Like, literally.

Bring elocution classes back into core curriculum, because I am, like, literally, dying of frustration at the anti-grammar epidemic. It appears to be worldwide, but New Zealand I fear has been hit hardest.

I know I have already written about New Zealand's Next Top Model, but I wanted to stay on topic just briefly, for this brief rant.

The drama, the screams and the feigning of surprise, particularly by Bianca, who I suspect knows full well she's a front runner for the title. It's all a load of codswollop, if I'm honest, and it could have been prevented by either selecting older contestants (still risky), or even educating current contestants on "how to fake being a grown up for the next 12 weeks in order to preserve your dignity" (more reliable).

The worst aspect though? The absolute pits?

The incorrect use of 'like' and 'literally'.

The other day I presented the checkout operator with a bottle of water and two Bumper Bars (apricot and chocolate, if you're wondering).

"Oh my god, literally everyone buys those bumper bars, where are they?"
Firstly. Literally everyone?

Secondly. Where are they? Product knowledge and store maps should be first on the agenda when beginning a new job. And if your employer seems a little lacklustre, take the initiative yourself. You should know I was in a Four Square which is typically constructed with, 'like', 4-8 short aisles.

Feeling a little flustered with this near accosting behaviour of the teenager, I pointed to the aisle. The teenager seemed shocked.

"Oh, are they like, all the way down there? Because I thought they were near me, and whenever I go on a break I go to look for them, and like, I can't find them, so I like, forget."

Jesus.

The worst thing? I say like. Particularly when fatigued or flustered. I hear myself, and I cringe. Like, seriously cringe (incorrect use, just there).

We all say like. And it is so damn wrong. So wrong.

-I like apples. Correct.
-I like to watch Shortland Street. Correct.
-It tastes like chicken. Correct.
-I was like, so angry. Incorrect.
-I was like, literally dying. Incorrect. Not only were you and dying not similar, you in fact were not literally dying.
-"He said will you go out with me, and I was like, like, um, yes!" Incorrect. He asked you. Drop the was, drop the likes, just say yes. Even better, yes please.

In summary?

WE NEED TO, AS A NATION:

• Re-introduce elocution classes.

• Drop the 'like' from our conversation and, I can't believe it has gotten this bad, our writing, unless there is an article, subject or action you are fond of, or two or more of said articles, subjects or actions that you are comparing.

• Say please and thank you without fail when appreciative, or requesting assistance.

Until next time,

L.

It's 'like' 'literally' killing me....NZNTM

What I love about the Next Top Model shows (NZNTM and ANTM) is the taste of luxury, of fashion, of jet-setting and the admirable drive and shrewd business sense of people like Heidi Kulm, Tyra Banks and now Sara Tetro. The accessories, the clothes, the panning shots of New York City, the amazing photographs that are a culmination of that episode's challenges and the inside glances into the contributing industries. Sheer talent alone makes for good television. These reality show contests remove Gossip Girl story lines and leave us with the arrogance, beauty and fashion that provide the same kind of guilty luxury that buying Vogue and Harper's Bazaar every month does. The September Issue ended with me simply hitting play again and watching it right to the end without pause. My favourite scenes of Sex and the City are the wardrobe and interior design voyeur scenes, where the shot has clearly been constructed to show off every sartorial detail, every gorgeous cushion, wallpapered lounge, vintage furniture pieces.

This sneak peek into the high end, high fashion world is endangered though. It is endangered through the increasing accessibility for young fillies and attention seeking males who race through life at 100 miles an hour taking only the bare minimum in and not once stopping to smell the roses. The priority is, and I'm loathed to revisit the now cliche words of him, but the priority really is Andy Warhol's predicted 15 minutes of fame. Success is fast becoming hollow, with fame being misconstrued as integral part of that success.

The fashion industry has boasted a love affair with fashion, with art, with history. The industry has produced carefully crafted whimsy and endlessly campaigns to be taken seriously (Anna Wintour refers to this in The September Issue). But this generation increasingly show a complete lack of regard for the integrity of fashion and its world. It does not help that The Television Decision often cuts, edits, 'directs' and adds aspects that are presumed will make better television.

The final of NZNTM this year will be held live at Fashion Week. A proudly operated event that has helped the industry in New Zealand go from strength to strength. But do the models know the designers? Or are they happy slopping around in their Glassons gear before slipping into coveted Juliette Hogan and Zambesi wares? Have these girls got stacks of fashion magazines in their bedrooms? Have they followed Miranda Kerr through her fashion campaigns, not through her WHO Weekly photos?

The fashion industry is all about judging a book by its cover. We don't care about the contents, as harsh as that sounds. The industry is shallow, and wonderful and artistic, but we don't care about alcoholic mothers and we certainly don't need Tyra amalgamating her chat show with her visits to the model house. We just want results, and good ones. Otherwise, you are no longer in the running towards becoming the Next Top Model. The July 22 broadcast of NZNTM saw a psychologist come onto set. Really? Could the psychologist not just be part of the crew, just like the All Blacks? You don't see an All Black being dissected on camera by the team psychologist after a poor performance and attributing various faults to past, childhood environment and alcoholic parents. Why should models, who should be behaving professionally at all times, regardless of their circumstances, get that kind of airtime? And if a psychologist is really going to be visiting, do you think more than one session, off camera, might be more appropriate?

The models are young. Unfortunately in this day and age when everyone gets everything right when they want it, 'everything' excludes gaining maturity, or 'growing up' on the spot. But is it really to much to expect a certain level of grace, of respect, hell, of general comprehension?

It's all too easy to generalise. Many young people are budding leaders, determined to be successful, know that success does not equal fame and fame does not equal success. Many of those with a keen eye for the fashion industry DO know their designers, their fabrics, their market. With the help of digital media and exposure to the world's events through communication, youngsters will lead tomorrow's world with a more than capable finger on the pulse.

But oh NZNTM. How you, like, literally, kill me.

Mainland Heart Island

I don't know what it is about islands that sends me into the deepest contented daydream. Not the Fiji/Raro/Samoa most dream of, or the 'bloody Ibiza' some may dream of being, but the rugged, desolate yet proudly independent gems that encircle this country.

While I have been out to White Island, my backyard Whale Island remains a mystery to me, and I envy those who have just recently been able to partake in a joint venture between local bodies and visit. Secret bays, brand new perspectives of the land you have just sailed from, landscapes which may only define that one island.

Walking to the top of Mt.Manganui gives you the ability to see out to Mayor, down Matakana and up to Slipper. .

New Plymouth even gets little Sugar Loaf as a cherry on top of its land jut sundae.

I spend the final minutes of most flights orientating myself, picking the settled pockets of farmland from the island reserves, or convincing myself that I have never seen that particular island on a map before. Hauraki Gulf especially renders me clueless, even when studying a map of the area. It was exciting to note that Rotoroa Island (owners The Sallies ran a rehab centre, initially under the "Inebriates and Drunkards Act 1906", this drew to a close in 2005, where similar work was then carried out under a more 'bridging' type program so as not to isolate recoverers)has just become open to the public for visiting after the signing of a 99 year lease by society benefactors Neal and Annette Plowman. While I roll my eyes at the thought that there will be 5 or 6 small lifestyle blocks available, it does look like a worthwhile cause...although see my future post on why I think multi coloured umbrella "the arts" is being taken for a ride...anyway! The Coromandel.

When in Kuaotunu, I found myself bowing to Great Barrier, before visiting Coromandel for the first time and catching a glimpse of Waiheke. Great Merc and Red Merc seemed like parts of the mainland from Buffalo Beach, and Mahurangi from the Cathedral Cove walk carpark was tantalisingly close. .

Now that I'm back in the Hawke's Bay, I find myself remembering how in awe I am of the Mahia Peninsula; from here, it takes roughly 3.5 hours to get to the start of the metal. When it ends 45 minutes later, you're barely halfway. I'd love to go to Portland one day, and land some sweet, sweet fish for the table (I may bake loaves, who knows).

Last year the trip over the hill to Waimarama brought me to tears. Bare Island is so beautiful, particularly when seen for the first time by one sensitive redhead at a her favourite driving time: dusk. .

The Chathams. Well for goodness sake. They have their own timezone, and the trees are Tim Burtonesque if ever I've seen a Tim Burton tree.

When I reach Stewart Island, I will be ear to earring, knowing I've conquered Foveaux and summited Allen, done the Raikura track and skipped over to Ulva (does anyone else giggle just a little?). If I could swing an oyster and a yarn with Marcus Lush, then perhaps I'd consider stopping in Bluff, but we'll play that one by ear. .

Stupidly missing the fact that daily sailings to Great Barrier cease at the end of the extended holiday period in February, my Plan A for recent annual leave was relegated to the shredder. Oh how I would have loved to have scrambled atop Mt.Hobson, landed some sweet, sweet fish (again) for my beloveds and their mealplates, meandered on foot, or on the island's bus company which boast's the motto "We Get Everywhere...Eventually". But, the trip must wait, and instead I was treated to an absolutely brilliant week in the Coromandel, ending with a drive up through the Seabird Coast (thankfully NOT true to its name as we drove through) with a stop at Tapakananga and peering into the Ashby Homestead, finishing with a quick trip to Waiheke, to which I had not been before. .

Waiheke. I'm going to be honest. .

It was a bit weird. .

A suburb of Auckland, without the admission of being so. It didn't feel novel, or particuarly special, though I dare say it holds many hearts, just as benign places to some hold a piece of mine.

It felt like it used to be like Great Barrier, but proximity to the port of Auckland has worn it down. Parts of it were genuinely like a New Zealand film; non-era specific but erring on the side of nostalgia. I don't know, the beauty of an island in the eye of the beholder really, but I yearned for a few dinky baches here and there, and really what I got was something not too dissimilar to what Raglan is fast becoming: slightly lacklustre in the genuine department.

Give me the roadless Kawau any day (funny that Marcus Lush's island episode of North has just screened, I've been thinking of islands all week and nowhere near a television. No I'm not trying to be creepy.) .

When I was younger I read in a National Geographic the story of a man...Mark? who was bitten/chomped/near damn killed by a Great White near Campbell Island. Now, that place is barren. And yet, to land on it, have a quick walk, flop on the sponge scrub, chuck out a rod and take some not very professional photos with DOC signage as proof of my landing would be amazing. .

Am I secretly an Island Box Ticker? Maybe, but I'd rather that than be bloody Ibiza. .

Until next time!
L. .

Photo sources: www.whaleislandtours.com www.matakanaislandnz.org www.teara.govt.nz

It's that time again...

To take the mick out of people. It's such a delight to do so. But there is a line. Sometimes when I have crossed that line unintentionally, I have this immense sense of shame fill my stomach and I lose sleep for an indefinite amount of time. It's when I have not thought through my fun poke, and upon vocal delivery realise that I just sound mean. Now, spite in taking the mick out of people is not my intention. What my intention is usually is to not so diplomatically (yet if the subject refuses to take themselves lightly it is merely a faux interest in themselves in which I have taken) encourage people/dickheads/lovely people having a self indulgent moment to take themselves less seriously, get off their self elevated golden throne, and have a laugh at themselves. I have them, and I sincerely appreciate people doing the same for me. It keeps one grounded. And mindful of others.

Who am I referring to at this very moment? No one I know personally. My 'victim' is currently selling some sweet Witchery and Country Road items on Trademe. Neither stores exist in Hawkes Bay or in Bay of Plenty, and though it's always better to try things on in store, I do like to daydream whilst perusing for sweet tea cups, outdoor chairs and leather pants (damn it, I still cannot find the right pair!).

Anyway. At the risk of being caught out myself by a fellow mick taker, I'm wagering more heavily on the angle that this girl is dead serious. It makes my point feasible. The following sentence was this girl's catalyst for selling her wardrobe.

Welcome to my auction. I am selling all of fab belongings. Turning into material- free Yogi/ Musician.

(the following free space is silence to absorb the above)





YOU NEVER. NEVER. NEVER SAY SHIT LIKE THAT. People who, for decades, or without making a song and dance about the above lifestyle have just gone ahead and done it, would NEVER SAY SHIT LIKE THAT. People like misguided trade me girl make a mockery whether they like it or not of people who genuinely live and breathe material free lifestyles, or musicians who cannot afford possessions because they would rather write and perform music. It's not always a choice if you are a pursuing something you want so badly, it's not glamourous, or a 'trend' to adhere to briefly, these lifestyle choices can sometimes go so far as to define a person. It's like choosing to become a nun, or bankrupt yourself going organic farming because you 100% believe it is right, not because it is cool or fun to become bankrupt or give up sex for life.

Where have all the genuine cowboys gone? The same place one hit wonder Paula Cole went is my guess.

Until next time!
L.

The Village Press

Some unashamedly self serving press: the first issue of the newspaper I have started with is out today! Complete with a photo of yours truly holding her face with a balled up knuckle under her chin and all...

The aim is to be more celebratory of communities, rather than knock on people's doors and tack on extra 'tragedies' that continue to plague a family, or dig for dirt that is really just a wrong turn in someone's life.

The Village Press will be a great catalyst for exploring more wineries, meeting local artists, and getting involved in more sports events around the communities of Havelock North, Te Awanga, Clive and Haumoana.

Shib!

Until next time,
L.

All Black #1109?

Last night I had a dream. It wasn't about living in a nation where my four future children were judged by the content of their character, but it was relevant to the state of this nation's sporting missus, rugby.

The contents at their most vivid are now hazy, but let me enlighten those who want a touch of bemusement this Friday.

Graham Henry had named me on the bench in this weekend's test against Scotland...being played at Wembley Stadium.

I cannot tell you how pumped I was. My dad was proud, I'd made history by being the first female to be named in the mighty team, people, people were talking. I somehow became shy and started seeking advice from Ian Jones. He told me to call him Kamo. That part was weird.

How did I get named? Turns out I'm big enough to play at international level in the second five spot, despite retaining my 59kg, 5'4" stats in dream world. Nonu had popped his achilles, and when confronted by the media (on a school rugby field no less), Henry was quoted as saying "Nonu is out, Williams is having a baby, and I certainly can't take the field- chortle chortle- Morris has been playing outstandingly lately, and we feel that she is the best person to take the bench despite being a female." I would have thought this type of approach to winning might fly in the current state of cricket, but to have my conscience whip it out for code? Crikey.

But oh how the media loved it everyone! The NZ Herald was knocking on my door, stuff.co.nz had it splashed across the homepage, One News all of a sudden had recruited Summerfield and he was backing me 100% despite substantial doubt across the rugby world.

.

I was the new Stephen Donald you might say.

Cut to the changing rooms. Everyone was present apart from McCaw. We were all sitting around. All of a sudden I was (and I can't lie here, I have to be honest) checking out the All Blacks. Now, admittedly I am someone who has picked her Fantasy Rugby team based on looks. But that was when I was stupid and wanted to be controversial when I worked in a warehouse with 8 males, and was interested in rugby for superficial reasons. Nowadays Kieran Read and Tony Woodcock have as much respect from this little ginger neck of the woods as former France fullback Xavier Garbajosa. Does anyone remember him? He played in the 1999 World Cup. Oh, that's right, that year is banished from ever New Zealander's life. Never happened. You can't even get a tax return from that financial year.

You may as well be calling your peer a cotton headed ninny muggins when you bring up '99. Or 'nam, as an aside.

Anyway, the dream. All of a sudden management walks in to the changing rooms. I get excited, we're about to be given our jerseys! We're taking the field soon! I start thinking that I don't even care if I take the field or not (my size and real world a) lack of rugby experience and b) anatomical differences are catching up with me fast). I plan on donating my jersey to a helicopter rescue place (non-descript in the dream). Richie McCaw starts giving the tactical plan for the game. I sit comfortably in my boyfriend's blue jersey knowing that any minute it's getting ditched for a shiny new black clima-cool number.

Then ol' cappie names the team again. As if we didn't know. I almost tune out since we've ben told who makes up the haka pod. This ritual is obviously just another chance to pat yourself on the back for being ruddy amazing, almost deifying yourself for donning the jersey. I then realise everyone's looking at me.

I've been dropped from the bench. Nonu's back. I slip out quietly to have a cry in the stalls. Henry can't look at me in the eye. I'm no deity today.

Graham then finds me and starts justifying my dropping. I can't quite recall the details, but I do remember him saying something about me being able to join the Black Ferns.

Ah, no thanks G. Tempting, but I will pass. I'd get absoutely dominated in that arena. I might be an amazing rugby player that transcends gender, but I'm not after a death sentence.

Until next time!

L.

Conducting Yourself on Facebook: What NOT To Do

Observations have been made about Facebook etiquette lately. Or lack of.

It can be quite cringeworthy really at times. You don't need to be a high quantity user of Facebook to notice these trends, merely a homepage/quick photo checker then out again weekly, or like me, sometimes daily, sometimes 10 times daily, sometimes once a week...ok, erratic.

Some days I vow to shut that bad boy down, others I think it's brilliant.

Here are a few reasons why Facebook is not brilliant at times, people showing their true colours, lack of diplomacy, evident rudeness/busybody nature, or fly by night approach to acquaintances via this social medium.

On a personal level, admittedly there is the tendency to think I am super funny when browsing friends albums and make ridiculous comments that sound hilarious in my head with the tone, intended pauses etc that are clearly never going to be clear under a photo unless that person knows you so well that they know how you would articulate your comment should it be out loud.

A day later I re-read in another person's shoes and cringe at myself.

Telling myself that I am a dick is my usual response.

To the (now classic, despite it being what? Five years old and the premise for a Hollywood movie. Crikey) faux pas of Facebook (NB: this list is by no means exhaustive):

The 'one up' comment:


When commenting on a photo of a 'friend' of yours on safari in Africa holding a baby rhino, don't one up them by briefly regaling the world with your own experience of observing a rhino calf being born and getting to swaddle it etc etc. Let your 'friend' have their day in the sun for goodness sake. You can upload photos of said swaddling experience to your own profile and get the attention then.

Similarly, when viewing photos of Marj and Jeremy in India, judge the level of your excitement noted carefully- it is one thing to share in a mutual 'find' of another country, but don't use the photo as a platform to tell us that you too have been to all these places. We either already know because we know you, or we don't care because we don't know you.

Pregnancy is exciting for everyone going through it, or knowing someone close to them enjoying motherhood. If the world has just welcomed baby Fiona Mary Jones, 8lb 8 at 9am this morning, please don't hastily say Congratulations! and follow it with 4 lines on how your boy Robert is now walking. Again, you have your own 354 friends to share that moment with, let the new mum have her moment.

Weddings are about the couple in the album getting married. Yes you had a fantastic day, but the only bride that should be told how beautiful she looked is the one who features in the album on which you are commenting. Not yourself.

Examples of the mundane conversation starter status:


• Laura Morris is hungry.
• Laura Morris is tired.
• Laura Morris is bored.
• Laura Morris is off for a run.


All solveable problems believe it or not. Perhaps less energy on Facebook, more time carrying out said tasks and solving said hunger/fatigue/boredom issues.



Unless of course the following are the actual meanings of your status above (in same order):

• Laura Morris is on a diet and fishing for 'don't give in you look so great' responses, or even a 'Jane Smith Likes This' because Jane Smith swears by crash dieting and condones hunger.
• Laura Morris was seen on the Social Pages of the Sunday Star Times or 'snapstar.co.nz' this morning so everyone will know she was out painting the town red last night.
• Laura Morris hasn't had an invitation for any kind of outing and would like one please.
• Laura Morris is fit/attempting to get fit/wanting to convey the image of being fit to cyberspace.
Examples of 'fishing' with responses that may seem caring, but be warned! It's just nosiness. Remember, if responders have merely noted on your status as opposed to picking up the phone when your status suggests depression or a cry for help, it's not a good indication that they're going to ring, bring around a casserole, block of chocolate, wine, beer or adult video to cheer you up:


• Laura Morris is sad :( ('oh no, what's up?'/'what's wrong'/'it will get better, you can always ring me if you need to'/'I was sad the other day')
• Laura Morris is happier. ('what was up hun?'/'great news! what was wrong?')
• Laura Morris is giving up on it all. ('oh no! that's no good'/I know how you feel!/oh, that's rubbish news, hope you feel better).
Of course what I will admit is that the flipside of status/photo behaviour on Facebook can also aid the (now cliched) Tall Poppy problem. I LOVE seeing status updates that are moments of celebration and having pride in an achievement (within reason...word it well people, word it well), and honestly, if people feel more comfortable saying they've completed the Boston Marathon and either choosing or not choosing to publish a time than pick up the phone or wait until the family ramble goes out with the Christmas cards, then go for it!

I'll monitor this closely. I'll report back. I would also love to hear your favourite Facebook whinges. When this kind of gig becomes ubiquitous in such a short period of time, it's the perfect opportunity to get some human nature observations cranking.

Until next time!


L.

Last Chance Saloon: Stephen Donald

My flatmates, and consequently, my brother are the latest beings to jump on me and my pro-Stephen Donald thoughts. Yes Aaron Small, I continue to be outnumbered.

So when, at 6.40pm last night, the majority of the nation heard that he was once more an All Black, I was fairly Chesire-ish in my expression.

Forgive me for lack of technical knowledge once again when it comes to rugby, but the opinion from the Whisky Bar is what I hope can be perceived as a 'supportive considered positive stance with just a hint of healthy cynicism'...

Donald's place on the 30 man squad to the Northern Hemisphere is his last chance. Given that Cruden and Slade have definitely made their names known within the NZRFU and the AB coaching circles, there are no prizes for half-arsed performances.

Donald fell into a slump, a bigger slump than the rest of the team when he was last in black. And the expectation of an All Black is to constantly have the highest level of self-esteem, the utmost confidence, almost flawless performances. And you know what? Fair call. We want to win. Most of the time we do. At the risk of melodramatising losses, four million people suffer when 15 men adorned with a Silver Fern lose. But what is wrong with acknowledging a loss of confidence in one's self? Is it because Pine Tree would never do that? Is it because it's weird when guys start admitting they're not invincible? I think it's brilliant that Donald did what he did, and I also feel strongly that it's a bit rubbish he was out there on his own doing so, although, a crumb of kudos to Henry for stating in today's NZ Herald this:

"I felt for him because he went through a bad patch last year when we did as a team," Henry said. "But he has played the best he has ever played recently."

In an interview last year with NZ Rugby, Donald openly spoke about acknowledging his rut. Graham Henry relegated Donald to 1st Class, but has stayed in touch, and they have both been working on what points needed developing in his game. Whether that is a gritty determination on Donald's part, Henry and Smith believing there is more for us to see, or, dare I say it, a consolation prize for Donald so that he does have one more chance remains to be clarified. Donald's determination has obviously paid off in the selectors' eyes, but the cynic in me, lying just under the support of Donald, thinks that Henry sees this tour as a preliminary gig, and knows that if Donald isn't up to par, then Slade and Cruden remain available and willing for the World Cup.

Also concerning is Daniel Carter's surgery rendering him at the mercy of his specialist. The selectors have claimed the size of the squad to be tight in terms of travel, and yet have gambled on Carter being cleared to play. This leaves Donald as the first five eighth for the team. I don't want to go all soft and say it would be nice to ease Donald into the position, because I think it is a valid point to have the expectation that a player steps up immediately. What is irksome about the potential outcome is that if Donald succumbs to pressure and has a rubbish game, then New Zealand once more starts stoning the poor man. Ideally, Carter would start with Donald coming on at 55, 60 minutes, or Donald starting with a guaranteed 1st half stint and Carter running on after a wedge of orange and some Powerade.

If it was purely on betting whether Donald would ever be an All Black again after the last innings he had, I certainly would be the cat that got the cream today. To an extent, I am, but due to believing this outcome would be, I also believe Donald can do it.

Call it stubbornly backing the underdog if you will. It's not that I doubt him, I just know that he has crumbled before, by his own admission. Further to that though, everyone needs a scape goat, especially the All Black camp (and I don't necessarily mean the camp comes forward with a goat to justify a bad run, they're forced by media and by over zealous kiwis to produce one).

In this game where tactical planning, communication and the stance of every player's psyche aren't always evident, the poor kicking of a No.10, particularly that of Donald, is something that every person watching a game can identify and blame.

In short, whoop whoop for Stephen Donald, and best of luck from one of the 2 in 10 people in New Zealand who are absolutely stoked for you.

PS. Fruean and Weepu, commiserations for very different reasons. 4 years ago, Weepu deserved to be dropped. Today, he does not deserve to be having an ankle bone put back into his leg and hanging out in plaster. I also expect someone is writing the same type of article as I have above in Andy Ellis' defence/praise of return...I'm just saying here that it certainly won't be me.

Shame, shame, shame.

For the last...oh year now, I've been meaning to post another, well, post up here at my Whisky Bar. Relocating, life in general, living the good life and returning to print media has enabled me to procrastinate.

Timely then, that it is the media (and as it happens Ali Booth's and Eugene Dupain's kind words) that has finally had me go from tipping point to beating procrastination, jumping on the bandwagon and writing about, yes, Paul Henry.

I think the important thing when incidents like this occur is to try and separate emotion from argument: Paul Henry wasn't being emotional when he made those comments, he was rambling. It's easy to have an opinion, but take your opinion from the equation and it can be an interesting thought process.

The number of Facebook groups that have cropped up with Save Paul this and Bring Back Paul that and Boycott Breakfast etc etc must be heartening to Paul, if he in fact cares at this point in time. While it's a shame emotion drives people to comment rather than thinking, or at least attempting to think, objectively, I think it speaks volumes that the Paul Henry case is just the latest in what seems to be an ongoing saga of closest narcissists successfully bringing down someone who dares to push the envelope, who is unashamedly human with sometimes completely outrageous and against the grain views, someone who, overall, love him or hate him, did his job very well.

Ok, so my use of the word narcissists may or may not place me in the same non-objective group, and Paul Henry displays those tendencies as well, but unless you are the picture or piety, even if you are, you're human. You indulge every now and then. But alas, here is what I think, me, just one person, in a nation of circa 4 million:

1. The media (used here on in as a general term purposefully) have turned their back on one of their own in order to sell, gain ratings, and be part of a witch hunt. It's like we've travelled back to a place where religion dominates and if one doesn't agree or dares to be different they're burnt at the stake!

2. The media have capitalised on the fact that a little bit of knowledge is dangerous for the majority of people who take news items purely at face value. They also are very aware that people who are advocates for any kind of group/belief/stance will have the loudest voices, though not necessarily represent the vast majority of opinion.

3. The media are just as small minded. Three pages, the first three pages no less of the New Zealand Herald one day last week were full of Henry related news. It's a vicious cycle! I'm all for knowing about national news, but current affairs globally do also have a relatively high level of importance. Dare I say it, a little more important than a radical news anchor. Further to the three pages of news on the affair, it is worth noting the following:

i.Paul Henry has worked in some devastating areas with World Vision.

ii.He has worked as a foreign correspondent in conflict areas of the world. He has seen some appalling human behaviour. Such behaviour that would put misplaced comments at the back of anyone's mind.

iii.Henry travelled to the Republic of Congo to search for a New Zealand hostage. Anyone who researches merely by typing in Google "jungles of Congo" will read about terrorists and militia that frequented those joints.

4. Paul Henry said things that were wrong to say on public television watched by thousands of all walks of life. Fact. They were comments of a racist nature and were inappropriate. Fact. But Paul Henry is also the kind of person who, despite making/because he made outrageous calls, did his job above par. Made people smile. Made people wet their pants with laughter. Forced politicians to answer directly. Showed that he had no time for people that behave cold heartedly. But most importantly, the reason why Paul Henry made outrageous comments about others is because he knew full well he could laugh at himself. He knows what people think of him from one end of the spectrum to the other. I ask you this- if you are well educated, have enriching life experience, and can laugh at yourself as well as accept that others are going to laugh at you or disagree with your points of view, then aren't you the best kind of person to spark debate, make others think, make people stand up for what they believe in as opposed to pig-headedly bringing others down purely because they don't conform to what some people believe to be acceptable?

5. Paul Henry is a middle class white guy. Middle class white people make ridiculous comments that are thoughtless. Is this an exclusive generalisation? Of course not! Regardless of who you are, your ethnicity, your beliefs, there is no excuse for it. But when have middle class white people ever been the subject of racial ridicule? When Carthage was a world power?! When travelling to places like Eastern Europe, Africa, Asia, India, middle white class people may be stared at, pointed at, laughed at. Not to be ridiculed, but out of intrigue. The study of other humans that don't fit what you deem to be 'normal' is intriguing business.

6. There are people around the world who thrive on protesting, arguing, bringing people down, smugly enjoying the falling of one's reputation. It's hard to stomach the thought, but it is true.

I might be wrong about it all, but it is one opinion here, one set of thoughts. If Paul Henry turns out to be an openly proud racist bigot, I'll admit I was wrong and eat my hat.

See you later!

L.

PS. From Paul Henry's diary in Tibet, and fitting I might add for the current news:

In order to expedite the scribing of my daily mytherings I have created, and intend to patent a very clever and never before thought of scale. On my scale of 1 to 10, 1 is always shit and 10 is always marvellous, thus 5 becomes the average state of mind for a very dull but painfully satisfied human being. (Please God never let me be a 5). Diary quote from: http://www.everyhorizon.com/paul.html

Pearl Jam Pearl Jam Pearl Jam

Eddie Vedder vici! Playing with Ben Harper in Auckland last Friday

I don't think I can, need to, or want to word it better than Scott Kara, particularly when mentioning the performance of Black as being poignant and the fabulous guitar solo that was happily extended by the band and greatfully received by the audience on Even Flow, but oh my goodness, Pearl Jam was just as I'd imagined. I have been waiting for so long, so so long, and now it has been and gone, and I am still not quite aware that I've seen Pearl Jam live.

But as waxed lyrically about in a previous post, Ben Harper and the Relentless 7's live version of Lay There and Hate Me was one of many cherries on top of the performance at Mt. Smart. It made me even more happy to be that woman that loves the blues...it was amazing to see Ben cranking on the slide finally, it was actually Beth Orton's Stolen Car* that first introduced me to the technical side of Harper, and it was just such a thrill to see him in action!

Until next time, have a great week!

L.

*Apologies for a) the lack of slide solo and b) the fade out of this version.

a Golden Rule for Powderfinger

''If you had your time over again, would you do it all the same, down
through all the twists and bends...'' - Powderfinger: 'Sail the Wildest Stretch' from the new album Golden Rule

Powderfinger have been at my side since around 1998. Initially it was involuntarily that their music was on my radar. Internationalist came out that year, but I wouldn't discover the entire album until 2003. The Day You Come was a favourite with the then ubiquitous Triple J albums.

But what's not to love about these Aussie rockers? Named after Neil Young's famous tune Powderfinger. Poignant lyricists. Modern rock'n'rollers. They are unfailingly passionate about music and dedicated patriots of Australia. Policitical when politics needs a shake up, dedicated to causes that support humanity: "musicians have a guilty conscience in general about their lives being quite good and tend to be aware of social issues" (Bernard Fanning, Nov. 07).

These blokes have integrity. Having been at the centre of a few racial outbursts (the Black Tears we hear on Dream Days at The Hotel Existence is not the Black Tears that Fanning et al penned for original studio sessions...apparently a bit too political for the record label), from what I have read and heard over last decade, Powderfinger tend to be fairly level headed when it comes to defending their stance on politics, and in particular indigenous issues in Australia. But that's for another post...

I suppose what I adore about Powderfinger really does come back to the music. They clutch onto the blues, (particularly with Since You've Been Gone which Fanning wrote for his brother) singing with a voice that captures heartwarming and heartbreaking moments. There is conviction in songs like Who Really Cares (featuring The Sound of Insanity), Love Your Way and Up and Down and Back Again. Waiting for the Sun, the opening track to the album Odyssey Number Five (2005) and Vulture Street's 2003 single On My Mind make rock'n'roll accessible to those who enter the realm with caution. Powderfinger, when I first 'discovered' them, was almost too 'heavy' for me. This was clearly before I stopped listening to the radio and ventured into the depth of grunge and dabbled in the tastes of my older cousins and friends back home.

When it was announced the lads were playing at the Big Day Out, I a) presumed an album was about to be released ('shib!' I screeched) and b) made the call to attend my first (and no doubt last) Big Day Out in 2010.

Golden Rule is...interesting. The opening track El Camino De La Muerta reminds me not of Powderfinger but of Ray La Montagne's Meg White before turning into some sort of instrumental 30 seconds of Tourism Australia music. At 42 seconds we are then launched into classic Powderfinger- Bernard coming in a few bars after that distinct sound the lads have developed with basic electric guitar and brassy drums. They have these rather confronting lyrics that still have room for compassion. A Fight About Money at the moment disappoints me. It's reminiscent of late model Snow Patrol and that hideous Save the City blah blah blah rubbish. Sail the Wildest Stretch though returns to the ballad-that-builds-to-a-peak that the guys do so well, while closing title track Golden Rule seems to have drawn inspiration from Pink Floyd. Bernard maintains a slight monotone in parts that reminds me of the Time's 'quiet desperation is the English way', and Poison in Your Mind harks back to the hiatus driven solo album of Fanning's (Tea and Sympathy)...a really pretty sub 3 minute track that you can't help but repeat 3 times over easily! Think it Over has a feature in music that sucks me in every time- a choir of sorts coming in half through the track. There is nothing so uplifting as a chorus of voices to lead you in to a little guitar solo. In this case there's a cute little marching drum beat as well, and the whole end of the song is quite an experience!

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All in all, I guess Golden Rule is well timed for summer with its release. I'm not sure it's the best effort from the best band of our time, but blind partiality is probably a vice of mine at times, and Odyssey Number 5 changed my life, as did Tea & Sympathy. Well, that's an outrageous claim, but it is these two albums that are dearest to my heart.

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I'll let you guys discover the rest of the album in peace!

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Until next time,

L.

The Family Reunion

It's very rare at the age I'm at to hear about someone being unable to make a gig or party because they have a family reunion. A wedding, sure. Another birthday, again, heard of. But what about the family reunion?

Several times over the last couple of years I've been in conversation with various friends and they've casually dropped in a retrospective yarn on their family reunion.

"Ah...hold on, when was this reunion?"

"I told you I was going, it was a couple of months ago now, in Hokitika*"

And this is why family reunions are fairly quiet affairs...to the outsiders. Being 25 and heading to Hokitika on Labour Weekend with relatives? You'd have to pull a front and feign dread. But on the inside, what a weekend you're about to have!

Usually held in small towns, the family reunion takes up a lot of time for the organiser and or the host. Somewhere along the line a budding genealogist has gotten all excited about some WWII documents that attribute Uncle Ian* to being part of Hitler's downfall* and all of a sudden 6 other cousins exist in Te Puke* and yay! Time to celebrate. You get the core relatives on board- the favourite aunt and uncle and the cousins you've spent your growing up years with, the second cousins that you've long dropped the 'second' from, tell everyone to keep Easter 2011 free, start arranging Grandad's transport and hey presto! A reunion is shaping up.

I had a memory flash this morning of being 11 years old, woken up by my dad at the bach around 4am, handed a t-shirt and told gently to get up and get ready for our roadtrip down to Te Kuiti. For the untrained eye, this t-shirt was merely a plain white one, the size 10 girls version of Dad's XL. But for the family geeks, the back of the t-shirt, emblazoned in bright blue was...a short version of our family tree**. I was more excited about the promise of a pie for breakfast. Steak and cheese at 5.30am. Sweet deal.

Anyway, the folk in Te Kuiti absolutely adored us. We were matching father and daughter AND we were being fashionably informative. It's a bit vague, but I do remember some characters- a couple of the children my age went to my school; bloodline connections- awesome.

At every family gathering, there's the gangly teenage kid wearing all black, the thick as thieves sisters-in-law that married brothers who have ousted another brother*, the cool older boy cousin, the cool older girl cousin, a couple of newborns and finally the great great grandmother everyone fusses around now that the great great grandfather's passed on, left this earth etc.

But when you talk to Grams* you realise she's played her cards right: onto it, full of good yarns and knowledge, perfectly able. There's usually a glint in the eye somewhere that lets you know she knows she's on a cushy number at this family gig. It's merely her ability to hit 90 that's gotten her full privileges such as first to the food table and evading the "HELLO! My name is...." sticker.

What was exciting for me a kid though, before I went through the brief 'that's so uncool' stage before returning to being all about the family, is just listening to people like the great great grandmother. I let everyone else fuss. You learn not only about your own family and the prior generations that contributed to your makeup, but also the area in which they grew up, raised our grandparents and parents. For me (on one side) it's the King Country/Waikato districts. I think what's particularly special about these regions is the richness of a pioneering spirit that is still very much in the air today.

It's not unique to New Zealand, think Otago, the far North, East Cape. We're lucky in New Zealand to still be able to see areas where virgin bush was only cleared recently to develop farms, or see buildings that were the original structures when towns like Piopio (population wise is Piopio a town...?!) were established. It gives you a wider sense of your place (I want to say 'in the world', but it will be reminscent of those cheesy Otago University ads. Flag.) within the family and how you came to be where you are now.

I suppose what's great in this day and age is the use of the net: families have their own websites for posting photos, while it's a bit jock-ish, it does bode well with keeping in touch, and Facebook and Skype as well help the world seem more accessible.

Enjoy your next family reunion...I can't wait for ours!

L

*not true. Not the names, the events, the locations. None of it.

**very true. So true. It became a pyjama t-shirt very quickly.

One: hundred and sixty kilometres. One: lake. One: hundred thousand toes on feet pedalling round Taupo...

It's only SIX DAYS until around 10,000 riders take off around Lake Taupo in the 160km epic event that includes the ever so long Hatepe hill and scenery that's likely to whirr by around Kinloch and Acacia Bay...the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge

Good luck Dad! Is this the 4th or 5th time now...

Until next time, and, of course, good luck to everyone getting amongst at the Great Lake next weekend.

L.

Awkwardness from the ground floor up...

Long before tension pre-empted the inevitable union of lovers in elevators on Grey’s Anatomy, a characteristic of the human condition that is awkwardness has plagued, no doubt, every one. Every single person in the world.

Being awkward is such an intriguing notion. Anything can throw you if you're not prepared. Intimacy, a backward comment, pallor that is odd, obesity, disabilities, a bandage on the face, seeing your victim of drunken texts the next day, week or year. Confrontation. Wanting to avoid confrontation. Turning up to an event (this is more a female situation) wearing the same dress as someone else. Seeing an article of clothing you've just donated to the op shop on the person next to you in a cafe. Disagreeing. Saying 'Jesus', 'Jesus Christ' or 'For Christ's Sake' really loudly when you really shouldn't. Failing to convince someone of innocence. Being caught dashing from the bedroom to the bathroom (or vice versa as the case may be) naked. Lifts and elevators.

I find it hilarious. Even when walking into a lift with your best friend, and another party joins you in the 1m² area (if that at times, more in others) silence prevails. All of a sudden it’s rather interesting that there is a stock standard emergency phone. And a small digital indicator letting you know what floor you’re reaching/passing through. Your shoes get a good eyeballing from everyone else in the lift.

It's only life experience with lifts and elevators that tell you this because you too, have your eyes cast downward, qucikly making the transition from floor to ceiling and not daring to pause in between.

What’s weird however is that the longer the ride, the more bold people are with what they look at. Peripheral vision gives the mind a heads up as to whether they’ve got a chance to quickly glance at your profile, your hair, your lipstick, your face in general. But in confined spaces, it's almost as if the person you're about to check out knows you're about to check them out. Curious, they too use their peripheral to check you out and low and behold, EYE CONTACT. 'Shit', you both think 'they've seen me looking at them'.

It’s like being on the tube but not. At least in London people just stick to themselves or their copy of The Independent (great paper)- it’s always one of those Tier 3 rites of passage- learning how taboo it is to, well, breathe on the tube isn’t it- anyway. Lifts.

My pet hate is being in the lift with a guy, age is regardless. The lift hits ground. The doors open. As a fellow human being, you make the polite gesture of allowing them to go first, but as a female you naturally expect that they allow to exit first. But. THEY DO! What on earth is that kind of behaviour? That makes me wish I'd purposely made the joyride with me even more awkward. Crikey those men deserve a slap. When I'm in a more..delicate...mood, I'll mouth 'after you' behind their backs.

Enjoy your next ride in the lift...

L.

Music: The Scenic Route

I don't listen to the radio very often.

Every now and then I'll hound loved ones for what they are listening to. I don't really You Tube either apart from nabbing links for The Whisky Bar, and forget Myspace. I've always wanted a job in a music store, but they're harder to get than a job in a surf shop when you're a teenager.

It's not that I want to avoid technology despite being fairly technologically inept. It's more because I am desperately holding on to the rituals of flicking through cds at music stores on solo missions that can last for hours, reading Rolling Stone, or issues of NME and Q passed on to me from my Britpop fiend friend. I love reading an artist's cd jacket or typing in one name on Google, Wikipedia to see who influenced them during their rise to fame. I continue to idolise Nick Hornby's Rob in High Fidelity (by the way, what was John Cusack thinking with this new movie 2012? Hideous!)

It doesn't matter whether these influences have been correctly identified by the biographer/Wikipedia jock or not, it can often be band/artist I've never heard of, or better yet, can lead to making 'that' discovery we have all had at some point: imagine only just discovering that Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison & Jeff Lynne were the men who comprised Travelling Wilburys... thinking 'who is Jeff Lynne?'...you then encounter the magical hit Evil Woman sung by Electric Light Orchestra- Lynne was lead singer.

Discovering (thanks to one of NZ's best guitarists) fallen-through-the-cracks rock band Ten Years After, and growing to love their epic blues numbers and guitar riffs has been a fantastic little epic journey for me. Then to read that they are named so because in 1966, it had been ten years since Elvis Presley burst onto the scene, and changed the face of music, rock n roll, society, forever made me smile even more.

It makes me a massive nerd, this I realise, but how much fun it is to be on a seemingly endless little journey through music history. The greatest thing about music is how it's replenished decade after decade with new genres or dynamics that have facets of ingenuity combined with elements of music that harks back to previous eras of blues, soul, jazz, rock, country, bluegrass, roots, taking a little bit of world music and combining it with pop (think Graceland, think Michael Jackson, think Timberlake. Think Public Enemy's remake of Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth). Cross-pollenation of genres when Chris Cornell lends his voice to Billie Jean, when Pavarotti sings with Bono on Miss Sarajevo..no no, even better, Bryan Adams.

I plan on marrying (one of many weddings to musicians...) Ray La Montagne. This self-assurance cemented when I read that he turned his back on music due to a rubbish father who was a musician. Ray was terrible at school, got a job in a shoe store, heard Stephen Stills' (Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young) Treetop Flyer and bang. Done. Musician. Heartbreaker. Heartwarmer. All thanks to Stephen Stills. And I thought everyone only focused on Crosby and Young...

In December Fleetwood Mac visits New Zealand as yet another classic band to hop on the bandwagon of reunion tours. Sold out for the first concert and no doubt hugely popular second concert, New Plymouth will be home to tonnes of black and purple velvet, white gypsy skirts and black eyeline for three days as folk from all over New Zealand flock to hear their favourites. Fleetwood Mac t-shirts will be aplenty. But what makes Fleetwood exciting is that a) there are 2 'eras' of the band which both have so much to offer, and b) you could put a song like Go Your Own Way or Everywhere (late 80's Fleetwood, focus had shifted from Buckingham to the girls by this point), on at an event today, and most people will know their songs.
This is what is exciting about the scenic route in music: the more you know, the more you want to learn. You get hungry for more music. And why shouldn't you? It's an international language. Everyone can take what they want from it, whenever they like. And sometimes, the only way you'll find some of this music is by stopping into a record store, having a sift, a peruse of the bargain bins or the store guy's recommendations...or for those who are content with technology, checking out Last FM...

Until next time!
L.

a short thought for the long weekend

“Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it so that the other half may reach you”.

A short one to end the long weekend with- I've started a couple of posts this last week and just not gotten round to finishing them I'm afraid!

The last issue of Rolling Stone had 4 covers, giving each Beatle their own cover as they are celebrated once again, in yet another light, with the digital remastering of every single one of their albums, b-sides, films...you name it on the catalogue, it's there, for purchase, in either 'original' mono recording or new stereo.


Something must be attractive about this latest marketing ploy- I think I've only seen a few stray copies of Let it Be and Abbey Road sifting around the shelves of music stores. Certainly no Sgt. Pepper or White Album.


Anyway, I somehow got reading about Khalil Gibran, a poet/musician/artist who influenced Lennon particularly around the White Album days, and am bemused at how typical his philosophies, works etc were just one of many who inspired figures like Lennon in the 60s. People were searching for something in the sixties weren't they? As a society, not just as individuals. Those who were 'discovered' by people like The Beatles, or at least, their philosophies were adapted collectively by the counterculture of the 60s (perhaps because these figures stood for nothing that the Western world represented, and yet the values of American and British societies were almost in perfect alignment with the words that Gibran et al had penned decades prior....) would then be treated to people like Lennon et al 'spreading the word' of teachings from Gibran, Gandhi, Buddha, Kharam, the Dalai Lama...

It's an intriguing thing: the East, the Middle East worlds where the way we think, behave and act were not the same as inhabitants of those particular cultures...even today where the world is far more accessible, through travel, through the media, the internet...there is still plenty of room for ignorance.

Until next time,

L.

HAPPY HOUR

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HAPPY HOUR

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Living History: Dick Frizzell

Last night I attended the book launch of Dick Frizzell: The Painter at the Page Blackie Gallery.

Now, I definitely don't consider myself a reviewer of any sort, nor worthy of having credibility to be a critic, but one can't help but be pleased to see an event being hosted that funnily enough, seems to be so rare yet the components of it really are hand in glove.

It was the first time I was at a gallery where live music was, not in the background, but part of the 'programme'. The Wellington International Ukelele Orchestra was, as per, on form and charismatic with their new uniformed look (designed by Frizzell, modelled by most members)

Here's the kicker: the artist and the artist's wife were in collaboration with the musicians!

Throw in Wellington name-of-the-moment Lawrence Arabia and you have a niche event that a) you were lucky to attend because you love, adore, treasure, admire art, and b) wish more people had attended because the concept was just so...'neat'! (I'm still smiling!)

While purists may have a slight sense of cynicism that could note that the music was used as a draw card to attract numbers, I admit that was my first thought as well. But think on it, this is a man who is launching a book, not a series of works (in this instance). It was a celebration of his contribution to, hell, even leadership of, pop culture in New Zealand. And what is pop culture? It is, and the list is not exhaustive, comprised of society, fashion, music, art, trends, attitudes and dare I say it, to an extent, the state of a nation.

A highlight for me at events such as these is when someone that has a close affiliation with the celebrated is the one who speaks on them. David Gascoigne (Chair of NZ Opera, and a fan of changing the nation's flag) was this man last night, quoting Hamish Keith, referring us to Bookman Beattie's blog, and throwing in a charming anecdote here and there that lets us know how lucky we are to have been in the presence of someone who is a living part of New Zealand's history.
I tell ya though, when Dick and wife Judy got up to sing Folsom Prison Blues with the Orchestra, that's when I was just elated to have gone along.

That and being pleasantly surprised by the glass of Frizzell Wines Chardonnay I had to drink. Very caramelly after taste, smooth, delightful. It's a boutique baby of a wine, so head to this website (even if it's just to look at his design work for the site!) to buy. YUM.

Anyway, I digress.

After Frizzell and Judy departed the stage, we were 'blessed' to have Lawrence Arabia (aka James Milne) join the ukelele gang. At first I rolled my eyes. This guy is everywhere at the moment. He seems to be the guy that people who frequent Mighty Mighty in brown cord suits and A-line skirts made out of curtain fabric seem to love, plus he really annoyed me at the Liam Finn and EJ Barnes gig I attended last month at the Opera House doing some sort of 2 noted wail alongside Connan Mockasin.

Anyway, can I just say Lawrie baby was brilliant! He suited to the more intimate and tinny (in a good way) sound of the ukelele/bass. His singing was downpat and the group was tight.

My cherry on top for the evening though was the Orchestra doing quite possibly the cutest slash best acoustic version of 'Sunshine of Your Love' by Cream. Outstanding! The singer was reminiscent of Claption, yet didn't sound ridiculous, the solo riff was just an absolute joy, in fact, as Hamish Keith described Dick Frizzell to be, I would happily put it out there that this version of Cream's song had the highest level of 'robust joy' I've heard from a song in ages.

Nice work PBG- it was a brilliant soiree and further cemented your place in the country as a top gallery.

Until next time,
L.

Cover of Dick Frizzell: The Painter, published by Random House 2009
Cultural Tiki by Frizzell
A photo of the artist
The Kiss, 2007, by Dick Frizzell (Janne Land Gallery)