tomorrow morning. That would no doubt set me back a notable degree in terms of my efforts to save. Add that to the prospect that I have to get a new passport tomorrow, with the price having shot up to around one hundred and fifty dollars just today, and I'm certainly looking at a potentially financially down-breaking weekend. Here's hoping that the breakdowns at the show make up for it.

This weekend will also be a weekend during which I intend to make minimal use of computers, in anticipation of the occurrence that I end up coming out of my political studies exam academically maimed. When one takes into account the absolute lack of study that I have put towards achieving anything at all in that exam, it becomes apparent that I may well be going into this exam hoping for the best to a substantial degree. I suppose it's relatively straightforward given the huge interest and decent level of knowledge that I have of this subject. However, I am well aware right now that the pre-exam study period is inherently unpleasant, as I'm sure a lot of you are.

The Little Things

2005-11-03T15:34:00.000+13:00

It's a peculiar time of year right now. For those of us who are attending university, we are virtually facing the end of life as we have known it for most of the year, in light of the more-imminent-than-we-would-have-ourselves-believe conclusion of exams. Not only that, but the seasonal cycle is sitting right on that eery cuff that lies between spring and summer. The weather's a somewhat disorienting mix of all seasons, even by Auckland's standards. With the General Election out of the way, the most significant current affairs events of the year have been and gone (not to belittle the other serious things that are occurring overseas as I write). Topping it all off, the relatively hollow and meaningless "holidays" of Halloween and Guy Fawkes are making their existence known around this time.

It is apparent that some significant debate has arisen in the past few days as to what the legal status of fireworks should be, in reflection of the fact that Guy Fawkes night is fast approaching and fireworks are now on sale. The government, however, has decided to pass on taking any action against retailers' selling of fireworks. The Herald article mentions that Parliament looked into the issue in 1994 and 1996 "but decided that a few irresponsible people should not prevent others using fireworks," and notes that last decade's discussions ultimately lead only to public firework sales being limited to those aged fourteen or over. Presumably this is also the point at which skyrockets were banned. The legislation does not take into account the potentially low maturity of people who are only fourteen years old. The lack of action that the government has asserted it will take is surprising considering the events of recent days.

Yesterday I had the supposedly positive task of getting the first of my four exams out of the way -- anthropology. Having done very little study I was sceptical that I was going to be able to achieve an adequate mark to put me over the threshold that I required to pass the course. I was preparing myself for the prospect of failure, which could well have resulted in my parents withdrawing me from university (as opposed to making me take on a student loan, they are paying for my education as I go along, with me putting a significant amount of money in myself as well; Mum could not have handled me failing a single paper). However, in recognition of a classmate's recommendation I checked my marks online, discovering that I had already scored 40.5% in the course. Thus, not much was required of me in the exam in order for me to pass the course.

Within thirty minutes I had answered most of what I could, and enough to ensure that I passed the course. My attention was then diverted periodically to the graffiti on the desk, which included such scribblings as Comfortably Numb. Under that was Run Like Hell, and on the far edge of the desk was Yessongs. In keeping with the apparent prog rock theme of the desk, I chose to contribute Supper's Ready to its entourage of classic song and album names -- between glances from the patrolling exam supervisors. That should effectively articulate the impression of just how academically vacant I was during that exam. I'm absolutely confident that I have passed, however. What's wrong with thinking ahead to a summer of listening to great music when I'm supposed to be writing about circumcisions being rites of passage?

Rodney's made some further great points about Wayne Mapp's apparent misinterpretation of what exactly political correctness entails. Wayne made it quite obvious that his idea of political correctness is the allowance of minority groups to have a say. The reality, of course, is that that is not political correctness at all -- it is in fact truly representative democracy. Personally, I would define accusations of political correctness as being expressions of concern that inappropriate amounts of attention are being paid to the aiding of minorities' progression from situations that the minorities themselves feel to be unjust. What would appear to be the case is that Wayne wants to neutralise the need for any accusations of political correctness, via the method of eliminating minority voices from the political field altogether. An allusion to sweeping things under the rug would be appropriate. Upon closer examination it would appear to me that Wayne has fallen into the defeatist trap; a situation in which he would seem to almost believe that "if there's no people, there's no problems."

You Wanna Be The Gimp, Get In The Gimp Suit

2005-10-31T16:11:00.000+13:00

A week of studyless days can almost be excused when they are punctuated by a series of timewasting, but nonetheless enjoyable, outings, as well as two of the funnest gigs of the year -- Electric Six at the End of Daze festival on Friday the twenty-first, and a superb birthday gig on the same day last week. Happy birthday Hanharrr and Hayden! The party took a while to get going, but once it took off, it really did take off. The two bands both provided great performances and reinforced an ever-building positive and good-natured atmosphere.

Two-piece act Johnny Lightning and the Thunderbolts (thanks for the link Hanharr) treated the audience to a series of slick, sharp and catchy numbers that proved to be delectably danceable. It's performances like that that help me remember just how enjoyable simple can music be. After having listened to so much complicated material laced with time signature changes and challenging lyrical concepts in my free time, it's almost refreshing to get back to the basics and enjoy some straight-up rock. The fact that Johnny Lightning and the Thunderbolts -- featuring Rebecca on the drums and Hannah on the guitar, with both putting in awesome vocal efforts -- are a two-piece band, only serves to accentuate the numerous merits of the performance. They produced a very impressive sound indeed. As their experience builds they're bound to evolve into a great, polished act. I'd be very keen to hear them play again.

Hayden's band Alphajazz also put on a great show in the latter half of the night, providing the audience, for the most substantial part, with a much-needed and thoroughly welcome sprinkling of soothing rhythms. Not only was it pretty much my kind of music, but Hayden was the lead singer. A number of Alphajazz's members are also part of a band called Inverse Order, and my friend Eric is quite familiar with them. He even texted me asking me to get something off of one of the musicians for him; unfortunately I had already headed home. Nonetheless the aforementioned factors established within me a weird sense of connection and affinity with the band. The excellent music sure helped too, being skankable in the sheerly salivatory sense.

Studyless days, however, cannot by any stretch of the imagination be excused when they are taking place outside of the time period between the two gigs that I have cited. Having spent the weekend watching Air New Zealand's new Boeing 777 arrive, driving around the South Auckland country backroads relatively aimlessly, making a row at a Halloween party -- also for no apparent reason -- and riding the first Sunday train to have travelled the Western Line in forty years or so, it is not very good that I have just spent virtually the whole of today visiting the construction site of the largest house in New Zealand (which I had access to because my dad's company is one of the contractors). Without a doubt, seeing that place was one heck of an experience, but the fact that I have done exactly one hour's study so far for my anthropology exam that is scheduled for Wednesday has the effect of putting a slight dampener on things at the moment.

Wayne Mapp And The Tyranny By Majority

2005-10-28T09:51:00.000+13:00

Differences in perception, as well as a possible lack of organisation post-election, have become apparent within the structure of the National Party, in light of the words of MP Paul Hutchison appearing to be a direct contradiction with those of the newly-appointed Political Correctness Eradicator, North Shore MP Wayne Mapp, who was placed into the new position yesterday by Don Brash. Our dear friend Rodney did well to highlight the overbearing tone that was present in Wayne's speech that lead to his inauguration, going so far as to nobly concur with Deputy Prime Minister Michael Cullen's comment that the title of the new role is "chillingly fascist-sounding."

When one hears this sort of thing coming from someone such as Rodney, who is a vehement opponent of the alleged threat of political correctness, one can find themself becoming aware that this is a particularly exceptional circumstance that National has introduced. However, Rodney has pointed out a deeper aspect of the situation that is important to take into account. The speech made by Wayne that lead to his appointment would certainly serve to suggest that he is not just opposed to political correctness, but he is a forthright proponent of majoritarianism. Needless to say, majoritarianism is not a good thing, particularly in this situation, because as Rodney states, "The antidote to PC-ness is not a politician setting out to eradicate it as an idea but rather free minds, plain speaking, and the critical testing of ideas against the real world, not political ideology."

Wayne's words certainly make it seem as though he wishes to sideline minority opinion altogether -- as opposed to engaging in intelligent discussion with its proponents -- which would definitely not be a positive occurrence in a supposedly democratic society. Of potential further detriment to Wayne's credibility after making these statements is the fact that MP Paul Hutchison has laid out a buffet of apparent contradictions in saying that "The Clark/Peters Government must act on the recommendations of a Human Rights Commission report and improve access to public transport for the disabled." These words contrast greatly with those of a National Party member heard on Newstalk ZB this morning, saying that he wants us to be able to call disabled people "handicaps again." It all certainly appears to be in a bit of a mess at this stage, especially given the somewhat disconcerting use of the word "eradicator" in the title of the position that Wayne has been placed into.

What I thought was a surprisingly unashamed incidence of partisan journalism, being expressed in regards to this issue, was exhibited on TV3's six o' clock news yesterday. In an interview with Don Brash, in an action decidedly reminiscient of his frequent "My wife is Singaporean" catchphrase, the leader of the National Party pointed out that Wayne "is actually married to a Maori person." The reporter presenting the piece immediately cut in, providing a voiceover that placed heavy emphasis on what he would allege to be Don's attempt to put across the impression that National are not bigoted. "What was that? Not just a Maori woman, but a Maori person?" the reporter said. In doing this he was effectively commenting on the apparent political correctness that existed within Don's statement, citing in particular the avoidance of sexist language. The idea that was projected upon this viewer was that the reporter was pointing out Don's use of the "some of my best friends are brown" card. I must say I was somewhat surprised to see this sort of informal carry-on happening on the evening news.

The Pros And Cons Of The Electoral System

2005-10-27T11:37:00.000+13:00

The decision was made by the voters of New Zealand, and made official through a series of binding referenda that concluded around the time of the 1993 General Election, for the nation's former electoral system known as first-past-the-post (FPP) to be replaced by a new way of doing things that, as far as everyone knew, would serve to be a great deal more representative. As a result MMP, or mixed member proportional -- our current electoral system -- was introduced, with the first election taking place under it in 1996. MMP was perceived to be a breath of fresh air by many of those who had voted for it in the referenda. Its introduction of the party vote, which brought the total number of votes that a single voter is able to cast to two -- "one for a party, and one for a person [electorate candidate]" -- greatly decreased wastage.

Under FPP, virtually every electorate vote that was cast in favour of a candidate that did not make it into Parliament was effectively a "wasted" one. The MMP system essentially makes it so that the only "wasted" votes are those given to parties that fall underneath the five per cent threshold required to gain seats in Parliament -- and even then, if one of such a minor party's electorate candidates manages to secure an electorate seat, then the party votes will count despite the fact that they amount to less than five per cent of the vote. This is what happened in the case of Rodney Hide and the ACT Party this election. It was crucial to the party that Rodney gained that seat, because if he didn't ACT would have been out of Parliament altogether for this term.

During the time that it was in use as New Zealand's electoral system, FPP was criticised in some circles for being misrepresentative, as it failed to make room for minority voices in the guise of "left-field" MPs (in other words, candidates who did not either hail from the National Party or the Labour Party). Due to the horse race nature of the system, as reflected in the name "first-past-the-post," it was very difficult for small parties to gain seats in Parliament, because in order to be elected a candidate would require a large concentration of support in a given electorate. In the case of parties such as Social Credit, essentially the ancestors of today's Greens, they had such a narrow national support base that it was unlikely there were going to be enough supporters in any specific electorate to ensure one of their candidates a seat. Like the Greens, Social Credit's support was thinly spread across the country and this meant that they were greatly disadvantaged under FPP. Thirty per cent of the country's votes could well have gone to Social Credit, but if they didn't win an electorate then they would have zero representation in Parliament. This is just one example of how FPP failed to be representative.

It is interesting also to consider what the parliamentary make-up would look like if FPP were in place at the present time. United Future would have only Peter Dunne representing them in Parliament, ACT would have only Rodney, the Greens and New Zealand First would not even be present in the House despite the fact that they both could have gained more of the nationwide vote than United Future and ACT -- and most interestingly of all, Don Brash would not even have a seat. In recognition of these facts it can be said with reasonable justification that MMP has performed its task of being far more representative than FPP ever had the scope to be. When one looks at things on an even deeper level, it could be perceived that under FPP, Rodney would actually not be in Parliament, because he was essentially voted in by his Epsom electorate to ensure that party votes for the right-wing ACT would count -- under FPP there is no such thing as a party vote, so there would be no need for such tactical voting. Thus, realistically, it could even be said that under FPP, the present Parliament would consist solely of Labour and National MPs, along with the four Maori Party electorate candidates who succeeded in securing seats, and Jim Anderton and Peter Dunne who made it through via the Wigram and Ohariu-Belmont seats respectively. Votes for candidates from other parties would have been completely put to waste.

Regardless of FPP's extensive shortcomings, the four elections that have taken place under MMP have yielded questionably representative outcomes in themselves. Indeed, over the years MMP has provided much-warranted representation to a significant number of parties including New Zealand First, ACT, the Alliance, the Green Party, United Future and Jim Anderton's Progressives. However in a number of circumstances it has imbued particular politicians and parties with vast amounts of governmental swaying power, outrageously disproportionate to the share of the vote that said entities secured in those cases. The first example of this was in the 1996 election where New Zealand First received an admittedly significant thirteen per cent of the party vote. The Alliance also gained ten per cent, and ACT took out a further six per cent . Judging by the large proportion of the vote that was distributed to the minor parties in this circumstance, it is clear that New Zealanders were happy to take advantage of the MMP system at this stage and use it as a means to get minor parties, in correlation with their respective views, represented in Parliament.

It was to emerge that the post-election period would be riddled with complications. The fact that the minor parties had taken out such a large proportion of the vote, of course meant that the two major parties had fallen significantly short of the sixty-one seats that they each required should they wish to form a government on their own. As such the cruciality of the coalition negotiations was brought to the fore. Similar to the case of this most recent election, New Zealand First essentially held the balance of power -- whether they took up Labour's or National's coalition offer would determine who would be the next leaders of the government. Also in the vein of what happened this year, Winston used this to great advantage, wheeling and dealing as much as was necessary to put his party in a highly influential position. The negotiations following the 1996 election continued for an even longer duration than the ones which have concluded in recent days. In the end, New Zealand First entered into a coalition with the National Party that was destined to be unstable. A lot of New Zealand First's votes had been received from conservatives dissatisfied with National's policies on economic reform, essentially meaning that in many cases they would have been expressions of protest. As such many New Zealand First voters did not welcome their party of choice's coalition with National -- they felt betrayed. For a significant proportion of voters this was seen as a rather harsh first experience with MMP, as Winston's power of selection as to who would be the next government was highly disproportionate to the share of the vote that New Zealand First had secured. MMP had not proven itself in the first instance to be truly representative. The party has never made up the ground that it lost after it suddenly committed to prop up a National government after over a month of tedious post-election negotiations.

Come the next election in 1999, with National's leader Jim Bolger having been replaced by New Zealand's first female prime minister, Jenny Shipley, the government was a decidedly shaky one, not helped by Winston's actions of withdrawing New Zealand First from the coalition. This lead to the virtual inevitability of an election result that was more in Labour's favour than National's. However, Helen Clark, seeking to "make MMP work" and also to avoid a repeat of the previous election's coalition negotiations that had so frustrated voters, made a concerted effort to pull a coalition together remarkably quickly. The left-wing Alliance party did not even have to provide Labour with a policy statement in order to be invited into a coalition -- Helen was desperate to get a government formed and as such it appears that she was willing to take potential risks. The Green Party, having entered Parliament for the first time as an independent entity -- it was once a part of the Alliance -- provided the additional seats required to solidify the Labour-led government. It was to turn out that the Alliance was going to go through significant inner turbulence throughout the parliamentary term, which ultimately led to the party's electoral downfall. The Alliance's constituency, along with many individuals within the party organisation, were sceptical as to their party's compatibility with Labour -- it was apparently perceived that the Alliance was becoming subservient to its much larger coalition partner. MMP had again yielded a questionably stable and questionably favourable election result. Had the schism within the Alliance occurred much earlier on in the parliamentary term, the fact that the government was so dependent on its support could have produced a very ugly situation. There are certainly risks that exist in a hastily-assembled coalition government. Of course, one cannot blame Helen for wanting to avoid a repeat of the events of 1996. She was determined to make MMP work, and another negative experience could have been detrimental to its future success. Unfortunately, the slight wobble that the coalition experienced towards the end was enough to convince many people that maybe MMP wasn't such a good idea after all. There had essentially been two far-from-tidy coalitions consecutively.

As the term was reaching its end, Helen called an early election for July 2002. One presumable reason for this happenstance was that it was obvious that the Alliance's inner turbulence was likely to disrupt the fabric of the coalition. Shortly before the election, Jim Anderton vacated his position as a member of the Alliance and formed the Progressive Coalition Party. He subsequently achieved greater success in the 2002 election than the Alliance party. Less than five per cent of the party vote went to the Alliance, and they also did not gain an electorate seat. As such they were out of Parliament altogether and it was effectively electoral oblivion for the party. The Progressive Coalition did not receive more than five per cent of the vote, however Jim Anderton successfully defended his Wigram seat under the new party's banner, thus bringing the Progressives into Parliament. The Alliance's downfall had been largely due to conflict within the organisation as to its subservience to its larger coalition partner, the Labour Party.

2002's election result and the coalition that formed thereafter went reasonably smoothly compared to the previous two occasions in 1996 and 1999. Now, in comparing it with the all the other MMP elections including 2005, it can be rather confidently said that 2002 is the "least messy" MMP election yet to have occurred. This was helped, no doubt, by National suffering the most brutal defeat in its electoral history. Helen was not under great pressure to put a coalition together quickly -- however, Labour had received such a significant amount of the vote, that it was quite simply a case of forming an agreement with the Progressives and United Future, both parties being relatively centrist in comparison to the Alliance. Thus a government was formed reasonably quickly and effectively, and proved itself to be probably the most stable coalition yielded by MMP since the first election under the system took place in 1996.

However, the 2005 election has again highlighted the potential cumbersome and flawed nature that exists in MMP, with a scenario similar to -- but perhaps even more complicated than -- that of 1996 emerging. A revitalised National Party under Don Brash bled the minor conservative and right-wing parties of their votes. ACT, New Zealand First, and United Future all found themselves in relatively precarious positions. ACT and United Future only made it through due to their respective leaders winning electorate seats. New Zealand First received a marginal portion of the party vote, but enough to put them over the five per cent threshold. This is good luck for the party because with Winston having lost his Tauranga electorate seat, New Zealand First would have been out of Parliament had they not reached the five per cent threshold in the party vote. The Green party vote also suffered due to National's comeback. Left-wing voters, unnerved by the prospect of New Zealand ending up with a National-led government, shifted their votes in large numbers over to Labour.

In effect, the make-up of Parliament has essentially been reduced almost back to the old two-party fare, as was virtually the constant case under the old system of FPP. The fact that neither of the two major parties received a majority, though, and also that the minor parties had been so badly mutilated in the election, meant that a coalition was hard to piece together. New Zealand First found themselves in a position where they could exert tremendous amounts of power over who would be the next party to lead the government. This power was greatly disproportionate to the party vote that they achieved. It is not right that, especially under a supposedly truly representative system such as MMP, such a minor party could effectively hold Parliament and the nation's voters to ransom whilst it engaged in blackmail to secure a position of optimum influence.

It's blatantly evident that MMP bears a significant number of glaring flaws that have rendered it as not quite the system that the voters thought they voted for last decade. True, representation for the minor parties had been sought, and that has been delivered. Were it not for MMP there would be a far narrower range of views being expressed in Parliament today -- no Greens, New Zealand First or ACT. United Future would have only one MP. However, the sheer importance that potentially-far-leaning-to-one-side minor parties play in the propping up of coalitions could be seen to be somewhat dangerous, particularly after what happened in the terms beginning 1996 and 1999. Also, as illustrated by the 1996 and 2005 elections where on both occasions Winston has been imbued with the power to essentially choose the government, it is unrepresentative to a highly significant level.

FPP could not be argued to be much better in regards to the representation stakes. There is, it could be perceived, a somewhat pleasing "direct democracy" element that lies in the fact that, under FPP, all MPs gained entry into Parliament via an electorate seat. This likely increased the level of local involvement that people were inevitably going to have with the politician that correlated with their electorate. It could also have meant that MPs were democratically elected on the basis of their individual merit, as opposed to that of their party. Under MMP, a large number of the politicians that make it into Parliament do so because of being on the party list and making it through as a result of the party vote. In such cases the MPs have effectively not, on the individually specific level, been given a mandate to represent any community of New Zealanders in Parliament. In this particular sense it could be argued that FPP was, to a degree, a more democratic system. The reason that Labour's John Tamihere is no longer a member of Parliament is because he insisted to run for Parliament solely as an electorate candidate, citing the personal ethical reason that he wished to be chosen by a constituency to represent them in Parliament, as opposed to just being drafted in via the party vote.

Looking at it from most angles, though, FPP would appear to be relatively unrepresentative on the national level. As I mentioned earlier, minor parties were greatly disadvantaged under the old system. The fact that their size tended to mean that their votes were thinly spread across the country and not concentrated in a single electorate meant that it was extremely hard for them to gain seats in Parliament. Indeed, under FPP the elections were essentially a two-horse race on an electorate-by-electorate basis. Also contributing to the system's unrepresentativeness was that often a scenario would occur where, for example, Labour gained more votes nationwide but National gained more electorate seats. This particular occurrence would inevitably result in a National government coming to power, despite the fact that more people in the country had pledged support to the Labour Party.

It is obvious that for all its shortcomings, MMP is a significant degree better than what was in place once before. However, it's proven itself not to be good enough. The only way from here is up. There is no way that there could be a return to FPP as so many major party supporters are asking for. Thorough consideration of alternatives to MMP needs to take place. Perhaps New Zealand could even formulate its own electoral system suited to its specific needs, as a political climate exists here that is unique to anywhere else in the world. Doing such a thing would remove the risks of taking up the already-proven-less-than-perfect electoral system of a country on the other side of the world.

The Political Equivalent Of Something Superlatively Hypocritical And Bigoted

2005-10-23T12:22:00.000+13:00

It was always perceived as a practical inevitability that Winston Peters of New Zealand First was going to end up being the kingmaker -- the man whose crucial post-election decision would determine which party would lead the government, and in turn which direction the country would take for the next few years. There was never a shade of doubt that given such a situation, he would milk it for all that it was worth to achieve maximum gain for himself; preferably a position from which he would be able to further his and his party's overbearing nationalist agenda. The observer was even relatively prepared for the event of Winston being given an influential ministerial position. However, the sheer self-important idiocy that he has exhibited since laughably taking up the role of Foreign Minister could not have been foreseen. The man really has crossed a line.

The first publically visible thing that Winston did after the announcement was made that he was to be sworn in as Foreign Minister was begin rabidly contesting the prolific claims that he had gone back on his word and betrayed his constituency by going with Labour, going as far in an interview with TVNZ as to accuse the media of lying about the nature of his decision. He claimed that the mainstream media's exhortations that he had sold out were "categorically untrue" and commanded TVNZ to "tell [the people of New Zealand] the truth for the first time, in a long time." As a part of the same interview segment, Winston held himself up as having saved New Zealanders from "a snap election in two months" with his decision to trigger the finalisation of coalition negotiations. He made a decidedly clunky attempt to assert that he had done what the public had wanted, by saying in regards to a potential snap election, "Do you want that? No, and neither do the people of this country." With all this taking place at the swearing-in ceremony at Government House, it was evident that Winston was already intent on engaging in extensive antagonism, regardless of his having successfully sealed the lucrative agreement that he was lucky to have had farcically slipped to him by Helen.

Winston was in no way seeking to cease making these same claims throughout the subsequent days. He was determined to make the New Zealand public believe that he was not in fact a traitor to his constituency and a self-interested, situationally exploitative opportunist completely bereft of electoral morals. A second tactic that he introduced with the intent of repairing the headless cardboard cutout that was his image, was to insist that Helen had effectively forced the ministerial position upon him in her desperation to scrape a government together before National could do so. It can be quite straightforwardly perceived that Helen would not do such a thing, having been admirably clear on her opinions of Winston during the past term. She has for a very long time been well aware of Winston's power-hungry motives and also of his potential danger to New Zealand politics in light of his decidedly disagreeable racism and, possibly now even worse, his sheer cunning and his inability to keep his word. Helen would not have handed the position of Foreign Minister to Winston with much willingness at all. The real case is that Winston found himself in a position where he could engage in an awful, cynical electoral blackmail of the then-caretaker prime minister to achieve the optimum position in which he could exert disruption upon the tolerant nature of this country.

That's not where it ends though. In a further attempt to assert himself as a man who is true to his word, Winston has made a request in recent days that is, in most level-headed observers' eyes, among the most heinous crimes against electoral morality that this most devious of men has ever committed. If anything, it serves to achieve the reverse to anything that Winston wished the effect would be. It is undoubtedly to the exponential detriment of his credibility, that it has emerged that, despite his ministership, Winston believes that the New Zealand First is still a part of the opposition to the government and in correlation with this farcical stance the New Zealand First deputy leader, Peter Brown, wants the party's MPs to be seated on the opposition benches next to the National Party. This is inarguably the most heinous attempt yet by Winston to establish himself as not a sell out, but a credible parliamentary individual. Fortunately, it is clearly evident that it has not worked. National, the ACT Party and the Greens have all expressed their dismay at New Zealand First's actions. The Greens of course are in a position where they are particularly outraged, as New Zealand First is requesting that the Greens sit on the government's side of Parliament despite the fact that New Zealand First prevented the Greens from actually being a part of the government. In saying that she considers New Zealand First to not really be a part of the government, but merely on a confidence and supply agreement -- thus attempting to show sympathy towards Winston's plight -- she is showing her lack of willingness to offend the coalition partner and thus her dependence on the nationalist party to maintain the government. Practically all of the electoral events that have occurred since the shape of the coalition was confirmed have been a testament to the devious nature of Winston Peters and his party, and the fact that they not only want to have their cake, but they want it to be fed to them intravenously.

So Little Space, So Many Men

2005-10-22T14:44:00.000+13:00

It can be confidently said that the ultimate decision to attend the free End of Daze festival, which commemorated the official end of lectures for the 2005 academic year, was a wise choice made indeed. The spirit that was present throughout the entire year and which has made my time at university such an exciting experience so far was out in force and embodied in the party atmosphere that the numerous bands produced. Copious amounts of cheap alcohol only served to amplify the revellers' ecstacy at their newly-achieved pseudo-freedom (with exams still to come, it's not quite time to completely let one's guard down just yet).

The absolutely vast majority of people were unflappably happy -- my seemingly-generalised statement can be justified as most probably true, by the fact that I do not believe I came across a single person yesterday who was anything short of exponentially excited. Perhaps in Darcy's case he could even be said to be dangerously excited, in light of the fact that he was performing various loud exclaimations whilst resplendent in a security guard uniform. However, this was not exactly the textiled status of Darcy for all of the day, as you will undoubtedly hear somewhere along the grapevine.

A marquee spanned the raised, grassed area in the quad and provided the venue for the musical acts, as well as a hotbox effect that one cannot discern as being intended or not. Early on in the piece, shortly after things commenced at two o' clock in the afternoon, numerous DJs along with pop-punk bands provided the soundtrack -- which was relatively ambient compared to that which was to come -- essentially providing a build-up, allowing the hundreds of attendees to get into the groove and drink as much as possible in preparation for the act that everyone had really come for.

The performance of indie pop musicians The Sneaks, with their interestingly-utilised raucous casiotone, along with the thoroughly impressive show put on by Wellington-based funk band OdESSA, both heralded in a significant hyping-up of the audience as the afternoon drove on towards the inevitable climax. OdESSA's energetic and danceable rhythm, powerful and polished vocals, and seemingly arty attitude was particularly well received by the now-massive crowd. As their vocalist called out "Hands up who's drunk yet!" just about the entire audience standing immediately in front of the stage under the marquee threw their hands in the air and yelled cacophonically in acknowledgement.

It was just past eight o' clock before the long-awaited headline act, the almost-ubiquitous Electric Six, hailing from Detroit in the United States, took the stage to a deafening reception from members of the crowd, now all in varying states of intoxication and obviously present in their largest numbers yet. The quirkily-dressed and fittingly-mannered rockers proceeded to rip into their fantastic and energetic set which was also to turn out to be an epic one. Complete with lightning bolt-bearing guitar straps, white suit jackets, wiry hair, deliciously oversized sunglasses and comical expressions and poses, the Electric Six were virtually picture perfect.

As expected it was the anthemic hits Dance Commander, Gay Bar and most of all Danger! High Voltage that involved among the most enthusiastic performances from the band and the spectators alike. Suddenly everyone's inhibitions came loose -- even looser than throughout the hours beforehand -- resulting in an orgy of pogo dancing, beer throwing and elbow-in-facing. Overly vigilant security guards attempted to subdue the masses' sheer happiness to virtually no avail, frequently reaching into the crowd and grabbing random revellers, who then simply shrugged the presence of authority off to continue on their quest for absolute fun. A lesbian couple danced furiously to Gay Bar, assuming a significant area of space on the "dancefloor" (which was actually merely grass) as their own. When they began to hook up they were pulled apart by a security guard but then insisted on continuing, in their new position a further metre away from the guards.

The mindblowing, climactic performance proper of the Electric Six continued for a solid hour, only for the inevitable -- that is, the band being cheered on to perform an encore -- to emerge, extending the show by a further twenty minutes. The wonderfully eccentric vocalist Dick Valentine colourfully explained to the audience that Americans are envious of New Zealand, and dramatically announced that "Americans will be coming to New Zealand on vacation for centuries!" As the performance concluded, heavy thrashing on the drums was accentuated by Dick Valentine's epileptic flailing of his arms, the most aggressive guitar work by John R. Dequindre, Johnny Na$hinal and The Colonel, and Tait Nucleus's amazing swirling keyboard effects. "I think you're very special," Dick Valentine casually and straightforwardly told the audience for the umpteenth time that night, as the Electric Six made their final departure from the stage. Those present at the End of Daze festival had not been left disappointed. Electric Six had delivered a fitting end to the academic year and quite possibly established themselves as the first great event of a fantastic summer to come.