Meanderings

Nothing is Original But This is New

2009-09-16T09:03:00.002+10:00

The moment when two people connect is one that is nigh on impossible to describe to anyone other than those two people – and often as impossible for those two people to explain to each other.

The myths, mysticism, rules and strictures that we apply to that connection play such a huge part of our experience of the world, and seem to exist only to confuse and confuzzle us even further than we are already by consciousness on this round blue ball.

I tend to think that these stories play such a huge part of our culture because, no matter how you get there and how close you get to someone, you will never ever be anywhere except in your own head. You will never ever be able to see inside of theirs, and this is where the rules and quests for reassurance and the fights and the excuses and the general babble of relationships arise. Because it can feel like you know this person inside and out, and yet you can’t hear them in the most intimate manner possible.

Sage and strongly believed advice I’ve received over the years: Never go for someone younger, never go for someone older, someone your own age may not be the best choice, never go for someone who has been single for over twelve months, never go for someone unless they’ve been single for at least twelve months, always make sure that you share at least five interests in common, too many common interests means that you should just be friends, the sex should start tentatively and get better, if the sex starts badly it’ll never get any better, if the sex starts explosively that’s all it will ever be, sex on the first date means that the relationship means nothing, making or taking booty calls will mean that they’ll think you’re a slut, men and women will never understand each other so why try, women only want to control, men only want to be controlled, this is a war to be fought throughout the ages, love is all you need, love is never enough, lust should be discouraged, love takes forever, love happens in that first meeting, love doesn’t exist, pheromones are to blame, it’s all about the chemical reaction, we’re attracted to good breeding stock, we’re attracted to that which will destroy us, we’re attracted to the same person over and over again, never be the rebound relationship, the first relationship always fails, we learn from each person we’re with, we’re always the same person no matter who we’re with, it’s not a relationship until a defined amount of time has passed, you should never call it a relationship, don’t talk about whether you want kids, establish immediately if you want the same things, never make jokes whilst having sex, you need to laugh when having sex, it’s not fucking if you’re in a relationship, it should always be fucking no matter what, mind games are necessary to make him do what you want him to, mind games kill whatever you’ve started, spend all of your time together, don’t smother each other, and for gods sake don’t vomit this jumble of thoughts all over that person because they’re never going to understand, talk about everything – it’s the only way to connect…..

No wonder we’re fucked up about this stuff.

The moments of clarity that you have together, they are what and what should always matter: Lying in bed, dappled sunlight, he’s kissing the inside of your forearm while you tell him about new tattoos, everything feels warm and static and you could swear that the air has stilled and the outside world has stopped and nothing is real except this indescribable beinginthemomentness; holding hands for no other reason other than holding hands feels nice; having to stand on tippy toes to kiss him; the sound of his voice on the phone, knowing that he's halfway around the world; feeling the way that you’re smiling and seeing the way that he’s smiling and it’s nothing more than the sight of each other that has caused these silly grins; his hand caressing your face for the first time, a ridiculous drunken fumbling kiss that nonetheless runs throughout your entire body.

Everything else, all those myths and concepts and lessons learned - yes they’re all real and will be there in your head and always part of how you understand (or don’t understand) this experience, but for this time, this glorious apart from the world initial discovery time – they should be nothing but a distant hum.

That's Me Trying

2009-09-01T16:02:00.004+10:00

As the year approaches Father’s Day, a day I have always resented because it fell so close to (and occasionally on) my birthday, and I had no reason that I could see to celebrate it, I thought I would reopen this blog with a post that is intensely personal. You know, just because why the fuck not?

And as with everything in my life - good, bad, indifferent - this story starts with genre television.

Sort of.

When I first got a copy of “Has Been” by William Shatner, I was so excited to hear his collaboration with great musicians, and also to enjoy the delicious ridiculousness of his performance.

What I didn’t really expect was to become such a fan of (most) of the album - so much so that at least two or three of the songs from the album are still always in a playlist for my iPod (now an iPhone, which, best.toy.ever).

There was always one song that I found that I couldn’t listen to at all, though. The first time I heard it I found myself really angry, and the second time I heard it (an accidental experience whilst unpacking in a hostel somewhere in New Zealand, where I couldn’t hit the skip button due to my cd player being stuck under a pile of dirty clothes) I sobbed for a unknown period of time, sitting on the floor of an unknown room, alone in an unknown but wonderful country.

And it wasn’t just because of Bill’s overblown performance, either.

That’s Me Trying

"I got your address from the phone book at the library/

Wandered in, looked you up and you were there/

Weird that you've been living, maybe, 2 miles away for the best part of 20 years/

You must be, what, in your early forties now/

If I remember/

You were born in June or was it May?/

Eisenhower was the president although it may have been JFK/

Years of silence/

Not enough, who could blame us giving up?/

Above the quiet there's a buzz/

That's me trying/

You still working in that store on Ventura?/

You still going with--no, that's not fair/

I know I haven't been the very best of dads/

I'll hold my hand up there/

The reason that I'm writing is that I'd like for us to meet/

Get a little daughter dad action going soon/

We can put things behind us/

Eat some pizza, drink some beer/

You still see your sister?/

Bring her, too/

Years of silence, not enough/

Who could blame us giving up?/

Above the quiet there's a buzz/

That's me trying/

But I don't want to talk about any of that bad stuff/

Why I missed out on your wedding and your high school graduation/

I'd like to explain, but I can't/

So let's keep things neutral/

Stick to topics that won't bug us/

How 'bout this?/

Let's choose a book and we'll read it before we meet/

Then we can sit down at a restaurant/

Have a look at the menu and talk about it while we eat/

See, if we never had a problem/

Then that's what life would be like/

Easy/

Uncomplicated/

Cool/

So let's just pretend that the past didn't happen/

I don't really like thrillers/

I don't want to know if I've got grandchildren/

No need to tell me where I went wrong/

I don't want to know what happened in your thirties/

You wanna try 'Cold Mountain'?/

Or is that too long?/

Years of silence, not enough/

Who could blame us giving up?/

Above the quiet there's a buzz/

That's me trying/

I'm trying"

2009 marked almost 17 years since I had last seen or spoken to my father. We had been separate most of my childhood, with gaps of months or years between seeing each other. I was so angry at him at the time, so fixated on the fact that every time I looked in the mirror all I saw was his face and none of my mother’s, and so disappointed that he was so absent in my life. Thus when we reconnected briefly when I was 16, and he offered to be part of my life again, it was the last thing that I wanted and I told him as much.

(Years of silence, not enough/Who could blame us giving up?)

Over the intervening years I thought about him and occasionally poked at the psychological wound of his absence, and upon being introduced to the internet found myself trying to find him somewhere out there in cyberspace - and when I did find a mention of him, shutting down the browser so fast that it was nothing but a blur.

However, some time in the last couple of years, a shift occurred within me - partly due to becoming an aunt, partly from the simple act of growing up, partly due to wanting to know where the hell I come from and what it is that makes me Leigh and a need to fill in some of the blanks of my history.

Thus there were the tentative first steps of contacting that side of my family, clandestine meetings with my aunt and cousins and their husbands and their children, being introduced to my grandfather for the first time in my living memory.

After about a year of this dance I decided that I didn’t like it, it didn’t have a beat that I dug and that avoiding the actual issue was getting silly, so I got his email address from my aunt, sat down and sent him an email.

(The reason that I'm writing is that I'd like for us to meet/Get a little daughter dad action going soon)

Then, somewhat overcome by my actions, I turned off my computer and went to bed.

In the morning, during my breakfast routine (which is staring at a computer screen - kind of sad given that is my daily routine also, but…addicted to the internet, ‘kay? Judge me not) I found myself looking at a response from him. After a deep breath, I opened it and found that it was a joyous welcoming excited email, everything that I had, in my secret heart, not expected to receive.

In that moment the anger I had felt for so much of my life dissipated like fog in the sun.

Suddenly there were emails, and then a phone conversation and I discovered that I quite like my father, and we get on very well.

(So let's keep things neutral/Stick to topics that won't bug us)

He’s been veg*n for many years and that’s somewhere we really connected - it’s such a joy to share that view of the world, not to have to explain the whys and wherefores of such a major part of my life.

The timing seemed to be very right, because it turned out that he was coming to Sydney soon after we first spoke and so we arranged to have dinner.

I had been told for years by my mother that I shared characteristics with him, and my aunt had stared at me the first time we met when I was an adult, stopping me occasionally to point out what I was doing that was his gesture or tone, so I was really on the lookout for that when he and I met for dinner.

Holy shit. Years of looking in the mirror and seeing his dimly remembered face in my face had not prepared for the way we move our hands, for the pauses in our sentences, for the faces that we pull, for the sharing of so many of our mannerisms, and I found joy and pride in that which we share. We are all made up of those who made us, and if I share so much with Bharti, I share just as much with Anne, and am incredibly thankful for having had such odd and highly individual people be the source of my genetic material.

Bharti and I speak every Sunday evening now. It’s been really freeing for me and it’s a gift that he is so willing now to be part of my life and let me be part of his.

Sometimes I’m a little saddened that I didn’t do this earlier, but on the other hand, the timing is right when the timing is right, so this time was the right time.

Oh, and he reads this blog, so *waves* hi, Bharti!! Talk to you on Sunday!

Happy Father’s Day!

(See, if we never had a problem/ Then that's what life would be like/ Easy/ Uncomplicated/ Cool)

Lazarus

2009-08-25T11:10:00.003+10:00

So, I had a great time recently answering a bunch of questions about myself on Facebook, and some friends pointed out that I should blog something other than recipes/food stuff again, and I found that I agreed with them, so I decided to resurrect this blog, so hi!

There will be more stuff. Soon. Probably.

Supernatural Convention 2009 - Picspam

2009-04-20T17:03:00.003+10:00

*dusts off old blog*

*coughs*

*is covered in dust*

Okay, I'm resurrecting this blog so that I can post some photos from the very awesome Supernatural convention that I went to this past weekend. Don't know if I'll tell any stories, but I do have some photos from the Q&A sessions, where Susan and I had ridiculously brilliant seating - centre aisle, first two seats on the right. Guh. Awesome.

Note - for some reason I really enjoy taking photos on an angle, all artsy and stuff. The pretty remains the same, you just have to tilt your head...Also, I chose to take photos without a flash, so they're a little grainy.

Photos from both days, randomly sorted - starting with ridiculously lovely, totally made the weekend for me because of his being so nice (He liked my piercings! He took some time to talk to me about being a vegan chef! He seems to be really genuinely sweet!), Misha "Castiel" Collins.

Misha's foot positions during the Q&A made me giggle

Also, his hands are beautiful and delicate and artistic and did I mention that Misha was totally my favourite guest at the convention?

Misha joined Jensen and Jared on stage and was given the lowest chair in the world...

I took way more photos of Jared and Jensen than I did of Misha - I kept forgetting to take photos of Misha because he was so awesome - so this next section may take a while.

Jared discovered and really liked Fantales. This made for funny moments when they got stuck in his teeth - I missed most of those, but his eating-Fantales faces were cool.

Eyelashes!! *iz ded*

Lucky, lucky, lucky pen cap....

Hee!!

Jensen is ridiculously good looking in person. Ridiculously, mind numbingly, can't talk, holy motherfuck, completely unapproachable good looking. He also took a while to warm up during his Q&A. But damn, does he photograph well...Even in a grandpa vest.

I didn't get many shots of the Jensen and Jared show, I was too busy laughing like a loon. Got a couple of pictures that I liked...

Eyeroll FTW!!

In conclusion, a great weekend, full of some cool memories (I made some vegan sweets for the exclusive afternoon tea, and Misha and Jared both ate some and were nice enough to be complimentary to me about them [thank you Yatesy and Leishkin for pointing me out to them!!] - totally worth the work I put into catering!!) I really hope that there'll be another Supernatural convention in the future, definitely including Misha. Jensen and Jared were the reason for my going, but Misha was brilliant and totally the sort of person I would love to share a beer and a long slightly pretentious conversation with one day. Great weekend.

Here endeth the picspam.

And this is why I'm not listening to my music collection...

2006-12-02T11:42:00.000+11:00

The weirdest thing about being in a relationship with someone with whom you appear to share a brain is no longer being in a relationship with someone with whom you appear to share a brain. They write a beautiful and funny piece about music and relationships, and it says more about what's been going on than anything you've written and then deleted in the last month.

So here's to 2006 - more highs and lows than any year should decently hold. More wonder and more love. More joy and more pain. Full of change and thunder and signifying...that whole big life thing.

It's been something special.

I love lamp.

2006-10-22T18:57:00.000+10:00

I've started a new blog (yes, another one...) for all of my (and your) vegan cooking needs. Given that I cook every night (pretty much) and bake fairly regularly, and am just kinda obsessed with food, and am doing this whole weird low GI thing, I'm sure ZB's Vegan Recipes will get updated pretty often!!

More later. Must go and take photos of food...

Health and other night time creatures

2006-10-03T11:09:00.000+10:00

It's been an odd and busy couple of months...

I've moved in with my boyfriend (*gulp*)...it's scary and daunting and wonderful and different and the same and...yeah. New experience for me, so it's very...new...

I saw Dr David Suzuki give a speech - terrifying, confronting, depressing, but ultimately hopeful. The man is not only inspiring and incredibly funny, but very very charming and sexy (though I've always thought that, so...)

I turned 31, which was fun and only a little frazzled and stressful. I got some great presents:

A ticket to Underland from my half sister - it was the first time I've ever seen a dance piece live, and it was really good. Nick Cave's music was adapted really well for a dance piece - and the use of the Ship Song alleviated my ongoing loathing of that song, at least for the length of the piece.

Blossoming Lotus cookbook from the 'boss...despite the initial shock of being presented with some Live Food recipes (I find the Live Food movement a little confronting, despite it being so closely linked with veganism. I don't know why I find it confronting, I just, you know, do...) I found the cookbook bloody brilliant. I'm looking forward to playing with it - I've already made the mayonnaise recipe, which was disturbingly perfect first time...

The first graphic novel of the Lucifer series from TheAmerican - really good, and now I have to get the rest of them (*curses*)!!

The second season of Coupling - probably my favourite of the four seasons...though they are all brilliant in their own ways.

A gorgeous jewellery box from Mighty Ogbo - lovely complement to my necklace box, which was getting awfully full!!

I also went a little crazy at Amazon recently - thanks to Mighty Ogbo, and the graces of Channel Four, who finally brought the series out on dvd, I got a copy of Nightingales. Yayayayayayayayay!! I cannot recommend this series enough - take a chance and check it out. You won't regret the experience.

I also got a whole lot of Whedonverse related stuff - Fray, Tales of the Slayers, Tales of the Vampires, Astonishing X Men Volume 2 - Dangerous, Serenity - The Official Visual Companion, Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Origin, and the Firefly Visual Companion Volume 1.

And, of course, Season Two of Veronica Mars. Season Three starts in a week or so, on the new US network, CW. I am in no way very excited about this...ach, who am I kidding, eh?

On a non consumerismyay! note, I recently got diagnosed as being insulin resistant, which is kind of daunting, but also knowing it is a bit of a relief. If I can reverse this situation over the next few years, I'll avoid developing Type 2 diabetes in my later years.

I have been a bit frustrated over the last few years during my efforts to improve my health by losing weight - I haven't really lost more than 5 kilos in weight at any time - and it turns out that this is part of the insulin resistance. My body is just constantly producing insulin fat cells and sugars into my blood, and without diagnosis and assistance, and no matter how healthy my diet and how much exercise I was doing, I was never going to lose much weight. It's kind of nice to know it wasn't just me being crap and lazy that meant that my weight never really changed.

I'm on a new eating regime of no snacking, three meals a day, with at least a five hour break between meals. This is really psychologically difficult for me, as I've been used to getting hypoglycemic between meals, and essentially being a grazer, rather than a "main meals" kind of gal.

I'm also moving to a low GI diet, which isn't actually a huge change from my current diet. Being vegan, I consume a lot of vegetables, and have been moving away from processed foods and trying to consume more complex carbohydrates anyway. So I have some adjustments to make - like more protein and less sugar - but it shouldn't be too hard. Though the whole avoiding potatoes thing is just a little bit depressing, really...

And finally, I'm on medication, called metformin. I'm fairly sure this stuff ain't vegan, but then neither is the pill. It's all about ethical lines in the sand, people...Which is why I shouldn't judge the Live Food folks, isn't it? *sigh* I'll get there eventually, I'm sure.

Anyhoo, this medication is usually prescribed to diabetics, but it assists in reducing the insulin levels in the body (which I need, given that my insulin is 70, and normal is between 20 and 40). One of the side effects of taking this medication, in combination with diet changes and such, will be weight loss, which is...scary. But good for my health. But scary.

This whole thing is really quite daunting, and confronting. I've never really been seriously sick, so this is a bit of a shock. It's also really positive, as now I know why I've been exhausted and feeling crap and blah all of the time, especially over the last 18 to 24 months. Thankfully, I should only need to be on the new regime for 2 or 3 years, and hopefully by that point my metabolism will have reset itself (there's nothing quite like CTRL ALT DELETE-ing your body, eh?) So it's not a lifetime illness, for which I am incredibly grateful.

I have been planning on starting a recipe blog, as I'm crazy cooking lady at the moment, and I think that it's going to become more important to me as I go through this process to do that. I do, however, still have to buy a digital camera, so I guess it'll still be a while away. Keep an eye out, though, 'kay? In the meantime, check out Vegan Lunchbox - it's a blast! It's not being updated that often at the moment, but the archives are great.

And finally...I'm disturbingly obsessed with the movie version of Chicago. As in, bought the soundtrack and have been listening to it constantly. HELP! (But not really, cos I'm having way too much fun listening to it!)

Back soon, and with many more tales of wackiness and spine chilling custard...

...what?

Sacrilege!!!

2006-08-21T15:34:00.000+10:00

Okay, I'm breakin' my loooooooooooong silence to say this:

There are many movies in the world. There's a lot of imagination. There are, for some reason, an inordinate number of remakes. There are, rarely, movies that do not suffer from being remade - movies that need to be remade - movies that everyone else had forgotten about and got a resurgence in popularity because of the remake.

But, seriously, I'm hard pressed to think of any remake that meets the above criteria - most remakes suck arse.

And, I have to say, I am ridiculously upset that some fucking moron in Hollywoodland decided to remake one of the best movies of my teen years.

How can you remake Hairspray? How? I realise that it's been running as a successful musical on stage for a few years now, and hey! so was The Producers (which, surprisingly, was a remake that I didn't loathe - I quite enjoyed it)! Let's make a movie out of it, wotcha think?

You know - the Producers was a movie made almost 40 years ago - having a remake becomes almost understandable. But a movie that was made less than 20 years ago - that shit doesn't need a remake. It's barely cold in it's grave, people!!

Plus, I know that the woman that they get to play Tracy Turnblad will be the Hollywood version of Plus Size, not at all the big, proud, gorgeous woman that Ricki Lake was back when she worked with John Waters. And that sucks. And also, misses one of the main points of the movie...

.....

Though John Revolting as Edna Turnblad does kind of pique the interest.

News of the world.

2006-05-25T19:50:00.000+10:00

Well, ZuckerBaby's world, anyway.

I've been in a new job for a couple of months, and that's going well. Lots of learning, and doing, and more learning, so I'm asleep most of the time that I'm not at work. Which is always fun.

I'm really enjoying the new job, and hope it lasts past the 3 to 6 month contract that I'm currently on.

I've been to a couple of comedy gigs in the last month or so. Dylan Moran was wrinkled and grumpy and venomous and surreal and utterly hilarious. And sexy. Did I mention sexy?

I also saw Lano and Woodley's Goodbye show. I've been a lazy fan of these guys ever since I saw them performing as the Found Objects on the Big Gig back in...1989? Ish.... I've never seen them live, however, and after seeing one of their farewell shows, I'm kinda peeved at myself that I never got around to seeing them before! And I have to admit, I think Frank Wood is kinda, umm, sexy. Did I say sexy? I meant...er...fuck it, yeah, sexy. Now I'm going to go out and find some of their dvds and so on - The Island and the Adventures of Lano and Woodley.

Erm...what else? I bought ridiculous shoes recently, which has been fun. How ridiculous? Pretty damned ridiculous. And I love them...

My half sister just rang me to announce her pregnancy, which is very exciting! My friend's kids all call me Aunty ZuckerBaby, but it will be kinda nice to be an actual by-some-blood aunt.

Erm. I think that's your lot for today - the sleepiness comes upon me, and I must away to lie on the couch and watch Voyager...

Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, people don't listen, and if one plays bad music people don't talk.

2006-03-31T08:24:00.000+11:00

TheBoy and I were discussing music and songs that we like and such the other day, and it got me to thinking about those songs, or lyrics, that reverberate throughout your life - always having meaning (even if that meaning shifts as you grow and change), or constantly evoking a stage in your life that has (generally thankfully) passed.

I'm passionate about music, and tend to get stuck in late '70s/early '80s punk/ska/new wave era. Anger and aggression and fun and the beginnings of goth music and it's all good. Well, mostly.

Bizarrely, however, that era isn't necessarily where I get my "memory trigger" songs from. I listen to that era for true enjoyment, to dance or sing along. Those songs that trigger a reverberation in me...they tend to be not so much for the dancing and singing along.

Because I'm a maudlin beyotch.

So, in some sort of bizarre order, but probably not really, here are some of the songs that really affect me, and the reasons(ish) why...

Novacaine for the Soul by The Eels

This is off the album Beautiful Freak, but I have never listened to any other Eels songs. I heard this on Triple J back in 1996, and it was on that year's Hottest 100, and I became seriously obsessed with the song. It's one of those incredibly angsty songs that goes so well with your early twenties, when you're trying to figure out the world, and doing incredibly stupid things as part of that learning process. Lyrics like "You'd better give me something To fill the hole Before I splutter out" reflect that sense of not being engaged in your life...Well, they do to me, anyway. Listening to this song is guarenteed to take me straight back to that time, the emotional landscape that I had, and generally I get into a bit of a funk when I listen to it. Which, of course, is kind of the point.

Pepper by Butthole Surfers

This is off the album Electric Larryland, but as above, I haven't really listened to that much else by the Butthole Surfers. I, again, heard this on Triple J back in 1996, and it was, again, on that year's Hottest 100, and, you guessed it, I became obsessed with the song. Must have been my age, or the time, or something. Anyone sensing a pattern here?

Anyhoo, the most reverberant thing for me about this song is the chorus:

"I don't mind the sun sometimes
The images it shows
I can taste you on my lips
And smell you in my clothes
Cinnamon and sugary
And softly spoken lies
You never know just how you look
Through other people's eyes"

And of the chorus, the most important part for me are those last two lines. That realisation that you eventually come to that you can never understand other people, and they'll probably never truly understand you, because nobody can get into someone else's head.

I really explored that a lot, and it is kind of the basis of my favourite episode of the The X Files: "Jose Chung's From Outer Space". Everyone sees, describes, remembers, the same situations from completely different perspectives - because what else can you do? It comes from your perception, your needs, your context - how could your description of any moment be anything like anybody's experience of that moment?

What other songs, hmmm? (Coming back to finish a piece almost two weeks after you started it is a little confusing...)

Anna by The Beatles

This is off the album Please Please Me (yes, I prefer the earlier pure pop Beatles. I will give in my Music Appreciation badge, and hang my head in shame.) I love this song, initially because it was on a mix tape that one of my mother's boyfriends gave her, and I always used to listen to the tape as a kid. It was only many years later that I realised a) Anna is an unusual song to put on a tape for your girlfriend (who shares the name) given the lyrics:

"All of my life,
I've been searchin' for a girl
To love me like I love you.
But every girl I've ever had,
Breaks my heart and leaves me sad.
What am I, what am I supposed to do?"

and the story behind it that Anna wants to leave the guy because she's in love with someone else, and b) that the whole mix tape was a poem to the relationship between my mother and her boyfriend - with songs like Anna, Suffragette City by David Bowie, and Eighteen by Alice Cooper. All of those years I'd been listening to it, and never realised that I was listening in to this private conversation within their relationship.

Weird. And maybe the wrong interpretation, but one that I stick with!

Man Overboard by Do-Re-Mi

Off the album Domestic Harmony, this song...this song used to (and sometimes still does) say to me everything I needed to know about heterosexual relationships. The song caused a bit of a stir upon release because it contained the line: "You talk about penis envy, Your friends applaud". The anger and passion with which Deborah Conway spits out the lyrics just opens me up every time I hear this song. And such wonderfully bleak and angry lyrics they are:

"I've tried to play it open handed
I've tried to make a fist of this
Even when the questions are candid
My arrows miss
I've heard about your fragile ego
Your shield, your sword
What am I expected to do?
Shout man overboard?"

Okay, I admit it. I am incredibly cynical about relationships. It's a thing. Even when in one (*waves at her beloved*), I'm hard pressed to be a true romantic (whatever that may be). So here goes with trying to explain the next song choice.

Rest In Peace by Joss Whedon, from "Once More, With Feeling".
Performed by James Marsters

Not the whole song, mind. The most romantic lyrics I have ever heard, and that make me all gooey and sigh deep inside, are from the slow break in this song (the section which, I believe, actually began its life as part of another song):

"I know I should go
But I follow you like a man possessed
There's a traitor here beneath my breast
And it hurts me more than you've ever guessed
If my heart could beat
It would break my chest"

And in bold is the line that makes me all choked up - because Spike's a vampire, and he has no heartbeat.

I'm taking a moment...And I'm done.

To borrow from Neil Gaiman - I don't ask you what romantic songs make you all gooey, do I?

So, on that note, I think I will away to dig out my singles collection and figure out some more songs that I can list the next time I can't think of anything useful to say.

Happy listening!!

Thoughts on a funeral

2006-03-11T10:14:00.000+11:00

Well, yesterday was Chocolate's funeral. There were two services, a Catholic one, and an Anglican one.

Chocolate was deeply spiritual, and that spirituality had found its expression through the Christian church. However, by the time that I knew him, he had found a different path for his spirituality, one that included only the good things about Christian doctrine (acceptance, faith, helping your fellow human, humility...you know, the real meat and bones of any belief system) and added little bits and pieces from elsewhere, like Buddhism and philosophy - and an awful lot from the Jossverse (Joss has an awful lot to say about the use of, the meaning behind, the reason for faith). Chocolate once said that he truly believed something that Joss said in an episode of Angel: If there is no grand plan, if nothing you do matters, then the only thing that matters is what you do.

I've long since given up calling myself a true athiest - I don't know what it is that I believe in, but I do feel the call of some form or another of spirituality. I had an amazing experience a few years ago, when I went to a teaching by the Dalai Lama, and if I was a true athiest, I don't think that would have affected me the way that it did. I do have some real problems with the expression of doctrine, and going to a series of religious services was going to be a difficulty for me - but I needed to go, to experience that formal set of ceremonies around mourning.

Knowing all of this, I understood that the Catholic service was for the benefit of his family, and his mother most particularly. Catholic services can be very moving, being as they are full of pomp and ceremony and very pagan like on occasion. And some parts of the mass were very moving, and healing, but...the priest (Father?) conducting the service did not help at all. He had not known Chocolate, and his homily truly reflected that, causing myself and some of the people I was with to feel uncomfortable and slightly lost.

There was a wonderful moment at the beginning of the mass - a picture of Chocolate had been placed upon his coffin. Now, Chocolate hated people taking photos of him, and even worse, posting them where they could be seen! And so, when the photo on his coffin suddenly fell face down during the mass, the first thing I thought was "Chocolate really doesn't want his photo seen, does he?" I could just see him tut-tutting about the fact that somebody had put his photo out there, tilting his head quizzically, and very seriously explaining why it wasn't necessary to have a photo of him at all.

Don't get me wrong - tears were shed, and plenty of them. I just found that I could not take comfort in the words that were being said - I took comfort, instead, in the Browncoats around me, and the knowledge that everyone who was in the church was there to mourn someone that they had loved deeply.

The Anglican service was a little better, a little more relaxed, if that were possible. There were almost half the number of people again at the Anglican service than had been at the Catholic service, so it was very packed. And again, some beautiful words were said by friends and family, and some lovely stories told about the Chocolate that I had not known, the Chocolate who was part of a church community for 20 years, who touched such a huge number of people.

It was an important part of the mourning process, this funeral and cremation. I do, however, look forward to the shindig that we're having today - the Browncoats are hosting a wake for friends and family, and then we're having a Browncoats only shindig, where we'll plant a tree, and say some words about Chocolate, and what he meant to us as a community. Then, there'll be food and drink and laughter and tears and reminiscing and tall stories and more drink and hugs and probably more tears. But I think the laughter will outweigh the tears by the end of the night, because if there was something that Chocolate was always good at, it was bringing a smile to your face.

Give me your hands if we be friends...

2006-03-07T16:43:00.000+11:00

What is community? What is family? Who do we love, and why? Where do connections come from? And what the hell do we do when we lose part of that community?

These sorts of questions have been buzzing around in my head for a couple of days now. They've always been there, but are in sharp relief at the moment.

I'm involved in a very strong online community of Browncoats. We're spread out across Australia, across the world, and we are in each other's pockets and hearts all of the time. This is the first online community I've ever been a part of, and it's become more important to me than I could ever have imagined when I first registered onto one of the forums.

I've organised shindigs, I've met Browncoats from around Australia, I take part in a podcast about the Jossverse with other Browncoats, I've opened my heart and my mind to this most extended of extended family.

Nothing can quite describe the way that this family is formed. The first time I met Mim face to face, when we were looking at accomodation for a weekend we were organising together, we got on immediately. Different background, different lives, different everything...well, except, you know, female and stuff. But you get what I mean (I hope). And then, on the weekend, there were 10 or 15 people, all of whom had only just met - when they arranged to get lifts to the accomodation, or when they walked in the front door. And yet...instant bonding.

Is it because our love of Joss Whedon's work means that we identify with that idea of formed family? Is it because we are open to a different interpretation of community? Is it because the medium of forums and emails and PMs is such an intimate form of communication?

Or is it because we want to be part of an extended community, all of us humans everywhere, and when we find it, it just.feels.right?

Whatever makes the Browncoat community so damn strong, and makes me love all of my fellow Browncoats so damn much, I thank the Internets every day for putting me in touch with this family of mine.

The centre of the Australian Browncoats community is Serenity Oz, and the centre of Serenity Oz, and the patriarch of our family, was a Browncoat called Chocolate. And, yes, I said "was". Chocolate died last Friday night/early Saturday morning.

For some Browncoats, it's been really hard to describe to their offline friends and family why Chocolate was so important to us, and why his death has left so many of us hollow - even those who had not met him face to face. And this is where the internet community is perverse - his typed words touched people across Australia, and whilst only a couple of handfuls got to meet him over our time together, everyone on the boards felt his presence, and mourn the loss of his light in the world.

I was one of the lucky ones. I've known Chocolate offline since August of last year, and he was always there for me, and always happy to listen and advise me. He had a wicked sense of humour, a brilliant smile, and when his shyness fell away, he was the strongest and demonstrably the most loved of our Browncoats.

So what is a community? A group of people that loves together, supports each other, celebrates every member, and is there for each other when we mourn. Damn it, Chocolate was a community all on his own! And I, we, are all thankful that he chose to join ours, and shine brightly in the centre of our hearts.

...and Robin shall restore amends.

Time's awasting...

2006-02-27T15:15:00.000+11:00

It's been a rough couple of months for me and mine. I've been out of work for the last 8 weeks, which is frustrating and tiring and this morning I got yet another rejection and I'm feeling not so good.

But enough of the shitty stuff.

One of my friends took me out to the movies last week (I haven't been to see anything other than Serenity in such a long time that it felt a bit weird seeing something else on the big screen!!) and we saw Walk the Line.

Oh.My.Giddy.Aunt.

So fucking good.

I haven't heard that much Johnny Cash, though TheAmerican did put a couple of songs on a mixed CD he made for me (Cocaine Blues is a firecracker of a song, people. Just brilliant). However, knowing the little that I did, and having read about the Man in Black in various music magazines, I was well primed for the movie.

Holy shit.

Both Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon owned their roles. It's always interesting seeing Joaquin Phoenix being interviewed - he's still got this childlike shyness about him. So his intense, terrifying, talented and ultimately redeemable Johnny Cash was a revelation - though there was the hint of childlike innocence to the characterisation.

And Reese Witherspoon went all out - I'd never seen or heard June Carter, but I never had the feeling that I was watching Reese Witherspoon impersonating someone, actively "acting".

And that's the thing about the whole movie. Ain't noone doin' it like it's an impersonation, or a tribute. Joaquin is living, breathing, channeling Johnny Cash - when he looks out, when he begins to sing, when he's desperate and clawing and sweating for his pills - that's all real, baby. Fucking real.

And the singing by the two leads is just phenomenal - both of them do their own vocals, and both inhabit their characters so thoroughly that the stage performances are electric.

Of course, with the critical and box office success of this film, and the Oscar buzz around both Reese and Joaquin, interest in Johnny Cash is hittin' an all time high. All those people who've never listened to him or June Carter, buying "Best Of" CDs, and getting into this amazing music. And yeah, I'm one of them. Wanna make something of it?

If you haven't already, see this movie. It's mesmerising, moving, exciting, emotionally wrenching, the performances are pure and brilliant and spot on, and the music rocks like you're seventeen again, rebellious and timid and horny, and you know you're never going to die.

New Blog Announcement

2006-02-24T12:40:00.000+11:00

Just a quick one to encourage you all to check out TheBoy's blog, Circumlocutions.

Beautiful language, shocking revelations, and guarenteed giggles. He does love the feedback, so comments are welcome (nay, desired!)

And check out his profile - the About Me section is very cool...

Oh, and added bonus points if you can identify the show/novel that the blog title is taken from...

And while you're at it, check out Mim's muddle, a blog by the very fine and absolutely lovely mimbles.

Random oddities

2006-02-06T09:48:00.000+11:00

*blows dust off keyboard*

*coughs because of the dust now in the air*

It's been a while. I've been lost in the wonderful world of New Relationship, and not really communicative with anyone except The Boy and our respective flatmates.

But I'm here now, with random updates from my world and the disturbing world around us...

...

I'm sure there's something I could talk about!!

Okay, I've been reading the Necroscope series by Brian Lumley. It's really the first time that I've read a series since...well...I guess since I read the Narnia books when I was a kid. I don't think that the Discworld novels truly constitute a series, do they?

It's bizarre reading the Necroscope series, because the books have great concepts, but I really find them annoying. Annoying to the point of having conversations with the books whilst reading them, because I'm annoyed by the over-exposition, or the constant! use! of! exclamation! marks! On the other hand, the concepts and some of the characters are really engaging, and I'm endlessly fascinated to find out how the author will work them into the next book in the series, after everything appears to have been successfully wrapped up in the previous book! Argh! Exclamation marks!!

*breathes*

I've also been reading Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell - which I've stopped reading at the moment, mostly because I've been distracted by the Necroscope series, but also because the novel is so constantly amazing that I'm not over keen to finish it. It's that feeling of knowing that you're coming to the end, and wanting to delay that end as much as possible. Or something.

Erm.

I went and saw The Thought Criminals on Saturday night (link has audio). A one off reunion gig to (I guess) celebrate 25 years since their last gig. I mostly went because they are one of my mother's favourite punk bands, and form part of the soundtrack of my childhood. It was a great opportunity to see these legends of my childhood in the flesh, and thankfully, they pretty much rocked. Plus, the audience had a great number of old punks happily pogoing away - or people who used to be punks but have taken to wearing floral dresses or polo shirts as they hit their fifties. That one night of regaining your youth, that feeling of Freedom and Fuck The System, and a brief escape from No Future But Shit The Future Happened...Or maybe I project too much. But all in all, a great gig, and many thanks to Ian for getting me a ticket!!

What else?

Well, if you've been watching Veronica Mars on Channel 10, you may have seen that they're advertising the next episode as the "season finale". Errr. Bullshit. This upcoming episode is number 11 - in a 22 episode season. So, yeah. Whatever, Channel 10. You may have to purchase the dvds from the US, because it looks like VM's getting the short end of the stick here. And trust me, it's worth seeing the whole series from start to finish - because it's damn good television.

I'm getting my hair cut today (I'm sure that's exciting for everyone else...) which, yay!! It's been about 5 months since my last haircut, and it's summer, and I have too much hair, and I'm looking forward to not having quite so much hair later on today.

I will end on a plea for purchase: Serenity comes out on dvd in Australia on February 8 (ie Wednesday). I highly recommend either buying or renting it - it's a damn fine movie, the Australian edition has some great special features (more than the US edition - go us!!), and did I mention it's a damn fine movie?

Oh, and avoid Scientology - with some help from Operation Clambake. Just a little public safety announcement...

Again with the rampant cuteness

2005-12-21T16:30:00.000+11:00

Those geniuses from KittenWar present:

Cats in Sinks!

Yeah. I've been clickin' for a couple of hours now, and the cute just keeps on acomin'.

Just the thing to make me smile - how fabulous are cats? We loves them.

RIP Bangles

2005-12-14T10:20:00.000+11:00

Sad news came to me yesterday, via the computerised interwebs.

My mother's beloved cat, my first ever pet, the mysterious and beautiful Bangles, died yesterday.

I was going to try and write something more about her, but I think that I've already said everything that I could possibly say about her, and how much I loved her. All I can really say now is that I know that her days were filled with sunny spots to lie in, and scritches from her favoured humans, and that she was loved. Goodbye, Bangles girl.

I asked my mother, who had been Bangles' human for the last 12 years, to write about Bangles.

The Cat Who Went On Holiday died today. She was 20; one month away from 21. She was my adored animal companion (or companion animal) for the last 12 years.

Her life: the kitten Bangles slept with her head tucked under my chin, or behind my knees deep under the covers in winter. The kitten Bangles had a cat wonderland to play in - ca cliff covered in a massive old bouganvillea two storeys tall, where she played with Alf and the occasional possum.

The kitten Bangles loved to monster plastic bags. All her life she loved to sit and sleep on paper. She was afraid of thunderstorms and would hide in the deepest cupboard or drawer. All her life she was the queen of the house.

Bangles at seven had to share her life and her space with two kittens. She did not like that. One very hot day during the 1994 bushfires, in Newtown, Sydney, we decided to bathe the cats - mainly to cool them down. The kittens were objecting and being very difficult (and cats sooo love water!) Bangles couldnot resist the opportunity to demonstrate her superiority. She marched over to the tub, and sat quietly and cooperatively while she was bathed, suffered the rubdown, and then sat and cleaned herself with the smuggest expression a cat could have.

Bangles could hide in the garden. For days she would be invisible. It became a kind of game with her and Oma. And when her spot was found, the next day she would be somewhere else, invisible. She was very good at invisible. But when she wanted to be seen, well, there she was.

She loved tail games, tail caresses, always.

The mature Bangles freaked out when she had to move house. She disappeared for six days, but woke me very early one morning in typically arrogant style by running from the open window over my feet and into the house.

She was a VERY early morning person. And sometimes, if I didn't stir quickly enough for her liking, she would walk on my face, and if that didn't do the trick, she would dig her claws, just a little bit, into my scalp. Now there's something that gets a body out of bed in a hurry!

Non-cat people just do not get it, do they?

She was (mostly) a very neat house cat, trained to stay in at night - until her last weeks when because of the weird things she wanted to do it was safer to let her sleep where she wanted - outside. Her solution to being shut in at night was to pee down the plughole of the bath, very neatly.

All her life she loved to be where her people were - she would keep us company in the garden, in her world, because she resented any sun time she had to spend indoors - only the aforementioned storms could effect a voluntary coming indoors during the day.

She was a good mouser - but never ate them. She just played with them and killed them; or later in life she just played with them then got bored and off they would scamper. She learned to cohabit with blue-tongued lizards.

For over ten years she would hide when my elder brother and his family came to visit. It was only this year that she seemed to decide "oh, fuck it!" and shared space with them voluntarily.

In her old age she allowed my ageing mother to make friends with her. She showed remarkable empathy for my mother - a prickly person at best - and they developed quite a loving relationship. Bangles would know when Oma need some TLC, and would volunteer her services. The last person she slept with was my mother.

In all ways she was an unremarkable moggie, except to those who shared love with her. To us, she was the most beautiful cat in the world. I am glad to have had the privilege and the pleasure of being (one 0f) her human companions.

Goodbye, Bangles.

Veronica Mars, I'm watching you!

2005-11-24T10:35:00.000+11:00

I would normally not recommend Channel Ten for anything, due to, well, Channel Ten. However, they are showing the first season of Veronica Mars!!

The pilot airs next Monday, November 28, at 7.30pm.

Give it a bash. Seriously. Veronica Mars is damn good television - it's a little dark for the 7.30pm time slot, frankly, but take what you can get in these reality television soaked times.

It's unfortunate, however, that VM will now be up against Mythbusters on SBS. I've already seen VM season one, so I'm, of course, going to be watching Mythbusters. How could I not? Maybe you all could tape VM and watch Mythbusters - or vice versa...

Watch VM, loyal readers! Watch VM like the wind!!

Never a frown...(and lots of Elvis related news - which, weird)

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

There's no stopping me smiling these days. These bright and shiny, too hot, too humid days, these enclosed, stifling nights.

There's no stopping me singing in the street. Humming in the house. Opera in the office. Busking at the bus stop.

There's no stopping me dancing to the tunes in my head. My feet shuffle through patterns of light and shade and thread together a new song to sing.

......Look! Pretty! (I saw part of the telemovie recently, and almost died from the confluence of my two favourite things in the world - young Elvis and Jonathon Rhys Meyers!)

Oh, and have a listen to the Kaiser Chiefs. I've had their album Employment for a couple of months now, and can't get enough of it!

And Kate Bush has released her first album in 12 years, Aerial. Check it out - it's sounding fantabulous, and the first single is all about Elvis, which - yay!!

Also, am currently on the hunt for Bubba Ho-Tep at the moment - quite looking forward to finally seeing it - Bruce Campbell as Elvis!

Ah Elvis. Is there any part of popular culture that doesn't reference you?

Missive from TheAmerican

2005-11-04T11:25:00.000+11:00

It's that time of year again. TheAmerican ventured back to his long lost homeland, and once again produced an epistle that puts all of my attempts at writing to shame. And here is an excerpt for your delectation:

"Ahoy, scurvy dogs and Aussie mates...

I have just completed my compulsory re-education sessions. Although I complained a bit at first, I feel lots better now and everything has that rosy glow. And that rosy glow has got nothing to do with the little red pills that all Americans are now required to take before going to bed. Those are just vitamins. Normal, healthy vitamins -- nothing more. Plus, they come in a choice of flavors: Orange, Peppermint and Fascist Berry Blend. Mmmm! Fourth Reich-a-riffic!

Okay. It's not THAT bad here, but I can't ignore the ugly scent of dystopia and discontent hanging in the air like the smell of a dead mouse in an air-conditioning vent. You can even smell it all the way here in deepest, darkest Texas, where even the shit-kickin' okie hillbilly rednecks are getting restless. I'm not expecting an armed revolution or a peoples' uprising by the end of the week or anything, but at least the horrible aroma has got George W. Bush's approval rating sagging to all-time lows. But the Bush chieftan is still strong and battle-drums beat loudly along the great river! If angered, Buss will send out many war canoes. We must step lightly...for now he sleeps.

Speaking of George W, he has made several statements recently urging Americans to drive less and conserve energy in their homes. Even though George is a horribly maligned idiot-fuck and I'd much prefer if a handicapped ape were my president, I am compelled to agree with the principle of energy conservation. Conserving energy is a good idea. People should drive as little as possible and people should turn the fucking lights off when they aren't using them. Sound advice, yes? But this marks a difficult time for me to find myself agreeing, even in the vaguest way, with anything that President Ratface says. Picture yourself in Moscow, circa 1950. Josef Stalin comes on Soviet Public Radio to tell the good people of Mother Russia to eat plenty of green vegetables and get regular aerobic exercise; try jogging to the gulag. All good advice, true, but look where it's coming from. It makes a guy like me suspicious. It makes a guy like me get a sideways look on his face, squint his eyes, and say: "I smell a rat here. Just who is this bozo and what's his angle?" Bottom line: The sick motherfucker should be impeached or imprisoned or tried for crimes against humanity before he kills again. Needless to say, this opinion is not really within the current spectrum of American politicial debate, shit godamnit fuckin-A."

Veronica Mars is smarter than me.

2005-10-16T16:51:00.000+10:00

She's also younger, blonder, prettier, snarkier and more interesting than me.

And I love her.

Unlike another series revolving around a perky blonde with uncanny wit and mad skillz, I actually like the main character. Don't get me wrong, Buffy the Vampire Slayer = landmark series and the true love of my pop culture saturated heart. However, Buffy herself - not so much. And the more I watch BtVS, the more I realise that, yeah, she's not supposed to be likeable, she's not part of the world - she's above it, apart from it, and never really connects with anyone or anything.

Veronica, on the other hand...oh Veronica.

Veronica Mars (Kristen Bell), 17, lives in Neptune, California, where you're either a bazillionare Have, or a cleaning the bazillionare's houses Have Not. Veronica is one of the Have Nots. The children of both the Haves and Have Nots all go to Neptune High. There's a lot of pre series plot to get through, so let's try for vaguely informative in this review/rant/fangirl squeal of joy about the series...

About 12 months ago, Veronica's boyfriend, Duncan (Teddy Dunn) - one of the Haves - or as they're called in the series, 09ers - dumped her with no warning or explanation. A couple of week's later, her best friend Lilly (Amanda Seyfried) - Duncan's sister - was brutally murdered. Veronica's dad, Keith (Enrico Colantoni), was the sheriff, and went after Jake Kane (Duncan and Lilly's father) for the murder. Keith was booted out of office and became a private investigator. Veronica stood loyal to her dad, and was socially ostracised because of it. A couple of months after Lilly's murder, Veronica was drugged and raped at an 09er party. She never told her father/parents. A couple of months after that, Veronica's mother bailed on the family, leaving only a note and a music box for Veronica.

So, all of that took place before the series begins, and most of it is explained in the first 20 minutes of the Pilot episode. Brilliant. Also, in the first 20 minutes of the Pilot, we learn that Veronica now works with her dad at his PI agency, and is obsessed with finding out what happened to Lilly Kane. We also meet: Wallace (Percy Daggs III), who is a fantastic sidekick for Veronica; Weevil (Francis Capra), tiny sexy Latino biker; and Logan (Jason Dohring), the Obligatory Psychotic Jackass (incidentally, Logan is so my pretend boyfriend, and nothing anyone could say will change that fact. What - he's a fictional character? I can't hear you lalalalalalalalala.)

Where was I? Oh yeah, Logan. Mmmmm. Logan.

Oh, you want something other than Logan? Okay, here you go.

The first season is wonderfully constructed - two major mystery arcs (Who killed Lilly Kane? and Who raped Veronica Mars?) that played out over the season, and at least one Mystery of the Week in every episode. There are pop culture references left, right and centre, the clues to the major mysteries trickle through every episode and the performances are amazing. The writing is tight and funny and filled with pain and horror. The characters are sharp, and their arcs are subtly and surprisingly played out over the season.
To me, the series is in some ways a linear Twin Peaks. There's so much of the Twin Peaks vibe to it - a young vibrant woman is killed, there are twisted secrets behind the doors of suburbia, and nobody is who they think or show or profess that they are. It's also a classic noir setup - Veronica is the hard boiled PI, and her cynical, tired and beaten down self sees the worst of the world.

Also, the stunt casting in the series mostly works out brilliantly. The tour de force is casting real life couple Harry Hamlin and Lisa Rinna as Logan's parents. Both of them were really strong, and Harry Hamlin in particular pulls off an amazing performance. Colour me stunned.

Season One of Veronica Mars is available from Amazon - I highly recommend you get yourself a copy - you will not regret it! I am so grateful to my friend Rowan for getting me hooked on the show!

And to close, here's the review of Season One of Veronica Mars that some random guy wrote.

My eyes by the light of the cathode tube.

2005-10-14T13:14:00.000+10:00

Dead Like Me

Dead Like Me is about a cynical, slacker, 18 year old girl named George, a college dropout from a fairly wealthy family. The pilot opens with George trying, not very enthusiastically, trying to get a job. On her first day, whilst on her 35 minute lunch hour, she is killed by a rogue toilet seat that was ejected from the Mir space station.

And thus a very dark, very funny, kinda confronting, emotionally engaging series takes off.

George doesn't move on after her death. No, instead, she finds that she's now a Reaper - not the Grim type, just a Reaper. Reapers take the souls of people just before death, and help those souls to go to wherever they go. Reapers do this until they reach an undisclosed quota, and then they themselves are allowed to move on. Reapers have physical form, and have to support their UnDead life somehow - however, the way the living view them is different from the way that they view themselves. So, George can go and visit her family, but none of them are going to freak at that - because, to them, she doesn't look like George.

Confused yet?

Anyhoo. The Reaper section that George has been assigned to appears to be the "death by ridiculous accident" section. Ridiculous accidents are caused by little creatures called Gravelings, who, occasionally, Reapers can see.

The other Reapers with whom George works are:

Rube (Mandy Patinkin) - a paternal, pissed off leader. He receives the assignments from TPTB, and hands them out to the Reapers on post it notes, with ETD (Estimated Time of Death), name and address of the soon to be departed. Love Mandy Patinkin. Love him. He can do no wrong, and is brilliant in this role.

Mason (Callum Blue) - or, as I like to call him, Doyle. (But not the same actor, obviously.) Cute, slightly sleazy, heart of gold, and occasionally carries 'illegals' in his bottom. Doesn't like get to get too close to the soon to be departed, but does so despite of himself.

Roxy (Jasmine Guy) - gumsnapping, foul mouthed, angry and sarcastic meter maid. When she's not being a Reaper.

Betty (Rebecca Gayheart) - slightly bitchy, always enthused and seemingly happy, girly Reaper. And I just realised why I got a slightly off feeling from the actress when I was watching the series - anyone seen Urban Legends? Yeah. Not really worth the revelation, huh?

Oh, and Jewel Staite, currently gracing cinema screens as Kaylee in Serenity (see it! See it now!) has a cameo in the last episode of Season One. So cute!

The series creator is Bryan Fuller (hey! I knew I'd be seein' that name again!) - he seems to like creating nice dark, slightly twisted worlds. I like that he does that. Someone needs to! Except, you know, dark slightly twisted worlds tend to lead to cancellation - Dead Like Me got a second season...and then got cancelled during that second season.

It took about 5 episodes for me to get into this series. The whole concept - of 'old' dead people taking the souls of, well, 'new' dead people - is actually really confronting. Having humour, having it treated as a job one second, and then reverently the next - also confronting. Having at least one to two graphic deaths (which range from really funny to heartwrenching) - hey, how many times can I say confronting? But man - by the end of the second disc? Hooked. So hooked.

I have one major beef with this series - and that is the lead actress, Ellen Muth, and her extreme skin-and-bone-y-ness. One the one hand - convincing as a dead person. On the other hand - seriously, fucking eat something. And, you know, keep it down.

I highly recommend this series - have a Bryan Fuller marathon of Dead Like Me and Wonderfalls. And then try and see the outside world and think that it's real.

Tune to the tube.

2005-10-14T12:45:00.000+10:00

Well, apart from all of the Serenity hoohah of the last couple of months (if you haven't seen it, go and see it now! It's a great ride, and lots of fun, and you're guarenteed to understand and enjoy it! 'kay?), I've had the opportunity to experience some interesting, quirky and predominantly cancelled US television.

Which I will explore here and in additional posts...

Wonderfalls.

Wonderfalls is about Jaye Tyler, a cynical slacker from a wealthy family, who dropped out of college and now works in a gift store at Niagara Falls. One day, a wax lion starts speaking to her, and wackiness ensues. Except not really - but kinda. Essentially, inanimate objects (but only ones with faces) start to speak to Jaye, and tell her to do certain things. And if she doesn't do what they have told her to do - well, then, they keep her awake all night, by singing endless rounds of 99 bottles of beer on the wall (Jaye's response: "They do this in cults, you know!")

Tim Minear, who had previously written for Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, wrote a number of episodes - which is essentially how I got interested in the series. I've started following the careers of Whedonverse writers since the demise of Buffy, Angel and Firefly, and they always seem to be involved in very interesting series. And generally cancelled series - Wonderfalls had a run of (I think) 4 episodes on telly before being cancelled. There are, however, 13 episodes available on DVD.

The series was created by Todd Holland and Bryan Fuller - neither of whom I had ever heard of, but from whom I have not heard the last, I suspect. (Wow, that was a really torturous sentences, wasn't it? Stupid attempts at grammatical correctness).

I liked Wonderfalls. It's quirky, and funny, and the lead actress, Caroline Dhavernas - who reminds me an awful lot of Jennifer Connelly - is strong and sympathetic. Plus the actors playing Jaye's love interest (Tyron Leitso) and brother (Lee Pace) are both hotties. Which, me being shallow and all, is very important in my enjoyment of any sort of visual entertainment...Also, Jewel Staite, currently gracing cinema screens as Kaylee in Serenity (see it! See it now!) has a recurring role in the series - and disturbingly enough, plays a very convincing uber bitca.

My reservations with this series...hmmm, well there are a few. The most obvious reservation I have is the question of Jaye's sanity. Is Jaye psychotic? Are the talking inanimate objects simply aspects of her psychosis? This issue is partially addressed occasionally throughout the series, however, having friends who have suffered from psychoses - it's all too flip. It's so hard to not be "Disease of the Week" heavy handed about mental illness, but it's also easy to be too dismissive of mental illness. But I guess that's always going to be the case, until someone who has been psychotic gets a chance to write and star in a series!

However, I must have really liked Wonderfalls, because I'm anxiously awaiting my very own copy to wing its' way from the US...

I think I'm turning 30.

2005-10-13T11:16:00.000+10:00

I have recently celebrated my first birthday where I have a blog to write about having a birthday. Weird.

I'm not 30 - at least not in my head. I turned 30 in early September, and I keep saying that out loud, keep calling myself "old", because I truthfully don't feel (nor do I think I look) 30. If I was to attribute any age to myself, it would 24.

Much as I loved my time in Katoomba, and much as I took a lot away from my relationship with my ex, my experiences with my friends, and much as I wouldn't trade any of that away, sometimes I do feel that I...lost...5 years. That those years in Katoomba were a dream, were not real, and when I got back to Sydney, I was all...5 years came crashing down on the back of my neck, and I wasn't really sure how to deal with that.

I had a tremendous birthday. Vegan yum cha was consumed on the actual day, and I got some beautiful gifts of homeware-y goodness from my friends (my current thing is making my room as Inara like as possible - all asian stylings and deep sensual colours...not sure it's going to work out, but it's fun to try!) And Meff made me a gorgeous necklace (did I mention that not only do I love Meff for being Meff, but it's amazing having a tremendously talented maker of jewellery as a friend?)

I had a big party a week or so after my birthday. Cocktail parties are always fun, and I made people dress up in formal gear - any excuse to wear my cheong sam again! Many cocktails were drunk, and many ridiculous faces, statements, slurred declarations of world domination were made.

And, of course, I got to meet Joss Whedon the next day, which pretty much made this the Best.Birthday.Ever.

But I'm totally not 30, 'kay? That's our little secret.

A long drink after drowning.

2005-10-13T11:12:00.000+10:00

That's been a long time between posts, eh? It's been kinda insane being me in the last 2 months, and my energies have really been directed externally, and I couldn't think of anything interesting to say that wasn't Serenity related - and this is not the venue for talkin' 'bout Serenity.

However, I have written up a couple of the more amazing experiences of the last month at Take the Sky, and I hereby direct you there for a bit of an update on my fan life.

Is Jesus the son of the Flying Spaghetti Monster?

2005-08-22T16:25:00.000+10:00

In keeping with my leaping onto interesting lookin' internet(s) bandwagons that meander by, I bring to you the great Flying Spaghetti Monster debate (via MightyOgbo and boingboing).

An Open Letter was created as a neat little satire on the increased pressure in the US for schools to teach Creationism (otherwise know as "Intelligent Design". I mean, what? I could make willy jokes here [and in fact just deleted such a joke], but seriously - that moniker is such a middle management term. "Intelligent Design". Pphhht. My arse)

Anyhoo, there was some brouhaha from the various Creationist groups, so now boingboing have announced a challenge, and I quote:

"We are willing to pay any individual *$250,000 if they can produce empirical evidence which proves that Jesus is not the son of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

* Prize to be awarded with Intelligently Designed currency; void where prohibited by logic."

Read on, Macduff....

Psst....wanna buy a free book, mate?

2005-08-11T10:35:00.000+10:00

I am doing Neil Gaiman's bidding. (Which, actually, is a pun. Once you read on...) His post today was about the CBLDF (Comic Book Legal Defense Fund), and exciting ways to raise monies to support this important cause.

So, now is your chance to have your name used in a book by Neil Gaiman, Stephen King, Lemony Snickett and many others. Very very exciting. All the details are here. Go. Bid. Get your name up in lights (or, you know, print...)

Continuum 3 - Part 3

2005-08-05T19:17:00.000+10:00

Sunday

Nebuloid's day - with the first panel of the day being Myths of Warfare, clearing up some of the myths and misinformation about Medieval Warfare.

I missed it due to being very asleep. In fact, I missed the entire morning due to being asleep, and then going on a hunt for vegan foods...Found a lovely tomato soup and some great coffee, you'll be glad to know.

At 1pm, there was a special screening of Neil Gaiman's "A Short Film About John Bolton", which was fantastic. Very funny, very cool, very weird - I must own it!!

I missed Poppy Z Brite's Guest of Honour speech, due to a filthy filthy headache. Nebuloid popped over to the What's New in Anime panel. I crawled downstairs, headache slightly abated, for the Reinventing the Creation Myth: Gods and Monsters panel, and found Nebuloid and Nic.

I had hoped for more of a concentration on creation myths, rather than the what are gods? what are monsters? tack taken by the panel, but hey...it's their panel. The moderator, poor man, seemed to be out of his depth, and kept trying to draw the panel into a discussion on religion and belief within the real world, rather than concentrating on myth and fiction. These attempts were eventually rather irritating, and there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be had when Neil delivered upon the moderator a charming and insightful yet slightly uncomfortable making smackdown. It was effective, however, and the last third of the panel was much more interesting than the first two thirds had been.

Nebuloid snagged front row seats for the Young Adult fiction/genre writing: the crossover novel panel (there was a certain amount of eye rolling when I squeaked about being sooooo close to Neil). The panel were: Robin Hobb, Richard Harland, Russell Blackford, Tony Shillitoe, and Lili Wilkinson. The panel was examining how you make the crossover, what constitutes young adult fiction, what's appropriate and what is not. Tony Shillitoe brought some really interesting perspectives to the panel - the idea of embedding the issues that a young person can go through into the fantasy world. Not a new idea, but he was very passionate about fantasy and speculative fiction having that role for young people.

The discussion also ranged over what is appropriate for a young adult novel. Should there be concepts that a young person won't understand at the time, experiences that they haven't yet had? I made a comment about Tove Jansson's Moomintroll books - they were my favourite books when I was a child, and I still adore them. There are some dark concepts and journeys in these books, and I think that's why they are so good. I got a Woo! from the back of the room when I mentioned the Moomintrolls, and Richard Harland commented that he loves them too. Which was cool, because so many people don't know the books. Also, Lili Wilkinson noted that they have been rereleased, which is great, because everyone should read them. They're tops. Plus, it means I can finally own all of them again...

Stayed in my spot for the Worst Ever Panel, and was joined by Nic. Nebuloid went to the Slash: An Unnecessary Evil? panel (which I'm told was great fun!) Nic had been to the Dealer's Room and was very excited to have found herself some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles goodies, including a laminated movie poster.

The Worst Ever Panel was shambolic fun - basically, the panel were to discuss what, in their estimation, were the worst ever books, movies, and comics. Neil had a head start on the rest of the panel, having, in his misspent youth, cowritten Ghastly Beyond Belief. Neil noted that Ghastly Beyond Belief had been remaindered to Australia, as seems to happen often, and that this "explains a lot about Australian fandom." There was much hilarity to be had during this panel, including Kirstyn McDermott sarcastically commenting that she read a lot of dark horror as a kid and that it had no lasting effect upon her. A roar of approval met this remark, and Neil wailed "People, look at yourselves!!"

After the panel had ended, and the room was being cleared for the Closing Ceremony, a small cluster of people had gathered around Neil, who was standing on the stage. I finally screwed up my courage to say hello to him. I had the whole thing I wanted to say to him planned out, and it was going through my head like a mantra.

So there I was, in a little slow motion world , thinking: Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Oh god I can do this; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Neil Gaiman's crotch is at my eye level; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Stop staring at Neil's crotch, he's going to notice; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Even if Neil doesn't notice, other people are going to; Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade; Thank you for inspiring me to write about your crotch; No that's not right; Neil's crotch is a decade; Oh gods I'm going to make a complete fool of myself...

Whilst behind me, Nic is poking me in the back with her rolled up TMNT poster, saying "Come on, come on, he's still going to be here, he's not going to turn into a pumpkin!!"

...Thank you for inspiring me to write for the first time in over a decade, pumpkin; There's a pumpkin in the decade; Have I stopped staring at his crotch yet?; Oops there goes the brain implosion.

I allowed Nic to drag me from the room, which, all things considered, was the wisest thing I have ever done.

(Could I just note here that I am blushing as I write this? Oh dear...)

We were let back into Ballroom 3 for the Closing Ceremony. Nic had found some seats at the side. The ceremony was long but fun. Kirstyn McDermott made a lovely speech thanking not only the guests, but all of the volunteers who had made the convention run so smoothly. Each of the guests got presents, and said a little something.

Richard Harland gave an impassioned (does he have any other mode??) and wonderfully heartfelt speech to the effect that the fans are why conventions are so wonderful, and that we should give ourselves a rousing cheer and round of applause - which he led by clapping his hands over his head. Poppy Z Brite, who had seemed withdrawn during the convention, stated, in her husky sarcastic drawl, that this had been "the best convention in the best country" that she had attended, and that she had had a wonderful time. Neil Gaiman got a standing ovation, and wandered over to the lecturn to say "I didn't think it was possible that I could get any more embarrassed", which was sweet. Robin Hobb, who was actually the special special guest, seemed perfectly happy with her status being usurped by Neil.

Said goodbye to Nic, and Nebuloid and I wandered off to have Malay for dinner. We grabbed a whole bunch of snacks and went back to the hotel and watched Constantine - which didn't suck as much as I thought it would. I actually quite enjoyed it (please don't throw things). Wanna read the comics now, of course.

After all of that, I offer to you my highlights of Continuum 3:

The Great Debate
Richard Harland's GoH speech
Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys reading
Neil Gaiman's signing
Dancing to Firestarter and Groove is in the Heart with Nebuloid
Lord of the Rings in the style of a Western
The Worst Ever Panel
A Short Film about John Bolton
Seeing Richard Harland be enthused about everything

And my regrets (I've had a few...):

Not speaking to Neil Gaiman
Missing Poppy Z Brite's GoH speech
Not going to more of the small panels
Missing Dr Who and Firefly in the AV room
Not having been to a convention before
Not taking photos of myself and Nebuloid in all of our Maskobalo frippery

And there you have it. Neil Gaiman's crotch.

Continuum 3 - Part 2B

2005-08-03T19:25:00.000+10:00

In this post, there will be much eeping and a fair amount of declaring Neil Gaiman to be the sexiest, funniest and most wonderful man in the world. You have been warned.

Neil Gaiman Guest of Honour Speech

Neil began by saying that he had tried to figure out what sort of GoH speech he would give, and the programme finally gave him the direction to take. He had noticed that there was no author reading for him listed on the programme, and so that was what he decided to give us. A reading from Anansi Boys (eep!!) This proclamation was greeted with much applause and yahooing from the standing room only packed out Ballroom 3.

Before he began reading, he explained that he had wanted to write a comic novel. He said that people seem to think that they have figured out how he and Terry Pratchett wrote Good Omens - in that Neil wrote a dark, serious novel, and Terry danced behind him, scattering jokes as he went.

We got to hear Chapter 4 of Anansi Boys, a chapter that Neil had obviously used at readings before. He did note that he generally doesn't like those readings where the author has to explain what has gone before, followed by the statement: "So, before I start this chapter, you need to know a few things..."

He took the audience gently by the hand and led us into the land of Anansi Boys, took us to visit Fat Charlie, and his brother Spider. There were laughs aplenty, and I cannot wait for this book to be released. This reading inspired me to seek out Neil's recordings - Warning: Contains Language; The Neil Gaiman Audio Collection; and Coraline. I have also been listening to a different reading of Anansi Boys that he did at the Melbourne State Library.

Mmmmm voice very much like honey mmmmmm

One of the most endearing things about Neil's reading was his stance. Dressed from head to toe in his customary attire of black jeans, black tshirt and black leather jacket, hair wild and flopping over his eyes, he had his hands clasped together behind his back, and as he relaxed into the reading, he began gently and subtly twisting on the spot - for all the world like a slightly embarrassed 12 year old speaking before a school assembly. So.Damn.Cute.

Lucky us, Neil also read another chapter from later in the book! We were his guinea pigs, to see if he wanted to keep using that chapter in readings. He said "I've never used this as a reading before, and I probably won't ever again." So, maybe not then.

[Nebuloid: He just doesn't want to read it again because he was doing Jamaican accents!
ZuckerBaby: Maybe, but he did them really well!!
Nebuloid: rolls eyes at ZuckerBaby]

Again, a funny and rich world was woven around us, peopled with round, practical Jamaican women, and a wonderfully confused protagonist. And again I say: Want book now!! Neil ended that chapter and commented that "Lenny Henry did the audio book, and he rang me after recording it and said 'You write some really long sentences, guy!' and I said 'Oh, it's all about breath control', but now..."

The treats didn't end with the readings, though. Neil had brought along an electronic press kit for Mirrormask, and ended his time by playing that. We got to see some clips from the movie, a little sfx comparison piece, and interviews with Neil and Dave McKean. There were some amusing introductory explanations from Neil, including him noting that the first clip was taken from when he had been being interviewed for at least an hour, and was sick of it, so just started lying. He had assumed that they would realise this, and with an hour of material, wouldn't use it. But no...

The first clip came up, and the question was "Why does Dave McKean have an obsession with masks?" Neil's answer was something along these lines: "When Dave was a little boy, about 4 years old, he was attacked by a man in a mask. When he was in hospital, in a coma, the nurses all wore masks, those Venetian masks with the long noses..." Roars of laughter from the audience.

The clips from Mirrormask included an amazing scene concerning the main character's transformation into a gothy princess, aided by mannequin jack in the box things jerkily singing The Carpenter's "Close To You".

Which...Wow.

Want movie now!!

Neil noted that he had been told that Sony had no intention of releasing Mirrormask in Australia, and encouraged us to write to them asking them to reconsider this decision. It has, however, been revealed recently that they do intend to release it here, it's just a question of when.

And then on to my second signing queue (my first was about 14 years ago, for Michael Palin. That's...a really long time ago. Gosh). Had a chat to some lovely people about Neil Gaiman, boardgames, what books we had brought along. Was joined by Nic and friends, and got to be generally fangirlish in wonderful company. Which, yay! We didn't get to the front of the queue in the hour allotted (unsurprisingly), but got given placeholders for the next signing.

Clutching books and placeholder, trundled off to the Fantasy and Fairytale panel, with Neil Gaiman, Robin Hobb, Richard Harland, Tony Shillitoe and Kim Wilkins. The discussion mostly ranged around the definition of "fairytale", and even wandered into discussing urban myth. From some of the other blogs I've been reading to job my memory of the weekend, I gather that this may very well be the panel during which Neil made a rather naughty comment about Daleks, and how they would be really fun if they were smaller. I remember the comment, but not when it was made. Ah well. Funny nonetheless.

A lovely part of this panel was Neil telling some traditional (ie bloody and gory and nasty and chilling - like they should be!) fairytales. Did I mention that I could simply listen to him speak for the rest of my life? Sigh.

Made my way out for the lineup again, and got to cut in, due to my placeholding number card thingy. Felt increasingly nervous and ill and shrill and like my brain had been removed and replaced with warm porridge and oh my god I'm standing in front of Neil Gaiman and mumbling something incoherent and thanking him for being here and he's happily signing away and my time's almost up and I say "It was great to see those snippets of Mirrormask, they were amazing" and suddenly he's looking up and smiling and saying "It is rather wonderful, isn't it?" with his eyes twinkling in that fabulous Neil way and now I've got my books back and have shuffled to the wrong side of the line and am just hanging about waiting for my heart to remove itself from my throat.

Neil Gaiman. Totally and utterly lovely.

Had room service dinner, as we didn't really have the time to go out and get dinner and then get back in time for the Maskobalo (at least that was the excuse at the time...) Got very girly with the getting ready - painted my nails and then promptly screwed them up, which was annoying. I was wearing a dark red cheong sam made for me by two of my friends, and Nebuloid had a most magnificent all black ensemble going on - we looked damn fine.

Nic, Jane and Jen turned up at our room and in no way breached Hilton policy by drinking alcohol purchased elsewhere. Nic was wearing a fantabulous tuxedo tshirt, which is the coolest.thing.ever. We chatted for a bit about Colin Firth, Neil Gaiman (at one point I believe we did start a slow hand clap in the hope that he'd suddenly appear in the doorway), the Lord of the Rings exhibition and birds. Lots of fun.

Wandered in all of our finery down to the ball at about 10. Drank some obscenely expensive champagne and goggled at Neil wandering around in glasses and a three quarter length coat (yes, there was drooling). He and Richard Harland were judging costumes - there were some great ones. A wolf, a Captain Jack, a whole bunch of eyeballs, Furries (which...um...yeah, best left alone, that one), and of course corsetry galore.

Crossing the room to find Nebuloid, I found myself bumping into Richard Harland, who stopped me and said (in his enthusiastic and fabulous way): "Every time you do a presentation, you always want to know that people are enjoying it. I could see that you were enjoying my speech immensely this afternoon and I wanted to say thank you, it makes it that much more fun to know people are having fun - and you were!!" I was most flustered and pleased by this, and thanked him for being fabulous, and wandered off in a bemused manner, whilst Richard bounded onto the dancefloor and started shaking his groove thang. It was very sweet.

We shall segue from that experience, past the goth synth band, directly onto Nebuloid and I spending most of the latter part of the ball dancing.

Yes, dancing.

Shaking (as the young people say) our booties.

Doin' the Disco Heave.

Throwing shapes in the Church of Dance.

And all that on two glasses of champagne! Who'd have thunk it?

It was bloody great fun. And I didn't fall over or spill my drink on myself or anything.

As the music slowed down from campy 80s synthpop to depressing 80s synthmope, we betook ourselves off the dancefloor and collapsed in a corner to watch people straggle out from the celebrations. There were clusters of people dotted around the foyer, abandoned paper masks on the floor, and Hilton staff pointedly putting tables away.

Everyone! To the bar! Off we tottered, to have a nightcap (or two). Continuum folks wandered through the bar, clutching drinks, and Nebuloid and I wound down from the whole dancing thing.

Then, creakily, off to our room, to collapse in preparation for the last day of the convention. Nebuloid's day. The day on which I could sleep in. Which I did. But more on that anon...

Continuum 3 - Part 2A.

2005-08-02T19:19:00.000+10:00

Note: Saturday was a big day, so I've split my report in two (poor report!)

I will begin by quoting directly from the notes I made on the Saturday (yep, I actually started making notes), around mid afternoon:

"Groan. Awake at 7.30am. Groan. Eat part of breakfast. Groan. Crawl back into bed for an hour's extra sleep. Groan. Eat rest of breakfast, resent being awake."

Saturday was great, and very busy, and I was very very tired. Much coffee was consumed. I have to say, room service breakfast is the best.thing.ever. Also, being awoken by Nebuloid leaping out of her bed and whacking me repeatedly on the feet whilst yelling "Wheeeee!!!" is extremely funny.

We crawled down to Ballroom 3 (I spent an awful lot of time in this room over the weekend...) for the Richard Harland Guest of Honour Speech

Based upon Richard's enthusiasm and good nature in Friday's vampire panel, I was looking forward to a fun GoH speech from him. I knew it was going to be interesting when I saw the set up of the stage. An overhead projector, a table set up with mikes on either side, the lecturn and behind the lecturn a whiteboard. Hmmm. And a lovely assistant (Richard's wife), all in black with thigh high boots. Additional hmmmm.

Richard started the speech by reading out a negative quote from a critic regarding fantasy (unfortunately I can't remember either the full quote nor the critic - my notes aren't that comprehensive...) and broke the quote down into three parts, which he wrote on the whiteboard. Two of them were: "Fantasy is predictable and safe"; "Fantasy is passive and undemanding". He then went about disproving each of those statements, using his books The Vicar of Morbing Vyle and The Black Crusade as examples of non passive fantasy. All that was left on the board after this part of the speech was "Fantasy is predictable and safe".

Then it all got a bit sinister... A reenactment of an interview with Richard alluded to rumours that Richard had received the manuscripts for the books he had claimed to write, and that in fact the "fictional" character Martin Smythe was the author of the above books, not Richard. It turns out that Martin Smythe has been making threats, and leaving mysterious notes, on the VileWatch website. A question and comment from the audience deepened the mystery, with a tale of kidnapping by Martin Smythe, and a call to reject Richard Harland and join Martin Smythe's crusade against vileness!!

Richard was obviously flustered by these revelations, and tried to get back to his speech - but was interrupted by a deep voice echoing from the back of the room. A bearded, behatted man in a long black trenchcoat strode down the centre aisle, booming out imprecations and decrying Richard's authorial ruse. He revealed himself to be Martin Smythe, and leapt onto the stage, striking Richard down with a single blow! Richard dragged himself off the side of the stage, Martin following to kick him repeatedly inna fork, before disappearing from the room.

Richard, shaky, beaten, bruised, returned to the stage, took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the statement "Fantasy is predictable and safe" off the whiteboard before collapsing to the floor, to the accompaniment of huge applause and howls of laughter from the audience.

Best.Speech.Ever.

I stayed in my seat, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, for the Moving Out of Genre Fiction into the Real World panel. Poppy Z Brite (wearing sunglasses, for it was too early in the morning for her), Jack Dann and Fiona McIntosh took their seats. But where was Neil? Cornered by fans again, and too nice to tear himself away. Jack Dann decided that Poppy was cool for wearing her sunglasses inside, so took out his own and put them on, as did Fiona McIntosh. Still no Neil. Jack decreed that the audience begin a slow handclap to get Neil's attention. So we did, and Neil strutted down the centre aisle, took his place on the panel, looked around at the be-sunglassed panelists, leaned into his microphone and said "What?" He then explained that he didn't have his sunglasses, and Jack noted that Neil just wasn't cool. To which Neil responded by explaining that he and Terry Pratchett had constructed the concept of Zen cool, which is that whatever you are doing is cool, and thus you are always cool. Zen cool.

Onto the actual business of the panel. None of the panellists could remember what they were supposed to be talking about, and asked if any of the audience knew. I dug out my big Continuum programme (as opposed to the pocket one), and flipped to the relevant page. Neil spotted this (eeee!) and pointed me out, saying "This lady here knows what we're talking about." So I read out the full explanation of the panel: "What happens when you've done everything you can as a writer in one genre, is it possible to successfully move to another?"; and they got into the discussion.

Nebuloid would like me to note that "This is the part of the convention when Neil noticed you". And, yes, I grinned and grinned and I treasure that moment dearly.

Sigh. I am a sad, sad fangirl. But also a proud, proud fangirl.

Oh, you want me to tell you what they said in the panel? Erm. Jack Dann's book about a world where James Dean is still alive sounds fascinating, and Poppy doesn't see her move from writing gothic, erotic horror to writing about food and the food industry as that much of a turnaround. She wants to write about something for which she feels a passion, that she knows, not write what people think that they want to read from her, which I find really admirable. I do wish that her latest books were available in Australia.

Lunch and then back to Ballroom 3 for the Neil Gaiman Guest of Honour Speech. Which I will bring to you in Continuum 3 - Part 2B. Stay tuned...

Continuum 3 - Part 1

2005-07-30T12:29:00.000+10:00

Warning: This post (and probably every other Continuum post that I'll write) is the work of an unrepentant Neil Gaiman fangirl. Read on at your own peril...

As I sat in the first panel of the first convention I have ever attended, I took a quick look around, and was surprised by the number of people with pads and pens, scribbling notes. "Why?" I thought. This is a convention. We're here to attend panels, get drunk, meet new people and generally hang out with other geeks in a geek friendly environment. Why take notes?

Now, sitting down to recap my experiences at Continuum 3, I've realised why. So much goes on at a convention, so much information is received and passed on, that you have to take notes to remember anything at all.

Oops.

Well, I'll do my best....

When I first heard about Continuum 3, from Neil Gaiman's journal, I knew I had to go. Neil Gaiman! Poppy Z Brite! How could I not? So I drafted Nebuloid into coming with me, we decided to stay at the Hilton on the Park (where the convention was being held), and we became Continuum members. Nebuloid arrived earlier on the Thursday evening than I did, and set out to see a preview of Sin City with other conventioneers. I got into Melbourne quite late and settled into our room, nervous and unsure about what one should do at a convention....

Friday

We were through registration really quickly - due to being in the hotel and also up very early. We got a convention showbag and a groovy nametag thingy. When we were going through the showbag I jokingly wondered aloud if there would be a Firefly/Serenity promo in there - just as Nebuloid silently held up an 11th hour flyer. Tee hee. Them Browncoats get into everything, I tells ya.

Off to the first panel (well, not really. We missed the Doctor Who panel. Oops), to get into the swing of things.

Weird History: A little myth, some of the odder detail of actual and imagined history (and how it comes into being). Held in a little room, which was crammed with such a range of people. Not at all what I expected. I don't know what I had expected. Maybe a whole bunch of geeks in Spock ears? Nah, not really. Nebuloid and I sat against a wall to the right of the panel, and I was impressed with Nebuloid throwing herself right into the fray by asking a couple of questions of the panel, making some comments.

We stayed in the room for Evolution of the Fictional Vampire: From Lord Ruthven to Saint-Germain. Now, I'm a big vampire literature/telly/movie fan (No, really?), but I have to admit, I had read neither the Lord Ruthven nor Saint-Germain stories. Oops again. But the panel wandered through most mediums and stories, and as I have been fascinated by what the vampire has represented over time, and why it has such staying power, I found the panel really interesting. I even asked a question! I was very nervous, and my voice was extremely shaky, and I did go on a bit, but the panel took the question/comment and ran with it, so that was cool.

This was also the panel where I first encountered Richard Harland, who is my great discovery from Continuum 3. I had never heard of him before, and I would not have been very likely to read any of his stuff, because, well, I'm not very good at exploring new things. But his enthusiasm and passion and general likeability and fluffiness - well, I fell in love, and am determined to read his work. More on his antics later...

I bumped into a friend from Brisbane on our way out for a walk - Nebuloid and I ended up spending a lot of time with her and her friends throughout the convention. As she said hi, though, I had one of those awful moments when I could not, for the life of me, place her name nor her place in my life (Sorry!!) Of course, as soon as she said Brisbane, I realised that this was the woman who had introduced me to Zombies!!!, and thus changed my life irrevocably and for the better.

(Nebuloid: "I wondered how long it would take until you bumped into someone you knew. You seem to know people everywhere". ZuckerBaby: "Yeah, because my secret social life is soooo well populated...")

Nebuloid and I wandered to Brunswick Street for dinner, through Fitzroy Gardens, as the light moved towards dusk. We had dinner at a Noodle House, where the waitress was sitting and knitting something unidentifiable. I mention this only because that's rather strange behaviour for a waitress, even when the restaurant isn't very busy.

As we wandered back, skies now dark and the Gardens a little daunting, we saw a couple of possums desperately trying to climb trees. Unfortunately for the possums, the trees had plastic shields wrapped around them every couple of metres. It was odd. But the possums were very cute.

The Hilton on the Park is opposite the MCG, and as we approached the lights, we were surrounded by AFL fans. Dotted amongst them, however, I could spot slightly lost looking Continuum attendees - they were the ones not wearing team colour scarves, and wearing an awful lot of black...

We got ourselves well seated for the Opening Ceremony - I found third row seats (I avoided the front row, as that would have revealed far too clearly my absolute and utter Neil Gaiman fangirl personality). The ceremony was held in a giant section of the Ballroom, and was packed out. There were lights above everyone, so the guests could see the slavering fans clearly! There was a little film running before the speech - lots of cuts from different movies/series/book covers etc that encapsulated the "speculative fiction" thrust of the convention. There was a nice spot of Dr Who goodness (have I mentioned that Christopher Eccleston is now my second favourite Doctor, and definitely the sexiest?), followed by a brief snippet of Firefly - after which there was applause and whooping. I didn't know whether that was for Dr Who or Firefly, but I like to think it was a bit of both.

The Guests of Honour took their seats on the stage, and Kirstyn McDermott, the Continuum chair, made the Opening speech. Neil was sitting to her right, and taking a good look around the audience. I got a moment of held eye contact with Neil (no, I did, really, okay!!) and Nebuloid got a Neil smile. He's such an absolutely lovely man. Sigh. And, did I mention, incredibly incredibly hot?

Anyway...moving on...
There was a cocktail party after the Opening Ceremony, where I drank a little champagne and got giggly. Nic and her friends found us, and we made our way into Ballroom 3 for the Great Debate - with Neil Gaiman, Poppy Z Brite, Robin Hobb, Richard Harland, Kim Wilkins, Russell Kirkpatrick and moderated by Jack Dann.

Laughed? I nearly seriously injured myself.

The premise of the debate was that Man is an Unnatural Creature. On the "for" side were Kim Wilkins, Poppy Z Brite and Richard Harland. On the "against" side were Neil Gaiman, Robin Hodd and Russell Kirkpatrick. It was obvious from Jack Dann's opening speech that this debate was going to be all about the fun, and in no way serious. Grand.

Kim Wilkins opened the "For" team with the following: Man is an Unnatural Creature, because we have invented Anal Bleaching. That was the core of her argument, and it got a rousing round of laughter. Jack Dann followed that argument with a little story about farting on a date, and, well, it all kind of disintergrated from there.

Neil Gaiman opened the "Against" team with: a) He had thought he was on the For team until a little note was pushed under his door a couple of hours earlier, which meant he'd had to rethink the whole thing, b) [in stilted tones] Of course he has never suggested, and neither had any of his team, that man was anything but a natural creature, c) a suggestion for the website www.ismyanuspaleenough.com and d) the core of his argument, which he reached by taking the tack "Man is a Natural Creature" and searching for the many meanings of the words. He finally found the truth in one of the meanings of "Natural" which is "a natural child, born of unwed parents". Thus, he said, the argument was now "All Men are Bastards" and he was sure that everyone would agree with that. He took his seat again, to thunderous applause.

Jack Dann manfully attempted to get the debate back on the rails (did he, what? He pushed them further and further away from the rails!), whilst being constantly interrupted by Neil, who kept grabbing one of the mikes on the lecterns and interjecting many humourous asides. Mischevious man!

The debate rapidly degenerated, following Poppy's assertion that man is unnatural because society deplores and degrades homosexuality and other "abnormal" lifestyles (which was quite serious and not played for laughs). Bits I remember through the howls of laughter are: Richard Harland's impassioned pleas that man is unnatural because of the "extend your willy" spam everyone gets; comments about possum "golden showers"; more fart jokes; tussles over the microphones; and, of course, due to there being a Kiwi on the panel, jokes about sheep shagging.

When the audience had to decide which side should win, the bribery began. Neil told everyone that Robin Hobb has a photographic memory, and that she would be scanning the room, memorising faces, and anyone who didn't clap for their team would not get their books signed by him. Robin Hobb sat beside him, nodding seriously and squinting out into the audience. Neil then began throwing mints out into the audience as further bribery.

Of course, his side won, and the chocolate frogs that they got as prizes were also hurled out into the audience.

Jack Dann collapsed in exhaustion, and the audience, sides aching and faces wreathed in grins, shuffled, giggling, out into the foyer.

Because that panel had gone over time, we missed out on the Medieval Warfare panel (sorry Nebuloid!), so we drank some cocktails before the Horror Movies panel started. We sat down in the Hilton bar, which was beginning to fill up with AFL fans and members of the other convention that was being held that weekend - an (euwwww) management convention. Remember that - it may become important later.

The Horror Movies panel (thriller versus splatter) was fun - it was the last panel of the night, and everyone seemed to be winding down a bit, but lots of good questions and wacky horror film referencing fun.

Nebuloid and I decided to have a drink before bed, and I collected a wayward boy to chat with over drinks. We got down to the Hilton bar and, ohmigosh, it was mightily packed out. Nebuloid went to get drinks, and WaywardBoy and I found a standing space. Right next to, as we discovered, a table of drunken management types from the other convention. I had led us into the land of the stupid patronising bastards. Yay me.

SPB1: "So, what's your convention about?"
ZB: "SF, fantasy, horror - there's some great writers here, lots of interesting panels." Turns back to talk to WB.
SPB1: "So, what do you do at these conventions?"
ZB (now getting tetchy): "Go to aforementioned panels, meet new people, drink, get laid."
SPB1: "Half your luck! We're in management - we get laid, but we don't get to come!!"
ZB: Pointed silence.
SPB1: "So where's the swingers parties happening, then?"
ZB: "The swingers parties are Continuum members only, you're not going to get an invite."
Smackdown!!
But, oh, they do bounce back.
SPB2: "How did you get involved in science fiction and stuff?"
ZB: "My mother's a Satanist."
SPB2: Confused silence.
SPB1: "Do you play Dungeons and Dragons?"
ZB: "Oh for fuck's sake, no I bloody don't. Get a grip!"
ZB conspicuously turns back on table.
WB: "Nicely parried. Because, if they'd asked me, I would have had to say yes..."

ZB and WB are then rescued by Nebuloid, through the power of a) alcohol and b) her leading us to the part of the bar that was entirely populated by Continuum attendees. Huzzah!!

A long, drunken, and very enjoyable ramble through the conversational lanes of RPGs, Buffy, Firefly, Star Wars, tall ships and Neil Gaiman then ensued. Last drinks were called (and consumed), after which Nebuloid and I stumbled to our room, organised a room service breakfast for a ridiculously early hour of the morning, and slept, eagerly awaiting the next day of conventiony goodness.

Join me next time, for more tales from Continuum 3...

You cannae change the laws of physics...

2005-07-21T11:11:00.000+10:00

Or death, it seems.

James Doohan, the beloved Scotty from Star Trek: Original Series, has gone into the black.

"Lashings of ginger beer!"

2005-07-19T21:27:00.000+10:00

I just got my copy of the Comic Strip Presents boxset - it was a lovely present to have waiting for me when I got home from Melbourne. Watched a whole bunch last night, and found myself slightly sad that my favourites were made over 20 years ago. I know that good comedy is still being made, but is it going to last the ravages of time? One can only hope...

Plus, I really had to come to terms with the fact that I'm never going to find myself part of the bustling and incredibly cool world of the alternative comedians in the early 80's. Damn you, lack of time travel capabilities!!

The box set has all of the short films, from 1982 to 1993, and also The Supergrass (which, d'oh!, I had also bought seperately). It does not, however, contain Eat the Rich, the absence of which was a great disappointment to me. That has always been one of my favourite movies, and I really hoped it would find it's way onto dvd some day. Sigh. I totally want to call my vegan cafe (when I open it *she says, in denial of the real world*) Eat the Rich, due entirely to that movie.

I watched:

The Bullshitters: Roll Out the Gunbarrel
This is where my ongoing (and faintly inexplicable) crush on Peter Richardson (he's the one in the incredibly bad curly wig) really kicked into high gear. There's nothing funnier (and thus sexier) than a man in a red leather posing pouch, cowboy boots and leather jacket running around London, desperately attempting to ensure that his bits don't get revealed in the midst of all the action. As it were.

Consuela
Ah, French and Saunders. You are truly bizarre. I love this episode, even though it don't make a whole lot of sense (it makes a little more to me now that I have finally read Rebecca, but still..."It was like a giant enormous beetle!") This episode has the added bonus of Ade's ridiculous hair, and Rik playing almost straight for most of it. And again, sigh, ongoing and slightly disturbing crush on Rik Mayall.

Five Go Mad in Dorset
The first. The classic. The "you can't get any better than this ever" episode of Comic Strip Presents. I'm so glad that they set the bar so high. The satire is obvious, but unrelenting and hysterical.

Five Go Mad on Mescalin
The not quite successful followup to Five Go Mad in Dorset. Still funny and lovably nasty, just a little disjointed. But seeing Ade singing incredibly badly whilst sitting on rocks...the hysteria, it overtakes me.

Bad News Tour

What's that you say? This looks a lot like Spinal Tap? So it does....Supposedly, they were in production at the same time. Don't get me wrong, I love Spinal Tap, it's a brilliant film and is essentially the first in Christopher Guest's wonderful ensemble pseudo documentaries, but still...occasionally I wonder. I think Spider is my favourite character that Peter Richardson played.

I stopped there, not wanting to overdose. I'm so excited about this box set - there are lots of the episodes that I have never seen, or have only seen once, or have read about and really want to see. I'm absolutely looking forward to rewatching Mr Jolly Lives Next Door - "Nicholas Parsons!!!"

Given, however, that I am currently halfway through Season Seven of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, only on the first disc of Cowboy Bebop, and desperately waiting for my flatmate to finish Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince so that I can read it, I'm not sure I'm going to get back to Comic Strip Presents any time soon...

Fenrir walks the earth.

2005-07-11T16:33:00.000+10:00

Fenrir, eldest child of Loki and the giantess Angrboda, is the grand and terrible wolf that, it was foreseen, would one day be responsible for destroying the world. This prophecy reached the gods, and Fenrir was caught and imprisoned. Tyr, the god of war, fed and watered Fenrir when no other would. Fenrir repaid him for this act of kindness by biting off Tyr's hand at the wrist.

As Fenrir grew and grew, the gods became more and more fearful of his power. Using their wiles, they tricked Fenrir into being chained. Such was Fenrir's strength, however, that even the strongest chain could not hold him.

Only a magic chain could fetter this monster. And so the dwarves fashioned Gleipner, a thin ribbon, from six elements: the footstep of a cat; the roots of a mountain; a woman's beard; the breath of fishes; the sinews of a bear; and a bird's spittle. Despite Gleipner's appearance, it held Fenrir fast, and the gods chained him to a rock a mile below the earth. They placed a sword in his mouth to prevent him biting.

On the day of Ragnarok, Fenrir will break free and battle the gods. It is prophesied that he will devour Odin, and that Odin's son, Vidar, will avenge his father's death by killing Fenrir.

Given all of that, I really didn't expect Fenrir to look like this:

This is Fenrir, new addition to the household of TheDarkLord. Quake in fear, puny mortals.

Mourning

2005-07-08T11:05:00.000+10:00

Bomb blasts in London. Holy shit.

All the world's media is there, because of the Olympics announcement and the opening of the G8 conference.

Everything seems so unreal. I felt this way when the September 11 attacks occured. I felt this way when I read about the ongoing war in Iraq. I felt this way when I read about the attacks on mosques in Brisbane. I felt this way when I heard about the train bombings in Madrid. I've felt this way for the last 4 years.

What the fuck are we doing? How much longer are we going to survive? Is change going to come, or more wholesale destruction?

I just can't think about this. I comprehend, but I don't understand. Everything is turning to shit, has been for years, and there's just pain and horror and death.

But there's always hope. A tiny spark of hope and life and the possibility of joy. We, as a global community, have to find a way to take this spark and make into a blazing beacon, without resorting to bombing and war and horror.

Somebody, please, tell me there's a way. Because, right now, I really don't see one. But I want to.

When I was 29, I had a very good July...

2005-07-06T23:14:00.000+10:00

Suddenly, I find myself in July. Which, frankly, is shaping up to be a very busy month for me. This weekend I've got a Firefly related shindig a-goin' on (I'm one of the organisers, which is scary and cool and incredibly geeky and did I mention scary?) so this week is all about getting prepped for that. Much fun should be had by all. I may even put up some photos from it, if it comes to that (though probably on my other, Fireflycentric, blog).

Then, next weekend, whirlwind flight to Melbourne for Continuum 3. I keep trying to measure how excited I am by this, my first convention, (complete with bonus Neil Gaiman!), but I think that I'm so overexcited about going that I won't realise that I've been until about a month afterwards. There's lots of fun panels, and some great sounding events - much looking forward to the Maskabalo (yay for an excuse to dress up!) Plus, did I mention the Neil Gaiman-ness of the event? I was going to buy something new and shiny for him to sign, but I thought I'd take my slightly battered copy of Smoke and Mirrors instead. Or maybe my dvd set of Neverwhere.

In some of my precious free time in Melbourne, I'm hoping to go to Vegan Wares - at the very least to ogle, perhaps to purchase some fine vegan footware. And I'm also going to try and find the bakery that sells vegan doughnuts....mmm...doughnutty goodness. Though that could be a little difficult - the journey's the thing, right?

No, actually, I'm pretty sure the doughnuts are the thing.

Because more than one blog means I'll write more often...

2005-07-01T12:06:00.000+10:00

Yeah. Okay. That sounds like the sort of sensible plan that ain't...

However, foolish though it is, and the likelihood of imploding aside, I've set up another blog. Why? Because I want to be able to rant, rave, drool, dribble and basically get my fanaticism about Firefly out of my system through the wondrous, erm, wonder of the written word. And I want to be able to do it without alienating that part of my readership (extensive as it is. Yes, I too live in the land of Denial) which has no interest in Firefly.

Don't mean that there won't be occasional posts here about Firefly - or more specifically, Serenity - because I would really love everyone to support the movie. But I'll keep the more rabid postings (including the ones I've moved from here) over at the new blog.

Which is here, by the way.

Come on over and visit - floors are clean, there's protein in all the colours of the rainbow, and I'm paintin' some ivy and flowers to make it more homey-like.

Product placement

2005-06-28T21:29:00.000+10:00

I recently got my iPod Shuffle out of layby, and have been having a grand time with it. I used to love making mix tapes, so it's wonderful fun making the playlists and having hours and hours of music and other bits that turn up randomly when you're listening. The iPod itself is teeny tiny and light as a feather (though I will not be dropping it from a great height, with a feather, to test that assertion) and, like most Apple products, awfully pretty to look at.

I have just been playing with it - I know that there are great ways to get the best out of your Shuffle, using iTunes and playlists, but I'm happy with the random nature of the way I'm using it at the moment. This is, of course, a flimsy excuse for my laziness in not getting better acquainted with iTunes.

I think my favourite part of the whole experience is that I unexpectedly find myself listening to The March of the Sinister Ducks, which makes a whole day (if not week or, damn it, life!) better.

Congratulations!

2005-06-28T21:26:00.000+10:00

MetalGirl and TheLordofDarkness welcomed a daughter into the world on June 23. I just wanted to extend my hearty congratulations, and I look forward to meeting her soon!

A month? Oops.

2005-06-28T21:18:00.000+10:00

Hey there folks! Yes, I have returned! Breathe a sigh of relief (or, you know, patient frustration or just plain boredom). I have been afflicted with the horror of flu for the last few weeks, and as part of my healing process have been reading Firefly fan fiction and collected Television Without Pity Buffy the Vampire Slayer recaps, and not doing much else with my brain. Thus the general lack of posts. Just trying to get back on the blogging horse, so bear with me...

Just a small note - Spike/Xander slash fiction is grand. And makes rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer even more fun!

Random news items.

2005-06-01T21:09:00.000+10:00

First, the ridiculousness of it all - they'll both be Paris Latsis!! I know I shouldn't care, but, well, I don't but I do. If you get what I mean.

Finally. I wasn't even alive at the time, but this is still exciting to learn. I'm concerned that the family are quoted as mentioning "profit" as a motive for releasing this long sought after information. Sigh.

Because he does such good work in Florida. Fuck you, the entire fucking Bush family.

Whether or not you think she's innocent, let's not go around trying to kill people, okay? That way madness, pain, war and general stupidity lies.

Okay, ending on a fluffy (well, kinda) one, because I'm getting too darned worked up here, and there's nothing to punch (which is why I stopped watching/reading the news for a while there).

This whole thing just screams desperation and freakiness. I'm just loving every second of TinyTom's public mental disintergration. It almost makes me want to watch Oprah so I could see the (apparently) terrifying and hysterical recent interview.

Really badly timed play review.

2005-06-01T20:39:00.000+10:00

It was about a month ago that I went to the theeaighter to see an actual play for the first time in about a decade (Thanks to TheKateness). When I was at uni, I was doing a Theatre and Film major as part of my degree, and took myself off to the theeaighter on a fairly regular basis. I hadn't realised how much I missed doing that until I went to see Black Medea at the Belvoir St Theatre.

I went during the last week of the current run, so I can't urge you to see it now - but I can urge you to see it the next time it's being performed. The play was a series of physical, emotional, and psychological hammer blows.

Black Medea is a reworking of the play by Euripides. A young indigenous woman chooses her man over her land, only to find herself trapped in a loveless and brutal marriage, with her son the beating heart of the man she married. So what does she do to escape? Takes away her husband's heart.

The set was amazing - the front rows of the audience almost sitting on the stage, which was covered in a black sand. Curved walls of corrugated iron on and over two thirds of the stage, which, when lit differently, were either the walls of a mine, the open night sky over the desert, or the oppressive urban shell in which Medea finds herself. The centre of the stage held a simple table with three chairs, where most of the action took place.

Margaret Harvey, in the title role, was strong and passionate and trapped and hurt and terrifying in her revenge. It was an incredible feat that she could make Medea, so terrifying, so hateful, so seemingly selfish, a character for whom you have sympathy. She wears the classic red dress of the femme fatale, walks the land barefoot and proud.

Justine Saunders, as the chorus, was spellbinding. Dressed in a neat but battered two piece and coat, barefoot, slowly removing her hat pins and hat, she embraced us into the world of the play, telling us we aren't going to like the ride, but pulling us insistently in after her.

Aaron Pedersen's character of Jason goes through the most obvious arc of change, and this change was beautifully expressed through wardrobe. When the play begins, he is dressed in a full suit, briefcase at his side. As he disintergrates, as the alcoholism and abuse escalate, this facade slips. His desperation to be tied to something other than his job, to be part of the land, in a way he's never known, are expressed through his losing his suit, and finally becoming barefoot. But too late.

I could talk about the use of lighting and sound, but I've reached the end of my half remembered skills from my cut short uni degree. If and when the play is staged again, I'm sure to be seeing it, and I hope to have piqued your interest to see it also!

Can you bring your ferret?

2005-06-01T20:24:00.000+10:00

There are many reasons why I adore Neil Gaiman - his writing, his apparent affability, his support of other writers and artists, his floppy hair and occasional goatee - and he is definitely one of many reasons why I'm terribly excited that I'm going to Continuum 3 in just over a month (eep!!). This recent post on his blog - do's and don't's for his book signings - just became reason 3652 why I adore him.

This is probably my favourite piece of advice - mostly because I'm the person standing in line, desperately attempting to come up with something wonderful to say.

7) Don't worry. You won't say anything stupid. It'll be fine. My heart tends to go out to people who've stood in line for hours trying to think of the single brilliant witty erudite thing that they can say when they get to the front of the line, and when it finally happens they put their books in front of me and go blank, or make a complete mess of whatever they were trying to say. If you have anything you want to ask or say, just ask, or say it, and if you get a blank look from me it's probably because I'm slightly brain dead after signing several thousand things that day.

June?

2005-06-01T20:22:00.000+10:00

Since when did it become June? Why was I not informed?

Bloody hell. That whole "time passes faster the older you get" rumour is getting some support right about now.

*grumbles and fumbles around for the support of her zimmerframe*

My grandmother's garden.

2005-05-24T20:49:00.000+10:00

My grandmother's garden is bathed in perpetual sunlight. In my mind it is always summer, hot piercing sun, shade a rare commodity, but cool and refreshing when found.

Vignettes, flashes, no whole story here, no narrative of A to B and what I found there. Just the memories of my grandmother's garden, as they come to me.

Sitting on the back steps, squeezed between the back and toilet doors, slippery macadamia nuts spilled out of their bag, and a hammer. Chasing the nuts with the hammer as they roll across, down the stairs, between the stairs, finally cracking one and picking the creamy flesh from between the shards of the shattered shell.

Back steps again, cold watermelon against my teeth, juice spattered down my tshirt, seed spitting contests across the tiles.

Cutting down the corn stalks, and learning the hard way that sucking corn sugar out of the stalks whilst sitting in the sun makes you really really nauseous.

Picking sunwarmed strawberries, tiny and juicy and when you bite into them it's like you're biting into summer, sweet and warm. Picking one for the table, one for me, one for the table, one for me, into the icecream bucket they go.

Climbing the mulberry tree in search of ripe mulberries, the smell of cut grass and compost coming from beneath your feet, rich and earthy. Being asked "Have you been eating mulberries?", shaking your head emphatically NO! while your purple teeth, lips, tongue and fingers betray your lie.

Being sent out to collect the salad - spiky leaves of borage, bitter leaves of roquette, a child's palate not suited to these strong tastes, wondering why anyone would want to eat them.

Standing under the cool of the lemon trees, inhaling the tang of the fruit, rubbing the leaves, hands now all citrussy and sharp.

Learning how to tell when passionfruit are ripe, deep purple and crinkled like an old woman's laughing face. Watching, fascinated, as the pulp is transformed into flummery, sweeter than anything on earth.

Making choko pickles, chokos plucked from the vine on the fence. Slice off the cap, and rub vigourously against the opposite cut flesh to rid the fruit of it's sap. The sap is sticky and stings, the job is arduous and boring, the end result better be worth it! And it is, pickles mustardy and bright yellow, choko flesh soft and tasteless.

Gooseberries, such as I have never seen again. The fruit is surrounded by fragile white leaves, rough against the skin. Yellow and sharp and tart, tiny seeds sticking in my teeth, eyes watering slightly when you eat a green one, too impatient to wait for it to ripen.

Hiding underneath the bushes out the front, just past the gooseberry bush, hidden and secret and shady. Buzzing of bees an accompaniment to the lazy afternoon, drowsy making.

Nursing a beesting, bare feet running through the yard caught unawares. Antiseptic vinegar, scent tickling my nose, rubbed gently against the wound.

Gathering the nectar from nasturtium flowers - pick them, bite off the funnel end, suck the liquid down. Be careful, ants like it as much as we do! Spitting out drowned ants, sickened but willing to try another one. Nasturtium flowers picked for salads, bright, surprising, petals soft and bruised. Making capers from nasturtium seeds, bitter and vinegary.

This is the garden of my childhood. A place of discovery and pleasure, a practical garden, joyful and blessed. A place to challenge and delight all of the senses.

My grandmother's garden is bathed in perpetual sunlight.

For Oma.

But what can we do?

2005-05-16T19:22:00.000+10:00

I have tried, and failed, to write a piece about ethical living, and what lines we draw in the sand to ensure that we live as ethical a life as possible. Or, you know, maybe there are no lines in the sand, and the concept of "ethical lifestyle" is laughable and strange.

None of the ideas I was using flowed together the way that I wanted them to, so instead I will present a guide to some ways we can use our knowledge and cash to make the world a slightly nicer place...

Let's start with the scary stuff:

Ecological Footprint (link via Anne's Data)

An ecological footprint is an indicator of how many global hectares we take up, how much of the world we consume. Worldwide, there exists 1.8 biologically productive global hectares per person. These are my results:

Global hectares by category

Food 0.5
Mobility 0.2
Shelter 0.8
Goods/Services 1

Total footprint 2.5

In comparison, the average ecological footprint in your country is 7.6 global hectares per person.

If everyone lived like you, we would need 1.4 planets.

Ouch.

Now, the fun stuff:

Fair Trade

Cash crops have become the basis of farmer's earnings in developing countries. The major cash crops are sugar, coffee, tobacco and cocoa. Cash crops eat up the land that farmers had traditionally used for their own sustainable foods, and the monies that farmers receive for cash crops can be impacted negatively by fluctuations in the global commodity markets.

Buying Fair Trade products can help in ensuring that these farmers are protected and supported, and given an international voice.

There are five guarentees for products that have the Fairtrade mark:

1. The FAIRTRADE Mark guarantees farmers a fair and stable price for their products

2. The FAIRTRADE Mark guarantees extra income for farmers and estate workers to improve their lives.

3. The FAIRTRADE Mark guarantees a greater respect for the environment

4. The FAIRTRADE Mark guarantees small farmers a stronger position in world markets

5. The FAIRTRADE Mark guarantees a closer link between consumers and producers

Fair Trade products can be purchased in Australia through Oxfam Community Aid Abroad, in their shops and online. My favourites are the Fair Trade coffee (extremely yummy!) and Green & Black chocolate and cocoa (which, for all the choc mad vegans out there, is mostly vegan friendly!! Try the Maya Gold...mmmm...).

No Sweat, Blackspot, Veganwares

There are No Sweat sneakers available at the Sydney Oxfam shop. I'm not sure if these have the Fairtrade Mark, but they are made in tune with, and the No Sweat company is managed from, the same basis of fair trade and support.

Adbusters created the Blackspot v1 as an anti-corporate, anti-logo AntiBrand. They've recently launched Blackspot v2, more of a boot than a sneaker.

Veganwares provide animal and environmentally friendly (and very cool) ranges of shoes, boots, sandals, belts...Their only Australian store is in Melbourne (you Melbournites get all the cool things!), but you can order online. I have a dream of going to Veganwares and buying enough different shoes and boots to last me the rest of my life. Sigh.

There you go. Some ways you can use your dollars to make a mite of difference in this indifferent world.

Can't. Stop. Clicking. Too. Much. Rampant. Cuteness.

2005-05-11T14:56:00.000+10:00

Okay, these days I spend way too much time online, but this game has to be the most addictive thing ever!!

If, of course, you like cats and think that they are cute. If you are cat phobic for any reason (allergy, unnatural hatred, bad taste, etc) then the statement above may not be true (apart from the "way too much time online" bit).

Let the Kitten Wars begin!!

....And never end...

The dark side of the Force is seductive.

2005-05-10T23:17:00.000+10:00

It mocks me. Mockity mock mock it goes. Mockingly.

Yup. I'm talking about the Star Wars Episode III-Revenge of the Sith trailer, which I saw with Hitch Hikers (the less said about that, the better...) It mocks me, because despite the fact that I have been studiously avoiding the prequels, and swearing blind that no power in the 'verse could get me into a cinema to see any of them, the damn trailer gave me chills.

Chills, I tells ya.

I'm undecided as to whether I will fork out the cash to see it when it comes out - I haven't seen either of the other prequels and resent the "prettying up" of the originals. This interview with Simon Pegg, Kevin Smith and Edgar Wright did cause me to contemplate the merest possibility of entertaining the thought of going to the film, though.

In the meantime, I will direct your attention to The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster, to meet all of your Darth Vader needs.

New Zealand photos - South Island

2005-04-20T21:52:00.000+10:00

Did I mention in my previous post that I'm putting the photos in a vaguely chronological order, according to when I went to the different places? No?

Well, just so you know, I'm putting the photos in a vaguely chronological order, according to when I went to the different places.

I hope that's clear now.

PICTON

This is my attempt at "artistic vision" on a bushwalk in Picton, out to look over the Queen Charlotte Sound (I think). It was very overcast and misty when I set out in the morning, but eventually got extremely hot. The views back towards the tiny port town of Picton, and out into the distant Sound were just amazing, and I managed to appreciate them despite my very sweaty tired state.

KAIKOURA

Faceted sea

This is a view of the multicoloured bright waters that inc u r red my wrath, due entirely to the ridiculousness of their overwhelming beauty.

I mean, really. What self respecting sea is ever that colour? Let alone that colour when it's all overcast and gloomy?

Seals

I swear that there is at least one fur seal that can be spotted in this photo. You had to stand 10 metres away from them (which, you know, understandable), but it was still a mind blowing experience to be standing on the same rocks where fur seals are sunning themselves. Just. Wow.

CHRISTCHURCH

Attack of the Alien Bee Horde

The bumblebees in New Zealand are freakishly huge. By huge, I mean "alien bees from the giant hive planet with a slavering evil queen" huge. I spent a lot of my time in gardens, chasing the damn things from flower to flower to get a photo, but none of them really worked out. I really like this photo because the light is so blown out.

The Wizard

I really dug The Wizard of New Zealand. A very funny guy, engaging and charismatic. He was probably the highlight of Christchurch - I went back and saw him again on my last day in New Zealand - a great note to leave on!

Parting Gift

This was taken on my last night in Christchurch. I had just had dinner at a lovely little organic Japanese restaurant and was walking along, feeling peaceful and happy. I glanced to my left, only to be greeted by a multitude of colours streaking across fluffy clouds and the remnants of a blue sky.

DUNEDIN

Drum major

I think. This is the guy who kindly helped me out when I was wondering what the hell was going on with the numerous pipe bands wandering the Octagon in Dunedin. I never did get his name, but I bumped into him later and discovered that the band of which he was part had come second in their division. So, good on him!!

Otago Peninsula EcoTour - Yellow Penguin

I wish I could say that I took this photo, but alas, I purchased it. I didn't want to use my camera for fear of setting off the flash (I didn't know how to turn it off) and scaring the wildlife.

ON THE WAY TO MILFORD SOUND

You know, I'm sure there's a name for these ranges of mountains, but for the life of me I don't know what it is. This is the moment when the two dimensional "oooh pretty" became the three dimensional "bloody hell the scale the majesty the gorgeousity" when I stepped out of the bus.

MILFORD SOUND

Check out the scale. Can you see the two teeny tiny boats? Those are the big boats that hold around 300 people touring Milford Sound. Plus, how ecstatically wondrous is that mountain?

Dolphins!!

I'm so chuffed that I managed to get a clear shot of the bottle nosed dolphins who kept us company as we came back into Milford Sound after we'd wandered out into the Tasman.

FRANZ JOSEPH GLACIER

Up close and personal. The glacier is absolutely astonishing, and the closer you get the colder it is. I wish I was fit enough to have climbed it, but even just standing at its face was an experience like no other.

Thus endeth the South Island teaser...

New Zealand photos - North Island

2005-04-20T21:03:00.000+10:00

I'm hoping to get a website together to house all of the photos I scanned from my trip to New Zealand (I managed to whittle the original nearly-a-thousand down to just over 200), so I thought I'd whet your appetite with a few of them and their related tales (or comments, if I've run out of imagination and can't find tales to tell)....

TANGIRIRO NATIONAL PARK

Mt Ruapehu and Mt Tangiriro

I took this photo at Mt Ruapehu station, which is one of the stops on the TranzScenic train trip between Auckland and Wellington. Mt Ruapehu is on the left, with Mt Tangiriro on the right. The mountains were featured as part of Mordor in Lord of the Rings. I fell in love with Mt Ruapehu the moment I spotted her...

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN PALMERSTON NORTH AND TAUPO

There's a food stop, and the first thing I saw when I hopped off the bus was this:

It was squawking, seemingly demanding to be let into the shop...I guess its presence is explained by the fact that there was a petting zoo attached to the diner, but I like to think that it just turned up one day...

TAUPO

Aratiatia Rapids

These rapids are created by releasing the dam of Lake Taupo. Water is released every day at the same time, and you stand on a bridge to watch this incredibly clear, colourful water cascade beneath you to fill up the valley on the other side. It's just breathtaking...

Craters of the Moon

You wander on walkways through this alien landscape, with craters and mudpools and ever present sulphourous steam. The ground is covered in vegetation that, bizarrely enough, manages to grow in earth that is constantly hot.

Huka Falls

The rushing water of these falls is amazingly loud. The water is a wonderful turquoise, due to the mineral deposits that come from the area being a thermal hotspot (ooh look, a really bad pun).

ROTORUA

Mudpool

This is a view of the North Island's largest mudpool through the bushes that line it. Yes, that's what it is. And there's every possibility that the photo is upside down. But I like it. So ner.

Wai-o-Tapu Thermal Wonderland

Yup, that's what it's really called. Sigh. The park is huge, with sulphur lakes (including my favourite, the Champagne Lake) and mud filled craters. The air is incredibly heavy with stinky egg smells, and even on moderate days, the area is always really really hot. And beautiful. Did I mention beautiful?

Waimangu Volcanic Park

This park is absolutely a must visit. The view here is of Cathedral Rock and Frying Pan lake. The environment is so primeval, you expect to see dinosaurs peeping out at you from behind the huge ferns.

MATAMATA

Hobbiton

This is a view of Hobbiton (including Bag End) taken through the branches of the Party Tree. There's not much else I can say except "I went to Hobbiton! Yay me!!"

NAPIER

Napier is an Art Deco town, with the main business district rebuilt at the height of the Art Deco era. Why then, is this incredibly 70s sculpture in the middle of the gardens?

KAPITI COAST

Paekakariki

How could I not take a photo of this house?

WELLINGTON

This is my "postcard from Wellington" photo - it's taken from the top of the Botanical Gardens, and there's the cable car and a lovely sweep across the harbour and main grid of Wellington city. People take the cable car to work and uni. How cool is that??

And that's it for the North Island, for the moment...

Hand in hand is the only way to land, and always the right way round

2005-04-12T21:11:00.000+10:00

I'm still recovering from the sadness I felt when reading about Wil Wheaton's cat Felix's last days, and the emotional time that Wil and his family went through during that time. My cats got a lot of love after I read those posts, and it really got me to thinking about the role that companion animals play in our lives.

So, before the inevitable time (hopefully long into the future) that I will no longer have these cats in my life, I wanted to write a little celebratory piece about each of them.

Bangles

Bangles doesn't live with me - she happily resides with her chosen human, my mother. She's turning either 20 or 21 this year, which is a ripe old age for a cat. She's all black, except for an almost perfect triangular necklace of white. I haven't seen her in years, and the last time I did I disturbed her rest amongst the luscious green leaves of my grandmother's garden, where she was nestled on the warm soil. My punishment for disturbing her was a big ole slash across the hand, but it was nice to see that even at her advanced age, she was still fast enough to get a good scratch in!!

Bangles came into my life when I was about 9. My mother and I were wandering through Redfern, doing some opshopping, and a man came out of a sidestreet, holding on his palm a tiny mewling black kitten. He asked us if we knew where she belonged, and we said no, and then he asked us if we wanted her. My mother had been promising that I could have a pet for years, so I jumped up and down and said "Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease" in the way that only children can - and she relented. I took the tiny shaking kitten and tucked her into the bottom of my shirt, where she eventually settled and purred and slept. She got rudely awakened when we were waiting to get onto the bus, and had to be put into my mother's voluminous handbag, she was wriggling around so much. The busdriver managed to ignore the meows eminating from said handbag, and the cooing of the passengers - Bangles' head was sticking out the top of the bag, her big blue eyes capturing the hearts of everyone around us.

I called her Bangles, because, well, Walk Like an Egyptian was my favourite song, and cats were worshipped by the Egyptians and thus...Look, I was 9, okay? It made perfect sense at the time.

There are so many snippets of memory: a miniscule fluffed up Bangles facing off against the giant puppy who wandered in through our back door one morning; Bangles' unfortunate habit of sleeping across my face and me waking up because I was choking on her fur; playing dangerous games of tickle the tummy with her and getting ridiculous scratches (the most serious being across the veins on the insides of my wrists. I had to bandage those suckers, and let me tell you, it looked like the most pissweak suicide attempt ever); her refusing to move from in front of the fireplace, despite the fact that tiny coals kept spitting out at her - she'd only move if they burnt her (we spent an awful lot of time leaping up and brushing the coals out of the way. And, yes, eventually we got a shield for the fireplace. She didn't like the shield much - I think it sucked up that extra mite of heat she wanted for herself); the frantic escape attempt when we had her doped to the eyeballs on kitty valium for the interstate trip to her new home - have you ever seen a cat on valium trying to walk along a very thin fence at top speed? It's painful to watch, but also painfully funny; playing Find the Bangles in the garden...

Lucky

Lucky was an older cat, a big tough ballsy (literally) tom who we adopted (or were adopted by) when I found him up a tree being barked at by a gigantic dog who was slavering for the kill. I climbed up and rescued Lucky, suffering only minor bloodloss due to heavy scratching across the shoulders and arms. He was named Lucky because *small voice* I thought he was lucky to have escaped the dog (yes, yes, okay, I'm very literal with my cat names. It's a curse - or a gift. I'm going to have to stop using the "I was a kid" excuse because my naming skills are still pretty much at that level...)

He was white with tabby blotches on his ears and nose and sides and tummy. I was most excited when I met ThePenguin's cat Olaf and found that he is the spitting image of Lucky.

Lucky got the traditional swipe across the nose from the alpha cat (Bangles) and settled right in. He was the smoochiest, dribblingest, biggest cat I have ever encountered. He was also the wanderingest. He would stay with us for a month or so, covering us with drool and taking up the whole couch, and then he'd be gone for three or four days, returning covered in welts and bites and scratches and a perky "I've just shagged and fought really hard and I need a big meal" spring in his step. He'd heal and grow fat again for a month, and then bugger off for his fun. The scariest time we had with him was after a tremendous fight. He came home with his stomach ripped to shreds, bleeding everywhere, and slept for about a fortnight, in a little bundle on the end of my mother's bed, slowly getting better. He eventually went for one of his monthly wanders and didn't come back. I like to think that he adoped another family and lived well into old age.

Alf

Alf was our next door neighbour's kitten, a little white and ginger tabby cat. I take no responsibility for his naming, but do know that he was named after the television show (though it was Animal, not Alien, Life Form, of course).

Having suffered through the usual tortures of kittenhood - well, the usual tortures bestowed upon kittens when their main caregiver is 8 years old (dressing him up in doll's clothes, pushing him around in a pram - you know the things) - he started hanging out at our place, where there were no doll's clothes to be found. He suffered the swipe of domination from Bangles (there have been at least 4 cats in the world with little scars across the nose that declare them to be minions of Bangles) and happily peed in the hard to reach corners of our house for many years.

My favourite memory of the all of the three cats above comes from winter - seeing them all curled up together, a mash of colours and fur and paws and ears, purring and twitching and sleeping.

Lucie

Or, if you want her full name, Lucie Moglet Carlos McAllister the Kitten Cat and Her Sunshine Band.

"Finally," you say, "a name of interest and amusement. Do tell us all, ZuckerBaby!!" Oh, alright, if you insist.

Lucie is the name given to her by the woman who originally found her. Moglet is the name I wanted her to have (based on the cat in The Unlikely Ones). Carlos McAllister came from my mother, who was obsessed at the time with one Carlos McAllister who played soccer for Colombia, spoke only Spanish, but looked like (and had the last name of) a Scotsman (red hair, pale blue skin, freckles. Strangely enough, I can't seem to find anything on the internets about Carlos McAllister to back this whole thing up, but if you do find something, please let me know!). Kitten Cat was a nickname, and has the initials KC, which leads us to the Sunshine Band.

Maybe I should have stuck with the simple names, eh?

Lucie was found by a good friend and flatmate in the gutter of a big road, and brought home shivering in a cardboard box. She was tiny - she fit in the palm of my hand. Her eyes had only just opened, and she couldn't use her back legs properly. She had to be fed with an eyedropper, and I had to rub her tummy to help her go to the toilet (I only made the mistake of holding her whilst doing this once - she was fine, but I ended up with urine all down my front. Sigh). She slept in my room, curled up in the curve of my arm next to my head, buzzing away as only kittens can. When she was able to walk and run, she would follow me around the house as I got ready for work, climbing up my trouser legs to leap onto my shoulder and deafen me with purring. She would wait at the front door for me to come home - she always knew when I was due back and would greet me with big meows and much bunting and purring.

She's a tabby, ginger, and tortoiseshell moggie, and is a very small cat. She also carries the Bangles scar of disapproval. She adored Bangles, following her around and now in her own grumpy old age she has many of the same habits that Bangles had. When the household split up, with Bangles going with my mother, and my flatmate and I moving out to seperate abodes, I had an emotional talk to my flatmate, because I knew I was Lucie's human and that I wanted to keep her. And I did, but she still carries my friend's surname as one of hers, because without my friend, Lucie would never have been in my life. And I'm incredibly grateful for that.

The first house that Lucie lived in had all tiled floors, and she loved to lie on her side and be pushed along the floors at speed - she would bounce up against the soft cushioned modular sofa and come bounding back down the corridor and flop on her side in front of me for another go. In the second house, she had a companion kitten, called Moglet, and they would play Kitty Soccer with Kinder Surprise eggs (the plastic containers for the toys, which I collected at the time) up and down the corridor at all hours. Lucie helped MightyOgbo heal from dental surgery in our third house, and also learned how to turn the heater on and up. She killed mice and left their corpes, paws and head removed and neatly laid next to the torso, in the middle of the floor for us to find. She survived my crash and burn phase in my early 20s, and played with the mist when I moved to the mountains. I remember when I had a house inspection and I wasn't supposed to have a cat and I had locked her outside but she really really liked the real estate agent and kept wrapping around his ankles and I had to attempt to lie and claim that she wasn't my cat.

She doesn't really like people - she barely tolerates my presence - but she can surprise you occasionally. She likes to wake me up by patting me on the face - gently at first, but if she doesn't get a response the claws emerge. There's nothing quite so painful as a claw hooked into the lower lip. Ouch.

She's grumpy and scratchy and dribbles when she's really happy and only lets you pat her on her terms and at her chosen time (which is usually at 3am), but she sleeps on the end of my bed and crawls across the keyboard when I'm trying to type and she's stayed with me through thick and thin. She's my girl.

Squeak

Squeak is not the most elegant of cats. I joke that she's only got one braincell, and occasionally I feel that I'm being generous when I say that. I found her sitting by the side of the road one night, and as is my wont, I gave her a bit of a scratch and said hello. That would have been the end of it, but she followed me home, across two cross streets, mrrowing and tangling my ankles up until I gave in and carried her home. Lucie was not pleased to have an addition to the household.

I think Squeak was abused as a very young kitten. When I first got her, she would hide under furniture and soil herself at any loud sounds - most particularly at the sound of matches being struck. She's a very needy cat still - her name comes from the sound she makes most of the day. She's very talkative, and always sounds a little put out. She used to compulsively clean herself whenever we moved house - I thought it was psychological, but have recently found out that she has flea allergy dermatitis. She's still a little OCD about things, so I continue to maintain that she's a bit damaged psychologically. However, the discovery of her allergy, and the subsequent cure, means that she is now a very fat pod. Very cute.

Squeak is very much the lap sitting attention requiring black and white sharp clawed purrer of doom. She has the loudest purr of any cat I've ever come across - the volume that you watch telly at depends on whether she's settling down to sleep (thus purring) or is already asleep (and not purring). She's a very friendly cat and loves nothing more than scritches from visitors.

Lucie and Squeak do not get on. There's rarely any out and out fighting, but there's a lot of hissing and swiping (Squeak bears the Lucie swipe of disapproval scar) and general "I was here before you" "Yeah, but I'm cuter" "Are not" "Am too" type of bickering. I think that if one of them was to go, the other would be a bit lonely, though.

Capel

Capel was a shortlived addition to the household. A friend of mine wanted to get rid of her, and I took her in because, well, I'm a big softie and she is awfully cute. Very chocolate box-y. Her name was originally spelled Qu'appelle (I think) but I changed that to something that was a bit more...well...Vulcan. Because I'm a geek, okay?

It was not a happy household of cats with Capel in the mix. She's way bigger than the other two, and very much an alpha cat, and you can't have two of those in the house. She used her size to batter my bedroom door in every night, and would chase the other cats out so that she could snuggle down. I also discovered that whilst I'm not allergic to short haired cats (thank goodness) I am a bit allergic when some of that long long Persian fur comes into the equation.

On the other hand, cute!! I brought her with me when I moved house, but managed to find her another home through CatMatch, and I think she's very happy. She's the centre of attention and has her own cushion and everything.

It's a bird, it's a plane...

2005-04-12T21:04:00.000+10:00

No, it's Zuckerbaby sitting on her arse. However, there are cute photos of kittens and cats to take away the pain.

You turn my world upside down...

2005-03-30T13:12:00.000+10:00

These guys have way too much time on their hands. But now I really want to do what they did!! (via Wacky Neighbour)

Smiling as the shit comes down...

2005-03-29T22:35:00.000+10:00

Paul Hester, drummer for Crowded House, took his own life over the weekend. There's not really much else to say except that I'm very saddened by this news, and that my thoughts go out to his family and friends.

It's a still life, Jim

2005-03-29T21:38:00.000+10:00

I love me some Spock, and it's always good to see that the man who brought him to life is a) still alive and b) still doing some interesting work on film - albeit from behind the lens. I'm probably the last person to know this, but Leonard Nimoy has taken to black and white photography quite seriously in the last few years (releasing the book Shekhina in 2003).

Due to some comments he made about Fat Actress, I had a bit of a trawl around the internet(s) and found his photography site. Which, praise be, contains some examples of his work. And, you know, he's awfully good. His upcoming exhibition (in the US only, sigh) is Maximum Beauty, a series of photos of plus size women. Note that a lot of his work is nudes, which is not so much with the safe to view if you are at work, but there's a couple of series that are of objects, and are very beautiful.

Whilst I'm on the Original series roll, I might as well mention that I've had William Shatner's (or WFS, to WWdN readers) 'Has Been' on high rotation in my listening machines for the last couple of months, and I cannot say enough good things about it. Have a listen if you get a chance - the middle four songs are a bit m'eh, but there are some gems there. Not least the rocking cover of Pulp's 'Common People', and the wonderfully funny title track. The wonderful bods at Fametracker have done a Fame Audit on Mr Shatner, which I recommend you cast your collective eyes over...

"Now is the age of the Queen..."

2005-03-20T15:33:00.000+11:00

I have been incredibly fortunate in the kindness of my friends since I have gotten back from New Zealand. One of the many kindnesses I have received was a ticket to see Peter Jackson speak at the State Theatre last weekend (as an added bonus, interviewed by David Stratton).

As I've mentioned previously, I have been a great fan of Peter Jackson for many years. I can remember incredibly clearly how I found out about him. It was around 1992ish, and I had a strange fixation on Russ Meyer films. I had picked up a street press magazine because it had a retrospective article on Russ Meyer (titled, I recall, "Storm in a D Cup"). On the opposite page was an interview with some Kiwi bloke about the freaky zombie flick he'd just made. I read the article, captured as I was by a description of the gore effects. So far as I can remember, somewhere in the interview, Peter Jackson commented that he'd made the film because a friend had a whole lot of animal innards on hand, and he'd thought that the best way to use them was to make a movie about zombies. Just the idea that you would (and could!) make a film because you had some materials kicking about blew me away. I vowed to see the movie when I got a chance, and eventually managed to catch it (where, I can't remember).

I kept my eye out for Peter Jackson's movies after that, always falling in love with the worlds that he created. And when the news finally leaked out that he was making the Lord of the Rings trilogy, my first reaction was not "Yay!! Finally, Lord of the Rings movies!!" but "Yay!! Finally, Peter Jackson is getting the work and recognition he deserves!!" I was absolutely convinced he would create a complete world, an emotionally resonant world, and that I would once again fall in love with it. And I did.

So, as you can imagine, I was tremendously excited to see him in person, and he really did not disappoint. He looked tired and seemed a little spaced, but given that he's still in principal photography for King Kong, that's not surprising. I was also slightly taken aback by his physical change - not quite so hobbitish any more. It was wonderful of him to give his time to support the LotR exhibition that has been travelling the globe.

The question and answer session didn't really cover new ground, but the humour and emotion that he brought was really engaging. My favourite moment was definitely when he was asked the question "When did you first read LotR?" and the answer he gave wandered into how he made Bad Taste over 7 years, with no funding, with his friends as cast and crew. And then in the middle of an answer to a different question he stopped for a moment and said "I never did tell you when I read LotR, did I?"

He kindly brought his own dvd of outtakes to show a deeply deeply appreciative audience. As Neb said to me afterwards, "I don't want to see Aragorn or Gandalf in outtakes - but fuck it was funny!!" There was an element of "Noooo!! Aragorn and an Uzi, it's all shades of wrong!!" but mostly it was a wonderful example of the willingness of the cast and crew to not only produce such strong work, but to take the mick occasionally (and very funnily). And flub (and ad lib) their lines beautifully ;) "They've gone into Fangorn? What the fuck did they do that for?!"

It was a truly amazing, and probably once in a lifetime experience, to share in Peter Jackson's passion, humour and memories of his life thus far as a writer/director. The memory of those two hours, in the darkened State Theatre, surrounded on all sides by other Peter Jackson fans (whether for LotR alone or all of his films, it doesn't matter), is very precious for me, and I feel very lucky to have been there. And the standing ovation he received at the end of the lecture was the tribute and thanks that we all gave for the joy and wonder (and occasional grossness) that he has given us over the years.

Bring on King Kong!

Goody Goody Yum Yum

2005-03-13T21:22:00.000+11:00

I had the inestimable pleasure and once in a lifetime opportunity to see the Goodies stage show last weekend. And not just once, but twice, which was very very cool.

The Goodies may have been just another comedy show in Britain, but in Australia they are part of our cultural landscape, part of our childhood. In Australia, generations grew up with the Goodies. The ABC, bless their cotton socks, decided to edit out "offensive" material, and present the tv show for kids. It was on before the nightly news, so every evening at 6 or 6.30, kids got to monopolise the telly watch an insane, inventive, and explosively funny comedy show. I'm pretty sure parents loved the show just as much.

And then as we all grew up, we would watch the repeats again and again and again. So much so, that I and most of my friends can quote entire episodes. (It also helps that I'm a complete geek). I would happily do "The Disco Heave" (from Saturday Night Grease) on those rare occasions that I was dragged out onto a dancefloor. And, of course, no moment of panic is complete without the classic recitation "I'm a teapot! I'm a teapot!"

The Goodies helped to launch me into a lifelong love affair with British comedy, and over time, I became quite an afficionado of the era out of which the Goodies sprang. It is wonderful to track the convoluted family tree that produced the Goodies and of course Monty Python, and to know that the branches are interwoven from Cambridge Circus to I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again to At Last the 1948 Show to Broaden Your Mind to How to Irritate People.

Thus it was a truly exciting experience during the live show to see Tim Brooke-Taylor don his smoking jacket as President of Cambridge Footlights and put Bill Oddie and Graeme Garden through their paces. I felt like I knew their secret history and now they were sharing it with the wider world and I was in on the joke. Many others in the audience greeted the mention of ISIRTA and Broaden Your Mind with rapturous applause, so I'm thinking I wasn't the only person feeling like that.

The Goodies - Alive on Stage was a tremendous experience. The three interspersed seemingly improvised banter and laughs with clips from the shows (to my lasting joy, they showed the bunfight at the OK Tea Rooms - brilliant!!) They also revealed what the ABC had deemed too naughty for telly - like this exchange from The End:

Tim "Don't mind him, he's pissed."
Graeme "Has he?"
Tim "Yes."

Much of the material they performed proved once again that Graeme Garden is the absolute king of comic timing. His "Pet Time" skit was beautifully timed and painfully funny.

The only part that felt slow was the radio sketch towards the end, but given that I had been laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face, a bit of a break may have been what the audience needed. And the fellers seemed to be having such a laugh during the skit that the audience followed their joy.

I was worried that seeing the Goodies up close and personal would break my heart, because of the absolute fact that they have aged. I wasn't sure that I ever wanted to see Tim, Bill and Graeme being old. And I have to admit, Tim's crooked hands and Graeme's slight limp, combined with the general loss of hair and greyness in the hair that was there was sad to see. But the joy with which they attacked the material, the verve that they brought to the stage, dimmed and diminished the evidence of age, and I swear I could see them as I had always seen them - best expressed in their song The In-Betweenies (number 7 on the British charts in 1975!!): "Too old to be a teenage idol, too young to be a mother's pet."

If you want to get back in touch with your inner Goodies fan (and I know you want to!) go to the official Goodies fan site. It's comprehensive, fun and there are many many Aussies drifting around there.

Go softly into that good night...

2005-03-06T23:07:00.000+11:00

On the way to writing a post, I stopped off at the Fametracker forums, as you do. Am now shattered to discover that they are closing down in just over a week.

So if you'll excuse me, there are some threads I really really need to read before they are taken away from me forever.

I'm so staying behind...

2005-02-28T12:15:00.000+11:00

Oh. My. Bloody. Hell.

via freakgirl

I know I went somewhere and did some stuff.

2005-02-27T19:54:00.000+11:00

"And when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give one accurate idea of any thing. We will know where we have gone - we will recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers, shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor, when we attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarrelling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers."

Quoting Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen

One of the hardest things about coming back from travelling has been the rush and confusion of images and impressions and sense memories from the last six weeks, all jostling against each other in a grand gridlock of sights and sounds.

This means that when someone asks me what I enjoyed? what did I see? where was the coolest place? did I have fun? one of the memory cars has to attempt a really cramped three point turn, avoiding other traffic, cutting through lanes, driver leaning out the window shouting incoherent abuse at stunned passengers, to get to the visualisation centre of my brain to allow me to answer. And more often than not, it's two or three random cars that take off, swapping doors and paintjobs and passengers, becoming a complete mishmash, and the answer I rattle off is along the lines of "Turquoise, mountains, mudpools, penguins, friendly, ferry, albatross, fucking huge, Wellington, tattoo, museums, paintings of Canterbury, Fruju mmmm."

I'm hoping that as I get the photos developed (I'm auctioning off my kidneys to finance the printing) my memories will unjumble and I will be able to remember the trip with clarity and not have to waste my time going "In Dunedin....no wait a second it might have...was it Wellington? Or that museum in...well, anyway, there was this really cool thing that I saw that was a thing and it was really cool and yeah totally."

"But first we need the car. And after that, the cocaine. And then the tape recorder, for special music, and some Acapulco shirts.

2005-02-22T09:12:00.000+11:00

The only way to prepare for a trip like this was to dress up like human peacocks and get crazy, then screech off across the desert and cover the story."

In amongst all the excitement of coming home, a really sad piece of news.

Hunter S. Thompson, inventor of gonzo journalism, drug addled lunatic, inspiration, genius, man with a cattle prod and not afraid to use it, died of a self inflicted gunshot wound over the weekend.

Since I first started reading him, his style and anger and general cussedness and unwillingness to put up with the copious amounts of bullshit spewed forth into the world through every form of media has been a huge inspiration to me.

Goodbye Hunter. Let the trip begin.

Things I've learnt in New Zealand

2005-02-21T10:05:00.000+11:00

...coaches don't have designated seating
...but cinemas do
...the likelihood of being turned into pedestrian pate is incredibly high
...there are very few marked pedestrian crossings
...most pedestrian crossings are indicated only by a dip in the pavement and groups of tourists huddled and growing old standing on said dips
...cars have right of way on zebra crossings
...and if they're turning, when the little green man has lit up
...if you get hit by a car on any of the pedestrian crossings, you are at fault
...it pays to only walk around cities when all the cars have gone to bed
...you order and pay and take a number at the counter at all cafes, none of this order, eat, pay business
...eskies are called chilly bins (which actually makes a lot of sense)
...thongs (flip flops) are called jandals (which...I don't know what to say about this)
...the two dollar coin is larger than the one dollar coin (which, as locals kept reminding me, is the right way around)
...bushwalking is tramping
...there really are sheep everywhere
...and cows
...and red deer
...and, as you might have guessed, ducks
...there are Visitor Information Centres in every town
...if there are only three buildings on the main street of a tiny town, one of them is guarenteed to be a Visitor Information Centre
...whoever built the roads was paid per corner
...Rose Gardens grace every town, city, park
...bees are three times the size of bees in Australia
...I have an accent that confuses people
...I have an American accent (a Pom thought this)
...I have a Kiwi accent (a Kiwi thought this)
...I have the BBC version of the Australian accent (a Kiwi thought this)
...ducks in large groups are quite scary
...goats are the spawn of Satan, and look it
...turkeys are incredibly ugly
...everyone drinks Speights beer (I'm assuming it's like VB)
...everything in New Zealand is the second biggest
...or third longest
...or eightyeighth highest
...or first coldest
...or twelth broadest
...in the world
...Kiwi people are ridiculously friendly, helpful, lovely, open, smiley, all embracing and loveable
...Kiwis (the bird) are very hard to see
...but incredibly cute when you do see them
...Rotorua really does smell like rotten eggs all of the time
...Mt Ruapehu is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen
...public transport in some of the cities leaves something to be desired
...soy milk is soya milk
...the honey smells great
...three quarters of backpackers are the most attractive people on earth (it's like a Beneton advert come to life)
...museums are fun
...art in all of its permutations is considered a viable career choice
...there are some ridiculously brilliant painters in the Canterbury region
...Maori culture and language is embedded into everything
...from street signs
...to museum information boards
...to train and coach commentaries
...did I mention the commentaries on coach trips? (Oy vey.)
...but the Waitangi Treaty is still questioned
...and Maori people are still protesting against the status quo
...there is more jade than you can poke a stick at in souvenir stores
...someone here thinks that ashtrays made out of paua shell are a good idea
...internet cafes are always full
...apostrophes are used in a bizarrely haphazard manner
...leading me to suffer from apostrophe fear
...the water tastes funny in Dunedin
...it's like they filtered the water through a pine scent car freshener
...if possible, towns will advertise themselves as "from the mountains to the sea"
...Te Papa museum in Wellington is the bestest museum in the world
...you can't smoke in bars
...but there are little specially set up smoker's areas everywhere
...recycling is still in its infancy
...the national dish is the toasted sandwich
...which explains why panini are so popular
...tourists are always welcome
...and often right
...everyone will ask you to come back
...rugby is a beautiful game, with poetry in every move
...or so I was told
...Australians are slow, stupid and do strange things with sheep
...but then again, you could say that about Kiwis
...if you can't take a joke, you're not any fun
...Australia is the West Island
...otters are very very small
...dolphins are really really big
...and incredibly playful
...and fearless
...and will turn human beings into whimpering giggling masses
...nowhere on earth is as mindmeltingly wondrous as these islands
...and I don't want to leave

A vegan's guide to foods in New Zealand.

2005-02-20T18:24:00.000+11:00

Having just had a fabulous dinner on my last night in New Zealand, I thought I might compare and contrast my favoured eating spots throughout these islands for your edification. I hope you're paying attention, there will be a pop quiz at some point in the future.

The contenders are:

North Island

Wellington

Midnight Espresso
Aunt Mena's Vegetarian Restaurant

South Island

Christchurch

Mainstreet Cafe and Bar

Dunedin

Arc Cafe

Okay then. Let's bring on the criteria, shall we?

Is the cafe/restaurant in a city to which I could reasonably write love poems?

That's a tick for Midnight Espresso and Aunt Mena's in Wellington, and also a tick for Arc Cafe in Dunedin (more sort of youthful amore, but not full blown love, poems here), but I'm sorry Mainstreet. I just want to be friends with Christchurch. It's not you, it's me.

What are the prices like?

Midnight Espresso - generally about $15 for a meal and at least two drinks.
Aunt Mena's - $10 to $20 for a meal and tea, depending on if you have an entree.

Mainstreet - about $20 for a meal and one drink.

Arc Cafe - about $15 for a meal and one drink.

And for breakfast we have?

Aunt Mena's is out of the running here, as it is a lunch/dinner place only.

Arc Cafe is also disqualified, as it has a 'brunch' menu, but they don't open until at least 11am, and thus I'm putting them solely in the lunch competition.

Midnight Espresso does a kickarse (and huge) scrambled tofu, with big toast and sweet chilli sauce. You can also get some very very good garlic mushrooms, though don't try that unless you're eating the only meal for the day.

Mainstreet's scrambled tofu was not to my taste, being incredibly, in fact painfully, salty to the point where I couldn't eat it. The toast is garlic topped, and the garlic and herb mushrooms are awfully good.

Now you've made me hungry for lunch...

Okay. Let's see now.

Midnight Espresso's lasagne is absolutely top notch, with not only the creamiest vegan bechemal I've ever had, but also a surprise addition of beetroot - which actually adds a level of sharp sweet flavour to the dish. It doesn't come with a side salad, but it's also only 5 bucks, so...

Mainstreet's "The Burger" is fantabulous. A chickpea pattie on giant pieces of garlic 'butter' soaked bread, with a tangy satay style sauce, tart chutney and a mass of salad.

Arc Cafe's warm pasta salad is great - it comes in a deceptively small bowl, but is very filling. And the combination of sundried tomatoes, penne, crisp greens and whole hazelnuts, with a hazelnut oil dressing, is light and refreshing. The Arc also does a bloody good marinated tofu burger, so huge that it has to be held together with a looooong toothpick.

I'm not sure I can manage dinner, but go on, tell me all about it...

Okay, this is where Aunt Mena's really comes into its own. The entire menu is vegetarian/vegan, with a mix of Asian styles, noodles, soups, stirfries, bizarre I can't believe it's not meats, and an impressive entree list. The servings are huge, the staff are awfully friendly, and the prices are pretty good - especially if you're in a group. They did, however, provide sickly sweet and sour style sauce with their fried dumplings when I was expecting the traditional vinegar, but that didn't stop me from going back!!

The nachos at Midnight Espresso are...interesting. The beans are spicy and wonderfully flavoured with cumin, but the accompaniments leave a little to be desired. There's no salsa, though there are sliced tomatoes, and the kalamata olives I can go with, but the absence of guacamole, and the presence of humous did throw me a little. The humous is a wonderfully creamy addition, and I can see what they're doing, but it was also very cumincentric, and thus there weren't the layers of flavour I expect out of a good nachos.

Tonight I had a damn fine lentil shepherd's pie with two impressive side salads at Mainstreet. The serving was oh dear I have to undo the top button of my trousers huge, the salads adding to that (the vegan options were a pasta and a steamed vegies in spicy tomato dressing salad - so I got both!) With a Monteith's Black...mmmm....good foods....

Arc's dinner menu is, well....I never managed to have dinner there as the kitchen closed before 8pm and the not kitchen options were generally vegetarian, not vegan. But the menu is essentially the same as lunch, if you ever manage to get there when the kitchen is still open...

Anybody got some Antacid? Erp. Tell me about dessert and/or sweet things...though very very quietly...and no jokes about something that's "wafer thin", alright?

Midnight Espresso has desserts that are not only bloody great to look at (decorated with fresh flowers and fruits and made into little pieces of art) but very tasty, and there's usually at least 3 vegan options. I tried a dangerous looking chocolate brownie that took me three seperate occasions to successfully finish. Very very rich, topped with fresh strawberries and with some berries and nuts hidden in the chocolate depths. Do not attempt on your own. Share with someone. Or two someones. Really.

Aunt Mena's has a secret vegan carrot cake/halwa thing that you have to know to ask for, otherwise the desserts have great menu descriptions, and look pretty good, but I didn't give them a bash.

Can I rave about Mainstreet's sweets for a bit? Oh goody. Their chocolate rum ball is great and not as rich as the brownie (also not as ginormous), and their vegan biscuits are a large fruit and oat biscuit topped with a stupidly nummy thick thick layer of lemon icing.

Arc Cafe...sigh. Such good sweets. The chocolate and cointreau ball was sublime, and the ginger bites lovely with just the right hint of fresh ginger in the icing.

I need a coffee.

All the cafes in New Zealand appear to use VitaSoy as their soymilk of choice, and if you're not used to it (as I wasn't), that can come as a bit of a shock - I find VitaSoy very strong tasting. However, coffee in both of the islands is of a high high quality, and most places (and some surprising places) carry soymilk.

Midnight Espresso - very strong, coffee on the run (high demand at the counter)
Mainstreet - fairly strong, takes a while to get, but good when it's there.
Arc - I don't think I had a coffee at Arc, I mostly drank beer...Looked and smelt pretty good (the coffee, not the beer. Well, yeah, the beer was pretty good).

You keep talking about beer. So, can I get a beer with my meal, please? Yes, with breakfast. What's it to ya??

Midnight Espresso doesn't sell alcohol, and neither does Aunt Mena's (I don't think). Both Mainstreet and Arc sell alcohol, as both are cafe/bar/nightspot type deals.

Buy Monteiths. It proves that something good comes out of Greymouth.

New Zealand reds aren't too bad, either. Didn't try any whites.

Ambience (and by that I mean, hotties).

Oh dear. One track mind or what?

Midnight Espresso - dirty, noisy, ripped up party animals recovering the morning after, lots of black clothes, piercings, tattoos, bare feet or big boots, and the staff are all pretty hot (and have great personalities, obviously). I love this place.

Aunt Mena's - doesn't look too impressive from the outside, but the food kicks arse. And most of the staff are either under 18 or over 80, so unless that's your thing, not so much with the hotness. Though some of the regulars are a bit of okay ;)

Mainstreet - the vibe is a little upmarket, not so much with the fucked up societal dropouts. The courtyard is lovely and spacious, the staff are all sweet and friendly (yes, they're pretty also) and there's lots of lovingly polished heavy wood tables and chairs.

Arc Cafe - once again with the morning after recovering black clad pierced youngsters. The space is huge, with the band area out the back, tables in the centre and booths down one wall. The staff are awfully awfully pretty (one boy managed to rock the Irishman's mohawk, which is guarenteed to make most people look bloody stupid), and they play really really good music.

Which one wins?

Erm. No matter who wins, we lose?

Oh. No. Right. That's the tagline from a really crapola movie. Sorry.

They all win. Go to all of them. Lots of times. In fact, go to New Zealand lots of times. I plan on doing so!!

Vegans of the world, unite! And eat really good foods!!

One glacier, poised and ready to roll.

2005-02-19T10:42:00.000+11:00

The Franz Joseph Glacier, along with the Fox Glacier, on the West Coast (or Westland) is one of the few glaciers in the world that can be reached at ground level. The others are in Patagonia. Also, it feels like an anomaly when you are there, because it is a glacier surrounded by mountains and land covered in rainforest.

Now, my assumption about rainforest is that it's, well, hot and steamy and in no way an environment in which a gigantic lump of slowly moving ice would feel at home. But there you are. New Zealand. Land of surprising contrasts.

I had the wonderful experience of walking to the terminal face of the Franz Joseph Glacier a couple of days ago. It's a very popular destination for tourists staying in Franz Joseph. One could say the only destination - the town appears to be in existence only as a place for tourists to stay while they visit the glacier. It is exceptionally small, and the short but busy main street has alternating restaurants and centres for booking various exciting glacier adventure options. The streets that run parallel to the main street are all covered in motels and hostels and hotels. At one side of the main street is a helipad (which, on clear days, gives the town lots of sound and movement, as helicopter after helicopter takes off and lands). And surrounding this tiny grid are majestic green covered mountains, and occasional snow capped peaks, solid white and scattered snow across the top.

There are many ways to experience the glacier - the bog standard (not really, though) glacier terminal walk, half or full day glacier climbs, and of course, helicopter rides over the glacier, with the option of landing on the top and throwing snow at other passengers. Under sound advice from a friend who did the glacier climb last year, I avoided that due to not having the fitness levels of Superman nor the nimbleness of a mountain goat. And due to it being my last week, I am suffering from lack of resources, thus had to give away the idea of a helicopter ride. So glacier terminal walk it was.

To get to the glacier, you can either walk to the glacier carpark, or you can get a return shuttle bus. I am extremely lazy and got the shuttle bus - which is a good way to meet people to do the walk with, as I did: a lovely woman from Switzerland, who was a little blase about glaciers, and couldn't believe that a glacier could exist surrounded by the excessive greenery.

From the carpark, we went to the closest lookout, an elevated hillock where you can observe the glacier and surrounds. The glacier is nestled between two mountains (really, I guess, one mountain in the slow process of being cleaved in two - though not that slow, as Franz Joseph is currently moving forward at rate of a metre a day, which is astonishingly fast for a glacier), and starts off about half their height, but its peak is almost equal to the mountains on either side. The lower face is white and blue with dirt streaked and scattered on it, but at the peak, it seems pure white and the icy blue that you expect from a glacier. The land between the lookout point and the face is flat and rocky, a giant trail of destruction from the glacier's progress. As there had not been a huge amount of rain recently, the river that runs from the glacier was fairly low - but still fast moving and grey white. The colour is due to the glacier grinding down rocks, and creating silt that is carried in the meltoff to the river.

As we descended through lush overhanging vegetation, the ground went from hard packed dirt to soft rounded grey and white striped rocks. We had reached the flat land, and were seriously on our way to the glacier in the distance. The surrounding mountainsides had multiple waterfalls running down them, so there were many little fast running creeks and minirivers to traverse. There were also huge numbers of people toing and froing, from young children to older folks with walking sticks. Not a hard walk, really ;)

There were rocks of all shapes and sizes, ground and worn and softened by the progress of Franz Joseph. Hikers had created precarious stacks of rocks as they had passed, and these were to all appearances sculptures showing passing time. As we got much closer to the face, there was a wall on our right, with incongruous curves where all else about had eroded into more jagged shapes. The rock was red and covered in soft spots of emerald moss.

Up we went, leaping across stronger running streams, causing miniature avalanches of stones, hurriedly donning our parkas as the sun disappeared and an ice cold squall hit us square in the face. We came to the final ropes, beyond which were blue and red parka donned climbing groups, recovering from the descent and waiting to ascend. Franz Joseph itself loomed, the ice at the base a clearer blue than it had appeared at a distance. The ground sloping down from where we stood was littered with pieces of ice, and intricate shapes and hollows, both sharp and rounded, towered above us. As we stood and stared and tried to reconcile the blue and the white and peered upwards into tiny caves and envied those atop the ice, a sudden cracking sound came from our left.

A metre square piece of ice broke from the glacier, slowly tumbling down, hitting and bouncing off the surface, breaking down into smaller and smaller pieces until a scatter of fist sized ice stones joined the rest at the bottom of Franz Joseph. Ready to melt down and join the rushing river.

"But no, I can't have fiords, they're not 'equatorial' enough!"

2005-02-17T10:51:00.000+11:00

You'll be glad to know that I have not placed myself in the hands of mystics to explore the meaning of the universe as expressed by the scenery in and around Fiordland and Westland...but I'm bloody close.

Milford Sound, eh? Not actually a sound, by the way, it is a Fiord. But the word Fiord hadn't entered the English language when Milford was named, so Sound it is.

Having a small Slartibartfast moment - "I happen to like fiords, I think they give a continent a lovely baroque feel." Mostly I'm procrastinating because I'm not sure I can put Milford Sound into words - well, words that will convey the sheer scale and majesty and magic of it.

I'll just start and see where I end up, eh?

I was on a bus-cruise-bus trip, going from Queenstown to Milford Sound and back, by way of mindnumbingly beautiful mountains and beech forests. From Queenstown we followed The Remarkables, freshly dusted with snow at the very peaks, on the left, and Lake Wakatipu on the right. Definitely a trip where I didn't know where to look, because all of it is so absorbing and changes with every kilometre and shifting cloud mass above.

The Remarkables...towering and sheer and craggy and folded and bare and...gosh. Draped with cloud, torn shreds of mist clinging to their sides, crevasses and crags jostling together, with boulders and occasional pieces of greenery clinging to their sides.

Lake Wakatipu...dark dark green and blue water, soft and powerful, the longest lake in the South Island (I think in New Zealand), populated with islets and spits of land thrust forward from the shore.

After Te Anau (which, gosh also), we started making "Photo Stops" on the way to the Sound. And, thank goodness we did. We had entered the Southern Alps, and my good gracious. We stopped, after coming along a very windy pass, at a tussock covered plain, surrounded by green beech covered mountains, and one massive black craggy snow capped mountain dominating the surroundings. From the bus, it seemed very pretty, but when I stepped out onto the plain, the scale of the landscape hit me like a ton of...well, mountainside, I guess. It's like the mountains changed from flat 2D to surround sound 3D by taking that one step onto the land.

Mirror Lake was just that - a lake bordered and in some places covered by lush forest, but with glassy waters that reflected the mountains that are behind it with absolute clarity. Ducks floating on the water appeared to be scaling the peaks of the mountains. And there were moss covered branches leaning out over the water, slowly dripping condensation.

When we got to Milford Sound, I was gobsmacked initially by the sheer mass of people there. It's a damned popular destination, what? The boats that were waiting at the dock were massive, all closed in except for the top deck. Thankfully, as I was on the Nature Tour (as opposed to the Scenic Tour - got to spend 2 and a half hours out there!!), we were on a smaller boat (shaped like a ye olde craft, with sails and everything), and there were open air viewing places on every deck.

After getting on the boat, I dared to look up, and good golly Miss Molly (I'm trying to find a way to expostulate on the wonders of the world without saying "Fuck". Do you know how hard that is?) Behind me (I was sitting facing out into the Sound), behind the dock, were the peaks through which I had just travelled. On my right was a sheer wall of stone, the rock split and sundered and covered in moss and ferns. To my left was another range of mountains, and in front of me was what would be two valleys if they weren't, you know, covered in water.

As we moved forward, to go into the 'valley' on the left, passing on our right was a triangular, massive, carved out mountainous mass, covered in trees and sporting a magnificent waterfall. On my left, and much closer, another mountainous mass with less greenery, but with shattered stone ledges edging out above us.

The scale of the scenery is really hard to get across, was really hard to get into perspective when we were there. I guess this is how I managed to fit the concept into my head. We were cruising right next to the walls on our left. Across the water, cruising underneath the waterfall, next to the first massive piece of mountain, was a three or four deck high craft, probably holding over a hundred people, and it was like a very small toy boat next to your knee in the bath.

Spent an awful lot of time staring upwards. And took, including the trip there, about 120 photographs. And I don't think any one of them is going to do the experience justice.

As we moved along the sheer wall to our left, and looked up, mountains behind the sound began to loom above the walls around us. Their peaks covered in cloud, the lines of waterfalls all down their sides, their golden sheen contrasting with the dark and mossy and occasionally tree covered bulk below them and next to us.

We got to see the results of tree avalanches - the beeches have very shallow root systems to allow them to grow on these sheer rocky surfaces, and so they tangle together with the trees around them. This helps them cling to the mountainsides, but when there has been particularly heavy rainfall or snowfall, the roots loosen and hundreds of trees are pulled down in an avalanche, leaving a great scar in the midst of green. This scar eventually becomes mossy, and then ferns start to grow there, and the ferns will break down and trees can begin to grow on the sparse soil afforded by the ferns and moss breaking down. There were a number of tree avalanche scars on the peaks around us. Constantly changing scenery...

Looking behind us, as we travelled out towards the Tasman Sea, the peaks and walls that we had gone past rose up and towered in the distance. Perspective changed, and they were softer and capped in light snow and thick white cloud, with a dark mossy green colouring the steep slopes down to the dark and calm waters around them.

Did I mention the music of Milford Sound? As we made our way out into the Sound proper, the "day wind" was enthusiastically whipping hats off heads and causing a number of people to abandon their outside viewpoints. But not me, gentle reader. Are you kidding?? The wind, rushing through the tunnels made by the peaks caused a mournful, echoing keening, which was our constant companion. The lack of it was the first thing I noticed when we made our way out into the Tasman Sea. And when we went back, along the other side of the Sound, the wind was behind us, being caught in our sails, and the music was no longer.

But it was not needed, as joyous laughter and shouts of sheer happiness accompanied us as we came back into the Sound. This was because we were joined by a pod of bottle nosed dolphins, racing the boat, playing in the wake and leaping alongside us. I was lucky enough to have moved down to the lower deck by this time, so I hung over the railing and cooed and called encouragement to these huge beautiful joyful frolicking lovelies.

After they left us, there was a contemplative silence, and then we all started to look upwards again - I had missed an awful lot of the scenery around me due to concentrating on the dolphins. But it was bloody worth it, they brought another level of happy to the experience.

We went past Seal Rock, which, strangely enough, had seals hanging out on it. Who would have thunk it, eh?

The side of the Sound that we were now on had a number of waterfalls coming off it, the first one being 50 storeys high. These waterfalls are made up of the melting snow on the top of the peaks, and rain. They carve the rock, bouncing off crags and flattening greenery. I was standing in the prow (that's the front, right?) of the boat, and the captain took us into just metres of the base of a waterfall (I keep thinking it's the Spencer Waterfall, but I'm pretty sure I've got the name wrong). The spray off the waterfall was light and refreshing and constant. As the waterfall hits the water, it causes the surface to change from pounamu (jade) green to a milky dark turquoise, with white concentric ripples coming from the meeting of rushing waterfall and still water. I stood, eyes closed, hands outspread palm upwards, as close to the front as possible, whilst other people backed away from the spray. My heart was open, and laughter spilled out from me, as I held myself in that one moment. Standing in the spray of a subalpine waterfall in the middle of Milford Sound, the most heart stoppingly beautiful place in a country of inexpressible beauty.

The rest of the journey was the calmness that comes after a tremendously moving experience. I sat on the top deck again, watching the scenery slide by, a huge smile on my face, hugging myself with sheer joy. We passed mountains that made me want to paint, and waterfalls that made me want to sing, and craggy peaks that made me want to stop and photograph them forever.

We sat, watching the distant peaks come closer, the perspective sliding and changing, landscape undulating and folding and shifting, green and black and embraced by cloud, mist rising off faroff waters, magic in every breath.

The trip home was silent and exhausted. There is no way to fit Milford Sound into your heart and head and world view in the couple of hours that you are there. There is every possibility that you never fully appreciate it. I wanted to be on the cruise forever, just going around and around and around, and seeing something new and tremendous and moving with every moment. I hope that I never lose the memory and the feeling of my time in Milford Sound, and that I have been able to describe even a little of the experience in these meagre words.

Addendum to "...naming"

2005-02-14T16:57:00.000+11:00

Erm. I think I have this post from Uncle Bob on the brain.

It's Roxburgh, Otago, not Roxbury.

I knew there something a bit off...

"Bad break up?" "Believe me when I say 'Uh Huh'"

2005-02-14T15:24:00.000+11:00

I had hoped to avoid remembering the manufactured holiday that is going on today. Thus, I was doing my utmost today to avoid people. Because, as we know, there's nothing more likely to establish you as a social leper than wandering around by yourself, not clutching a rose and a stupid soppy look on your face, or gossiping to your friends about the lovely jewellery or dinner or dress or lingerie or car or picnic or whatever dim witted present your dim witted partner has deigned to give to you today to prove that they love you more on this particular day than on any other day.

Yes, I am single. Why do you ask?

To all of my friends who are lucky enough to have a partner, I say: Happy Valentine's Day. Snuggle with your honey and love them with all of your heart. Today and every day.

Wonderful restraint in the naming...

2005-02-14T15:04:00.000+11:00

Queenstown. Adventure capital of New Zealand, if not the world. And I have successfully avoided anything even vaguely likely to induce adrenalin rushes.

Unless you count, you know, the fucking scenery!!

The mountains start to really come into their own as you cross Central Otago, as I did when I got the coach from Dunedin to Queenstown yesterday. There are some tell tale signs in the distance, about an hour into the four hour journey, that something tremendous is there, just at the edge of your vision. But it's not until you come out of Roxbury that the mountains really hit their stride. Suddenly, you are surrounded by the bones of the earth, boulders appearing in the sides of hills around you, a ring of darker blue mountains behind those hills, patches of white in the upper reaches that you just now are patches of unmelted snow. Then, there are no hills anymore, but gradually growing mountains ranges all around you, above you, in front of you, towering and magnificent. The valley through which you are travelling is split down the centre by a rushing, dangerous, river - rich, deep, bright green glacial waters. And then, just when you think that the mountains cannot make you heart sing any more than it already is, that your soul could not be elevated any higher, that the tears streaming down your face and the laughter bubbling out of your throat will finally wind down, The Remarkables hove into view.

I don't see how the residents (and visitors) of Queenstown ever get anything mundane done, let alone the adventure sports that everyone comes here to do. I kept tripping over my own feet and swallowing flies today because I was, open mouthed, staring up at the surrounding mountains, mindful only of their overwhelming beauty and grandeur.

I'm going to Milford Sound tomorrow. You may not hear from me again, because if the experience is any more spiritual than that which I had on the approach to, and walking around, Queenstown, I'm booking myself into the next monastic establishment I can find.

You quacking at me? You quacking at me? You must be quacking at me, I don't see anyone else here!!

2005-02-14T14:57:00.000+11:00

Wandering around the Queenstown Botanic Gardens this afternoon, I was forcefully struck by the way to ensure world peace.

Ducks.

Yup, you heard me. Get all the world leaders to hang out around a duck pond, where ducks are going about their awesomely cute business (fluffing their feathers, scritching their heads, snoozing woozily on the surface of the water, waddling in search of food, flapping their wings and thus revealing the deep blue feathers - the list just goes on and on!!) and everyone will be so chilled out and transfixed by this extremely calming experience that they will immediately sign the papers that will ensure peace, not only in our time, but for all time.

And one of the subclauses of that contract will be that there are fully populated duck ponds placed at strategic points along borders and throughout troubled countries and neighbourhoods.

Ducks = World Peace.

Trust me.

Good things come to those who wait, they say.

2005-02-12T14:16:00.000+11:00

Okay, I'm way behind the times here, but I just wanted to quickly note that Mr Wil Wheaton has gotten a gig on CSI, which is probably the best thing that could happen to him right now. He seems like a nice guy, he's an excellent writer, and he doesn't get them acting breaks as often as he should.

Plus, one of his cats is not very well, so take a couple of minutes to send some good thoughts to Sketch.

Also, give his blog a big ole read if you haven't already - you'll find it deeply addictive...

What fucker said "Och ay the noo"?! I'm surprised you can see me, you fucking wanker!

2005-02-12T13:36:00.000+11:00

Every day in an unknown city or town can bring a surprise, a joyous experience, and a sense of the truly ridiculous yet fascinating and wonderful nature of being human.

I had undertaken to wander the streets of Dunedin today, since it's overcast but not bucketing down, and I'm ably protected by my giant red shiny anorak (I'm in love with my anorak. It's such a silly looking yet functional object. How could you not love it? Plus, warm. And, as I mentioned, bright red). It's my last full day in Dunedin, and I want to take one last full look around.

As I came down the hill from my favoured noshing spot, the Arc Cafe, I caught a gust of bagpipe music on the wind. But then it quieted down, so I thought it was just a store playing up the Scottishness of Dunedin (I'm sure you all know that Dunedin was settled by protestant Scots, is the gaelic name for Edinburgh, has a statue of Robbie Burns in the centre of the Octagon [with his back to the cathedral, I might add], and in one of the back streets, there is a Rob Roy Dairy store. Well, if you didn't know that before, now you do).

I turned a corner, and in front of me, the resultant music echoing down the street, was a full pipe band, practising their little tartan clad hearts out. And, just at the edge of my vision, was another band. Oh, and look over there! Several scattered musicians wandering disconsolately around the park, clutching their instruments to their fronts, buffeted by the sudden strong wind.

There was a cacophany of noise, different tunes played in different sections of the Octagon, all melding together as the wind whipped one way and then another. Sitting on benches, holding balloons, eating hot dogs, looking at the other bands - everywhere were men and women in kilts and long socks, covered by a variety of wet weather gear.

I found my way down to the sound shell, where a pipe band were in full swing. I actually quite like bagpipes when they're played well, and there's nothing quite like a full pipe band to get your foot tapping.

No, seriously.

I found someone to tell me what on earth was going on - I had abandoned my original idea that there was some sort of clan war going on, and the bagpipes were being used as offensive weapons (because, like any instrument, in the wrong hands they are deeply deeply offensive). My informant was a fully attired (though in tartan trousers, not a kilt) drum major, but I think the main reason I talked to him was because he was also a very tattooed and pierced, fully attired drum major. You can bet your sweet bippy that I got a photo of him!!

Anyway, today, Dunedin is hosting the annual Pipe Bands Competition. So there were always at least two bands playing and being judged, plus a number of other bands winding down or warming up. They play in a circle, facing each other, with the bass drum standing in the circle, slightly off centre. Then, when finished, they very smartly march off. I guess the judging takes into account not only the music and musical prowess, but also the presentation.

I watched until the last band played, and the placings were announced. After the last two bands had finished and everyone had drifted away, there was silence, broken only by the mournful sound of multiple bagpipes being deflated.

"What are those round things on the ground?" Erm. They're sheep shit. Don't play with them.

2005-02-11T13:12:00.000+11:00

Yesterday afternoon and evening were spend wandering over farmland and along and above a beach, on a truly fantastic ecotour.

The ecotour has a limit of ten people per party (though there are three tours going at once), and takes you through a variety of wildlife habitats and viewing.

We started off with birdwatching (which, given that I appear to be turning into a bird geek) was awfully fun. We saw a Royal Spoonbill and Pied Oystercatchers and a Kingfisher and...well, lots of native and introduced birds. Very cool.

Then we went to see juvenile Royal Albatrosses doing their gliding and circling and flying for days and days and not landing thing. The area where they nest is unusual, as it is on the mainland - usually albatrosses nest on islands. However, it is a small spit of land jutting out into the sea, so it does have the feel of an island. Watching an albatross while it's showing off is truly amazing, they are catching the wind currents and gliding through the air with absolute stillness.

The major part of the ecotour is the penguin reserve, which is on a beach adjacent to farmland. So we had to walk down a couple of 'hills' (which, as anyone who has been to New Zealand knows, are not what normal human beings would call hills. They are...well, not mountains, but they're too intensely craggy and steep to warrant the fluffy epithet of hills), that are often the home to many sheep. Sheep shit dodging time. I'm fairly good at that, but some of my tour companions were not (after we got back to the hostel, a couple of girls spent the better part of an hour trying to clean the soles of their shoes).

Down on the beach, the first thing we saw was a tiny hole in a rock at the base of the hill, and inside, peeking shyly out, were a pair of Blue Penguins. Above the, on the hill, were a couple of cool as a cucumber Yellow Eyed Penguins. These were displaying unusual behaviour for penguins, what with the not running away in the face of a group of big non penguin things (especially as Yellow Eyed Penguins are incredibly antisocial, and hide from one another, let alone not-penguins).

I had never realised that penguins nested in grasses or scrub. I guess I've always just had the image of the Antarctic penguin habitat, and completely forgotten that they're, well, birds.

We made our way down the beach, to where there were several little groups of snoozing juvenile sea lions. And then we stood next to them. And the guide told us all about them, whilst they lazily flapped their flippers and occasionally opened their eyes and looked at us in a disinterested manner. It was really intense. And then we walked between two groups of them (given what the guide had said about sea lions - they moved faster on sand than we could,; if they got aggressive, he'd stand between us and them to take on their aggression; that, generally, they were not worried about us, but we shouldn't get cocky - I was surprised that we wandering so close to them. But amazing to do). We were only ever around 5 or 6 metres away from them.

In the distance, we'd been able to see some penguins making their way out of the surf at the other end of the beach, and preparing to go up to their nests up on the sheer hill next to the beach. We went to a hide at that end of the beach, and watched more and more penguins pop out of the ocean and cool themselves down from their intensive swims, by standing with their wings stuck straight out and their heads back (what I call the "Darling I'm home and I'm faaaabulous" stance).

Then we went up to the upper hide, which is above and opposite the nesting area. Those poor little short legged penguins, making their way up this cruel hill to their nests, only to be followed around by penguin chicks (often not their own!!) demanding food. It's a hard life to be a penguin.

I had a moment walking to the hide, where I was behind a big green cloth which should help hide us from the penguins, but was wearing a bright red parka (it was fecking cold and windy) that really couldn't be hidden, and on the other side of the cloth was a cooling down penguin, staring straight at me. It was very very cool.

We made our way back down to the beach, where the sea lions were getting warmed up to go out fishing. They do this by barking at each other and mock fighting. Mock it might be, but something about the barking went straight to the "Danger, danger!!" section of my brain. We stood, 6 metres away, chatting and looking at this big fucking sea lions having fights and getting their blood ready for killing. Really quite intense and scary, but tremendously exhilirating.

And then we walked between the now very noisy groups again!!! There was so much adrenalin pumping around my body that I was shaking. It was amazing.

We went back to the blue penguins, who were preparing to venture out (there was almost a full beak peeking out of the nest!!) and said goodbye, and then went across to the fur seal colony.

Which was up about three more 'hills', and then down another one. Stupid walking.

We were in a hide above the fur seal colony, watching the reunions between mothers and cubs. The cubs make the most heart rending calls, it was really hard to listen to them. You're aware that all they're doing is going "Hungry!! Feed me!! Feed me now!!", but the call is so pathetic, it brought tears to my eyes.

Because I'm a complete sop.

On the way home (note how I gloss over the walk back up all of the 'hills' to the tour bus?) we saw a Morepork.

The beach is part of a massive conservation effort, the ecotour is small and incredibly informative, the experience is something I am unlikely ever to repeat, and, if nothing else, I have heard the call of the Yellow Eyed penguin. Which is bloody loud.

Why is it always young men in record stores?

2005-02-11T11:43:00.000+11:00

Today I went to Records Records, a music shop that has been open in the same place in Dunedin for the last 30 years. When it was established, it was only supposed to run for a month.

It's a small converted terrace house, just off the Octagon. There's Jimi Hendrix and The Rolling Stones playing on the stereo, and posters papered all over the hallway, advertising gigs and retrospectives and art exhibitions. There are local indie papers mixed with glossy rags full of adverts for international artists. Today is grey and cool and drizzly, and the light coming through the overhanging tree in the tiny front garden was soft, augmenting the golden glow of the lightbulbs overhead.

The shop started because the resident of the house, a music reviewer, had hundreds of records that he wanted to get rid of. So he offered them up for sale, and the shop, which was initially unnamed, has been going ever since.

The collection is small, but comprehensive. There are two rooms, with high ceilings and Victoria terrace fireplace frontispiece intact. There is barely enough room to stand two people between the racks of cds and records. The collection is evenly split between vinyl and cd, and there are even some tapes for sale!!

There were a couple of young men wandering around, talking enthusiastically about the jazz influences apparent in Hendrix's music, and telling each other with absolute authority that "Yeah, that's a really good Iggy album. Did you know that Bowie played keyboards on that tour?" It's wonderful that each new generation of music lovers find out the same snippets, same secrets, and passes them on with the seriousness they deserve. It did, I have to admit, make me think of High Fidelity - more the book than the movie.

I ended up getting 4 cds, including a best of Split Enz, the soundtrack to Velvet Goldmine and two compilation of New Zealand indie music. One from the Flying Nun label, which has been going since the early 80s, and the other from a more recent label, Powertool Records. So that should be a good explore of the history of NZ music...

A step behind the rest of time

2005-02-11T11:38:00.000+11:00

Groovy and very cool vibe that it has, Dunedin has come close to being stuck in my mind as the place of annoyances, mishaps and general fuck ups. Which is sad, because it is an extremely cool place, and I'm totally prepared to adore it, and I don't want it coloured by the crapness of the last couple of days.

It's also been annoying because thus far everything on this trip has gone really smoothly, with no major hiccoughs.

And the things that went wrong haven't been major (even in Dunedin), but there were so many of them over the last couple of days that it just got to the point of me going "ARRRGH!! What are you trying to do to me, Dunedin??"

On the other hand, I don't want you to think that Dunedin has only provided me with crap experiences. As I've said, very very cool place, and have had some really extraordinary times already.

Christchurch log - Additional.

2005-02-07T17:30:00.000+11:00

I forgot to mention that there is an absolutely kickass vegan/vegetarian cafe/bar here in Christchurch as well. That's been great, and whilst it's not got my heart like Midnight Espresso in Wellington, the food's made a good bid for it!!

"The architectural style is Early Maniac"

2005-02-07T16:40:00.000+11:00

I was completely prepared to find Christchurch insipid, especially after the last week of Nature - Wow!

And, in a lot of ways, and much like Auckland, Christchurch is rather unprepossessing. Unlike Wellington, there is very little natural beauty to alleviate the 'city' feel - occasional glimpses of distant hills between buildings is about it. But it does have a certain naive charm - if a rather selfconciously inherited charm. It advertises itself as the "most English city in New Zealand", and it really does have that feel. The city itself is dominated by a Cathedral, there's a river running through the city, there's the Christchurch College, full of private school boys, a lot of the buildings are faux gothic and you've got Oxford and Cambridge Streets.

But, and this is the wonderful thing about most places, there are surprises and little bits of joy scattered throughout the city.

For a start, the river is, wait for it, the river Avon. Now, I don't know about you, but that just brings this to mind. And so every time someone says "The River Avon" I giggle to myself and get the theme tune in my head and start having naughty thoughts about an overacting 40 plus year old in bad seventies sf leather clothing.

So that's a bonus. Plus it gives the phrase "punting on the Avon" a whole new meaning.

*chirp chirp of crickets*

Well, no, it doesn't, but if you really stretch yourself you can force a little snort of laughter about it. Just for me, okay?

The Botanic Gardens are full of soooooo many ducks. I took some bread to feed them today, and there's something altogether cute, but also a little daunting, about being surrounded by 30 madly quaking ducks. Especially when they start having territorial battles and you realise one of them has sneaked behind you and is about to take the whole slice of bread out of your hand and there's another one under the seat who's trying to do the same thing and...But mostly, stupidly cute. Oh yeah, and there are some nice trees and flowers and stuff. And people punting on the Avon.

*snork*

Speaking of people punting on the Avon (*snerk*), there's also endless enjoyment to be had watching people who have no idea how to paddle a boat, trying to paddle a boat. Generally on a romantic date. It is a standard rule of thumb that the following does not a romantic date make:

You're struggling to pilot the vessel, and your date has given up and is staring off into the distance with her arms crossed, thinking "What did I ever ever see in this doink?" and you've gotten wedged into the banks, and ducks are slowing down around you and you just know that in amongst the quaking is some serious sniggering and then a punt full of people who paid someone who knows what they're doing to take them punting on the Avon (*giggle*) goes by and once again, though they're slightly more polite than the ducks, there's some pointing and muttering and general dissing of your punting style going on. And then there's me, on the bank, howling with laughter, wiping the tears out of my eyes, kicking my little legs in the air and generally being a right cow.

It would put a bit of a dent in the whole "romantic date" concept, dontcha think?

And then, in Cathedral Square, there is The Wizard. This guy is fucking fabulous. Every weekday during summer, he's there, orating away, with a good crowd around him, bringing down the status quo through fun. (The website's not working, by the way, but it should be up again soon). Here's a couple of quotes from the brochure he's had made up (because he's nothing if not a self promoter):

"Since being declared a living work of art by the New Zealand Art Gallery Directors Assocation almost 20 years ago, the Wizard has had the special freedom of a fictional character. Since 1968 he has had no wife, children, property or job, pays no taxes and has no state welfare assistance. He really has got nothing to lose and is arguably the freest individual in New Zealand."

"Another favourite topic is...to use relativity theory to show that there is no proof that the Earth is a sphere that orbits the Sun. He recommends voting to change the traditional frame of reference so that the Earth is turned inside out, becoming a relatively huge hole in matter with the rest of the universe inside it. He is also well known for printing and promoting maps of the world that are south up, showing New Zealand at the top." (I didn't manage to get one of those, darn it).

And much more, in a fantastically over the top, ironic, friendly and funny style. I highly recommend, if you find yourself in Christchurch between November and March, to take yourself to Cathedral Square between 1 and 2pm and give him a listen. Vastly entertaining and engaging and I'm kind of peeved that I'm going to miss his lectures, as I leave Christchurch tomorrow.

Finally, and this can't be stressed enough, there is a pub under the hostel I'm staying at that serves pints of Monteith's Black.

"I want the one without the gannet!"

2005-02-06T16:22:00.000+11:00

"Without the gannet?! You can't have it without the gannet! It's a standard British bird!!"

I've had a very birdlifecentric day today, in lovely downtown Christchurch. The Botanic Gardens are full of ducks of many stripes (but mostly spots), and also the museum has a huge bird exhibition.

Which is actually kind of icky, because they're all stuffed dead birds. Which means that when you see that they have 15 stuffed kiwis, you feel like shouting "And that's why they're fucking endangered!!" at the top of your lungs.

But I resisted. Only just.

The bird gallery did provide a couple of really really cool things.

One - There was a stuffed kakapo (another in the shouting to the gods cohort). This bird fascinates me, wholly due to Douglas Adams' fabulous tome Last Chance to See, and there hadn't been any examples of it in any of the other museums I've been to.

Okay, quick notes about the kakapo (for more info, I've linked to the wikipedia entry) - it is (to quote the much missed DNA) the world's biggest, fattest and least able to fly parrot. It doesn't form pairbonds for breeding - instead, what it does, in it's alpine or subalpine habitat, is dig out hollows that are acoustically perfect, and then sit in the middle of them and produce a booming noise. This is the male's "Come and get it, baby!!" call. The problem (one of many) is that the booming is not directional. So the male will be shouting "Come and get it, baby!!" and the female will be going "Yes, but where??" Also, females are only ready to mate once every three years (or something close) and thus the male will be shouting "Come and get it, baby!!" and the females will be studiously ignoring him. Is it any wonder Douglas Adams loved this bird?

Two - There was a bird call interactive display, and the kakapo's booming was there, so got to hear that.

Three - Due to the Bush Birds display, I realised I had seen a Weka when I was walking the Snout track in Picton (or more precisely, when I was convincing myself that I was not going to have a heart attack during one of my numerous rest stops whilst walking the Snout track in Picton). This is very very cool, because they are only just coming back into general habitation in those areas.

You should have seen the one that got away...

2005-02-05T09:16:00.000+11:00

For some reason, one of the things that has stuck with me from childhood is part of the Maori creation myth. I think I had a picture book when I was a kid that had Maori myths in it (not that the Parental Unit wanted me to become enthused about New Zealand or anything), and I remembered the story of the creation of the North Island because, frankly, I thought it was kind of gross.

And here's what I remember:

Maui's brothers were going fishing, but did not invite him. Maui found out about it and invited himself along. But he didn't have a hook or bait. So when they were in the middle of the ocean, he made a hook from the jawbone of his grandmother, and he bloodied his own nose and smeared the blood from it onto the jawbone, and that was the bait. This hook and bait worked out far better than anyone could have expected, for Maui caught a great fish, and heaved and heaved and heaved, and pulled the fish, which became the North Island, out of the sea. The South Island is the boat that Maui was in when he was fishing.

So the other really cool thing about Kaikoura, apart from the seal colonies and marine life and colours of the sea and mountains (which I haven't seen because of fog, but look darned impressive in photos, let me tell you), is this:

There is a point around Kaikoura which, in Maori legend, is where Maui placed his foot for balance and leverage, when he was pulling the North Island out of the sea with his fishing line.

Cool or what?

Don't call me Flipper!!

2005-02-05T08:54:00.000+11:00

Yesterday I saw two sperm whales do their breathing on the top of the water thing, and then dive to the very very deep depths around Kaikoura. I saw them from a boat from what felt like far too close, and yet not close enough.

Gosh.

That was an experience that's going to be with me for a very long time. Just...wow. With additional wow and good gracious bits attached.

I almost didn't get to see this most impressive of sights, as the sea was covered in a thick fog for most of yesterday, and the boat I went out in was the first boat to go out that day - and there was the possibility that it was going to have to go back in early, if the fog came back again.

But luckily, the fog burned off and the sea was as clear as clear could be, though a little choppy. Which concerned me, as my distant memories of going on a small boat did involve being deeply deeply seasick. But I had my ginger table and wrist bands and managed the entire trip without sickness.

You do tend to forget stupid things like seasickness when you're watching a whale do it's whale thing.

We saw two sperm whales. The Whale Watch team have given the whales identification names - the first one we saw was Big Nick (so named because he had a, erm, big nick in his dorsal fin). Big Nick has been spotted over the last 8 or 9 years in Kaikoura. The second one we saw was named Te Oki (I think), which means something like The Protector - so named because he had white scars on his head. Te Oki has been coming to Kaikoura for the last 12 or so years.

We also ended up being surrounded by a very enthusiastic pod of Dusky dolphins, who are often called the acrobats of the sea - and it was way easy to see why. They were leaping and flipping and diving and...it was just marvellous. They kept diving under the boat (the water is so clear that you could still see them after they'd dived) and then would leap out the other side, flipping and occasionally beating their tails on the surface of the water (which I think is either a territorial or sex thing). There were calves in the pod, and they were very happily leaping about and having what looked like a great time.

It was funny to see the difference in reaction between when we were viewing the whales and when we were viewing the dolphins.

There was a reverential silence when we watched the whales - there was a feeling of the group holding their collective breath, waiting for the dive. And then when the whale dove, a sigh rippled through everyone, and that was it.

The dolphins brought out quite a different reaction - everyone was laughing and cooing and oohing and aahing and pointing and joyful and it was all smiles everywhere. There is something all embracing about the playfulness of the dolphins, that engages you immediately - they seem to be having such a good time that they bring out the joy in your soul.

There were two very different reactions from the women on either side of me - as we pulled away from the pod of dolphins (though a couple followed us for a while, playing in our wake) the woman on my right looked at me, tears running down her face, and a huge smile, and said "That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." The woman on my left, pointing at the pod now performing for the next boat, said "They're just a bunch of tarts, aren't they?"

How many words are there for turquoise?

2005-02-05T08:45:00.000+11:00

The sea water in and around Kaikoura is a colour - or actually, several colours - that makes me angry.

There is no way that a naturally occuring phenomenon should contain colours that would not be out of place in a kid's paintbox.

In fact, the ocean in the bays around Kaikoura looks like the sort of painting a kid does of the way the ocean should look, and generally leads to this conversation:

"That's very pretty honey, but I really don't think that the sea is bright aqua. With edgings of office carpeting blue and occasional hints of hospital wall bright green."

But, if the kid was in Kaikoura doing the painting, they'd totally be painting from life!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!

It's so annoying!!!

Well, actually, no ,it's not annoying, it's actually stupidly, beautifully heart rending and moving and gorgeous. I'm just...You know that scene in So Long and Thanks For All The Fish? It goes something like this (from memory, because I can't be arsed to look it up):

Arthur is eating a swordfish steak at a seaside resort, and grabs the waiter and angrily demands "Why is this bloody swordfish so bloody good??" Fenchurch tells the startled waiter "Don't worry about my friend. He's suddenly very happy and he's still in shock."

Well, that's kind of how I feel about the sea here. "Why is the bloody sea so bloody beautiful??!"

Just had to get that off my chest.

10 Things I Hate About My Brain

2005-02-04T08:39:00.000+11:00

There are some stupid things that my brain has been doing during my trip around New Zealand, and I would like to enumerate them for you kind people.

1. Every time I see or hear "Ao Tea Roa", I start getting this running through my head: "Ao Tea Roa, I wanted to sail around the world. Living on the sea. That's the life for me. I just spent six months in a leaky boat..." And I don't know all of the words, so that just goes on and on in a loop. I love the song, but it's getting quite annoying.

2. Every time I see a poi, I get exactly the same reaction as in Point 1. This is because in the video clip for the song, there are Maori women doing poi dances.

3. Every time I wander around a Botanic or Rose Garden (and I've done that quite a bit), I find myself thinking in Austen language. And actions. It's quite disconcerting. Thank goodness no one has asked me a question whilst I was in that state, one is sure that one would be unable to reply without blushing. Oh gods, it's happening again.

4. Every time I went through the Wellington Gardens I kept looking around to see bits of where things from Peter Jackson's early movies could have been filmed.

5. Every time I went through cemeteries in Wellington I kept looking around to see where scenes from Braindead or The Frighteners could have been filmed.

6. At Wellington Zoo...you guys know where this is going, right? At Wellington Zoo, I kept looking around to see where scenes from Braindead could have been filmed.

7. In Wellington suburbs, I kept looking for the streets that Braindead or The Frighteners or Heavenly Creatures were filmed in. (Am I the only person who thinks that there should be a guidebook for the locations of other Peter Jackson films, not just Lord of the Rings?)

8. I've become something of an ornithologist, and actually think seagulls are kind of cute now. Pigeons, however, will always be rats of the air.

9. I go "Awwwww" every time I see sheep, or cows, or deer, or horses, or ducks on the hills that the coach I'm on is zooming through. I will occasionally go "Awwww" at the untenanted hills also.

10. I don't have a tenth, but I would like to reiterate the ridiculousness of the ongoing situation of Point 1.

I feel so much better for that. At least I am not continuously referencing Footrot Flats, eh?

Big boats mean that ZuckerBaby doesn't get seasick

2005-02-04T08:23:00.000+11:00

The ferry trip from Wellington to Picton is one of the most astounding experiences anyone could ever have. Just gorgeous and mindblowing and exhilirating and, above all, windy.

My mind is so blown away and expanded by the last few days of scenery that I'm worried I'm going to have to remove the top of my head to get the rest of the South Island scenery to fit in.

First of all, the ferry was fucking huge. And I mean "oh my god this thing is the fucking biggest thing I have ever seen, there are 9 decks and people are driving buses onto the lower decks" huge.

And as we moved away from Wellington, there was a great moment of warped perspective. I was looking back at the outskirts of Wellington, with the houses all the way up the mountain, and all of a sudden a new mountain began to appear from behind the existing mountain. And grow and begin to loom. It was amazing - from a distance out into the harbour, the background mountain was always there, but from up close I had never seen it. And if I'm not describing it well, that's because the scenery has now gone beyond rational use of superlatives, and into mind bending, religion inducing, wibbling beauty.

We passed outlets of the North Island, craggy and green and lush, with clouds nestling between the peaks, fog drifting down the sides of the mountains. The sea was deep deep dark blue-green, with bands of lighter turquoise, and wavelets appearing and disappearing all the way to the horizon.

And then we were out on the sea proper. No birds, no little islands, just sea and the horizon. The sudden sense of what it must have even vaguely been like for tiny craft on a giant ocean overcame me. Gosh. That's some scary shit.

A band of thick cloud in the distance slowly revealed itself as a wondrous optical illusion - it was in fact the first craggy outcroppings of the entrance to the South Island.

Land of the Long White Cloud, indeed.

Conversations with locals and other tales of terror

2005-02-04T08:09:00.000+11:00

Ah. An entire shop full of happy internet connected computers. No lines. No 3 bucks for 30 seconds. This is contentment in its purest form.

Okay, that's pushing it a bit, but after a few days of lack-of-decent-cheap(ish)-internet, I'm sooooo happy to be here!!

I'd never do travelling around the third world, would I?

I had a very odd conversation yesterday. I'm currently in Kaikoura, a tiny seaside town, with deeply deeply impressively terrifyingly huge mountains around it (or so I have sussed out through the incredibly thick fog and conversations with locals). The seashelf dips out as impressively under water as the mountains climb up around us, so the fishing is really really good here, and that seems to be the main source of employment for most people here. Alas, if you don't want to eat seafood, there's no eating out for you here ;)

The other form of collecting monies here is sea life tours. I'm supposed to be going on a whale watching expedition later on today, but I don't know if that's going to happen, due to said thick sea fog. I may have to be satisfied with my wandering around near a fur seal colony yesterday (and when I say 'near' I mean about 10 metres away, close enough to see their whiskers and be blown away by being so near to seals!)

And on the wander back from the seal colony is when I had the odd conversation. I always knew I'd get back to this point. Trust me, I'm your Narrator.

There was a woman selling seafood meals by the side of the road. I stopped to get a juice, and we got chatting. She eventually asked me what I did for a living, and I gave her my usual pat answer, which is "I work in IT". She said "What's IT?"

And you know what - for the life of me, I could not remember what "IT" stands for. Complete blank. It's something I haven't had to think about for so long - everyone knows what "IT" is, which is why I give that pat answer. Don't they? I hummed and hawed and awkward silenced it for a bit, then mumbled something about "software, sit in front of a computer all day, actually not working now" and fled. And about 30 seconds later, I remembered that it's "Information Technology".

Stupid stupid brain.

Ode to Wellington

2005-01-31T17:05:00.000+11:00

The skies are overcast today, though not grey. They are white and light and fluffy, and occasionally scraps of cloud have parted, and you can see the icy blue sky peeping shyly through, not entirely sure if it's going to make an appearance, demure in its covering clouds.

There is a rainbow circling the sun, multitude of colours clear and bright against the soft white clouds. People are standing and staring and pointing and laughing. How often do we get a gift like a perfect aureole of colours around the sun?

The mountains that surround this city can be seen clearly - there is no haze on the horizon, every tree and house and curve of hillside is visible. The greens range from darkest deepest green to trashy plastic Xmas tree green to Kermit green. The mountains unfold into hills which slowly creep down to meet the sea.

The sea is a crystalline deep blue, with jade at its' depths. There is a slate grey to some parts of the water, shading out into the blue of a true love's eyes, warm and welcoming and joyful. A double line of white cuts through the water, the trail behind a ferry, foam floating on the water and then slowly, miraculously, disappearing into the blue.

The air is clean and cool. Today is warm, sunny, but the breeze is brisk and sharp, cutting through heat, clearing away tiredness, and on occasion eating hats.

I started today with breakfast (well, lunch really) at Midnight Espresso on Cuba Street, my eating establishment of choice in Wellington, and quite possibly my favourite place in the world. This cafe is painted dark, with grafitti and posters everywhere, the furniture is chipped and beaten up, the food is presented covered in the most amazing garnishes - fresh flowers, leaves, pieces of fresh fruit and vegetables. You get your water from an old school glass water dispenser, which has lemon kebabs floating in it. The coffee is hot and strong and well made, the staff are funny and friendly and have remarkably good memories. The service is often self, as food is passed across the counter and you take it to your table. Or, as there are no table numbers, the staff will wander out of the kitchen, calling out the name of the foodstuff, in the hopes that someone will claim it. The music is loud and young, as is the crowd. And the crowd is numerous - often you'll drink half of your coffee standing, whilst you wait for a table to clear. This is a fucking great place. And the food is, as you would expect from somewhere that I like, a) mostly vegan and vegetarian and b) inventive, daring and really really good.

I followed lunch up with getting chatty with a local, Miss Savage, who I had actually seen briefly when I was waiting to get my tattoo done. She took me up to Upper Cuba Street, and told me all about the planned destruction that is going to take place up there. The council are demolishing a number of buildings (meaning that residents have to move and businesses either have to move or close down) to create a bypass that links up with a proposed 30 storey complex. This will replace a vibrant, creative, arty, alternative, freaky and alive part of Wellington. It's really really sad. And there has been very little protest, because there has been very little publicity - from what I understand, it has been advertised that Upper Cuba Street is in fact currently empty, and thus no one is losing their homes or their livelihoods in this "upgrade" of the city. Very very sad.

After this enlightening, but also depressing, interlude, I went up to Mt Victoria lookout, and saw Wellington spread out below me, clinging to the sides of mountains, worshipping the sea, and the sadness I felt about the goings on in Upper Cuba Street lifted a little. I followed a walking track down into Mt Victoria itself, during which time I found a little area that had been used for the first ever shot of the Lord of the Rings trilogy (at least I'm pretty sure I did - a lot of the vegetation gave a hint of what I was looking for, and there's no damn sign that says "This is where Frodo said "Get off the road!!"). Then I walked through a little bit of the suburb of Mt Victoria, where the houses are all older style double storey terraces, wooden facades, some in the height of repair, some with the second storey held up by great metal rods. The road slopes down sharply - at the top it ends in a mysterious looking tunnel topped by the rise of trees, and at the bottom of the road I was able to walk back to my hostel.

All of today, I have been very aware that this is my last day in Wellington, and that I haven't even scratched the surface of this dynamic, beautiful, laid back, friendly city. A little voice in my head keeps saying "Take a couple more days, go on, it'll be fine, just a couple more days". But the sensible part of my brain (damn sensible part) knows that it wouldn't be a couple more days. It would be forever. And I can't do that. Not yet. I have to admit, it's hard to leave a city where the citizens thank the bus driver, without fail, every time they get off the bus. But I'm forcing myself to leave, while I still can, before the magic of a city that has perfect rainbows above it, that contains mountains and sea in one horizon, that holds art and politics and pain and joy all jumbled together, can make it's way even further into my heart.

It's about movies, honestly...well, mostly.

2005-01-30T18:35:00.000+11:00

I have seen more movies at the cinema during my time(s) in Wellington than I had seen back at home in the last 6 months. Odd, yes? I guess you do some crazy things when you're on holiday (oh hold me back).

I saw Finding Neverland at the Embassy Theatre (which caused me to geek out a stupid amount, as it was at the Embassy Theatre that the Australasian premiere of The Two Towers and the world premiere of Return of the King took place). There was some meeping going on as I waited for the film to start, let me tell you. I think that's why I like the hostel where I'm staying in Wellington - I can walk outside and see the Embassy Theatre.

Where was I? Small moment of Peter Jackson worship got out of control there. It's hard not to do that in Wellington though, it is his home town, after all.

Ah yes. Finding Neverland. Rocked. Bloody excellent. I cried like a big girlie crybaby (note Johnny Depp pun. Ithankyo, Ithankyo). Go and see it, if you haven't already and it's still playing wherever it is that you reside.

I have also seen The Incredibles. Best.Movie.Ever. I have to see it again, but I will try and leave that for when I come back. It is such a bloody good film, and I'm peeved to see that it did not get an Oscar nomination for Best Film, but for Best Animated Feature. Humph. I reiterate my command - go and see it, if you haven't already and it's still playing wherever it is that you reside.

However, this run of excellence came to a grinding halt last night when I saw Alfie. Now, I pretty much knew what I was letting myself in for, but it was the only movie I could contemplate seeing at the time when I wanted to go to the movies (nothing, but nothing, could persuade me to see Alexander. I present to you Colin Farrell's eyebrows [and assorted other ridiculousness]. That is all.)

Now, I saw this movie for one reason only. The luminescent beauty that is Jude Law. He is truly one of the prettiest men of all time. There was a lot of the guh, fnurgh and meep in the viewing of this film. But nothing much else to it. It's worth seeing, as it is entirely centred upon Alfie, and there is, as a result, not a scene where Jude Law does not appear. However, it's probably only worth seeing on DVD. When it's a weekly.

I will have to see the original now to compare and contrast.

I am going to commit a hint of a spoiler here, so feel free to suddenly be distracted by something else if you are really worried about finding out something about the main character in this movie.

The character of Alfie is a selfish, self deluding, arrogant, misogynistic charmer who goes through a number of shattering experiences throughout the film - all of them brought about by his own actions. Okay? Okay. Keep this in mind when you read the following:

There were a group of teenage girls at the screening I went to, and I kid you not, this is their reaction to the ending of the film: "But Alfie was so nice!! He's such a sweetheart!! She totally didn't deserve him, what a bitch, etc".

*Bangs head against keyboard foiuhgvdofhbofvhpdzh*

What the fuck? Where did that come from? Who has the ability to turn shit into gold like that? I truly despair of young women - there seems to be almost a guarentee that women have to experience shit at the hands of men to be able to spot a bastard. Even a fictional one.

Sigh.

Be informed, be, be, informed

2005-01-29T08:23:00.000+11:00

I've been also not so much with the political stuff recently, due to lack of time and resources and quite frankly being determined to have a good time and that never happens if you actually take notice of what's happening in the real world.

Anyway...

There's a really good round up of the horrors of January 2005 (from a US being bastards perspective) on the Bob the Angry Flower site you will find in my links bar.

You should access this site anyway, because it's bloody good. If you haven't looked at it yet, this is a good introduction!!

Pain? I laugh in the face of pain (and then I bleed very quietly)!

2005-01-28T18:47:00.000+11:00

Okay, I realise that I haven't been so much with the sexndrugsnrocknroll in recent times. This is mostly due to a lack of any of the above in my current lifestyle, but let's not think that I've completely given up on occasionally visiting the edge (as I am no longer living on it...)

Got my official ZuckerBaby in New Zealand tattoo today.

You heard me, baybee.

Got off the bus in Wellington at 3pm, dumped my stuff at the hostel at 4pm (after saying hello to Thomas the hostel cat), dashed up to Underground Arts by 4.45pm and was on the tattooists chair at 5.30pm, tattooed up by 6.30pm.

Hah!!

Underground Arts is the tattoo parlour attached to the National Tattoo Museum. The guy who runs it is Steve Droog (that's what he says!!), and he is also the tattooist who did my new inkjob!!

I can't really describe the design accurately, but it's got something of a tribal design that I've had in my head for about 8 years, some very strong Maori influences, and Steve and I worked on it together which was cool. It's mostly line work, with spirals and some shading.

Steve doesn't use stencils. He prefers to draw up the design on paper, and then draw it onto your skin. He makes some minor flourishes and embellishing as he goes, always consulting before he does them.

The tattoo itself takes up a fair amount of skin on my upper left arm. It's going to be interesting to keep it out of the sun, because Steve kind of expanded a bit as he went, I think. Then again, I was almost asleep for most of it (oh yes, after the initial ouchy part, I just got into the Zen of the experience and spent a lot of time in another place. I'm sure everyone who has a tattoo has one of those places of their own!!)

And, best of all, the price came in waaaaaaaaayyyyyy under the I'm-not-going-to-get-it-if-it-costs-more-than-blah limit I had in my head. I won't be going on the LotR Wellington locations tour (it was an either/or deal), but I'm going to go to Mt Victoria, where some of my favourite bits were filmed (including the "Get off the Road!!" scene with the groovy contracting tunnel of trees from Fellowship of the Ring), so that's all good. And, as a bonus, free.

So yeah. Tattoos on both arms now. Whee!!! Steve took a photo of the design, so one day I'm going to come back to Wellington and go to Underground Arts and there will be the memory of an afternoon in 2005 in a photo album in the waiting room.

You think to yourself, look at this foolish rotund Belgian, eh? But 'is grey cells, they know the truth...

2005-01-28T18:35:00.000+11:00

Napier is a lovely and above all genteel town. It's very seasideian. With a side order of gin and tonic please waiter (at one of the, count them, THREE Irish pubs - this is out of five pubs in the city centre. Sigh).

Napier, and it's close neighbour, Hastings, are really interesting from an architectural point of view. Both towns were devestated when an earthquake measuring 7.9 on the Richter scale hit in February 1931. Napier's building were not only destroyed by the earthquake, but also by the fire which swept through minutes after the earthquake.

So the towns had to be rebuilt. During the Depression. And they were, in a ridiculously short two year period. Thus, most of the architecture is of the Art Deco school, with some Spanish Mission, Stripped Classical and hints of Art Nouveau here and there. There are also some beautiful examples of Art Deco patterns using Maori motifs.

And yes, this is why I went to Napier. I love Art Deco. It's such a vibrant, clean, distinctive style. It immediately calls up the Jazz Age and cocktails in the Bahamas with the New Woman, just before she hops in her motorcar and takes you to the airfield for a terrifying ride on one of those new fangled aeroplanes.

I have to admit, most of the time I was in Napier, I felt like I was in a seventies film adaptation of an Agatha Christie novel, perhaps starring Michael York.

Cats on a hostel's tin roof, part the second

2005-01-27T15:27:00.000+11:00

I had to publish the last post really fast because my computer had just made a hideous beeping noise and was about to shut down and I didn't have any more $2 coins and I wasn't going to let Blogger eat another post (there was one I had written about pedestrian traffic laws in NZ that has disappeared forever - or at least until I get the energy to write it again)...so here's the second part...

I didn't get to meet and greet the Rotorua hostel cat - the hostel I was staying in was stupidly huge and there were more than enough people for the cat to get sufficient scritches without me seeking it out. However, I did spot the little tabby stretching luxuriously in the morning sun whilst I was waiting for the shuttle to take me on a tour.

The cat in Rotorua that I did get to have a chat with was the cat at Te Whakarewarewa - it was a long haired tortoiseshell, and sat out the back of the park's cafe. After it deigned to allow me to give it a tickle behind the ears, it did the rounds of the outside tables, standing at people's feet and staring fixedly at them until they gave it a pat. If people didn't respond to the staring it would mrroorrww in an imperious manner and then, when they bent down to give it a pat, would move just out of the way just before they could touch it. Wily animal. It's name was Whaka (which is the short name for the park) - keep in mind that "Wh" is said as a soft "F" in Maori, and say the name out loud and have a bit of a giggle at the thought of shouting that out at dinner time.

I stayed in a lovely bed and breakfast in Hamilton, which cost less for a self contained unit than the room I had been in at Lake Taupo!! But then again, there's not a whole lot to do in Hamilton (except go to Matamata/Hobbiton), so that's kind of understandable. The cat there was a crotchety old black and white long hair called KC. She really didn't like people, but did decide to own my left leg with her tail.

And those are the cats that I have met so far in Godzone ("God's Own Country"). I love the fact that the hostels and parks have resident cats, and the way that the cats own a commercial establishment and the many people who come through the same way that my girls own their home and humans.

Cats on a hostel's tin roof

2005-01-26T18:42:00.000+11:00

Okay, the title is a stretch, but, well, it's my blog, not yours, so nernener.

I arrived in Napier today, and the first thing I noticed about this hostel (and additionally realised about the Auckland hostel) was that there was no hostel cat.

It's been a lovely reality of my trip that every hostel I've gone to has had a resident cat (or three) making themselves friendly to the backpackers. This has alleviated some (but not all!!) of my missing my pods angst.

In Wellington, there was Thomas (I think - will confirm when I get back there), an older ginger gentleman, whose favourite place was stretched across the printer on the reception desk - nice and warm. He used to live upstairs, but renovations had removed him from his old home, but occasionally he would sneak upstairs, and you would find him and put him in the lift and send him back to the ground floor to get fed and go to sleep.

He would also sit at the doors and wave people through in the morning and evening rush.

In Palmerston North, the hostel there had two resident cats, and an additional one who hung out there (neighbour's cat). These were all also older cats, and there was a short hair black and white (who would let you tickle her behind the ears and then when you least expected it go for the bite and scratch - awwwww), and a long hair black, who followed you around as you made and ate breakfast. The neighbour's cat was a ginger with only three legs. He would lie by the back door and stare at you until you gave him a scratch. I didn't even realise he only had three legs until the day I was leaving - he never seemed to move from his scratching spot in the sun.

In Taupo there was an absolutely gorgeous young chocolate point Persian with the clearest blue eyes. His favourite spot was across the reception desk when you were trying to check in or out ;) If you didn't give him a scratch, you didn't get checked in, his tail would get in the way!! I gave him a scratch in the special cat spot that makes them go cross eyed, and he tried to follow me out for more scratching!!

Carrot? What the? Oh alright then.

2005-01-26T18:30:00.000+11:00

I have been sampling a felafel roll in every town and city that I have been to in New Zealand, as felafels seem to be the best food choice of the vegan in a world gone mad.

There are a few differences in the New Zealand take on this delightful foodstuff that I would like to point out.

1. In New Zealand, one of the standard 'salads' to go on the roll is grated carrot. Which, after the initial shock, is actually quite nice.
2. There's this whole thing with using pita bread and not rolling it but splitting it and putting the felafel etc in it. That's just weird and wrong.
3. Much along the same lines, I have had pide bread rolls split in two as the containers for the felafel etc. Also weird and wrong (and very hard to eat - the sparrows got most of that one).
4. Whilst grated carrot is standard 'salad' in New Zealand, tomato is not.
5. Most of the time the felafel is made fresh while you wait. Now that is absolutely beautiful and right.
6. Probably due to the above point, felafels are of a higher taste standard here.

The best felafel roll I've had was in Taupo, from a tiny little place that I only found on my last night there (oh woe is me). Just right and the felafels were crunchy and cooked through and warm and the sauces were fresh and the service to get this slice of heaven was absolutely fabbo. The view of Mt Ruapehu and Mt Tongariro over Lake Taupo whilst I ate it helped out a bit as well ;)

I have now made it an additional task for myself to continue sampling felafel rolls everywhere I go. It makes for a new way to orient oneself in a town or city: "Yes, I can see the museum and the botanic gardens, but where's the damn felafel house??!"

Basalt rock dancing.

2005-01-25T16:23:00.000+11:00

Today I took a day trip to Rangitoto, which is one of the islands in the Hauraki Gulf, just off Auckland. You can get there by ferry.

Rangitoto is a volcanic island, which has only been around for about 700 years. The name mean Blood Red Sky (I wonder how that came about, eh, boys and girls?)

Took something called the "Volcanic Experience", which was a trundling tractor pulling a series of canopied seats, around and up the island. Then we got out and walked up to the crater rim (I've stood on the rim of a fucking volcano!!) and then up again to the summit, where there was a 360 degree view of the Hauraki Gulf and Auckland.

Fucking awesome (in the truest meaning of the word).

Get the fuck off my ice, beyotch!

2005-01-25T16:12:00.000+11:00

It's another hot day in Auckland, and I am very sweaty and slightly stinky, and a bit tired after a day of touristing.

Yesterday on the Explorer Bus was...interesting. The bus was filled with a whole bunch of Americans who were all on a round the world cruise, and their cruise ship had just docked. I guess they were seeing the "14 sights" and then getting back on the cruise ship to go to some other city and do the same thing. Strange way to spend 50 grand, but there you go.

And how do I know all of this information, you ask? Because, and I don't want to generalise here...but I will..., they were middle aged, middle class Americans. They.Would.Not.Shut.The.Fuck.Up. It was astonishing. It's like their mouths are constantly on autopilot, and the only input from their brain is to keep the mouth muscles going.

Escaped them and went to the museum, just in time for the Manaia group to present the "Maori Cultural Experience". This was songs and dance, performed by six young men and women. Much much better than at Rotorua - a lot more personal and with a lot more information. And slight differences in the standard dances and songs. Really enjoyed it. May go to yet another concert in the South Island, just to see how different it is there.

I then went to Kelly Tarlton's Underwater World and Antarctic Experience (it really is called that). I was mostly going because they have penguins there, and have recreated (as closely as possible) Antarctic conditions, so the penguins just chill out (as it were). Visitors can go through this area in a little enclosed train thing, and see the penguins eye to eye and close up. It was great. The penguins were fucking huge. And there was one that didn't like the train thingy at all, and followed us all around the enclosure, waving his wings and honking angrily.

That was fab. However, the Underwater Experience brought me out in claustrophobia, dizziness and extreme nausea, so I had to escape very quickly.

I don't think I'll do that again. Though I wouldn't mind another go on the Penguin Express.

Science fiction, double feature

2005-01-23T13:26:00.000+11:00

Well, here I am in sunny Auckland. I can't express quite how much I wish I was in Wellington. I'm not really sure why I'm here, apart from the fact that it's a major (the major, in fact) city in New Zealand, and I really feel I should have a squizz around.

Feeling oddly flat. There were 3 million sugar fuelled children on the coach from Hamilton to Auckland, and one of the little bastards sat next to me and repeatedly jabbed me in the side for nigh on two hours. I was tempted to tell him off, but I was worried if I started telling him off that it would never end, and I would close my days languishing in a psychiatric ward somewhere...

I think I'm going to do the full tourist thing on the Explorer bus tomorrow - right now it's the mid afternoon on a Sunday, I don't think that there's going to be much going on today anyway. I'll go to yet another museum (my brain is full of much knowledge that I find difficult to access), and an aquarium and "Antarctic Experience" because, well, penguins...

There's a cool sounding suburb that I might check out today - Ponsonby, which contains the 'hip', 'alternative' etc K Rd (the name of the road is stupidly long and hard to pronounce, so it's just referred to as K Rd). There's a vegan cafe there which will serve me for dinner (I hope it's open...)

Ooh!! Ooh!! Was successful yesterday in finding the Riff Raff statue - it was made by Weta Workshop (I love them even more and more!!) Very cute. It's kind of tucked away, so you do actually have to seek it out, but it's beautiful.

Counting down the days until I'm back in Wellington. I so have the smits with that city...

Freaky

2005-01-22T13:19:00.000+11:00

There was an earthquake in Upper Hutt (just outside of Wellington) yesterday. There's been lots of activity recently, impacting the geysers (they're going off more often and for longer) and a number of tremors have been happening around the lower part of the North Island. This is all most probably due to the quake that caused the Boxing Day tsunami. It's all pretty freaky.

"A wizard is never late..."

2005-01-21T14:10:00.000+11:00

Hobbiton, oh Hobbiton.

Yup. Went to Hobbiton today. Had a photo taken of me next to the party tree. Gazed around at a deeply familiar vista. Looked at hobbit holes. Stood outside of Bag End and stared down at the Party Tree and the lake, the baaing of (non startled) sheep and the lowing of cows and the quacking of ducks making up the background noise...oh to be a hobbit.

The set is not dressed, and the hobbit holes close up are obvious constructions, but you can see the shadows of Gandalf and Frodo, the dragon firework blazing across the lake, the children laughing and running, the dancing, Sam being mournful over Rosie...Hear "The Road Goes Ever On and On" in your mind's ear and in your mind's eye see Bilbo leaving Bag End...

Just wonderful.

In other news, I forgot to mention the hotness of the tour guide at Te Whakarewarewa in the last post. Oh yeah, boy, there was some serious hotness going on. Big emerald eyes, an aristocratic countenance, giant smile. Gulp. Wimped out of getting a photo of him, unfortunately.

Additionally, I have discovered (thank you, Information Site of Hamilton) that there is indeed a statue of Richard O'Brien as Riff Raff in the centre of town. I'm going to wander down there after I've posted this. Should be a giggle, if nothing else.

I sent a whole bunch of postcards from Rotorua yesterday (it seemed the thing to do), so I hope they get to everyone before I get back ;) Or at all (I'm a bit worried that I put them in the wrong sort of post box).

Bubbling mud pits and sulphurous smells

2005-01-20T14:26:00.000+11:00

I spend yesterday on a tour of the "Thermal Wonderland" - I went to Wai-o-tapu Thermal Park and Waimangu Volcanic Park. In Wai-o-tapu there are craters emitting sulphurous burps and mud pools, but the most beautiful thing I saw was the Champagne Lake - it's huge, and bright bright blue (the water is clear, but there are mineral deposits which cause the colour), with bright bright orange deposits along the edge, and it's always bubbling (thus the whole champagne comparison). There's always thermal steam coming off it...so stunning. The colours!! The contrasts!! The shapes!! The...everything!! I could have happily stayed there all day and not seen enough of it.

Waimangu is a park at the base of Mt Tarewara, which is where the Pink and White Terraces used to be, until 1886, when the mountain erupted, killing 150 people. The walk I did started from opposite the mountain, and worked its' way down to the base of the mountain, by Lake Rotomanu. It was wild and beautiful, and you could imagine it being the beginning of life - lush vegetation, steaming hillsides, bubbling pools, bright colours, craters and cracks in the mountain side all around you. That was by far my favourite park, with the added bonus that it seems to be less frequented by tourists - there weren't 20 million people all crowded around one fissure trying to take a photo of a wisp of steam.

Having said that, I went through about 3 rolls of film yesterday. I don't think many of the photos will do the experience justice, but I had to take them. If only one of them turns out well I'll be happy (hopefully of the Champagne Lake at Wai-o-tapu, or the Cathedral Rock at Waimangu).

This morning I went to Te Whakarewarewa, which is a Maori Arts and Culture Institute, leading into a thermal area, with geysers and mud pools. There's also a marae (meeting house) where I saw a Maori concert. It was ridiculously full of tourists, which made me very very quiet. You know, dangerously quiet...But I got over it. Went on a tour with a Maori guide, which was great. The concert, whilst really touristy, was great. They did a haka, and several poi dances, and some songs, and...lots of stuff.

I'm getting on a bus in a bit to go to Hamilton. I'm hoping that the article Neb found about there being a statue erected to Richard O'Brien (Riff Raff) in Hamilton wasn't a joke, because I really want to see that!

The Land of the Oft Startled Sheep

2005-01-20T13:53:00.000+11:00

They're everywhere when you're travelling around New Zealand. Fluffy slightly off white balls of cottonwool on spindly legs, masticating slowly and appearing completely devoid of thought.

One of the many things that gets me about these wool carriers is where they manage to get themselves. I had never realised before that mountain goat to sheep is a fairly close lollop on the evolutionary road. So the whole sheep clinging to the side of a steep hillside at a 45 degree angle to the ground, comfortably chewing to itself, came as a bit of a shock. But it really shouldn't have.

So I get that. I now understand that sheep can, and will, go anywhere in order to graze. What really gets me is the occasional Cow of the Mountain that you see. These giant milk machines, halfway up a mountain that would give Sir Edmund Hillary the willies, calmly cudding away. How the fuck do they get up there? How on earth do they get back down? Cow Helicoptor Rescue??

I think my favourite sheep behaviour is the startled response that they have to anything that isn't another sheep or grass or a hill. This was best shown when I was in the train from Auckland to Wellington. There'd be a mass of sheep, heads down, chomping away on the hapless grass, and then all of a sudden there's no more mass, they've scattered in a chaotic mix of running, leaping over invisible fences and pushing each other in the rush to get away from the train.

Amusing yes (because I'm sadistic and cruel). But even more amusing was when the pasture was not only fenced on one side by the train line, but on the other side by the highway. The action would unfold something like this:

Chewchewchew

Cudcudcud

Stare into distance.

Repeat.

"Shit! It's that noisy train shaped thing! Panic!!"

Trundletrundletrundle away from train shaped thing.

Screeching halt.

"Shit! It's those noisy car shaped things! Panic!!"

About turn.

Trundletrundletrundle away from car shaped things.

Screeching halt.

"Shit! It's that noisy train shaped thing! Panic!!"

About turn.

Trundletrundletrundle away from train shaped thing.

Screeching halt.

And so on. In the middle of all of this action would be a sheep who could not believe its' luck. It had just found the juiciest, nummiest, most cuddable patch of grass ever, and it's head down, grazing contentedly.

All the other sheep are still going with the trundletrundletrundle away from train shaped thing trundletrundletrundle away from car shaped things trundletrundletrundle away from train shaped thing etc.

The lucky sheep finally realises that something is going on. It looks up, mouth still chewing, grass sticking out the side. It sees the train. Its' eyes go wide. It sees the mass of sheep bearing down on it in their panicked run. Its' mouth falls open in shock, chewing forgotten, grass clinging to the lower lip.

The panicking sheep slow down and eventually come to a halt. They begin to whisper amongst themselves. "Hey, John there doesn't seem scared of either the noisy train or noisy car shaped things. He must be really brave." "Yeah." "Let's hide behind him!! He'll protect us!!" "Yeah!!" And with that, thirty sheep attempt to hide behind and under the one lucky sheep, who, startled expression still frozen on its' face, is slowly lifted up away from the luscious grass patch it had found, little legs waving slowly in the air, unknowing protector of the herd, grass patch sadly trampled forever more.

And thus, peace is restored to the rolling hills. Until the next time the train goes by.

My summer holiday, fit the eighth

2005-01-18T15:51:00.000+11:00

Here I am in Rotorua, having done my tourist-y things for today. Got in, checked in, wandered back into town and booked a day and a half's worth of tours. Yay me, really getting into the tourist mindset ;) Whilst I was booking said tours, bumped into a couple that I had been on a tour with yesterday. Lovely people, but gosh they like to natter. As only older middle aged middle class British people can, I guess. But it was funny and kind of nice that they came up and said hi.

Went to the Rotorua Museum, which is situated in an old Bath House, in the middle of the Government Gardens. The Bath House is huge and beautiful and completely ridiculous, as only Edwardian follies can be. The Bath House is where people used to come to "take the cure" by bathing in various types of waters and mud from Rotorua. Marvellous. There's a whole section of the museum with all the baths etcetera still vaguely intact. Brilliant. Made me giggle, and also go "oooohhh pretty" about the tiling and all that guff.

The Gardens are so very English, with croquet pitches and bowling greens. Giggling again. Sat by a pagoda and read my newly purchased "Guide to Lord of the Rings Locations" book (yes, geek. Wotchagonnamakeofit?), and was gratified to see that I had at least seen (albeit from either a moving train or bus) a number of the locations on my journey thus far.

Am getting far too excited about the upcoming Hobbiton tour, which I'm hoping will happen in the next week or so. It's very very exciting. I've seen some pictures, and so much of it is still there. I just hope that other people are sobbing uncontrollably when they get there, because I don't know if I'll make it through Hobbiton without having a bit of a sob.

Going to do the "Thermal Experience" tour tomorrow - should be wacky. Can't even remember what it entails (apart from a volcano walk, which sounds too damned good to be true), but I'll be sure to update this blog again after the experience. And then the next day am going to Te Whakarewarewa thermal reserve,where I'll get to see a concert as well as geysers and other thermal thingies.

And then on to Auckland.

I'm not sure if I can keep this pace up for the entire trip ;)

Got some postcards today - well, I am in the tourism mecca of New Zealand, I should really take part ;) Now all I have to do is find a post office...bit late to think of that today. Ah well. They'll keep - though they may get slightly battered.

Addendum to Mr Spock post

2005-01-18T15:49:00.000+11:00

Ruapehu? Did I say Ruapehu? I must be really obsessed with that mountain. What I meant was Rotorua.

My brain. Too much mindboggling landscape. No brain function left except to go "oooohhhhh pretty".