19-17

In the first major upset of the season, M's team came back from a 4-0 deficit in the first few minutes, against what are considered one of the two top teams in their grade, and were never trailing from there on in. It was a hard fought game, with the opponents drawing even on several occasions.

Near the end we were willing the full time whistle to blow... the opposing umpire, who is also their coach was getting rattled, some of her umpiring is dubious anyway, and parents from her team have been known to apologise to opponents' parents for her blatant bias... at one stage she told T (our umpire) off for what was a very reasonable call & one of our vocal supporters shouted "Don't argue with the ref!"

Anyway, we won. The girls were stoked & some wore their team tracksuits for a post-game shopping trip through town.

Next week... it's an even harder team judging from their record so far. Beat them & we're the GREATEST! On past experience, we can also then expect the draw to be rejigged to stack the odds against us. Not everyone likes the underdog it seems.

That might sound paranoid, but some very odd things happened last year & we ended up playing the same handful of very hard teams all the time instead of the rest of the field... I'll keep you posted, because regardless, we aim to prevail! To FIGHT! WIN!

And we've started the right way.

Thinkers anonymous

This just in by email. I'm afraid the sender will have to remain anonymous...

THINKERS ANONYMOUS
Do You Think Too Much?

It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.

I began to think alone - "to relax," I told myself - but I knew it wasn't true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time.

I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself.

I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?"

Things weren't going so great at home either. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother's.

I soon had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the boss called me in. He said, "Skippy, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you'll have to find another job." This gave me a lot to think about.

I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking..."

"I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!"

"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."

"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money, so if you keep on thinking we won't have any money!"

"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently, and she began to cry. I'd had enough. "I'm going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door.

I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche, with a PBS station on the radio. I roared into the parking lot and ran up to the big glass doors... they didn't open. The library was closed.

To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.

As I sank to the ground clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster.

Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.

I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed... easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped
thinking. I think the road to recovery is nearly complete for me.

Today, I registered to vote Republican.

Talking TV penis gets chop

The story to go with this excellent headline is surprisingly boring. But who am I to turn down a headline like that.

Talking TV penis gets chop | ENTERTAINMENT | NEWS | tvnz.co.nz

Yoohoo!! We're over here!

Shameless Plug sorry:

wellingtonist

Dentists are cool.

I don't mind dentists. Maybe I have a high pain threshhold (my wife would disagree, but I think, forms contrary opinions to the available evidence at times).

But dentists solve urgent problems for me, toothache (very infrequently), and sharp edges irritating the insides of my mouth after old fillings fall out. My dentist & I agree that I have my share of fillings. In fact, I think there must be more fillings than tooth by now.

I spent my early life in the UK, growing up in an area that did not add fluoride to the water.

My earliest visits to the local dentist involved exchanges like this:

"Take a seat."
"This one?" - I still ask this, it never fails to amuse me. No dentists have ever been amused by it though.
"Open wide... How are you today?"
"Gnnnnfff"
"Don't try to speak."

"Ohmigod!... you have teeth! I'm afraid I'm going to have to drill most of them away & fill them with unstable & poisonous metals. because frankly, I'm just out of dentist school & I need the practise."

When I came to NZ, the metal to tooth ratio was increased slightly by the school dental nurses I encountered. But not so much.

For the last 3 decades however, I have had almost no problems with my teeth, except for ancient fillings falling out & needing to be replaced. Oh.. and a couple of crowns as a result of their not being enough tooth left to fill, and one or two root canals.

My tolerance of dentists is such that I rarely even have an anaesthetic. They usually hurt more than the drilling. My current dentist was amazed by my tolerance when he was diagnosing the root canals. But then he discovered the nerves in the teeth in question had been drilled away years ago by some enthusiastic predecessor.

My dentist also has pictures of his latest overseas trips displayed around his surgery. As if to say "Look, you paid for this!" (See also: Veterinarians' sportscars). These photos have changed, every visit. (At least the vet keeps the porsche for a few years before upgrading). He even has photos on the ceiling, so you can admire his picaresque lifestyle while supine, with a lot of instruments in your mouth, and an old man's face about an inch from yours, with some really weird looking magnifying devices strapped to his head, and a bright light shining in your eyes.

That's the other thing, dentists have some very cool & inexplicable looking gear. Just those seats for instance. An old flatmate & I always wanted a couple of those seats. For watching TV from. Or possibly other recreational activities that might occur, since they recline like that. (Hey, you're reading the blog of a man who once bought a Fiat Bambina because he fancied the sister of the seller & could vividly imagine her & him in the back seat. Or dying trying anyway. And it never happened sadly. Although I was saddled with a derelict bambina for several years anyway). But I digress...

My dentist is a very sharp dresser. Those suits did not come off the rack. He lives not far from me (in the same overpriced street as the vet, actually), and so I run into him a lot & he can manage with just a "Hello" and a lift of one eyebrow to convey the same old message everytime "Been a few years since I saw you & your rotten, dirty, decaying teeth, Sonny!"

He sends quite cool & funny cards to remind me that I heven't been in a while "Missing you! Haven't seen you in ages! Can't remember your face!" etc. And so when I do get around to seeing him, he can pretty much be relied on to say "How are you? Haven't seen you in yonks? Whereabouts did the old filling fall from this time? Take a seat."

"This one?"

And he barks some really weird, dentist jargon at his lovely assistant.

That's another thing too, my dentist always has a lovely assistant. Usually a different one every visit. Maybe he picks them up on his overseas trips?

Can't wait for my next visit! (Tuesday).

Basra, 1991

"Bet you 6 goats against your camel that the monsoons will begin before Ramadan" said the curiously ageless man holding a copy of the Quran.

"I have no need of goats, my camel is already spoken for, but I will wager my baboon." Replied the woman.

Contact established, the two made their way to a discreet coffee house to talk.

With his dying breath, the Fez had told the preacher of a plot to disrupt the pipelines feeding oil from Basra, to the USSR. Armed with new orders to assist the anti-Saddam rebels in any way possible, the man made his way South from Baghdad in the company of thousands of refugees. It would be a bonus for his masters if his efforts bore fruit & inconvenienced the Russians.

On arriving in Basra, which had been largely untouched by US bombing, but still bore the ruinous marks from the Iran/Iraq war in the 80s, the man set about establishing his cover. It actually paid to make his face known a few days before getting down to business.

Firstly, he found a good, central place from where to begin his preaching. Secondly, he made sure his primary & backup escape routes were in place. Thirdly, he prepared a secondary disguise, "Luck favours the prepared.", he always said.

The woman, Soraya, had been born Barbara Billingsworth, to a wealthy family in Ohio nearly 35 years previously. Educated at Yale, she'd grown up with attitude, and a reckless father fixation. She'd been recruited after a Led Zeppelin concert at the backstage orgy, by a roadie affiliated with the CIA. Stoned out of her mind & wrapped around the bass player, she'd signed on the dotted line & been shipped to the Middle East the following month.

Her missions had initially been of the "honeytrap" variety, staged to seduce wayward Iranian clergy. She was very good at her job & after the beginning of the Gulf War, had been promoted to "insurgency consultant" & Iraq.

At the coffee house, the preacher paused to take her in like a long drink of ice-cold water after 3 parched weeks in the desert. Then got down to business, "By Allah", He thought, " she's built like a brick minaret!"

"I'd like a long drink of ice-cold water", he said to the waiter. "I've just spent 3 parched weeks in the desert".

Soraya meanwhile, viewed the newcomer with interest & a little suspicion. He didn't look like much, but this man had quite a reputation & not just for business. Agency rumour had it that this preacher man would as soon as looking at you, give you the last rites while applying the garrotte. "Efficient" she thought, "Definitely not a time waster." In addition, more than one of her "honey" colleagues had spent post mission extended vacations in las Vegas with him. He was known as a high roller & generous tipper. Besides, there was something about his creased face & sly smile that was charming.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" he asked.

Ignoring him - for the moment anyway - Soraya suggested they return to her place not far away to get him cleaned up & brief him on the plan. On the way out the preacher noticed Kiwi journalist Peter Arnett at another table, and it made him homesick for Lambton Quay...

While he bathed, Soraya sat beside the tub & filled him in. The attack was scheduled for slightly more then two weeks away, but there was to be a meeting of all concerned in about 8 hours time. She described her fellow insurgents & detailed their backgrounds.

"There's only one problem we have" she said, "We need to know the movements of the secret police before during and after the operation, and we have no spies to rely on at the moment"

"Got it covered" he replied "I have a steel plate in my head, a souvenir from Burma a few years ago. Before I came here, the boffins managed to tune it to the secret police radio frequency."

He suddenly surprised her by standing up & motioning for a towel.

"Oh mummy" thought Soraya, "he's built like a brick minaret!"

"There's more to you than meets the eye" she finally quipped.

"Oh indeed" twinkled the preacher "Now how can we entertain ourselves over the next 6 or 7 hours...? Without standing up."

Where is he now? - Alasdair Kincaid

He's here... another reason to watch Maori TV by the looks of it.

Christchurch Star

The trouble with public transport.

It's all crystal clear now...

The no. 17 bus to Karori that runs by after school finishes is completely out of the question for a young girl travelling to netball practise.

It is full of Wellington College boys on their way home.

Plan B is needed.

T & I decided this is fair enough, & we'll worry when she gets a short skirt on & actively campaigns to catch the bus.

Clearly, the bird has to go...

It doesn't get any more self referential than linking to your own post.

SunnyO: A no-brainer, surely?

But it occurs to me, with the weight of their audience entirely against a silly idea, the only thing left for Radio NZ to do is send the bird the way of Wayne Mowatt.

Does anyone remember a truly brilliant TV programme called Friday Night? Must have been on in the late 80s. On... Friday night oddly enough.

It was a - I don't know the technical term for it, which no doubt will exclude me from ever producing a TV show - a show which contained other shows within it.

A brilliant & funny guy called Alistair Kincaid fronted it & he & his co-hosts would tour the country in a beat up old station wagon (which was the prize in a competition of some sort), looking for, amongst other things, the best fish & chip shop in the country.

It also presented such overseas produced programmes as Red Dwarf, Jane (1940s period comedy in which the hottie heroine is engineered into situations where her clothes fall off), and several others.

it was smart & clever in much the same way as the later Ice TV was.

hell... I even stayed in on Friday nights to watch it.

So of course, it was canned in very short order & Kincaid has never been seen on our screens since.

Way to go TV people.

And a whipping was administered...

Netball 2005 kicked off last Saturday. M is the captain of her school A team, and since they seem to have gotten their acts together really early in comparison to last year, is also already selected & the designated centre for the rep team.

We have as yet, no idea when rep tournaments start, and suspect nervously that we might be spending our weekends in remote & half-arsed towns as soon as the week after next.

However, last weekend, at 9.30am, we were at Marsden College, in a half-arsed suburb, catching up with all the other parents, some we haven't seen since last season, while the girls warmed up, and their coach, Sunnyo's very own T, barked instructions at them.

We've got 3 very hard games (if last year's form is any indication - and it isn't necessarily, since many who played this grade last year, have moved on to college) up first. Luckily, we have a stronger team than last year. We're in with a chance. And the traditional 2 top teams... seem quite lacking in the height department. But we won't get too cocky just yet.

M's grandparents turned up to watch. They're very supportive, if a little easily distracted. Grandad spent the first 20 minutes marvelling at the Marsden College architecture, and the 10 minutes after that, engaged in conversation with Mark Blumsky* "Do you know who that WAS?" he demanded of his more attentive wife. "Of course I do... it was Blumsky!" she wearily replied. Later, he pointed out to me, at length, the awesome vista that are the hills above Karori. And then sought the opinions of all who were near on the results of the British elections (oddly, while his nephew is actually a Liberal Democrat MP for some obscure electorate in Cornwall, he didn't know how he had done (romped in). BTW: That Lib Dem's story is absolutely fascinating, but not really mine to tell... but I'll consider it for a future post. He is no relation to me.

Anyway, first opposition was up & to be frank, a whipping was administered. 33-14. A very good start to the season. T & I were very pleased, though M was critical of their performance. Prospects for the next few games were the main topic of discussion through the weekend, with several variations on Edna Mode's (I only just found out that it's not Edna Mole!) rousing speech from the Incredibles were voiced "Fight! Win!", with T asking "What's that from? How do you guys remember it?" And like, "It's the bit we replayed about 50 times?"

Rep practise is proving a difficult hurdle. M wants one of us to take time off work to get her from school to the courts. We have suggested she might like to get a bus from right outside the school gates to right outside the practise courts, and back.

"But you guys" she protests "This is my CAREER we're talking about!". To which we have replied "This is OUR careers we're talking about too!"

So I have a bag full of bus time-tables to pass on tonight.

* I hereby promise never again to link to anything on the National Party website

And one other thing!

I heard it on TV last night from someone who should know better probably.

And now someone here has just sent me an "invite".

It's "INVITATION", dammit! Verbs do not make elegant nouns (to paraphrase my English Lit 101 tutor, who, much to our horror, marked us down on grammar & spelling).

To be fair, creative use of the language might be acceptable if it's novel & witty, I'm prepared to wear "a la mode-ing" it. Just.

And formal disclaimer - if you spot anything ungrammatical on this site, it's either novel & witty, or a typo, so don't even think about mentioning it.

A no-brainer, surely?

You decide if that's the exec in question, or the decision to be made...

STUFF : ENTERTAINMENT - STORY : Chorus to keep birdcalls on National Radio

Anyway, not that I'm overly bothered, I'm not even up by the first play, and at work by the second.

In followup news, TVNZ to can Coro Street & play extra episodes of Celebrity Treasure Island.

Could the Auckland bus strike be settled like this?

The pizzas or your life!

STUFF : WORLD NEWS - STORY : Pizza delivery ends Australian prison siege

Forget the fries & the extra anchovies & the deal is off.

Baa baa bald sheep.

In unrelated animal welfare news...

I can confirm that a certain black sheep is still bald, but otherwise perfectly healthy.

An enormously sad moment...

Flying the Skoda (not actually speeding, I hasten to add, it's just so close to the ground that it seems like it) back to Welly yesterday. On that patch of motorway by the Taupo Swamp (between Pukerua Bay & Plimmerton.

We were in the left lane, fortunately, there was nothing in the right lane beside us.

Suddenly saw up ahead that a bird must have been recently bowled. A pukeko in fact. It was pretty mauled, with mangled wings sticking up.

And its mate was coming back onto the road to see what was the matter.

I missed it, but in doing so made sure that in the unlikely event the first one still breathed, I would have put it out of its misery. And the girls were wailing.... "Eeeeeeeee!!"

I don't give much for the live bird's chances after that, there was a lot of traffic. But I felt a fist grip at my heart as we sped past.

Do pukekos mate for life? What happens when one dies? In the unlikely event that this one got back off the road...

Current events #2

I don't want to make a habit of this...

But slap me silly & call me Aaron Batt... Aaron Bahtn... Aaron B... This guy... No offense... it's a figure of speech...

I was abandoned by a cat once.

In the mid 80s I was living alone & went & got myself two cute little kittens. One was a weird looking, finger painting patterned furry meatball I called Dougal. the other was a pretty little tabby I called Florence.

And we all lived happily through several flats, houses, girlfriends & a wife for many years...

Then the three of us were all alone again...

The two cats got on well initially, but as they gre older, Florence got a little more surly with her adopted brother & merely tolerated him. She was a good cat though.

But after about 10 years, I went to see the movie Se7en, which if you've seen it, is not the cheeriest movie ever made. So... I was not in the happiest mood to start with that evening. When I got home, Dougal was lying beside the garden path apparently asleep. So I gave him a nudge & he just flopped over. Panicked I picked him up, and the big furry meatball gasped & died in my arms. I don't know why. The vet said it just happens now & then.

I thought Florence would get friendlier after that, but quite the opposite. She started spending more & more time away, dropping by only to eat.

And then dropping by not even to eat, but clearly quite healthy & well fed. I did canvass neighbours, but no-one nearby was feeding her. I decided she'd taken up residence in some other home & left it at that.

She contined to drop by, but less & less frequently. After about 3 years, I was in another relationship & preparing to move. By chance, I'd sold my house to a colleague & asked him to look out for her & if she was looking abandoned & troubled, to give me a call.

He told me she continued to pass by now & then, happy, groomed & well fed. So I stopped worrying about her.

But I've always wondered if I did the right thing....

Current events

Is it just me? Or does anyone else think that marital relations between Mr & Mrs prebble are entirely the business of Mr & Mrs Prebble (and any extra personages who may have come between them).

I mean... Mr & Mrs Pitt are manufactured plastoids & therefore their marital relations are rightly classified as "entertainment" because that is their profession, and possibly such events are specified in their contracts, who knows? Also, they are HOT!

But Mr Prebble is a politician & the vicissitudes of his domestic life do not class as politics. Nor entertainment.

That said, if anyone knows who Prebs is rumoured to have been shagging, please email me (to avoid invoking any libel laws). Unless it's deborah Coddington, I just had lunch you know).

In further current event news... GO The 'CANES!!!

Great Mysteries of our time #2

Demi Moore's career.

All round disclaimer #1

Just because I label any post with the suffix #1, does not mean there will ever be #2. This is partly because I only ever blog whatever comes to mind at the moment (not actually true... I do write them up in the early hours, stockpile them & email them in now & then... sometimes... - BTW: this is my standard disclaimer within a disclaimer format - but hey, all means believe it if you prefer. Or if in fact, you are my employer, wondering what I do all day). And partly because I am really lazy. It's unlikely that by the time I get to #2, that I will remember what I've blogged about before.

Or possibly, if you insist on logic, it is because the numbers represent priorities, and the next #1 signifies I have reprioritised the importance of an event or fact in the context of the list (this is not, however, true).

That said... there have come into my possession further memoirs of a certain Wellington Street Preacher & his exploits during Gulf War #1 (Gulf War #2 may be the exception that proves the rule however). (Or not). Which may well be transcribed & posted sometime this century.

Just so we're clear on this.

While we're on the subject

That advertisement, where someone mentions "The legendary pie sandwich".

Has anybody tried one? Or is this one of those instant "legends" created in the advertising world.

Have to admit... chances are I will do it one day. Possibly just for the reaction it would get.

Llew's meals to impress men #1

The esteemed Public Address blogger may well be on to something. What this blog needs is clearly a recipe section.

Although Che's motives are obviously to help men get sex. So to balance the equation, here's one that... well... gives him the energy.
So an alround win-win situation IMO.

Note: Unlike Che's target audience, I will be assuming that women (or
men even) wanting to impress men have some basic knowledge of how a kitchen functions... for instance, how to boil water. Not that there is any boiling of water involved in this recipe. But by all means if you like boiling water, go ahead.

Dunno what it's called..

Gratuitously Blokey Pork & Apple probably covers it though.

Ingredients:

As many lean (or fatty - over to you really - check with your doctor
if unsure) pork steaks as you think the bloke will like. And one more
for yourself.

1-2 crisp apples.

As many bacon rashers as there are pork steaks. Or more if you feel like it.

A handful of chopped sage. Dried stuff from a packet if you must.

Method.

Core the apples, don't bother peeling them. And slice then into half
rounds, then lay them out onto a non-stick oven dish. Sprinkle with
the sage.

Wrap the bacon around the pork steaks, and place on top of the apples. Dust with pepper (let's be honest, the bacon will provide the salt (if in doubt, check with your doctor again).

Bake at 180 degrees for around 45-60 minutes.

Serve with oven fries, and vegetables or salad of your choice. Or if your target man is particularly blokey, baked beans into which a handful of chopped parsley has been tossed. Make him eat the parsley too.

Delicious.

Che Tibby's Meals to Impress Women

Public Address | Club Politique

I was going to reply to the blogger above with this. Because by my calculations, I only have a few dozen of the world's bloggers that I have not either replied to or left a comment for, left to bother.

Then I thought that I have nothing else to blog today & might as well share it with all.

Also, I WILL reply, but with a link to this page & then Mr Tibby may be obliged to pimp my blog. Perhaps. Or I may obliged to send an associate of my uncle Don Vino Ministrone round to him to make him an offer he can't refuse.

No, just kidding. I say that to everyone.

Now... I'm a great cook actually. Not only do I not expect cooking to make me a "homo", I expect cooking to make me a meal! (anagram of male - notice that?). Anyway - reminds me of some grafitti in the women's loo at the Victoria University Student Association - ground floor (was published in Salient, I wasn't actually in there reading it). ALthough a friend did have a look & confirmed it

"My mother made me a lesbian!"
and underneath someone had added:
"If I gave her the wool, can she make me one too?"

My wife is also a great cook. Although we have completely opposing culinary styles. I will look into the pantry & fridge & take note of what we have at hand, get out one large pot, and over the course of the next hour or so concoct a memorable repast. I do not consult recipe books.

My wife looks through approximately 2 dozen recipe books & decides upon the meal that most suits her mood. She then gets out the entire cupboard's worth of pots & pans & implements, and THEN discovers that we have only 2 of the 45 or so obscure ingredients in the house. At this stage, I am sent down to the local superette, which is the only shop, aside from the video store, open within a five mile radius, on the off chance they happen to have smoked paprika & galangal, amongst other things.

Ah.. now I've lost my train of thought.... Oh yes... going to flash restaurants & ordering the steak.

I did this on my 35th birthday, in possibly one of the nicest restaurants I have ever been in, in a fairy tale town in France called Carcasonne

We stayed in this castle! It's the old town & there is a newer town spread all around it. But the castle has hotels, and shops, and homes even. It's weird watching cars commuting to the city below driving over the drawbridge.

It is also where they filmed a lot of Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. In fact those fairy tale pointy bits on the turrets were put up for the film.

oh... and there are restaurants there too.

So, for my 35th birthday, my first wife & her sister (told people we met that I always travel with a spare), took me to dinner.

There were two dishes that I really wanted to try in my time in that lovely country - cassoulet, and steak frites. This restaurant had both on the menu.

Sadly, none of the waiting staff spoke any English. And so in my schoolboy french I asked if it were possible for me to have the cassoulet as an entree, and the steak frites as a main. They nodded.

They also asked me if I wanted ketchup. I have already mentioned somewhere below that my strategy when confused is always to answer "oui". And from that moment on, I could pretty much see the thought cross the minds of all the waiting & cooking staff when they looked at me - "Quelle cretin".

But in my defence - if they're going to have it on the menu, and if they're going to ask if you want it... why get all superior?

The cassoulet arrived. And it was DIVINE! It was also enough to feed 15 people, and I could see them all watching me carefully to ensure I did the dish justice.

I invited my companions to try some. Invited all the other diners to try some. I was stuffed by the time there was only two thirds of the dish left...

And then the very best steak and chips that I have ever encountered hove into view. It was DIVINE! It was enough to feed 3 people. Unfortunately I was no longer in any sort of state to do it justice.

The contempt of the restaurant staff was no longer veiled. I slunk out & recovered about 3 days later... but I will never forget that meal.

Oh... and where was I? Oh yeah... Che, recipes for dum dums trying to impress or pull chicks need to have no more than 6 very common ingredients. Just my advice there.

But great idea actually, I will be watching & probably cooking with interest.

cheers

Although my chances...

of being nominated for awards might be improved if I admit that this, is me.

No wait... that was overly... sleazy... should I change it?

Nah....

Recent photo of the author at home

"Author" heh... gives me goosebumps... if I say so myself.

Great Mysteries of our time #1

The Olsen Triplets.

Have I blogged this before? I know it's an oldie that I've foisted on more than one person... but I never tire of it. And your kids will never tire of arguing with you about it. Trust me.

How come we never see more than two of them at a time? Is it the one with "food issues" we never see? And is that Mary, Kate, or Ashley?

Apologies if I've mentioned this - I did a quick search & couldn't see it if I did.

Meanwhile, I continue to be perplexed about which posts attract comments. And which don't. I've decided that comments are really just confirmation that someone, is reading this stuff. But anyway... Don't make me have to tell more shagging librarian stories!

Well then... if no-one is going to bite at the idea of Michael Jackson as the new Arnie... "Go ahead, make my day!" (OK, I'm well aware that that is Clint, get over it)

So how about giving Jackson the lead in CSI: LA? "Take a swab, Bubbles!"

You have to drink, every time his nose falls off.

Such a weird idea, it just might work...

Could Michael Jackson save his career by reinventing himself as an action movie star?

This idea (and others) tossed into the ring, run up the flag-pole, put on the train etc... by Vern in his review of XXX2

XXX2

Nicky Watson in knickers, lampshade & Free Huey.

You'll have to check the links within to see Huey. And Nicky.

Public Address | Yellow Peril

This is Tz Ming Mok from Public Address & IMO, she totally rocks.

No idea who Huey is. Or why s/he/it is free.

UPDATE: I consulted the author & Huey Newton is/was a Black Panther "Minister of Defence" jailed for voluntary manslaughter after an altercation with some police officers.

Also... while I'm at it... if such events do occur in Wellington, can someone please get me onto the invitation list?

Tall tales from another century

I came across an old flatmate on the web a few months ago (did a quick search, after another flatmate wondered what had became of him). I made contact with this august gentleman, now living & working in the Middle East & there followed a flurry of nostalgic emails as we reminded each other how reprehensibly we behaved a century ago...

And today, out & about, I saw a woman who featured in one of those nostalgic reminscences...

Warning: I will be taking off at tangents as I tell this story. Try to keep up.

I don't know what year it was... 1982 or 83 perhaps? I flatted with 4 others on the 9th & 10th floors of a city council flat. It was an awesome place. 4 bedrooms & a bathroom upstairs, a master bedroom, lounge, kitchen & 2nd bathroom downstairs. And a sizeable balcony running along the front of the place.

We spent a lot of time at the Southern Cross Tavern. In fact, one flatmate got himself a job there & is now happily married with 4 kids, to our regular barmaid...

And so we decided to hold a tequila party. I think tequila was decided upon because... well who knows why actually, probably because we saw it as the quickest way to obliterate ourselves.

Invitations made it clear that ONLY tequila would be consumed on the premises. Although the first guests to arrive brought copious bottles of THE red wine of its day Fairhall River Claret, and made an impressive start on this. Which in retrospect - red wine followed by tequila - was a mistake.

I'm starting to feel queasy already...

Anyway, the red wine drinkers were a bunch of women of my acquaintance. One I went to school with & always harboured a crush on. Her best friend, was also at the time, my on & off girlfriend. I was never really sure if we were on or off until the end of any given evening we were together actually. Accompanying them were a tall, attractive librarian (who may or may not have settled down eventually & spawned a daughter called Natalie), and another woman called Josie, who was pretty, and skinny, except that she sported what I shall obliquely refer to as one of the great briskets of her time.

More guests arrived, mostly from the ranks of a very bad rugby team I played for. We were possibly the most motley & worst rugby players to ever take the field.

At some stage early in the evening, Josie asked if she could have a guided tour of the flat. Josie usually came equipped with an overly cool & haughty looking boyfriend. But this night, he wasn't in evidence.

I showed her the downstairs bedroom first, which was not my room. She exclaimed "What a fantastic bed" and launched herself onto it, bouncing up & down.

And to this day I regret that I didn't think "So what if it's not my bedroom & my off & on girlfriend is in the next room, and where's her boyfriend anyway?" and get on the bed with her.

But there you go. I didn't. The rest of the tour was a non event, as was my acquaintance with the attractive Josie, my bed was not bounced upon by anyone & shortly thereafter we were back downstairs.

Whereupon, the librarian asked if she could have a guided tour. And of course gentleman that I am...

This time we got right past my bedroom & into that of another flatmate. At which stage the librarian began casting off her clothes & womanhandling me across the room.

Naive & innocent that I was, I fled downstairs to see if I still had a girlfriend. And she wasn't fazed at all, joking even "my tour of the flat didn't take that long".

But in fact, her initial tour of my flat took much longer. On about our third meeting, she & I had gone home from the Cross... and well... actually, the visit might have been shorter except that in one of those magnificent Wellington coincidences, she had gone downstairs in the middle of the night to get some water, then came bounding back up in a panic to whisper "My ex-husband is asleep on your couch!". And it turned out that my flatmate's boyfriend (NZ Chunder mile Champion at the time) had been best man at her wedding several years before & his mate had come to our place with them to crash.... So in fact we were stuck in my room then (bummer) until this guy & my flatmate's bf had left, sometime late the next day...

Back at the Tequila Party... my Middle Eastern flatmate, who was there with his girlfriend, was halfway up the stairs chatting with other friends, when a naked librarian descended, grabbed him by the arm & dragged him upstairs.

All we knew in the lounge was that someone upstairs was making a hell of a lot of noise. Later, when we pieced the whole story together we realised that first of all a bedroom was trashed, and then they moved to the bathroom, attempted to have a shower together & flooded the 2nd floor. Then they regained the bedroom & passed out.

Meanwhile, in the downstairs bathroom, his unsuspecting, and very intoxicated girlfriend was leaning over the toilet bowl feeling very unwell & introducing herself to one of our rugby comrades who was doing pretty much the same thing.

These two later married, but I wasn't invited to the wedding, possibly because I would have told their parents how they met.

At the end of the evening (not long before dawn), the girls turned their attention to what we were going to do about the librarian & how we would get her home. On inspecting the 2nd floor, we realised pretty much what had transpired & the one sober person present (the Southern Cross barmaid who had been working that night, not drinking) offered to take her home.

But we couldn't find her clothes. So we ended up dressing this woman in a mix of my & my flatmate's clothes, then he & I bundled her into his girlfriend's mini & off we drove to Miramar. And there, we sneaked her into her parents house & left her comatose on the couch dressed in men's clothes.

The next day, we did find her gear, spread all around the flat & in different rooms... & I put them all into a shopping bag & decided that I'd drop them to her at the library on my way somewhere else. When I got there, I asked another librarian if she was in today "No, she phoned in sick" was the unsurprising response. So handing a bag full of clothes, including underwear, jewellery & watch over the counter I said "Can you give these to her when she comes in next? She left them at my place last night."

Always kind of proud of that moment :) The librarian did cross my path again on a couple of recreational occasions, but she never, ever mentioned this episode.

Never saw Josie again as far as I can remember, with or without her haughty boyfriend. My off & on girlfriend was mostly off after that. My school friend, on whom I harboured a crush, and I never managed to both be single at the same time, although I do run into her & her family now & then.

And things in the flat were quiet for a while after.

Until we decided to hold a Home-made Sake party...

Callan

Yet another Tv heaven review of a masterpiece.

Callan

I was too young to watch this the first time around, when the lightbulb started swinging to that lugubrious theme tune, I was sent to bed.

But I recall an article somewhere at the time (the Listener?) that compared David Callan to James Bond, point by point.

It was replayed in the early 80s I think, on a Friday night. And for a while there, I was actually at home on Fridays before the pubs had closed.

Just & utterly brilliant.

About time too...

Lazy blogging today...

STUFF : ENTERTAINMENT - STORY : Cinemas may buy phone jammers

If this ain't true, it should be

David Farrar: The dumbest hacker ever

Great score!

I mean... what a lovely couple...

I'm not planning to make a habit of reporting salacious gossip. But I'll make at least one exception given it involves the babelicious Katie Holmes. By all means see The Gift for confirmation of her er... winning form.

Way to go Tom.

And in other breaking entertainment news... DON'T PANIC! It seems early reports that the Hitchhikers Guide sucked like no other film of its type ever sucked before... may have been exaggerated.

Anything but elementary

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES | A TELEVISION HEAVEN REVIEW

I loved this series. Just as I loved the stories & novels from which it sprang. And this TV Heaven review is right on the money, the character of Dr John Watson was never supposed to be a sidekick buffoon. He was a man of action.

I'd never heard of Jeremy Brett before this series aired. Although later I came across a screening of My Fair Lady & recognised Eliza's spurned suitor as the young Sherlock. Cripes, he sang!

And some time later, I searched the web for the cast details of an old UK series based on the Three Musketeer books - I believe they might have done all five of them (I read them all while travelling through France once), but I know for sure that they adapted the first and also the Man in the Iron Mask. I could remember that Brian Blessed played Porthos, but I wanted to know who played D'Artagnan.

Eventually, I did come across the information I wanted - D'Artagnan was played by none other than the dashing, young Jeremy Brett.

BTW: If you're looking for faithful adaptations of the Musketeer books, the best are certainly the old Richard Lester movies starring Michael York. The only quibble I have is that when they adapted 20 Years After, they changed Milady de Winter's murderous son into Milady de Winter's murderous daughter & cast Kim Cattrell from Sex & the City in the role.

Ratfinder General

Following the great mouse-in-the-house-hunt, Wilma surprised us all in the weekend by catching a rat.

She was lolling in the sun in the garden, doing pretty much nothing as I wandered past out to the paddock to check on a bald sheep.

When I returned just a few minutes later, she was in the same spot, but had a freshly killed rat!

We have no idea how she caught it, or where it was when she did.

And then a few days later, as in earlier this week, she was on her morning walk through the Bot Gardens, and she suddenly dashed into the bushes (not far from the Cable Car), scrabbled around briefly, and emerged with another rat!

We used to call her the Applefinder General, because she can spot an apple from 50 metres, but now she clearly has the scent of far more interesting game.

Although we let her eat the apples.

Baghdad, 1991.

The thin, weatherbeaten man raised his head & squinted into the morning sun. The foot traffic near the Al Khadimiya Mosque was heavy. Mostly refugees, a few traders on their way to market, and a scattering of miltary police looking for excuses to harass the refugees, particularly any Kurds looking for passage south.

"Allah saves!" he called out. No-one paid attention.

"Damn this heat", he thought to himself. He never really got used to it, but always managed to get the Middle Eastern jobs because as Albert, his old comrade, pointed out, the Agency knew he could "do" Arab. And Jewish come to that. And it helped that he was fluent in several local dialects.

"Mohammed sees your soul!" he offered to the throngs.

"Poor devils" he mused, regarding the passing crowds, "Most of them are more concerned with where their next meal is coming from rather than their mortal souls. Still, the preacher gig had served him well over the years. He was quite a well known figure actually, excepting that ironically, no-one ever paid him any attention. The odd person might wonder about the long absences from his traditional spot now & then, but they probably thought he was travelling, maybe on a street corner in Basra, or elsewhere spreading the word. And indeed that was the truth, except that "elsewhere" was further than they could imagine. "And best not to mention the lengthy vacations in Vegas" he thought to himself.

Baghdad had its attractions though, enough hashish palaces had survived the bombing to keep him occupied in his off-duty hours. And he knew a small group of compliant bellydancers who helped keep him warm in the cold nights. His favourite was a voluptuous woman called Panta, "And by Allah she certainly is at times.", he would muse.

He was here at the behest of his country's allies. While the US had baulked at invading the city & unseating Hussein, they were keen to have someone on the ground, someone unknown & unconnected directly with any American interests, on the lookout for potential insurgent movements. The manic street preacher guise gave him the freedom to travel pretty much unnoticed anywhere he liked. And talk to, or at anyway, a wide range of people.

A jeep full of journalists drove by. "On their way back to their hotel for luchtime gins, I expect." How he wished he could and join them. They had some very good contacts with some of the female aid workers & red Cross nurses... but breaking cover was out of the question.

it looked like it was going to be a long, hot and boring summer.

Just then, a man came running down the street pursued by police. It was his Shi'a contact, code named "The Fez". He'd only met him the week before, the Fez had been looking out for him & had clearly been observing for several days before approaching with the code-phrases.

"Looks like we're in for a snow-storm" said the Fez, guardedly.
"How do you know that's YOUR camel?" replied the preacher.

"Heads up," the man thought, as the Fez ran past, giving him a sideways glance that had desperation written all over it. He reached for his leather bound copy of the Quran, in which was concealed his service revolver, throwing knife, and several thousand dollars of various currencies... "...here's trouble."

For Michelle

Right below the link in the previous post...

My 3 Sons

The eldest son got married off & left to become a... psychologist...

A Martian Blog

Today's (affectionate) WTF? post

Barzoomian of Mars

I came across this during my daily visit to David Farrar to see if he's linked to me yet...

Makes me wish my dad was alive to see it, he was a big fan of Edgar Rice Burrough's Barsoom books.

A lot of useful information here, if you're for instance, doing a school project on Martians... and he looks nothing like Ray Walston.

OK, I cheated & looked it up

Written by the legendary Addrisi Brothers


"Soft and sweet, wise and wonderful

Oooh, our mystical, magical Nanny

Since the day that Nanny came to stay with us

Fantastic things keep happening

Is there really magic in the things she does?

Or is love the only magic thing that Nanny brings?

You know our Nanny showed us

You can make the impossible happen

Nanny told us

Have a little bit of faith and lots of love

Phoebe Figalilly is a silly name

And so many silly things keep happening

What is this magic thing about Nanny

Is it love....or is it magic?"


Nanny and the Professor

All this... because John Mills died this week & he appeared in a couple of episodes as Nanny's father (he really was her father).

Best quote of the weekend

Following M's week away familiarising herself with all that is best on TV such as Shortland St, Neighbours, Home & Away...

SunnyO: Good Morning America!

Came:

"And don't get me started on McLeod's Daughters!"

The things you see when you're out without your camera.

Tradition has it that the best views of Kapiti, The South Island, Mts Ruapehu & Taranaki... will occur those weekends I have neglected to pack the camera.

And in all truth, Saturday evening was a Graeme Sydney evening on the Kapiti & South Island fronts, but low cloud obscured the distant volcanoes.

However, my forgetting tha camera does mean that you are spared the sight of a bald black sheep.

Not bald, like just shorn, but bald like Friar Tuck, but not her head, just pretty much all along her back!

I had loads planned on Friday, but ended up spending most of the morning penning the sheep so I could get a closer look at this problem.

First of all it was a dead sprint back to the house to get the small farming bible. And read up on ovine ailments. Fly strike seemed most likely. Although the sheep in question didn't look ill. Apart from losing a lot of wool.

And in fact she was surprisingly full of beans as it took me two hours to get her penned. Then Master Tim joined us & we had a good old look through her wool. Her skin was unbroken, there was no sign of flystrike, although I trimmed the wool back around the edges & liberally sprayed with flystrike medication.

Then, I consulted a vet, who told me that if it wasn't flies (and it didn't at this stage look like it was), that it could be a number of things. None of which I could really do anything about. But it is a good sign that she is not sickening.

So it's keep an eye on her now, make sure she's fed & watered & has shade & shelter and hope the wool regrows.

I might get them all sheared again soon. before the worst of winter hits. At least then she'll look even.

Who uses wireless technology?

I know a couple of visitors do... but care to share how well or otherwise it works? Been giving it consideration for home use (and T's business trips).

Either comment, or email me at phineas.llew@gmail.com if you're so inclined.

And while we're at it - I have managed to get agreement "in principle"... to buy one of these or similar.

"In principle" means "when I find the money, or win lotto". But I may as well start to think about what's going to be in the business case. By then they should have dropped in price considerably.

But one of the main benefits will be that we can retire the (quite new, but unreliable) VCR & the remote that came with it.

One less remote! - hard to assign a cost benefit to that, but I'm figuring the concept will be attractive.

Good Morning America!

Tip for fellow bloggers wanting to vastly increase your hit rate:

Mention "Joe Ratzinger" or "the pope's new name".

Honestly, I've had hundreds of visits from the US google searching those two phrases over the last few days.

Well we're off to Sunny O tonight for the duration of the holiday weekend. We have a few people to see about some "plans" or possibly some other "plans". A fair bit of weeding to do around the feijoa trees (now actually relegated to undergrowth below a lot of very tall weeds...)

And I daresay we'll finish watching Holy Smoke. WHich has been most impressive so far. I suspect the ending will truly suck since so far, I don't think it's deserved the rancid reviews it got at the time it was released.

I imagine there will be some Anzac themed movies to avoid on TV...

Actually, that reminds me. M has been on a horse riding camp all week (school hols). it's just up the road from Sunny O, so we'll pick her up tomorrow night. She's been feverishly texting her mum between 7pm & 7.30 each night, because, we discovered, the family who run the camp diligently watch Shortland Street.

I said that it's always good to experience new things & I asked if Nic was still on the show. Have not got the answer yet.

But please, dear reader(s), that was a rhetorical question. I don't really need to know.

New Pope. Meanwhile, in Sunny O...

In a startling break with tradition, the Papal Conclave dispensed with nearly 2000 years of tradition & today elected to take Russell Brown's advice, to trust in God's wisdom and draw the name of the new pope out of a hat.

As the white smoke billowed above St Peter's Square (actually round), Vatican officials announced that Cardinal Tom Williams from New Zealand (100-1 odds) was now officially Pope Victor Hilarius the First

Catholics around the world rejoiced as the new pope stepped out onto the balcony & said "Gidday.".

The Price of Milk

How come this Kiwi movie hasn't been released on DVD (although it IS available through Amazon)?

Went looking for DVDs this lunchtime - decided to buy Stealing Beauty. But it doesn't seem to be available.

Almost bought Before Sunrise & Before Sunset... then changed my mind for now. Then ALMOST bought A Man & A Woman and Lone Star.

Then reflected on the length of the queue & the parlous state of my finances & decided to get out quick before I came across the Godfather boxed set.

I am so tempted...

Shall compile a list of impending family birthdays...

.

Ratzinger "The Real Communion" #1 > Fan Club T-Shirts! > Ratzinger Fan Club Shop | CafePress

meanwhile, my money is literally on Cardinals McCarrick (US), Rodriguez (Dom Republic), and Agnelo (Brazil), since I drew these outsiders in the office sweep today.

The Good Life: Dead Duck

The Good Life: Dead Duck

Terrible! But I laughed...

The Incredibles

Brilliant! See it.

I particularly enjoyed the little (Edith Head inspired?) superhero costume designer (voiced by the director, Brad Bird no less). "Don' make me beg!" And her secret workshop:

1. Palm print
2. Touchpad combination
3. Retina Scan
4. Voiceprint "Edna Mole..."

Large gun drops from the ceiling & points at Elastigirl

"...and guest"

Gun folds back up & disappears.

Just priceless.

BTW: Bird also directed a movie called The Iron Giant, which is an animated movie that will keep adults & children alike occupied quite nicely. The giant is voiced by Vin Diesel.

Update: Brad Bird was interviewed on National Radio last night. He said he ended up with the Edna gig because voice casting is the last thing they do - up until then, the crew voice all the characters for the first cut & Brad voiced Mr Incredible, Syndrome & Edna. The consensus was that no-one was ever going to do a better Edna & so his voice stayed. They also played an extended piece (cinema on the radio) where Edna explains the properties of the diverse suits:

"Able to withstand 1000 degrees! Bullet-proof of course" ratatatat!! "And machine washable - that's a new feature."
"What on earth do you think the baby will be doing?"
"Luck favours the prepared..."
"but he has no super powers!"
"Oh... well he'll look great anyway."

God, what a day #2

Saw Albert & his son on their way somewhere today. I don't think the boy likes me.

If only he knew what Albert & I have been through... I keep telling him...

Got home, couldn't concentrate on Dr Phil at all. Damned steel plate seems to be tuned to Wayne Mowatt.... hated it when National Radio went FM...

"Oh, them golden slippers,
Oh, them golden slippers,
Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm
Dum de dum de dum de dum de"

I love show tunes.

That Doris day hoohah!... reminds me of a nurse I knew in 'Nam... talk about heavy artillery...

Street Preacher Man

: Ms Behaviour - NZ Raver : Sticks it to Nike...

: Nike Admits Worker Abuse:

Word of the day: Puritanism

The haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy. -H.L. Mencken, writer, editor, and critic (1880-1956)

God, what a day...

Met my Dad at lunchtime, picked him up from out front of the Big Department Store & we strolled down to the Bull & Bear for a few quiet ones.

Had my satchel with me today, because Winston caught me in the Beehive lobby yesterday & asked me to pick up his weekly duty free Gaulloise package from the Diplomatic bag, so needed something bigger than the briefcase.

Dad was in fine form. He's OK during the day mostly, the flashbacks don't kick in till later in the evening. Drives Mum spare when he crashes out the window yelling "Incoming!". Especially as they live on the third floor. And she's getting tired of having to apologise to the Asian neighbours, they shouldn't have to endure some of the things he does when he gets carried away... I keep telling him to get over it. The Tet Offensive was a long time ago. You lost, live with it.

Just wish he'd change out of that stupid coat & hat before we go anywhere. Feel like I'm escorting a fucking leprachaun. But he's feircely proud of the store. And to be honest, I'm a bit afraid of what he might be wearing (or not wearing) underneath the coat to press the issue.

And as for that stupid preacher mate of his we passed on the way... that steel plate they put in his head after the Burmese Operation went wrong doesn't seem to have infused his mind with any sense. Still, dad loves him. They get quite dreamy when they have a session reminiscing about the old days. Or what they can remember of them. Dad sleeps well for a few days after that. Although that could be down to the drugs the Preacher seems to have a neverending supply of...

But as usual, dad doesn't know when enough is enough. OK, that guy at the pub shouldn't have called him a poofter. But after inflicting a broken arm & beating him unconscious, dad should know when to stop. I'd have grabbed him, but I was busy fending off his 5 mates. Only 4 of them will require hospital admittance. I tried to warn them. I just managed to take out the last 2 of them in time to administer an emergency tracheotomy to Dad's guy with a broken Bellamy's pen.

I expect as usual, the Store will spring for the damages, they're very good to dad. And the Department will, as usual, see to it that word of the incident doesn't get out. They do it for me, plus, there are still a few old warhorses around that remember the work Dad did for them in the 50s, and they wouldn't want anything about that to get out.

So it was a bit more peaceful than the last few lunches we've had. The unfortunate capper was though, as we were leaving, I slipped on some guy's blood, sprained my ankle, and broke the zip on the satchel.

bugger.

Yours... The GC

The Strangest thing...

Coming back from lunch today I saw The Government Courier entering the MFAT building. He was dishevelled, limping, and toted a satchel hung over his shoulder instead of the usual briefcase...

The satchel was open, and papers were poking out, just about flapping around in the wind!

what can it mean?

The end is nigh!

A few things to fret about over the weekend...

Guardian Unlimited | Life | What a way to go

Thanks to Younger Brother for pointing this out.

Eavesdropping on the hired help

And I found out that the feminine form of "piker" is "pikelette" (I'm assuming the spelling, so don't add it to your spellcheck just yet.

And Caroline... if you're reading this, "Piker" is Kiwiese for someone who gives up, goes home, doesn't see the job through.

Braveheart hunter..

Wilma caught a mouse this morning.

I thought something was up when I saw her with her nose jammed behind the big basket that holds our vegetables in the kitchen. Then later with her nose behind a big wire basket that holds noodles & pasta.

So I moved the basket, and a mouse quite casually swung out into the kitchen, through the door to the hall, past two very bored looking cats who were waiting for their breakfast, and into the lounge.

Wilma looked at me for a second & then raced in pursuit, causing the bored cats to have to snap out of it & get out the way or be trampled in the rush.

So then Wilma had her nose jammed behind & underneath the three big & very heavy couches that adorn our newly painted lounge.

T told me just to leave it & set a trap later. So I forgot about it. I was thinking "Please God, don't make me have to move the piano again!" I only moved it back yesterday & it wasn't pretty. But I had visions of it infested with mice & us having to sing "Silent Night" - subtle musical history reference (TM) - forever more.

Until I looked out at Wilma sitting on the back porch playing with a dead mouse.

WTF do those cats think we have them for?

I guess I'll be spending part of my weekend closing off the suspected gap that exists behind our dishwasher - or whatever it is that causes a huge draught, and presumably lets mice in.

Oh and T found a weta in her shoe this morning. So it's been a big day for uninvited critters. She wanted me to pour boiling water on it to kill it, but I sneaked it down the back garden & set it free...

Power chip is this year's Mag Lite...

New toy alert!

V2 Power Chip

Every "season" brings new developments in flashlight technology (and barbecues). And it's important to keep up with the latest.

So I'll be retiring the year before last's puny LED flashlight. And last year's 3 mode Kathmandu model - 2x LED, 1x neon mini lantern & 1x normal torch light, will become the spare.

Bring on the dark ages (when it is dark by the time I get home at 5.30pm.)

My bit for cross-generational relations

I'm cool, hip, charming & able to relate to anyone...

So when a 15 year old boy came to stay, I was ready.

"So Ricky... what're you planning to do when you leave school?"
"Grunt... lawyer"
"Cool, so you like your school?"
"Grunt... my school sucks. They don't teach me anything useful. I don't play their game."
"Excellent.... which school are you at?"
"St Grunt-ards"
"Right."

I try safer ground...

"What's your favourite movie?"
"Kung Pow"
"Cool"

...

"OK... time for some music. How about everyone chooses a CD & we play them all on shuffle?"

Rick hands over the CD from his portable that he's been plugged into since he arrived. After about 3 wide ranging tracks... the stereo issues a sound that brings to mind a jet engine winding down, at about 3 times the volume of all previous tracks. Furthermore, there may well be a team of men trapped within the engine, trying to get out using jack & sledge hammers.

"So Rick... this will be one of yours?"
"Grunt"
"WTF is it?"
"System of a Down. Grunt"
"Cool..."

...

"So what else have System of a Noise done?"
"Grunt. System of a DOWN"
"Right... don't know why I said that..."

...

"So what else have System of the Down done?"
"System of A Down"
"Of course"

...

Whisper to M
"I'll keep watch, you change it for any old rubbish"
"Right. Tee hee..."

...

"Hey. Grunt. Been a while since I heard MY music!"
"Funny how random play goes sometimes."

Must be duck season too

As there are truckloads of ducks camped in all parts of the gardens. (Very bad for a dog's concentration & adherence to obedience principles).

Leaving the way clear for hunters to shoot at each other, in time honoured fashion.

On drugs?

Public Address | Hard News

This post reminds me...

It must be "shroom" (love that) season, as the Bot Gardens are again being frequented by quite a few "irregulars". Usually in long army surplus coats, although sometimes just anoraks & hats. They appear to be aimlessly wandering, especially around the pine tree areas.

I only assume that they're looking for magic mushrooms. I have no idea what magic mushrooms look like, but I suspect they're not the red capped ones with white spots because these don't seem to get picked.

Shroom & Nos cocktail anyone? Reminds me... Tennis Club is at our place tonight.

Breaking news from the Vatican City

Heard on the radio this morning:

German Cardinal, Joseph Ratzinger leads the race."

A few years back, Pope John Paul II was visiting the USA. He arrived
at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport to be greeted by the
chauffeur of a large & fast looking cadillac Limousine.

The Pope was impressed, and he said to the chauffeur:

"You know, I've always wanted to drive a Cadillac, what's the chance
you will letme take the wheel for the journey to the White House?"

The chauffeur wasn't very keen on this, who knew if the Pope had a driver's licence even? But he was a respectful man, and who was he
to turn down a request from God's man on Earth? So he reluctantly
agreed to sit in the back & let the Pope drive into town.

So away they went, with the jubilant Pontiff at the wheel.

However, the Pope, used to Italian roads & speed limits, got a little
carried away. And several miled down the road, the chauffeur heard
sirens approaching at speed from the rear. He respectfully notified
the Pope & asked him to slow down and pull over.

The Traffic Policeman that was chasing them pulled over in front of
the limo & dismounted from his motorbike. He warily approached the
driver's window & motioned for thje window to be wound down.

he did a double take when he recognised the driver, stepped away from the car & radioed his captain.

"Captain", he said, "I have just pulled over a speeding limo & I have a big problem"
"What is it?" asked his chief.
"I've pulled over a Very Important Person & I'm not sure what to do"
"Who is it? Barbra Streisand?"
"More important than her" said the nervous cop
"The mayor?"
"No, much more important than that!"
"The... the... President?"
"No, not the president"
"Then who is it man? Who is more important than the President?"

"Captain" said the now babbling cop "I think it's God, because he's
got the fucking Pope for a chauffeur!"

Hold the front page!!! etc

We interrupt this afternoon's scheduled transmission (My successful attempt to rationalise the Theory of Relativity with Quantum Mechanics - the Grand Unified Theory!) to bring you important breaking news.

That Subway place does a pretty impressive lunch!

Spotting a 20 minute gap between meetings on what has turned out to be a very busy, meeting filled day, I dashed down the Quay to grab something that will later on today become dinner.

That successfully accomplished, I turned my thoughts towards lunch. I usually don't do Subway - the queues put me off, and on the one occassion I came upon a queue free Subway branch, they gave me a different sandwich to the one I ordered.

But today, queue free (relatively), I decided to give them another try. I ordered the Steak & cheese sandwich. And I must say, the production line way they construct these things... disturbs me a little, it's no wonder they gave me the wrong one last time. Half the time I don't know which of the seven attendants lined up I'm supposed to be listening to & answering.

I have a traditional strategy for times like this though - I just say yes to everything (which to digress for a moment, is how I ended up with an Edinburgh pub lunch once, consisting of roast beef, yorkshire pudding, gravy, chips, baked beans, pickled gherkins & peas. delicious!). So it was yes to onion, lettuce (attendant 1), tomato (attendant 2). Then determined to stamp my individuality on the process, I turned down the cucumber (although it IS possible I turned down cucumber for the guy next to me), but accepted the capsicum & gherkin (attendant 3). I gave the nod for the steak on top of all this - actually just thinly sliced beef - if you want a "real" steak sandwich, there's a place in the BNZ arcade which does a pretty hedonistic rib-eye steak burger. recommended - (attendant 4), and smearing a very generous quantity of jalapeno chillis. My individuality was again expressed, when I identified not one, but two sauces to go on top - dijon mustard & barbecue sauce (attendant 5). Attendant 6 took my cash.

And by golly, the whole thing was rather tasty.

It's a 50/50 chance whether I'll enjoy another in the next year or so, but you never know...

BTW attendant 7 appeared to be in charge of cookies & they weren't on my horizon today.

Who comes here?

Like many, if not all bloggers I watch who comes here... problem is, the visitor data isn't very specific.

But some of you come from some very interesting places.

Which is why you won't see much political comment from me in election year especially.

And some of you come from anonymous IP addresses that mean nothing to me.

So if you're shy of making a comment in the nifty comments thing... by all means, if you want to say something to me (and I'd love to hear from you all), feel free to email me at the address just beneath the photo of Snowflake the sheep (hint: that's her in the top right hand corner), after making the appropriate edits.

phineas.llewATgmailDOTcom.

Speaking of The Godfather...

1 & 2 are IMHO, two of the greatest movies ever made. Just hearing the haunting theme tune causes the hair on my neck to stand on end. I get goosebumps.

When The Godfather first came out, I was too young to go & see it. And indeed, had little interest in what I assumed was a generic gangster film.

The newspapers at the time it was released (in the UK anyway) were completely taken with the whole mafia business, giving screeds of copy over to Al Capone, Lucky Luciano & the like as background info to the movie.

Indeed, I was reading a grisly tale of one guy getting "whacked" & bleeding all through his pasta whilst in the back of a hot & stuffy car touring round Scotland with my dad & a mate of his called Bunny Evans. At the time I was trying to drink from a plastic bag filled with warm milk (how they were selling the stuff at the time in Scotland in 1972), and all I could think was that this warm liquid was about the consistency & temperature of blood.

Years later I saw Godfather II at the Naenae picture theatre - they had Sunday night double features that ranged from the sublime (G2) to the utterly rancid (The Chinese Connection). But my mates & I were there generally without fail (which is how come I have seen ridiculous films such as The Carpetbaggers (loosely based on the early life of Howard Hughes & starring the ever-wooden George Peppard), and a bizarre spinoff of that book called Nevada Smith & starring Steve Mcqueen). Not to mention countless crappy kung-fu movies & old westerns starring, of all people, Dean Martin.

Godfather II utterly transfixed me, so that in short order I read the Godfather novel & then caught up with the earlier movie too.

And The Godfather is one of those rare occasions that the film surpasses the book in quality. The book, IMO, is pulp trash. The film is magnificent, ignoring most of the sub-plots & focussing square on the Corleones.

Oddly, the Godfather II is one of those rare occasions where the sequel surpasses the original. I will state categorically now, that this movie is the greatest ever made. It also differs from & contradicts the novel.

Both movies, all three really, sport much the same basic structure. A crisis threatens the Corleone family, attempts are made on the Don's life, traitors are exposed & the whole thing wrapped up at the end with retributional multi-whackings.

How simple can it get?

I once read that the first two had been recut into a mini-series tracing the Corleone saga in chronological order. I wonder what that would be like?

I now look forward (following many subtle hints) to receiving the 3 film, Godfather DVD Boxed Set for my birthday.

"Girls dressed in plastic"

Brilliant! I am 4th in the google listing for the above phrase.

Google-s�kning: "Girls dressed in plastic"

So who watched Godfather 3 last night on Sky?

A deeply flawed film. Could have been as great as the others (Godfathers 1 & 2), but for the presence of Sophie Coppola in the lead role.

She's flat as a pancake (presence-wise). I cannot see the film without wondering what it could have been with Winona Ryder (at the height of her powers - or just starting the slide anyway) in the role. And it depresses me.

Anyhow... it still has some attention grabbing moments - like when Michael makes his first confession in 30 years - "I am beyond redemption!", to a Cardinal who is about to become Pope John Paul 1.

In fact, it's a very topical film to be screening right now, they showed the Conclave selecting a new pope. Presumably both JP2 & Joe Ratzinger were present.

And the film follows the events (some speculation) involving the Vatican bank, certain Sicilian & American "families", and the corruption that led to the (speculated) murder of the new pope.

Michael tries to save him. And then avenges in spectacular & operatic (literally) fashion.

Great stuff. They should have killed off Sophie's character a lot earlier though.

And we also watched an odd little film in the weekend called Rodger Dodger. It's about a completely reprehensible ladies' man (a reptilian Campbell Scott) teaching his 16 year old nephew all about women (and how to score them).

And this guy is butt squirmingly awful, wracked with bitterness & guilt about his family, and pretty much consumed with misogyny.

Has an interesting cast - Isabella Rossellini, Jennifer "Flashdance" Beals, & Elizabeth Berkley (who keeps her clothes on).

Finishes on a slightly optimistic note of redemption... worth a look. Some barbed & barbarous dialogue (kind of like In The Company of Men, but not quite as bleak).

I landlord

Spent much of the weekend showing prospective tenants around our old house, which, given it has inexplicably refused to be sold, will be tenanted out again for a few years when we will try again to sell it.

SunnyO: Make me an offer I can't refuse...

I say inexplicably, because houses have sold all around it during the marketing period, worse houses, for lots of money. These houses were being sold by a different agency... so maybe there IS an explanation...

Anyway, we got two offers, both were below the GV. How often do you hear of houses selling for less than their GV? We had the place valued too, and so we had an idea what a fair price would be. it's not less than the GV.

Anyway...

Put an ad in the paper saying there'd be a viewing time on Sunday & to call for the address... nearly everyone couldn't make it on Sunday & so I was persuaded to spend some time there on Saturday instead. gave me a chance to do some gardening there & refamilarise myself with a place I didn't expect to have to maintain anymore...

Oh well. Had a few families through, some I can see it won't suit because the section is unfenced for dogs, and access is a bit steep for toddlers & elderly etc...

Everyone raved about what a nice, spacious, sunny place it is.

I had some stereotyping notions realigned by some groups.

Group #1: 4 "female professionals". Party girls looking for a base close to town. They checked out the bedrooms, glanced briefly at the kitchen, didn't even look at the garden. They love it.

Group #2: 4 young guys, mix of students & tradesmen. Loved the place, especially the kitchen. One guy mused rapturously about it at length. They love it.

Group #3: 4 more "female professionals". Quite a bit more professional than the first lot. A lawyer, a sharebroker, a TVNZ hotty , and something else I can't remember (brain surgeon I expect). They looked more the dinner than headbanger partiers & the kitchen did impress them a little bit too. They love it.

A few more to show around tonight...

Meanwhile, T laboured on the lounge at home & has it (re) painted - one of the colours didn't make the grade & has been replaced with a shade only imperceptably lighter than the first coat. But she's happy, and therefore, so am I.

How will Hollywood handle the Phillip Pullman books?

Here's the worst case scenario for the upcoming His Dark Materials movie adaptation... highly amusing.

The Pantalaimon Perplex - Here be spoilers.

BTW: I have just finished the 2nd of the trilogy (The Subtle Knife) & eagerly await M finishing the third book (The Amber Spyglass).

And I notice that there is a fourth in the trilogy now - Kind of - Lyra's Oxford. And a fifth coming soon (The Book of Dust).

They don't make trilogies like they used to.

A few of the leading candidates...

If the web did the voting, it'd be Dubya, and here.

I bet though if I had done this a few years ago, it'd be Bill Gates.

Although there is a rank outsider....

And if you take this highly informative quiz (hint, the Antichrist is only mentioned 4 times in the bible, and not at all in Revelations, and when he, she or it, is mentioned, he's already appeared & isn't necessarily one person anyway), you'll find that she is actually a little old lady called Mrs Jones (if you're reading literally that is, otherwise it might be you.)

And then I got sick of the whole exercise, especially the pages suggesting the recently deceased Pope might be the man (although there is evidence that JP2 thought it was Dubya too - I mean, you've all seen the Omen films right? Oh yeah... that'd make it Sam Neill...)

And now for a public service... I (will) bring you the Antichrist.

In these painful days of papal upheaval, SunnyO has decided to do the world a service by unmasking the Antichrist.

You know s/he's out there - striding the world's places of power (momentary cliche blank - you know what I mean), or maybe sitting at home listening to Linda Clarke & having a cuppa.

I thought I might make it multi-choice (eg 1. Paul Holmes 2. Joe Ratzinger 3. Paris Hilton etc) but then I decided that to do the job the justice it deserves, and to continue in the recent vein of Interactive Blogging (TM), I'd call for nominations.

So what say you!

Oh - and while it IS attractive to think that the AC is a very powerful & prominent person, it might pay to remember that in fine Hollywood movie tradition, it just might be the very last person we expect (or if a TV show, the most famous guest star that week). So keep an eye on Nelson Mandela - and say Michelle, you got him on your list?

So I will accept obscure personages, especially if accompanied by an imaginative description. For instance, there used to be this Wellington City bus driver....

BTW: I meant to mention this before, but having all sorts of (supernatural?) problems with Blogger. But if you've read The Revolt of the Angels by Anatole France, you will be aware that Satan is actually a retired gardener living on the outskirts of Paris. That being the case, why should the Antichrist be any more prominent?

And further... this link takes you to the online translation of the entire Revolt of the Angels

*michelle, on-the-deathwatch reporting from italy*

Funny how people squander a really good post on someone else's comments

Here's Michelle on the line from Rome. Lifted from a comments field.

I'll tell you what Llew, it's a beautiful day here in the Holy City and the crowds of people waiting to view the Pope are creating quite a festive atmosphere as they queue for up to 8 hours outside St Peters. With the soaring unseasonal temperatures, the decision to not embalm the Pope is beginning to seem like the wrong decision as his body begins its slow journey into decomposition with the visible leaking of plasma from his popal cuffs although the Faithful believe that the liquid is actually Jesus Christ's tears from his crucifiction.

Although it wasn't a huge surprise that the Pope died this year, only 4 of the 9 deathwatch participants had him on their lists. That gives them a margin of 16points in front of the rest of the contestants and that is a very good start considering it's only April. I'm hoping that Luciano Pavrotti is the next to kick the bucket to project me out into the lead even further as no one else has picked him as shirking his mortal coil during 2005. Back to you in the studio, this is Michelle reporting for SunnyO News from the Vatican, Rome, Italy.
Michelle | Homepage | 04.07.05 - 6:14 pm | #

Should I settle for only slight dementia & skip the run?

STUFF : WORLD NEWS - STORY : New Zealand's leading news and information website: "Fend off dementia with sex, crosswords and a run "

The Cardinal Ratzinger Fan Club: Homepage

Did he not used to play Cliff the postman on Cheers?

The Cardinal Ratzinger Fan Club: Homepage

OK... I'm just about done with this stuff...

Continuing our papal theme - putting the smackdown on heresy since when?

I have to agree with Sarah, that Ratzinger looks a bit suss....

BBC NEWS | World | Europe | Saving souls in cyberspace: "Supporters can purchase T-shirts and hats declaring support for the cardinal, branded with the phrase: 'Putting the smackdown on heresy since 1981.' "

I love the phrase "who heads the Vatican department once known as the Holy Inquisition"

What's it called now?

And since when? Surely since... since... well let's say the 12th century. (Looks like Ratzinger could have been there).

UPDATE:

My papal advisor reliably tells me that the Institution Formerly Known as the Holy Inquisition (IFKATHI) is now the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. Smacking down (burning at the stake) heresy since 1542.

The new pope's name

Apparently the newly elected pope gets to choose his own name.

According to Sarah in the comments to this recent post, all the cardinals will be preoccupied with dreaming up names right now, just in case (like the rest of us would be dreaming up acceptance speeches).

SunnyO: The next pope?

So I'm inviting the three of you who read this to submit some suggestions. I'm interested in 1) likely names, 2) names they probably won't choose, but should, and 3) names they definitely won't be using.

Eg:

1) Pope John Paul III
2) Pope James Dean
3) Pope Michael Jackson

OTY

Paul Hester, the Pope, Rainier, Saul Bellow...

Where will it end?

how're your deathpool points looking today Michelle?

The Jamjar: April 2005 Archives

The next pope?

One of the things I didn't mention about my letter from god... is that he informs me that the first black pope will be the Anti-Christ.

I see that the Nigerian candidate fits the bill... although I remember seeing a very comprehensive arguemtn on Cheers once, that the Coyote from the Roadrunner cartoons was the Anti-Christ.

watch this space....

Personally, I think Italy will be looking for a local lad to fill the position.

And when do we find out what the new one is going to be called?

SunnyO - As seen on TV!

James very kindly pimped my blog (and others) on national TV!

How cool!

Cheers Noizy!

Knew I should have baled Ralston up....

So I'm at home right now...

T's in Christchurch, M is at school... and just as I was about to head off to work - after several days off - I really should show my face now & then... a frickin' cat got into a hole left by an electrician in the bedroom wardrobe & is somewhere in the lining of the house between the top & bottom floors...

I can't leave, because I can't turn on the alarm as he'll trigger it when he comes out. I can't lock him in the cupboard - it's where all Trelise Cooper's sold stock resides... and a few of my cheap suits...

So... it's a waiting game....

The very best exchange of the evening...

Man! Thursday morning in Welly sucked. Well... it blew & persisted actually. Great day to be driving North in an unfamiliar car.

But drive North we did. And the loaned Skoda Octavia was an admirable car to drive, I have to admit. Once I familiarised myself with a manual transmission again. Only stalled it 3 times in the entire weekend...

The weather cleared around about Waikanae. Our first stop was the Arctique Kennels, where we left Wilma for the duration. She was really happy to get into the place, but had a very cross & confused look on her face as we tootled away, waving goodbye through our watery eyes...

Our next stop was the Windmill cafe in Bulls. Sub-Eurovision song contest music (imagine a medley: Olay Olay & What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor), awful food & coffee, and the place is crowded with kitsch, including those horrid rustic clay figurines which would give you nightmares. You know the ones - bulbous faced leprechaun looking things. My advice to anyone is to keep driving.

And Taihape was the place we stopped for lunch. The much over-rated Brown Sugar cafe. Although there was nothing wrong with my cheese & bacon on toast.

We stopped briefly again in Taupo & amongst other things, bought a very cheap micro stereo from Noel Leemings (ultimately to grace our bedroom at home). Very cheap. As evidenced that we used it once, played one CD, went to dinner and next time we tried to turn it on, it wouldn't work...

Then it was onto Tirau, which IMO is a very pleasant little town to spend a few hours in. Or even a night - I can recommend the OK Tirau Motel very highly. And the cafe next door, which did an excellent steak, the first of several in the weekend.



By now, the weather was positively summery! The next day's drive was a doddle, through the lovely Waikato to Thames & lunch. Then, our first mistake (not counting the Windmill cafe in Bulls), instead of driving back to the Whitianga & Tairua turnoff, we believed our roadmap which showed the much shorter route was North, and over a pass to Coroglen. 29 km of metal & dust & winding road took us an hour & a half... Resolved not to come back that way. Although it would have been fine if we'd had our high clearance Touareg (we would have been able to say we'd taken it "off-road"!) & not a road hugging family station wagon.

Whitianga seems to be undergoing some major redevelopment, since we were last there 2 years ago... although the main township seems pretty much the same, there are large tracts of land outside town being prepared for residences & retirement homes. Our motel turned out to be about a 100 metres from the wedding venue, but the accommodation was very small. I can recommend the steamed mussels & the porkribs from a cafe called Tuatuas, and also the venison from Salt cafe.

The wedding itself was at a place called Ohuka Lodge, which has just been built (by the groom). It's on a convenient shelf of land (presumably a "raised beach") on the hillside overlooking Mercury Bay. It is a million dollar view, and once the landscaping is completed, it will be a million dollar place to stay - and presumably much cheaper.





There were some 300 guests, including TVNZ guy Bill ralston & his wife Janet Wilson. There was a bit of a queue to genuflect, so Bill & I did not get around to discussing my TV career. Although I did compliment him on his hat.

We partied till late, I met a lot of interesting people, and to refer back to the title of this post, the very best exchange of the evening came from a woman who had just been telling us about her job in some "male health" clinic - the brand name "viagra" cropped up a lot in the conversation - another guy came by & overheard a little of the topic, he stopped, stared at the woman (who was quite tipsy), and asked:

"What are you?"

and she looked up, and said:

"I'm a... I'm a... I'm a.... (pause)... I'm a really great fuck, Nigel"

Just magnificent IMO (her response, not her self professed talent).

Oh... and the food! There was a rowing boat, filled with ice, and then topped with a huge mound of seafood, oysters in the half shell, crayfish, prawns, squid, mussels... It was quite something. And on top of that, there were curries, sushi, a major barbecue... we gorged. And we drank...



And lo! We were actually quite healthy & rested the next morning. We drove South, stopped for lunch at the Fine Swine cafe in tirau, where coincidentally we ran across a well known blogger, author & speechwriter (honestly David, I am not stalking you!) on his way North.

Spent the night in Tokaanu, as is our habit on our way home from the Coromandel, soaked in the mineral pool, had the best rib-eye steak I've had in years at a place called The Poachers, in nearby Waihi beach. I can't recommend this restaurant enough actually, 3 minutes drive from Tokaanu. Try it.

And home the next day, a dream ride, weather turned as awful as we'd left it around about Porirua... stopped & picked up a very happy Wilma on the way...

The wedding was great!

More on that later, as a busy week unfolds... or what's left of it.

it's still summer in the Coromandel actually.

But just a quick update on the car situation...

How I imagined it would go:

"OHMIGOD! You drive a PORSCHE!!"
Me: "Yeah, we picked it up specially for this weekend."

How it actually went:

"OHMIGOD! You drive a fucking SKODA!!"
Me: "It's not ours..."

Actually, they seem to be rebranding skodas, it was a cut down (basic) Audi station wagon with a skoda badge on it. Ran really well.