Saturday, 31 March 2007


How drunk was I last night? Very, is the answer I'm looking for people.

How drunk am I still in the cold harsh light of the morning after? Very, is the answer I'm looking for people.

How sorry am I to my SPFW? Very, is the answer I'm looking for people.

How sorry am I to Piers? Very, is the answer I'm looking for people.

How good a night was last night? Very, is the answer I'm looking for people.OH

Friday, 30 March 2007

Talk about unbearable

It's a near windless day in our nation's capital, the sky is as azure as it gets and temperatures are swiftly ramping up to already-stifling proportions. Granted it's not hot hot, but the lack of even the vague semblance of a breeze makes walking the city streets unaided by air-conditioning somewhat unpleasant.

Adding insult to injury is that today is a Friday and the Legion of Corporate Cubicle Dwellers seem to have emerged onto our city streets in their standard Casual Friday uniform: untucked print shirt, distressed over-priced jeans and childlike sneakers. Surely their girlfriends / female flatmates coudl do us all a favour and tell them they look stupid dressing so alike.

On the upside are the scantily-clad sunworshippers, parading their wares like summer has come again. Oh the perving to be done today! I can imagine sunglass sales to the sexually-desperate white male market seeing quite dramatic rises.

And how's your day treating you?

UPDATE: ok so maybe the northerly decided to kick in. Too little too late if you ask me. You really should. Ask me.

Thursday, 29 March 2007

Rescued last night from the clutches of manicured if vaguely natural shrubbery

An obvious remnant of the fire and brimstone events earlier in the day on the steps of Parliament, I couldn't resist bringing it with me to a meeting I went to last night. I thought it was quite well done as far as protest placards go. Nicely executed.

Special thanks to my colleague in another organisation who made a special point of violently waving it at the Deputy PM before I thought to let go of the damn thing. The witty rejoinder from the honorable member was classic Cullen.


Wednesday, 28 March 2007

Stay of execution

an order whereby a judgment is precluded from being executed for a specific period of time.

Well the last couple days have been quite fucked up what with news from the landlord that he's looking to sell our beloved apartment.

FUCK! NUTS! The flatmate is taking this harder than I am but it's still quite gutting.

We've been given a stay of execution until November to see out the 12 month lease but we're thinking we might start looking at new places in the meantime in case the sale goes sour for us. Te Mama says we should just wait it out and see what happens as the new owners may want us to continue as tenants.

It's all too early at this stage.

Kinda sucks that we might have to leave this place.

We love it here!!!


Tuesday, 27 March 2007

Officer down! Get a wetnap people!

I'm real advocate for late night TV. Back in the day "late night" was when all the better than decent shows screened on TV. Pre-rubbish Absolutely Fabulous. American Gothic. TV movies too dreadful for words.

Such. Rich. Fodder.

One particular late night treasure du jour is Reno 911. Mockumentally good. I can't wait for the movie to come out. Fingers crossed the film actually does make it out on general release.

Monday, 26 March 2007

Ain't saying goodbye

It's on days like today, days when I'm laid up in bed, days with a messed up bodyclock and physical inability to get up and do anything, that I'm reminded just how dreadful daytime TV has become since sick days were relished as a kid. Not only do we have Dr Phil but we also have Dr Keith, a psychiatrist with a set that looks eerily similar to Rikki Lake's old set. Don't judge me for noticing the similarity. Rikki was the new Springer.

Thankfully the more than messed-up bodyclock (a consequence rathar than a cause of one's current condition) saw me fall in and out of consciousness throughout the day.

And so it was in between the nodding in and out of consciousness that I trawled Youtube for music clips to acts I'd dearly like to see. One such act is multi-instrumentalist Tom Vek. I came across his killer song Ain't Said Goodbye on the rather fantastic mixtape by La Greve Generale (I didn't realise I'd already picked the song up as part of Modular Record's stellar Leave Them All Behind mix - I snagged the first and second during my sojourn to Fitzroy's Polyester Records).

I love this song.

What I'm not loving is the new song by Kings of Leon. The thumping bass line notwithstanding, I really don't like the band and the lead singer's voice makes me want to scratch at someone's face. Preferably not my own. Yes I do suffer the shame of owning one of their CDs but I assure that was only because of the pretty face behind the counter.

Speaking of pretty faces, the ever-lovely EKG is back with a vengeance, albeit an online vengeance. Please ignore the ugly photo that I feature in. How come we don't have beer jugs like they do in Korea? I feel a referendum coming over me.

Speaking of the grass always being greener, Surkin is coming to Melbourne in June and I feel a semi-impromptu trip across the Tasman coming over. Fingers crossed Piers wants to come along, because linguistic commitments prevent the flatmate from coming along. Either way it should be a great night.

Thursday, 22 March 2007

Konichiwa bitches

I had Japanese for lunch today. A delicious pork cutlet dish with egg and rice. Katsudon. Miyabi Sushi up Willis St Village. Glorious. Mister Chris joined me for lunch. We geeked over Mac's and drank green tea. I've decided I want an iMac. Not just any iMac though. The 24" beast. Oh it looks so hot. I'll stop by Magnum Mac tomorrow to see how quickly they can get me one. Chris suggested sitting it on the floor was a bad thing.

I guess I should get a desk for it.

Tell him that justice is waiting for him

Available from your nearest supermarket?

They really do have everything in Melbourne.

This was taken down one of Melbourne's many laneways. My god they've got some impressive stencil and sticker work over there. Kinda puts the Isaac Hayes stencil down by the MFC to shame.

Wednesday, 21 March 2007

I welcomed the refugees across the road with a burning lower case t on their front lawn

I see from Joris de Bres' appearance on Breakfast this morning that today is Race Relations Day. How community-minded!

As a living paragon of hybrid vigour and one half of an achingly multicultural flatting situation (he calls me black, I call him gay), I guess it falls to me to share with you an element of my cultural heritage.

Maui goes fishing

One day his brothers went out fishing, whilst Maui-tikitiki-o-Taranga stopped idly at home doing nothing, although indeed he had to listen to the sulky grumblings of his wives and children, at his laziness in not catching fish for them.

Then he called out to the women, 'Never mind, oh, mothers, yourselves and your children need not fear. Have not I accomplished all things, and as for this little feat, this trifling work of getting food for you, do you think I cannot do that? certainly; if I go and get a fish for you, it will be one so large that when I bring it to land you will not be able to eat it all, and the sun will shine on it and make it putrid before it is consumed.'

Then Maui snooded his enchanted fish-hook, which was pointed with part of the jaw-bone of Muri-ranga-whenua, and when he had finished this, he twisted a stout fishing-line to his hook.

His brothers in the meantime had arranged amongst themselves to make fast the lashings of the top side of their canoe, in order to go out for a good day's fishing.

When all was made ready they launched their canoe, and as soon as it was afloat Maui jumped into it, and his brothers, who were afraid of his enchantments, cried out: 'Come, get out again, we will not let you go with us; your magical arts will get us into some difficulty.'

So he was compelled to remain ashore whilst his brothers paddled off, and when they reached the fishing ground they lay upon their paddles and fished, and after a good day's sport returned ashore.

As soon as it was dark night Maui went down to the shore, got into his brothers' canoe, and hid himself under the bottom boards of it.

The next forenoon his brothers came down to the shore to go fishing again, and they had their canoe launched, and paddled out to sea without ever seeing Maui, who lay hid in the hollow of the canoe under the bottom boards.

When they got well out to sea Maui crept out of his hiding place; as soon as his brothers saw him, they said: 'We had better get back to the shore again as fast as we can, since this fellow is on board'

But Maui, by his enchantments, stretched out the sea so that the shore instantly became very distant from them, and by the time they could turn themselves round to look for it, it was out of view.

Maui now said to them: 'You had better let me go on with you, I shall at least be useful to bail the water out of our canoe.'

To this they consented, and they paddled on again and speedily arrived at the fishing ground where they used to fish upon former occasions.

As soon as they got there his brothers said: 'Let us drop the anchor and fish here'

Maui answered: 'Oh no, don't; we had much better paddle a long distance farther out.'

Upon this they paddled on, and paddled as far as the farthest fishing ground, a long way out to sea, and then his brothers at last say: 'Come now, we must drop anchor and fish here.'

And he replies again: 'Oh, the fish here are very fine I suppose, but we had much better pull right out to sea, and drop anchor there. If we go out to the place where I wish the anchor to be let go, before you can get a hook to the bottom, a fish will come following it back to the top of the water. You won't have to stop there a longer time than you can wink your eye in, and our canoe will come back to shore full of fish.'

As soon as they hear this they paddle away--they paddle away until they reach a very long distance off, and his brothers then say: 'We are now far enough.'

And he replies: 'No, no, let us go out of sight of land, and when we have quite lost sight of it, then let the anchor be dropped, but let it be very far off, quite out in the open sea.'

At last they reach the open sea, and his brothers begin to fish. Lo, lo, they had hardly let their hooks down to the bottom, when they each pulled up a fish into the canoe. Twice only they let down their lines, when behold the canoe was filled up with the number of fish they had caught.

Then his brothers said: 'Oh, brother, let us all return now.'

And he answered them: 'Stay a little; let me also throw my hook into the sea.'

His brothers replied: 'Where did you get a hook?

And he answered: 'Oh, never mind, I have a hook of my own.'

His brothers replied again: 'Make haste and throw it then.'

As he pulled it out from under his garments, the light flashed from the beautiful mother-of-pearl shell in the hollow of the hook, and his brothers saw that the hook was carved and ornamented with tufts of hair pulled from the tail of a dog, and it looked exceedingly beautiful.

Maui then asked his brothers to give him a little bait to bait his hook with; but they replied: 'We will not give you any of our bait.'

So he doubled his fist and struck his nose violently, and the blood gushed out, and he smeared his hook with his own blood for bait, and then be cast it into the sea, and it sank down, and sank down, till it reached to the small carved figure on the roof of a house at the bottom of the sea, then passing by the figure, it descended along the outside carved rafters of the roof, and fell in at the doorway of the house, and the hook of Maui-tikitiki-o-Taranga caught first in the sill of the doorway.

Then, feeling something on his hook, he began to haul in his line. Ah, ah!--there ascended on his hook the house of that old fellow Tonga-nui. It came up, up; and as it rose high, oh, dear! how his hook was strained with its great weight; and then there came gurgling up foam and bubbles from the earth, as of an island emerging from the water, and his brothers opened their mouths and cried aloud.

Maui all this time continued to chant forth his incantations amidst the murmurings and wailings of his brothers, who were weeping and lamenting, and saying: 'See now, how he has brought us out into the open sea, that we may be upset in it, and devoured by the fish.'

Then he raised aloud his voice, and repeated the incantation called Hiki which makes heavy weights fight, in order that the fish he had caught might come up easily, and he chanted an incantation beginning thus:

'Wherefore, then, oh! Tonga-nui,
Dost thou hold fast so obstinately below there?'

When he had finished his incantation, there floated up, hanging to his line, the fish of Maui, a portion of the earth, of Papa-tu-a-Nuku.

Alas! alas! their canoe lay aground.

Maui then left his brothers with their canoe, and returned to the village; but before he went he said to them: 'After I am gone, be courageous and patient; do not eat food until I return, and do not let our fish be cut up, but rather leave it until I have carried an offering to the gods from this great haul of fish, and until I have found a priest, that fitting prayers and sacrifices may be offered to the god, and the necessary rites be completed in order. We shall thus all be purified. I will then return, and we can cut up this fish in safety, and it shall be fairly portioned out to this one, and to that one, and to that other; and on my arrival you shall each have your due share of it, and return to your homes joyfully; and what we leave behind us will keep good, and that which we take away With us, returning, will be good too.'

Maui had hardly gone, after saying all this to them, then his brothers trampled under their feet the words they had heard him speak. They began at once to eat food, and to cut up the fish.

When they did this, Maui had not yet arrived at the sacred place, in the presence of the god; had he previously reached the sacred place, the heart of the deity would have been appeased with the offering of a portion of the fish which had been caught by his disciples, and all the male and female deities would have partaken of their portions of the sacrifice. Alas! alas! those foolish, thoughtless brothers of his cut up the fish, and behold the gods turned with wrath upon them, on account of the fish which they had thus cut up without having made a fitting sacrifice. Then indeed, the fish began to toss about his head from side to side, and to lash his tail, and the fins upon his back, and his lower jaw. Ah! ah! well done Tangaroa, it springs about on shore as briskly as if it was in the water.

That is the reason that this island is now so rough and uneven--that here stands a mountain--and there lies a plain--that here descends a valley--that there rises a cliff. If the brothers of Maui had not acted so deceitfully, the huge fish would have lain flat and smooth, and would have remained as a model for the rest of the earth, for the present generation of men. This, which has just been recounted, is the second evil which took place after the separation of Heaven from Earth.

Thus was dry land fished up by Maui after it had been hidden under the ocean by Rangi and Tawhiri-ma-tea. It was with an enchanted fish-hook that he drew it up, which was pointed with a bit of the jaw-bone of his ancestress Muri-ranga-whenua; and in the district of Heretaunga they still show the fish-hook of Maui, which became a cape stretching far out into the sea, and now forms the southern extremity of Hawke's Bay.

Hat-tip to for the myth.

The Joy of Race Relations, or

Thoughts Originating From My Personal Experiences With Race Relations : A composition mostly of questions

by Pantz.

I enjoy race relations very much. I have had relations with many different races. The most gratifying have been with those of Maori and South American descent. They were surely great relations, and proven so at various times of day, under varying degrees of inebriation (including sobriety) and degradation. A theory well tested, it might be said.

As a predominantly white male, I wonder, does the appeal of having relations with racial minorities in New Zealand relate to a subconscious, colonialist desire to dominate? Or, when being dominated, is it related to a guilt complex over colonialist wrongs, a means of masochistic repentance?

Is my particular penchant for brown boys of the Maori persuasion related to my own approximately 2.7% share in that racial bloodline? Am I rooting around for my roots? Attempting to reconnect with my relations by engaging in relations? Is that too incestuous?

Does my 2.7% simply over-identify with racial minorities so much that I wish to become a part of them, to physically (re)integrate with them?

If I were living in Argentina, then, would the approximately 97.3% of me that is a mongrel-like mix of white racial descent motivate a drive to have relations with other white people, present in that country as a minority amongst a majority populace of a more caramel complexion?

If the theory is correct that the world was populated with humans during an epic, global trek of an increasingly multiplying, dispersing, diversifying core group which originated in Africa, does this mean that black people have, in actuality, been head of the family all along, and that almost no matter what, any relations had between people either within or without their own race is going to be an act of incest?

Would this render the notion of “one love” more or less meaningful?

Just how hard is the unavoidable to avoid?*

*A paraphrase of a lyric featured in Electric Six’s brilliant ‘Boy or Girl?’

If this were a pack of smokes, there would be graphic images of blown eardrums, body bruises and shattered feet

Joel beat me to the punch on this one.

Like the man says, "The music actually makes me want to sample the combination of sambuca and toast. Because the music is so tasty."


Speaking of deep, I saw Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain last night with Mister Chris, the Cuz and... well... Andy.

What did I think of the film? Oh. Dear. God.

It wasn't painful insofar as it was pointless. Sure it was visually stunning (the elevator scene was especially captivating) but that wasn't quite enough to cover the gaping chasm where one normally expects a storyline to exist. I think I nodded off a few times during the film. Chris seemed to really like it. We just laughed at him. Some of us kept laughing until we got to the Railway Station. Train people. I wonder if they eat bark too.

Hmmm.... more food for thought.

Colour me a slave to corporate advertising

I want a Mac. I REALLY want a Mac.

I've wanted one for a while now but I've experienced a confluence of various events. I've had a brief play with Piers' Macbook (hope you didn't mind). Mister Chris has got himself a brand spanking new iMac. There is a seeming barrage of Mac ads on TV at the moment. I'm tiring of the night-after-night agony from sharing my laptop with the flatmate (it doesn't matter how much I like him, at the end of the day I'm still an only child and sharing is deeply unnatural). Honestly, it's like a kismetic conspiracy of karmic proportions!

I don't know if "kismetic" is an actual word, but I'm running with it all the same. Yes my balls really are that big.

Confessing my desire to go Apple to The American he helpfully pointed out that I could save NZ$1000 if I knew of someone who was coming back from the States in the next month or so. Un. Real.

This deserves further thought.

Monday, 19 March 2007

i should be under people u enjoy, or are my dramas not enough for you woman!

Jay thought he deserved a special mention as a person I enjoy.

So I've added his frighteningly out-of-date blog to the list.

God I'm whipped.

The Joy of Polished Wood Floors

by His Whoreness

*thump* *thump* *thump*

*thumpthumpthumpthumpthump thump thump thump*

*scrape* *thumpthump*

*scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaape* *thumpthump*

*kathump* *kathump* *KATHUMPKATHUMPKATHUMP kathump kathump*

*thump* *thump* *thump*

Like fucking clog-wearing dogs!!! I've never hated the upstairs neighbours more than I do right now.

The Joy of Naming Children

by His Whoreness

SPFW and I already have a wee brown girl. She's called Daisheeki. Such an exotic name for such a beautiful wee girl. Now, some people might think it inappropriate that we named our child for the Swahili word for "doggy style", but I don't think so. As a plastic trinket whose purchase symbolises the piecemeal eradication of my cultural heritage as a meaningless proxy for meaningful personal experiences, I'm not sure the Human Rights Commission let alone the Children's Commissioner would give two hoots.

Where am I going with this?

Last week someone called me Joseph and I didn't think it worth correcting them. It just makes things more awkward and unnecessarily embarrasses the other person. That notwithstanding, being called any other J name but my own actually makes me angry.

As someone who for most of his life has been called every name starting with J you'll have to colour me a bit sensitive on the issue of naming one's child.

Now I know why my parents called me what they did.

Biblical names were the in thing back then but New Testament names were a bit de rigeur, a bit overused. So my parents went old school. Yes, they went Old Testament. I can only thank god they didn't call me Isaac or I'd never live down the lifetime of Love Boat jokes.

People can get their own fucking drinks.

The Joy of Marton…at night

by Mister Chris

Marton is a small New Zealand town just over 2 hours’ drive from Wellington. I personally have never been there, and I guess many of you dear readers have only just seen road signs whilst on your way to greener pastures, like Taupo, or Hamilton. In fact, you don’t actually drive through Marton because to get there you have to turn off State Highway 1 down a suspiciously windy road, which is what a group of friends and I accidentally did last Friday night.

We were en route to Marton’s famed Corn Evil haunted maze and made that fateful turn. I don’t know if it was just me, but the sound of banjos played by pregnant teenagers with mullets could be heard faintly in the night as we drove down that dark and mysterious road. Doors were promptly locked.

It was clear that we were lost (ironic, seeing as we were on our way to a maze), but where and who could we ask for directions? Luckily, the bright lights of the Marton Motel caught our attention and we managed to get clear directions from the manager. Thank you Marton Motel!

“Who goes to Marton? Does it need a motel?” you might ask. Well, there were no vacancies that night so obviously people must stay there for some ungodly reason.

And so our adventure in Marton finished as quickly as it had started. We found the maze, we got the living daylights scared out of us, we went home. I’m glad the maze is providing something for the locals to do, whether they are actors in the maze or patrons such as ourselves. It keeps them off the streets and away from the cheap vodka and other unsavoury substances. Whether or not it will reduce the number of teen pregnancies is yet to be seen.

Maybe next time we’ll make a night out of it and book a few rooms at the Marton Motel and enjoy ourselves some unique and friendly Marton hospitality, hopefully sans the redneck butt sex.

What else can I say about Marton? Well, it’s like Martin, but with an O, and that’s about all you need to know.

Thursday, 15 March 2007

Amen for the healing power of new vinyl toys


Despite my avowed penury in the face of rent needing to be paid, I went to POPUP yesterday and came away with a few goodies. Rating special mention is my third 8" dunny, this time of stencil artist Shepard Fairey's ubiquitous Obey.
Yes, that really is Andre the Giant's face. It looks so hot and it smells so goooooooooood.

I also got these little guys.

Pay day can't come soon enough. Thankfully my cellphone bill is only around $30 so I should have some flexibility next week to get this guy...

For those who went to bed far too early tonight...

Simian Mobile Disco opened tonight's episode of Watch This Space with their music video It's The Beat.

They also screened !!!'s (chk chk chk) brilliant Heart of Hearts

and Snowman's surprisingly good Smoke and Mirrors (surprisingly good in the sense I'd never heard of them and really quite liked this song, despite its obvious spaghetti western leanings).

Yes. I am the Whore and I so love this show.

What just happened?

Ok so maybe I had an episode when I got home from work yesterday that saw me collapse into a heap on the bedroom floor. I couldn't have been out long because I managed to drag myself onto the bed while the sun was still up. I'm inclined to think my system decided it had had enough of the lifestyle I've been leading the last week or so. Others are inclined to think it might be due to more specific indulgences.

Either way it saw me taking today off work to spend the day stuck in bed in body-wracking if bearable pain.


Daytime TV seriously sucks these days and I never knew high school girls could screech so loudly and for so long as they have throughout the day. I need new games for the Xbox360.

Well that or a Wii.

Or maybe the soon-to-be-released PS3.

I'm so electronic I shit bits

Hat-tip to Muttpop for the heads-up on this glorious example of such gloriously nonsensical design.

It took me a while to work out this was for real and not simply a spoof.

Muttpop also posted a BBC Three interview with Maywa Denki's co-founder Nobumichi Tosa that helps explain what the hell is going on with this art unit / art collective / creative engineering team. It's kinda funny but not as well-done as the vid I've posted.

Maywa Denki also designed the Knockman kinetic toys that my other home POPUP used to stock before they presumably sold out. Watching this makes me wish they still had some. Well that or the Pachi-Moku.

It's the wings that make it special.

Tuesday, 13 March 2007

Couple things

I've taken down word verification for comments because one or two of you mentioned it may have been causing problems when trying to post comments to previous posts.

I've also checked the settings and got them sorted so they now run atom and rss feeds.


I'm off to sleep.

Sweet sweet sleep.


Wind. Rain. Cold. Talk about a miserable homecoming.

That notwithstanding I had a great time in Melbourne. Well that's quite an understatement but there are things best left to a chat over gin and tonic, which oddly enough is remarkably possible after coming through immigration with not one but two bottles of Tanqueray.


If you haven't seen them already (and I've already heard from a couple people who have), Piers has a few photos up on his blog and his flickr account of some of our hijinks. He didn't take his camera with him the day/night we went to the fashion/art freebie event, the after-party in an exclusive rooftop bar and the new rave club night at Click Click. Well I think the club is called Click Click. That or the night was called Click Click. The poster for the night summed it up quite well with the whole softcore porn motif going on.

Apologies to those who received far too many txts while I was away. Warmest most heart-felt apologies to Pantz for suffering what must have been an especially drunken phone call. Amen for capped international minutes on Vodafone Australia prepay. Which reminds me, they have the weirdest prepay plan, where you pay $49 dollars and get like $230/250/270 odd minutes worth of local airtime and like $20 worth of international minutes. Madness, but convenient.

I came away with a few souvenirs, the more significant of which are a fucked body clock and desperate need for sleep. Mister Chris has already swung by to get his present. The flatmate should be home form work soon to get his. I'm yet to sort out how to get Pantz his one and Joel will have to wait until I sort out my new tunes before he gets his.

Sorry for the inadequate travelogue but my head is still swimming from the good times I had with good people. Suffice to say I had a fantastic time and am definitely keen to repeat the experience when money, time and tour schedules allow.

It'll be interesting to see how I go at work tomorrow. Ugh.

Friday, 9 March 2007

It's what the people want

Yesterday was brilliant. Good times with good people all day and night long. Well for as long as my severely-sleep-deprived self could handle.

Ladies and gentlemen, your host is in Melbourne and absolutely loving it (even if my liver does hate me with every fibre of its being).

This city is proving the perfect panacea for the stresses back home, the painfully whinging flight over (I was surrounded by tourists of the Pom persuasion), and less than balanced eating habits of the last few months. So far I've met some great people, drunk some damn good gin, enjoyed some rather questionable beer, seen some fantastic places (many of which must remain secret to preserve their special character) and eaten some heart-renchingly good food (not Citron good but pretty damn good all the same).

I. Love. This. Place.

I'd post pics but I didn't quite get around to switching my cellphone onto international roaming before I left so am running a Vodafag Australia prepay while I'm over here. It's glorious to see everyone over here is a slave to Sony-Ericsson because their phones are seriously tasty. They also have this prepay deal where $49 gives you $270 worth of airtime. Freaky cool. So yes, if you get an odd txt message from a really odd number, then thats me being sociable so txt me back!!! Especially you Pantz. But what I was really going to say is that because I'm in an internet cafe I can't exactly download, edit and post pics I've taken on my camera phone./ Tragic I know but I'm sure Piers can oblige with a few when he gets them up and running from his camera.

Which reminds me, I'm crashing with Piers while I'm over here and its going really well. Well I think its going really well. We've got a party tonight, a sponsored thing tomorrow night folowed by a club night and then on Sunday we have the reason I came over in the first place: Ed Banger Records present SebastiAn and Kavinsky.

So... how are things with you?

Has anyone seen or heard from SPFW? I haven't felt the love for a while. Colour me neglected.

Oh and before I forget...

To the ever-lovely EKG, I miss you and I'm sorry I couldn't see you off at the airport *sobs* (for real, just in a vaguely butch and manly kinda way - ok no, it will be girlish and cringeworthy)

Wednesday, 7 March 2007

What are those negroes doing in first class?

They must be rappers.

So, yeah... I'm off to Melbourne tomorrow morning on the red-eye.
After the frantic misery of this abridged week I'll be desperately glad for the shift in location, distractions, sights and sounds. It'll also be cool to catch up with family and a few friends while I'm over there.

Good times with good people.

Mister Chris has already asked me to get him something shiny (Chris, wouldn't you rather have this?), so I guess that only leaves the rest of you to put your orders in.

Please be mindful of New Zealand's crap duty-free restrictions on bringing lovely lovely alcohol back into the country. The one bottle containing not more than 1125ml of spirits, liqueur, or other spirituous beverages allowance is going towards a fantastic bottle of gin for my own personal enjoyment.

Hmmm... gin.

Hmmm... it seems my vow of sobriety may not last long.

Is there anything I can't do?

Sorry but I'm in a seriously gloatful mood today given some rather good news on the work front, news that sees me move one step closer to beatification as a living saint among a particular if influential career type in our nation's capital.

Colour my ego at positively suffocating proportions. It sits in the crayola box right next to mauvelous.

I so need a drink.

... and a parade in my honour.

... with ticker tape.

... and enormous inflatable cereal mascots.

Tuesday, 6 March 2007

Standing at the crossroads

I don't know about you but I don't feel quite the slave to rampant consumption and material possession as I once was. The relative absence of purchases of late can be explained by a greatly diminished component of my income that could be described as anything vaguely disposable. And sure I've been less than decadent in the lead-up to the trip to Melbourne later this week. Circumstance notwithstanding I just don't seem to feel the need to buy quite as strongly as I used to.

Don't get me wrong.

I still love my toys and my CDs and my DVDs and my books, but the need to head out every pay day and blow half my salary in my lunch break just isn't there. God knows when I last went to Real Groovy. The last book I bought was a gift for someone else. We're into March already and the only DVD I've bought this year is season one of The It Crowd.

I still remain a slave to whim and passing fancies. My current obsession with humiliating the flatmate on the tennis court next to our flat is evidence of that. The slowly-accumulating devastation of tennis ball containers strewn about my walk-in closet is a particularly shameful consequence of that particular obsession.

What I'm left wondering is whether my priorities have changed, and if they have, in which direction am I now headed? Near-monastic piety? Selfless messianism? Muted introspection?

Ultimately, I'm left wondering whether I should continue to call myself His Whoreness. Is it time I laid down the consumer whore mantle and took up a moniker more appropriate, more relevant, more reflective of my since altered state?

Hmmmm... food for thought.

Thursday, 1 March 2007

I love this show!

Ever since moving the TV into my room, the late nights have been a veritable smorgasbord of tasty treats. Treats largely served up by C4.

Only earlier this evening I caught an excellent show called Watch This Space and it had music videos for so many acts I'm into at the moment. They had Black Dirt by the Bumblebeez, Gravity's Rainbow by Klaxons and Standing In The Way Of Control by The Gossip, among many others.


Now that is a Campbell-ism.

UPDATE : it wasn't until I got to work this morning that I realised The Rapture's House of Jealous Lovers was on Watch This Space last night. Far from brilliant music video but what an absolute ripper of a song.

The Joy of The Clock

by the Slightly Silver Fox.

I had spent some weeks pondering the issue of friendship and the variety of apparently necessary gestures involved.

The dinners. The barbecues. The random purchasing of gifts.

Dinner later that month, scheduled in a city far bigger than the one I’m used to, raised a smorgasbord of such questions.

What gesture would be appropriate for a group composed of myself and…
1) A close friend of real personal depth, exhibiting however classy but questionable taste in just about everything;
2) A friend of his that I had never met;
3) A girl friend with certain intellectual attractions; and
4) Her mildly uneasy husband?

The day had dawned bright and clear, but I wore this conundrum like a dark cloak. I wandered whimsically through Tauranga’s CBD, eyes darting from side to side (or at least the one I can see out of properly), seeking out a sign, a talisman, directing me to the solution to this grinding concern.

Dinner. Variegated company. Big city. Flash restaurant.

It was then that I saw it. An item so monstrous in style as to appear contrived but somehow innocent. An item so gaudy in its presentation as to potentially engage a group of such diverse interests as my potential guests in immediate, animated conversation. In short, the perfect gift for one that entertains all.

I stepped into the shop and declared that I wanted it.