Bless the Beasts and......... the Firefighters?

Awesome.

Just when you think the Americans are all about the dollar, they go and spend thousands on 50 firefighters and various resources to rescue.......................a dog. Some say you can judge a society on how well it treats those who have no voice.

Good on'em I say.

Flying a True New Zealand Flag

John Ansell and Kenneth Wang have a fantastic idea here at John's blog - instead of waiting for referenda ad infinitum, take a leaf out of Nike's page book and "Just Do It".

Their idea is to literally fly a true  representative New Zealand flag (and not someone elses idea off what a flag should look like) over the Auckland Harbour Bridge on Waitangi Day using a helicopter.

You can donate to the cost - about $20,000 - by emailing John at john@johnansell.co.nz

Unleash the Cougers!

Ladies and Gentlemen,................... I am distressed!

I have just read Stuff's take on Air New Zealand's fantastic viral campaign to Save the Cougar. With contributions from eminent and distinguished people such as Rosemary McLeod (Huh?), Victoria University associate professor Delores Janiewski (that is more like it) and, finally, the comedienne Penny Ashton (I thought I wrote eminent and distinguished?), this piece must surely be authoritative and informative.

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

Firstly, Prof. Janiewski weighs in and says " the ad was funny and cheeky". Then the Professor moderates her comments a little and says:

but it was hard to tell whether the ad was encouraging or denigrating single women.

Mmmm. Thanks for that, Professor. She obviously have a funny bone however is too scared to admit it in public lest she have her job ripped away from her by being painted a "sexist cow" for making comments that might seem to offend 0.2% of the population.

If the Professor's comments couldn't help you formulate your opinion then have no fear. That towering intellectual heavyweight, Penny Ashton is here to set things right!

However, Auckland comedian and poet Penny Ashton said the ad was sexist, and painting women as predators and men as their feeble prey "incensed" her.
"Men are not helpless. Surely if you say no a couple of times it should work?"

Sexist, eh? Incensed, you say Penny. Poor woman! Someone who knows Penny please call 111 immediately!  No doubt the girl is a slobbering, catatonic mess on her kitchen floor and requires medical attention after this vicious assault on her senses. Oh, the horror.

Lastly, "Dame" Rosemary McLeod chimes in to ad her take. She said the ad was "lame" and that:

"I think older women should think very carefully before tackling young men in gay bars, as disappointment is bound to follow."

And this is why Rosemary McLeod should be knighted - or at least tapped on either shoulder with a large stainless steel spoon . She doesn't really care for the ad yet Rosemary doesn't let that get in the way of a bit of humour and more to the point doesn't let something she doesn't particularly like overwhelm her.

Personally, I thought the ad was extremely good, not only for the content but for the style and manner it was delivered. Well done Air New Zealand! Innovative advertising, eh? It's no wonder you were voted the worlds best airline. Really, this piece by Esther Hayward in the Sunday Star Times couldn't have played out better. I think I will fly with you all the time now and thumb my nose at the others. Job done!


I suspect, however, Penny may not be overly happy and unless someone else is making and paying for any travel arrangements (a performers preferred travel option), Air New Zealand could well be on her shit list. Poor Air New Zealand.


C'mon Penny - harden up!


Is your poor ego really that fragile as to let a viral campaign on the internet completely defrock you (or should that be unman)? This is a funny ad. I'm not really sorry that you don't like it - there are ads out there that make men out to be complete and utter, bumbling oafs (think any washing powder ad with a male in it) but I don't get "incensed". It's comedy - surely you must recognise that. Apparently, along with poetry, that's your profession.

And this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is what distresses me. Where has New Zealand's ability to laugh at itself gone? Gosh, we take ourselves so seriously. That "cougers" are out there, there is no doubt. With the emancipation of woman this was always going to happen - a woman was going to go out and get her some lovin! Fantastic. And it is a funny situation. If you've ever seen an older woman seduce a younger man (cue: Simon and Garfunkel music) you will chuckle all night long.


So, for Christ's sake, live a little NZ. Chuckle along instead of trying so hard not to offend the minority of one. Sunday Star times - please don't give Penny anymore airtime. Having been to one of her shows, she is perfectly capable of spreading her opinion with her voice alone. And Penny, in between poetry readings and your other funny stuff, please go see Dame Rosemary so she can instruct you how to harden up.


In the meantime, watch it all again and laugh. I did.

An Open Letter to John Minto

Hi John,

This is a personal appeal.

Stop.

Think.

It was interesting to watch your progress to South Africa on TV not so long ago. I couldn't believe that you had protested so loud, so long and so vociferously against something that you had no experience of.

As a youngster at the time of the Springbok tour and at the height of HART, I had no opinion beyond that which was given to me by my parents: i.e. Let sport be separate from politics. In succeeding years as I developed my own opinions, I was proud of the way that NZ had "contributed" to the downfall of such an abhorrent regime. 

Then I traveled to South Africa - first in the time of De Klerk, just after "reconciliation"  - then later under Mbeki and I found out what the issues were and realised just how ineffectual and off the mark HART was.

You had no idea what was going on.  You had no idea what life was like in South Africa. You may have known some South Africans but you certainly didn't know South Africa.

And when, on that TV program I saw your attempts to "rally socialism in a true marxist spirit" amongst the black people, I realised that you are not fighting for those people at all. You are fighting for your own selfish beliefs - USING those people as an excuse to further your own agenda - impinging your own ideals on faith and cultures that you have no knowledge of.

John, I've seen the devastation that war between Israel and Palestine has caused. I have lived it and seen with my own eyes the impact of daily violence on ordinary humans and, like you, am aghast that it happens in the modern age. We should, given our past history as a species, have learned the consequences of such behaviour.

Yet in the midst of this media age where our views are served to us by outlets with agendas (sorry - did I say Fox Network out loud?), there has been and never will be any excuse for being there and truly knowing.

John, your credibility is slightly shot.

You have no moral right to protest over things you know little to zip about.

Sure you will probably say you have "friends" that feed you information. You may have even "stopped off" in the area once.

But you have no idea really. You don't know what it's like to walk a mile in Shahar Peer's shoes. Or a Palestinians for that matter, I wager.


Do what is right, John and live up to at least one of the principles that New Zealand was created upon: egalitarianism.

Be fair. Because at the moment, you are displaying the worst aspects of racism and cultural jingoism that for so long you opposed.

And hypocrisy is a bitter pill to swallow.  

No Helmet Hone

This from Stuff.co.nz:

The motorbike incident happened two months ago, when he met a group of anti-violence demonstrators on the forecourt and took a short ride on one of their bikes.

It was pointed out at the time that he wasn't wearing a helmet, but he laughed it off.

TV One News reported tonight that a couple of viewers had complained to the police.

Now this is just getting silly. I agree that if it was anyone else that someone would have complained and not targeted at Hone but, FFS, this is just pathetic!

It's like New Zealand has become a nation of Patricia Bartletts. Lets complain about anything and everything. No harm no foul, I say.

C'mon New Zealand. Get your shit together.

Where is Annette?

I just commented over at Chris Trotter's blog Bowalley Road about a post on Grant Robertson when the question rose: Where is Annette King?

Granted that they probably want to keep the focus on Phil at the moment however Robertson taking Goff to task over the Nationhood speech lead me to ask where  is the communication between Goff and his caucus. I would have thought Annette, being the capable communicator (the EFB aside) would be busy doing the deputy's job and calling the indians around the fire for a pow wow.

Yet we haven't seen Annette at all over the past fiew months.

What is Labour's deputy doing?

A bad job, some might surmise, after the Robertson affair.

Sod it..... Lets Get Morbid!

I didn't know Annie Woolf at all bar what she presented to us on her blog.

Don't get angry about this but it's like a celebrity such as Princess Diana dying (I hope Anna is chuckling away wondering where this analogy leads). We saw Diana from afar - more in publications and perhaps TV than anything. Few got to meet her. Fewer still got to speak with her. And yet when she was killed, we were affected. We felt connected by the fact that we saw something in her that we had in common. I'm not sure what it was - she seemed a most singular woman to me - yet she never failed to make an impact.

Annie Woolf has managed to achieve a bit of that as well.

I learned of her death by the blogosphere. That nebulous mass of people who, somehow believe, that people want to read what they write. Or write for the hell of it. Or any manner of reason. And that is the thing that I had in common with her.

Her life (and death) are worlds away from mine. Apart from some basic trivialities such as we are currently living in New Zealand and English appears to be our first language (after a few drinks, I suspect it becomes my fifth!), we had little else in common.

Now she has died and the only thing that strikes me is: today Anna died and someday I will die too. People have been busy leaving messages and posts about Anna on Not PC's site. Predictably, the mood is sombre and reflective. Sad that Anna has gone and the common thread is missing a stitch.

Today wasn't an everyday occurrence. And suddenly we all feel a wee bit vulnerable. Cause the other thing we have in common is going to happen too. You know, the "D" thing. Bugger. On the flip side, though, probably not today.

And that is Anna's legacy to us. For over a year, she shared with us what was happening to her all the while  still railing against the same things we, as bloggers, do: life, love, politics and bad food. All  said with grace, charm and delicious wit and all the while adding her comments on her Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma like it was a normal everyday occurrence.

But thats the point. Anna talked about it in the midst of strident comment and invective thrown around at Kiwiblog or prickly, acid commentary at Cactus Kate. Ranting madness at Whoar or barracking over at the Standard. All the things we bloggers go on about. All the while someone was dying.

Anna's death binds our community. This is a good thing. Like Diana's death perhaps. I know all the bloggers at the Cavalier tonight are finding out that we have more in common than an internet connection and a willingness to expose our thoughts.

So next time bloggers you're about to go ape on someone that has annoyed you or are about to get personal, take a moment to think about Anna Woolf. Someone who was facing the biggest and baddest challenge that all of us will face. Remember her grace and style in the face of the fact that she wouldn't be writing her blog the next day. Then remember how lucky you are to have the opportunity to do what we do.

My ode to Beer

"Beer, for want of a better word, is good".

If Gordon Gecko, so wonderfully and malevolently played by Michael Douglas in the movie "Wall Street", was a kiwi, this is what he would say.

I like beer.

As I write this, I'm sipping away from a bottle of that amber gold. A rich, full bodied, yet delicately spiced East India pale ale. Its been 25-odd degrees with a gusty nor'west here in Canterbury and come the end of the working day I found myself parched. From midday onwards, I dreamed about that first bottle. And at 5.15 this evening, I wasn't disappointed. It was lovely. Chilled to within an inch of cryogenic perfection, the hssss as the cap was removed promised relief and satisfaction and by golly it delivered.

I'm not a yob, a bogan or an alchy. I'm not one of those people who wear long shorts and walk socks with pens in the top pocket of their short sleeved shirt who can describe the chemical process involved in the brewing to a cellular level. Nor am I one to decorated my house with beer posters and who consider "beer gear" the height of fashion and consider which beer one drinks to be directly related to their identity.

I just like beer. It tastes nice.

I like wine. Red's are my favorite although I don't mind a Sauvignon Blanc and can even spell sauvignon. I enjoy a fine whisky and will gladly wallop a bottle of vodka should the desire take me.

But for drinking with a couple of mates on a hot day, beer is great. It satisfies that immediate thirst and after a couple of bottles, leaves you feeling pretty good about life in general. If you have a couple of friends round, have a beer and shoot the breeze. It lasts a bit longer than wine because, being only 4%, you can have a couple and still be able to drive. And because so many New Zealanders drink it, it's a wonderful social lubricant. It's not as if you have one good bottle of beer and you become a social pariah whom the only person that thinks you are at all witty, charming and fun is yourself. If I have one "good" whisky, I'm best to organise a cab home from friends that will tolerate boorish behaviour. Moreover, and this is particularly relevant, I can have several beers and still type!

Nope. Beer is it. Cool, tasty and refreshing.

Beer is good.

ETS Far Removed.

Is anyone else feeling slightly removed from the ETS debate?

If you go to Kiwiblog there are comments, accusations and epithets flying from one corner to another. But once again, this war seems to be fought over ideological grounds rather than the minutiae of the the bill itself.

The general public have heard what the media chooses to spout at us - mainly the potential cost to the taxpayer over 40 years - and except for Brian Rudman here, there seems to be precious little analysis and forthright, plain english explanations. I've had a look here and there and think I've at least got the gist of whats happening. Everyone should have the gist! Everyone should be Gistified!

With the background of the Maori Party deal sending up smoke in all directions, the real issue is obscured. What are we, as a nation., doing to help the environment?

Few people would say that doing nothing is the way to go. Most people have accepted that we need to change our lives in order to secure the future health of this planet - or at least join in the saving for political expediency. So if there is such little understanding out there, why not take a break from urgently ramming through this bill and explain to Kiwis what it is we are doing. Given the magnitude of the issue I think it would be good to have this better explained now rather than some complaining about it later.

So while all the whirlwind of rhetoric goes on around me in the beltway over maori and whatever else, I still feel removed from the biggest environmental decision our country has made in the last 100 years.

And I think there is something wrong with that.

It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.

For the past few months, I've had nothing good to say.

So best not to fake it. Just don't say a bloody word. Not one

Without sounding deliriously depressing (uh, too late there, pal), I've just had sod all that I wanted to write about. The politics has been "relaxed", the sports mediocre and while there have been umpteen issues of great note, relevance and import, none have struck me as been worthy of sitting down to compose a piece.

When I started the Home Office, I wasn't in the mood for a confessional that have made bloggers such as Girl With a One Track Mind a sensation. I didn't want to be a kind of news aggregation and comment site such as Kiwiblog.

I wanted to write because I like it. It feels good and I wanted to feel good then. At the time, every little bit helped. I wanted to actually try to craft a piece of writing in a way that, like music or a great movie, it connects with other people. To get an emotional reaction from a reader. Reaction is measured in novelizations by book sales. Blogs are measured by page visits and readers comments. And a few people did come, read and comment. It is fantastic gratification and ego stoking.

I rang my old English teacher and asked him to look at it early on. He is an amazing wrangler of good, old fashioned, "Anglo Saxon" words. People even buy his books. I was sure that the qualities that he possesses would be found here. I went looking for praise and got a critique back that could have come straight from a 5th form homework assignment - full of red lines, notes and admonitions on my bludgeoning of the language and grammar. That wasn't gratifying. It was honest but it didn't stoke my fires. It was a blow. One that I knew would come. I asked for it when I emailed him. So why be discouraged when it happens? Re-reading the article he commented on, it's no bloody wonder because it is appalling.

He also gave me advice. For example:

"Writing is a good thing to do. But if you want people to read what you write, you need to work on the craft, the trade. It's a trade like plumbing. You need to know how the bits work. It takes a long time to learn".

Bugger that, I thought. I don't want to take the time. So I started reading successful authors liner notes. I went to their webpages and read their notes and FAQ's where they told the secret to great writing. And this is what they pretty much all said.

Discipline.

Something I have none of. Nada. Zilch. Keiner. Nulle. None.

I'm an empty 44 gallon drum. An amount of air contained by a thin skin. To the outside world, I look purposeful, solid and capable but inside is empty. I could try and be nice and say "I don't have the patience" or "I can never find the time" but that would be a lie. The truth is that I am undisciplined. I am a lazy sod.

Bugger.

So, in an effort to change this, I'm going to be more purposeful in my writing. After all anything will be better than my productivity over the last few months. I will write often but I probably won't always write well. But it's not if you win or lose, it's how you play the game, eh? Perhaps an old dog can change his spots. Maybe I could start filling the drum too.

And by the way, anyone who points out that I didn't start this blog as a literary hand wringing exercise then served up this tripe, you are quite right. But it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to. So up yours.

P.S If you read this then think that I'm vain and shallow - you're right again. I am. Isn't life a bitch sometimes?