Thursday, February 23, 2006

South Park

South Park | February 22nd 2006


As a great character from a classic movie once said;
“It’s a fine line between clever and stupid.”
Which is interesting because the line kind of demonstrates what it’s saying. Because the line sounds stupid BUT it is clever too. Like the movie the line came from - “Spinal Tap”.
And it’s one of my things I love the most; being clever and stupid simultaneously, to be able to walk the line between the two, to traverse the gulf.
The master of walking that line, hell they dance all over that m**ther F***er has to be controversial TV show of the moment - SOUTH PARK.

I have been a huge fan of South Park for a long while.. Which is why it is so disconcerting and strange to have, what Don Brash lovingly describes as “The Mainstream”, placing their ignorant, grubby paws all over it.
When I hear Paul Holmes talking about it on the Radio it’s just plain weird. I feel in some way protective of the damn thing.
Leave the boys alone!
I have the need to circle the wagons in defence, to keep out the squares and the bores - the mediocre, the hoi polloi.
And it is disturbing that I have not heard ONE person on the radio, TV, anywhere say they think the show is good.
In almost all cases they miss the point - completely. Various media whores and talking heads on National Radio reveal their ignorance. Poor old Jim Mora and Linda Clark show their true, unspectacular colours (Linda’s an 80’s shade of black, Jim’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt he brought on holiday in the 70’s) –
Assorted comments:-

“Its only a cartoon I don’t know what the fuss is about”
“It’s a pathetic show for kids”
“Below childish”
“pathetic”
“A bit of fluff”

I suppose though, that is one of the cool things about the show, the way it is sort of - in code. It’s a thing that some people can decipher and some cannot. To some people it’s a silly thing for kids with farting and to others it’s genius satire.
I fall squarely in the second group and regard Trey Parker as one of the smartest people on the planet and South Park as a modern masterpiece.
The Irony!
The Layers!
The Portrayals!
And … Mostly the laughing (Mostly).
I have seen the offending or offensive episode, I downloaded it about a week ago. It’s mostly about Stan’s dad (mostly)and his alcohol problem.
It’s f**king funny. Stan’s dad’s performance as the drunken dad is a standout performance, deserving of an Oscar and the piss take of the AA message is priceless.
What it is not about really, is the catholic church. The inclusion of the bloody Virgin Mary thing is incidental NOT gratuitous.
I imagine they thought lets have him cured by a stigmata statue thing, lets make it Mary, lets have it bleed, lets have it bleed like this…
However if you had listened to the reports over the last few days you would assume the show was a pointed and premeditated attack on, and satire about the church.
I doubt whether ANY of these people have actually watched the show, let alone a whole episode of South Park.
And the truth is if someone hadn’t said
“SOME PEOPLE WILL BE OFFENDED!”
Then NO ONE would have been offended.
The episode would have screened to the usual suspects who would have supposedly been sophisticated enough to understand it and remain moderately unaffected. Maybe some stoner surfie guy watching would gone;
“Whoa my mum would freak out at this sh*t dude”
but generally nothing.
As it is I have heard a woman on talkback weeping over desecration of ‘our lady’. Why does she have to be disturbed? Should she be disturbed as long as someone somewhere makes fun of her beliefs?
And because these people have complained and the media have pumped it all up, as is usual in this situation, the show will now be the most popular South Park EVER.
Which is pretty f**ked up dude.
While we currently feel isolated, me and my South Park mates are not entirely alone in our love of the show. Harry Shearer, political commentator, incidental voice in the Simpsons (Principal Skinner, Ned Flandersand others) and himself a satarist and creator of "SPinal Tap" and others - has called Trey Parker the best satirist in the world and there is a review of South Park in UNCUT that says

“And finally, like humankind itself at the end of the long chain of evolution, comes South Park. A show so good it pisses liquid fire on everything before it. One of the highest, and lowest, achievements of modern civilisation. This, ultimately, is what Leonardo laboured for, what George Grosz, Honore Daumier and William Hogarth strove to achieve. Either that or it's a bunch of dumb gags about sphincters. But it isn't half funny.“

And really, American TV comedy is not exactly overflowing with creativity and originallity at the moment, judging from telly fare the other night. "Joey" is dire and that other one with Charlie Sheen is just the same gag ( A girl with big breasts walks past. A guy says something. Charlie says something. Cue canned laughter) forever. Soo maybe some good will come of this fiasco. More fans for South Park, less mediocrity. The just triumph of the clever over the stupid.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

TV

16 Feb 2006

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KUMARA NEWS....................
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..............FOSSILS FUEL CALLS FOR CHANGE TO TV...........
...........................
.......................
"'ere. Where's that bleedin' remote?"


Yesterdays announcement calling for a shake up of Television has been followed up by a press conference at the the Ponsonby Bowling club. The venue was chosen because it's facilities are better suited to the elderly.
It was a chance for the infirm and uninformed to bang their hands on the podium of New Zealand public life in frustration.
"Weve had enough" said the octagarian.
"I thought we didn't have enough" said the pensioner.
"When does the bar open?" said former Governor General Cath Tizard.
And so began the most long winded and also short winded debate ever, on the state of our TV programmes.
"There's nothing decent on anymore. Everyone is saying so"
"Give the people what they want!"
Joe Atkinson lecturer on TV studies said.
"You mean, give the people what YOU want."
At which point an elderly man shouted.
"Bastard! I didn't fight in two world wars..."
Their was then a minor fracas as the advocates for change vented spleen. Eventually order was restored.. During the outburst it was revealed that Sir Edmund Hillary had conquered everything but his remote, and had never watched a channel other than TV One. When they were quizzed on what they thought they would like to see on our screens there was no consensus, although they all agreed it would be something British and stood for a rousing version of "God Save The Queen".
"We want a return to quality TV programmes like "Are You Being Served"
said a spokesman.
At that point Broadcast Minister Steve Maharey arrived and slid into the room on the slick of his own glib rhetoric.
"I've come to give you an offhand commitment to send the ideas and indeed ideals, of this group to a select commitee. In so doing it will enter the labyrinthine corridors of bureaucracy which are kafkaesque both in their pointlessness and complexity.."
Confusion and muted clapping.
Then Dame Cath said."W**ker!"
Maharey continued, condescending to use common english.
"What about a geriactric channel?"
clapping.
"Now your talking.."
"It can have a cooking show for kiwis. A simple one. called "The Edmonds Cookbook" .
Episode 1 can be "Fun with Scones".
The group erupted into cheering..
"and it can have a show fronted by Sir Howard Morrison, which will be light entertainment"
"Very light on entertainment indeed"
"and he can get young people on and tell them they're fat"
The crowd was ecstatic.
Dame Malvina Major said.
"No one can do that like Sir Howard can. Who else could front such a show?"
From the back of the room; the unmistakable sound of feathers being ruffled. Someone was clearing their throat.
It was Paul Homes.
"I think you, my core demographic, are forgetting about me"
He rose from his chair with exaggerated gravitas, but was barely taller than when he was sitting down.
Temuera Morrison then said." Bro I heard Sky TV are in negotiations to buy an aircraft hangar to keep your ego in.."
laughs.
"Cheekie darkie.."
"You all know my credentials and here.."
Holmes produces a cassette player.
"Listen to this. It's me waxing lyrical from my show this morning about the Bali nine"
His voice continues on the tape machine..
." ........ John Howard that brilliant man put it exactly right when he said 'I dont care about the bali nine. I care a bout their Parents'..
yes.. their parents. Imagine it ...
and I can because I have stared into the face of despair, into the mascara laden eyes of Rosalee Corby, the Mother of that innocent girl Shapelle.
Yes, I have seen the despair there. Imagine it. It would be like.. well, like carrying around a small fridge on your back....."

The fridge. Ideal to keep your despair in.

Holmes then clicked the machine off like he had made his point.
An aged dignitary stood up and said. "Were getting off track. Damn that midget! We need to give the TV back to the people!"
Joe Atkinson spoke again.
"Dont the ratings tell you what the people want to see? They want to see "Celebrity Treasure Island". They dont want to see some BBC documentary"
"Thats rubbish! I was at my mobility scooter anger management course the other day and the verdict was unanimous. TV has gone downhill. it's on the slippery slope. My god. Adults watching cartoons .. what next.."
"here..here.."
Steve Maharey mentioned "Bro Town" for the 15th time and then a resoltion was passed to hold a 'bottle drive'and a bring-and-buy for the cause. The group also agreed to meet again in two weeks (Ladies bring a plate).
Eventually a representitive of TVNZ arrived and simply plugged in a TV which played some of the shows that had been mooted earlier. As Close to Home and Gallery played the mood in the group changed and when an episode of "Mc Phail and Gadsby" came on things turned nasty.
"They'd be buggered without Muldoon!"
Soon an ex Prime Minster declared."I prefer South Park to this crap!"
"Disband the group! Sherries all round!"
And so it was over.

A Name is Born

9 Feb 2006

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HARRY....................
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4 weeks and 5 days after junior was born and we finally have a name.
Harry Kahurangi
Harry was an early favourite and survived all of the vicious early culls and fevered negotiations. Unfortunately it emerged as my early favourite and Mrs K may have veered away from it as a result. I think she wanted to come up with an alternative she could really call her own and Harry was MY name, which meant I didn’t fancy it's chances in the long run.
My strategy was; take emphasis off Harry and let it sit in the background.
I liked Harry. I know there is a Prince Harry but mostly it seems like a simple friendly, working class name. The name of the sort of guy you would like to have round for a dinner of mince and peas.
“Good Mince.” Said Harry unassumingly.
“not too many carrots.”
The other thing time will do is see if the name stands up under scrutiny and in a variety of arenas.
Debate the name.
It’s not an original idea, In fact it’s one of the oldest, it’s the ancient greek idea. One of Aristotle’s or Plato’s or the other guy..
But it’s a goodie and basically one of the foundation ideas of our society, our parliamentary and justice systems at least.
You know, put forward an idea argue about it and see if the idea survives the scrutiny. If necessary take oppossing views. Throw s**t at it. Barrage it with other ideas see if it will last.
Harry did, Harry survived.

My end game strategy involved suggesting names to force Harry into contention, not weird names, that wouldn’t work anymore after the Pinnochio debacle, but names so ordinary that they would tip the balance in Harry’s favour.
So it was that when I said “What about Colin?”
The wife said “I like Harry.”
Harry was a goer.

We never wanted a maori name for his first name. I’m not maori enough and he looks like a little pakeha fella too much. So we decide to give him one for his second name.
A person I encountered with an attitude informed by years of listening to talkback said with a half sneer;
“Why do you want to call him a Maori name?”
I felt like saying-

“To impress my white liberal friends”
OR
“To go with his Poenamu”
OR
“So that he can get more grants when he’s older”

But because I know where some of this persons ideas may have come from (accidental rather than considered ignorance) I knew nothing bad was meant by it.
I said. “because he’s got Maori blood, SOME Maori blood at least, and he should know that, eh?”

Then he said. “oh yeah. Nice name isn’t it.”

Mrs K singled out Kahurangi from a book.
I wasn’t convinced.
Then I received information about my birth family (I am adopted). My grandfather on my mothers side (My Maori side) had the name ‘Kuhurangi’.
The information arrived THE DAY we were deciding the Maori name, it seemed to be fate and who am I to ignore the messages fate sends you?
“Kahurangi’s good eh..”
And so he is sorted..
Harry Kahurangi.
Nice.

Also H K Kumara sounds good if he wants to become an author and “Harry K” sounds like a subversive film maker or film.
“The enigma of Harry K” which can be an arty film in black and white with lots of time lapse rotting meat and corpses. . .the usual art stuff..ho hum.( it can be about a fly called harry K that doesn’t die while all around it rots, dies and decays…
I’ve already cast the fly lead).

Our Harry has been out and about lately.
This week we took him to his first restaurant. We were going to buy takeaways but when I went in I decided we could maybe get away with eating at the place.
It was a Japanese, so I knew the food would come quick and there were very few people in there.
Once we were seated we told him;
“Mate, this is called a restaurant.
Mummy and Daddy love these.
We are gastronomes. Can you say that?
(starts crying)
Or gluttons, take your pick.”

And it all worked out fine. I thought it would be ages before we could go near a restaurant, but there you go.
Last weekend we also went down to the bach in the Coromandel.
I don’t think Harry was too fussed by it all but we sure appreciated it.
I have found taking him in the car stressful though. Especially out west where half the people drive like f**k wits.
We were given a “Baby on Board” sticker with our car seat and I didn’t put it on, but maybe I need to reconsider.
My initial thoughts were along these lines;
If someone is going to crash into our car why would a sticker stop them?
It’s not as though they will have a choice – like they are careening(or careering) down the road, out of control and see a car and think;
“I wont hit that one, it’s got a baby sticker on it. I’ll hit that car with a ‘Bank Manger on Board’ sticker instead.”
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

BUT having been serially tail gated on the highway lately I may have to get the sticker out.
The most common tail gating offenders fall into two categories;
The fat middle aged man in a large Holden, Falcon or 4WD, who looks like he is a pork chop away from a heart attack AND the young guy in the lowered car.
The latter will invariably have a cap on backwards and will always be a midget. SO in a sense he is lowered too. On occasion, the lowered kid in the lowered car can follow so close it looks like no one is driving the car.
Urghh.. very disconcerting, with Harry on board.

I have had some response from last weeks blog about crappy New Zealand writers and comedians. I don’t know who these people are, but they may have been reading my blog as a residue from a Hard News link a few weeks back.
Nigel said “Raybon Kan is cool you .. “ and then used a word of German derivation that, 4th form legend suggests is in “The Canterbury Tales”.
And someone said to me;
“You cant slag other writers. Don’t writers have an unwritten rule that you don’t slag each other?”
Two points on that one.
1. Why is it unwritten? They are writers, for gods sake. Someone write it down. Then send me a copy.
2. I don’t feel like I’m a writer. I’m a blogger.
Writers are guys with those leather bits on their sleeves who smoke pipes and try to impress people with big words at parties.
If they are good writers they will get away with it. While bad writers will use try-hard words like OXYMORON.
“Isn’t that an oxymoron” (points at oxygen breathing idiot)
guffaw and chuckle...

Humid report

2 Feb 2006

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THE BITCH IS BACK
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...............................Lets cut to the chase

“It’s hot, wet, and sticky”
said the author, his eyes fixed with cross-eyed determination on the
sauce festooned hot-dog-on-a-stick as he raised it to his mouth.
“and . . . the weather’s bloody hot as well”

Yes. It’s official. Bloody awful weather, I hate it. And because I’m a New Zealander in a few weeks I’ll moan about summer being gone and the weather being cold.
We are never happy.
But it is, oppressively hot at the moment. Oppressive in a way Idi Amin would approve of.
And so humid you could cut the air with a knife. Even with a crap knife like a plastic one.
With a decent knife like a Wiltshire (‘shire’ is pronounced like they did in “Lord of the Rings”) Razor master or a set of genza steak knives, you could cut this air into mince meat, and make an oppressive hot-dog-on-a-stick out of it.

The weather has made everyone out of sorts and ornery (it’s like the inside of an Elmore Leonard novel).
So, not wanting to be left out I’m going to have a moan, I’m going to bitch.
And pose some queries?

Has the Listener gone downhill since Finlay Mc Donald left?
Is Raybon Kan as funny as he thinks he is? OR as funny as I think he is?
Should Pio Terei be followed around at all times by a bored man with a snare drum and cymbal?

Burning questions all, that I will attempt to answer in a humid, ornery and semi-fetid fashion.

The Listener.
On the slippery slope?

Finlay’s gone and he was always good. Sometimes I think he was too good, so intoxicated by his choice of words that he forgot to tell us what the hell he was on about. But he was good and I think it’s lost some of it’s vigour/rigour intellectual or otherwise since he has left.
Russell Brown is always great too, whatever he writes about. An economic user of the pen (I wish he would write something more substantial like the great New Zealand Novel he threatened to write years ago).
Joseph Romanos, in what is pretty much a left leaning publication manages to somehow produce a leftie sports column. I like his obsessive list making (“Top Ten Left handed Communist batmen for England” etc..) , fantastic fodder if you’re a sports nut.
And I have always loved Diana Witchel. When she’s gets her teeth into something, she’s good, ‘laugh out loud in embarrassing moments’ good.
And as someone who likes to slag things occasionally, I see her as a masterly performer in that field– The Slag Mistress General and possibly the funniest columnist in New Zealand.
And of course in the old days there was always the Steve Braunias column-inventive, irreverent, smart, funny. He was capable of writing sentences that would make me say ‘wanker’ aloud.
Good wanker, though.
More, ‘wanker how did you concoct that’, wanker.
But these days while we still have Witchel, Brown and others. We also have the stupid ‘Nicole says’ thing and sadly … Joanne Black.
I know - she had a very hard act to follow, her major articles are good BUT her Black page is just boring.
If it was being a complete bastard I would suggest she call it the ‘blank page’.
Sometimes I have read it 3 times trying to work out what’s going on in it.
What is it about?
Why is it is there?
Why?
It’s trying to be funny but..
No. I’m calling the Listener out. I don’t care whose friend she is, it’s weak, and you cant replace the great Steve Braunias with something so..
sorry, I’ve run out of whatever it is that is the opposite of superlatives.

While I’m on a roll and so that Joanne is not alone …
What about other people who think they are funny but aren’t.
Raybon Kan where are you?
I could read his stuff for hours without so much as a wry chuckle. Way too harsh? Maybe, but I also get the feeling from reading between the lines and from hearing him on Radio B that HE thinks he’s bloody hilarious. The last straw was when he made a particularly weak observation in an attempt to squeeze a lame joke out about Gallipoli or the ‘diggers’ .
I thought, “That’s it mate. You leave the diggers alone. The gloves are off.”
At the time I even wrote a letter to the editor (“Raybon Kan - Asian and funny? Or just Asian?”) but it was never published.
Somebody must think he's a laugh, but I dont know any of them.
I suspect they are the same people who laugh a t personalised number plates.

Raybon Kan - funny in a personalised number plate way.

It’s not as though I have no sense of humour. I will laugh at almost everything:
Dave Allen, The Two Ronnies, The Goons, Friends, all those jewish guys (The Marx Brothers, Seinfeld, Zucker Brothers, Mel Brooks, Woody Allen), South Park, The Simpsons.
I have even laughed at Morecome and Wise.
And out in the real world I find humour everywhere. I can be amused by ANYTHING.

The other day I was standing next to a Maori guy (dirty singlet, overweight, boots on and shorts late 40’s) talking to his mate;
“Yeah bro went to the movies last night”
“Yeah cuz what you see?”
“Memoirs of a Geisha. . .
f***kin Stink!”
yeah.. It was rubbish. Don’t go and see that one”
And THAT amused the hell out of me. Why the did he go to see THAT? Why did he want to tell his mate?
It reminded me of a friend who went to see “Eraserhead” years ago at the film festival and there was an entire row of gang members behind him at the screening who were tripping on acid.
Fantastic!
Why were THEY there? And what the hell did they make of the movie?
I had a image at the time of them back at gang headquarters discussing David Lynch’s breakout movie;

Mark ‘Maddog’ Tito: “It marks a new direction for cinema. . .
hand me that bottle of Lion red and the machete bro”
Black Pete: “Sure mate, here you are.. watch your hand that things sharp… Yes..what will be overlooked in the rush to intellectualize the film as a Dada masterpiece and contemporary American Gothic nightmare is Lynch’s sense of humour”
Maddog: “Well said Black Pete. I think it was, more than anything else, a black comedy about Parenthood”


And maybe the Maori truck driver disliked Memoirs of a Geisha for artistic reasons; Maybe he found he wasn’t as emotionally absorbed as he was when he read the book or maybe he didn’t agree with the casting of a Chinese actress rather than a Japanese one.

I also amused myself yesterday at the petrol station. It was one of those infuriating pre-pay ones. I went to put in my gas and then heard a strange squeaky voice saying;
“you cant put it in, you have to pay”
The voice came from a small speaker above the pump.
I was so annoyed I just talked to the speaker as though I was really confused, until the girl came out of the station, from behind the counter to admonish and instruct me;
“You have to pay FIRST. INSIDE”
me: “oh there you are. Your voice seems better now”
girl: “Pay inside first”
me: “I don’t think so. How annoying. Do you know that once people actually came out and got the money off the customer at these places? Amazing isn’t it?
Why is it called a service station if we have to do everything? Tell your boss I’ll never be back here. I hate pre-pay”

and then I drove off down the road, in a huff but also laughing. So, in a laughing huff.
Of course, because it’s my local, I was back a bout three days later but fortunately the girl who I huffed was not there.
So, you see if I can amuse my self like that, my humour threshold is, if anything, too low.

Finally when talking about alleged comedians look no further than James McOnie.
Has anyone seen him on the show in the morning?
He sounds like he’s funny, the delivery suggests he is saying something funny and yet . . . nothing.
Never funny.
And apart from Kay Gregory cracking up I just wouldn’t suspect it was humour.
Shouldn’t you have to pass a test to say you’re a comedian or can anyone do it?
Just put comedian on your passport and then wella! You are one.
At the immigration desk on entering the country;
“I have nothing to declare but my satire”
And off you go, to a career in comedy.
In Germany you have to be qualified to do anything, even rubbish man So I expect they will have a qualification system in place that we can refer to.
Mind you, off the top of me head, my list of german comedians looks a bit empty, a bit thin on the ground.

Also dishonorable mention to:
Jim Hopkins– 80’s glasses abuse and the chronic overuse of puns.
Joe Bennett – Extraordinary overuse of the word “Extraordinary” (you listen to him on the radio next time)
And anyone in something characterized as on telly as “light entertainment”. .. It will be VERY LIGHT on entertainment and those people ( Pio, Mike “the angry texter” Smith, etc..) tell jokes so lame they ought to be accompanied by a bored drummer with a snare drum and cymbal.

Anyway I feel better now. And things aren’t all bad. . Bro'Town rocks, Eating Media Lunch is pretty much the best NZ comedy on TV ever and at least Roger Hall is inactive..
oops getting grumpy again.. better go - and I think the wind is changing and all that oppression is lifting..
Next week – only positive thoughts!

PS Friday is a terrible day for me to do me blog at the moment so will try to do it on Thursdays.

Rock On

23 Jan 2006


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CONCERT REPORT FROM BAD DAD CENTRAL
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............The crowd shows it's appreciation for my delicate guitar work

The baby is barely two weeks old and already I have abandoned him to play rock and roll.
Bad Dad.
Our band played the Big Day Out, an early slot at 12:30 pm.
We followed high school idol winners The Electric Confectionaires.
On the radio they said they liked Jimi Hendrix but I could hear no sign of the influence. There was no menace for a start.
“Gimme danger!”
I wanted to yell. A reference to the song I wouldn’t hear later because it was too raw.

I expected to be performing to a hot dog stand attendent and one, hot, dog. But from our porta shed we watched; a healthy throng, 300 strong, teenagers determined to rock.
Unfortunately by the time we hit the stage 295 had left with the Electric lollies. Even the dog was nowhere to be seen.
Halfway through our set things had picked up. . .
. . .the dog was back.
Various friends arrived and were soo impressed they sought to text friends with the good news...
“Raygunn stg red. lol...”
So. . .
far from the maddening crowd, in our own discreet way we rocked..
At least the dog seemed to like it.
I’ve never liked playing in the daylight anyway, unless you’re in a reggae band it is just plain wrong.
But playing had got us in the grounds, we had a special pass to an alleged bar somewhere (I never got to it) and later … THE STOOGES were playing!

After we played I volunteered to transport our equipment out of the grounds. We left the stadium in a jeep, the sound of one hand clapping ringing in our ears..
Back in civilisation we stopped at SPQR for a regroup and a cleansing ale.
An SPQR with Calamari salad, a kickin’ antipasto and fine wine. Stumped by the menu we asked our ‘camp as a row of tents’ waiter to recommend a Sauvignon Blanc...
He said with a flurry
“The most expensive one darling!”
And with a swirl he was off...
I love these guys... If you want to eat at a restaurant like SPQR you must know that you are being decadent. It must be demonstrated to you pointedly by the gay waiter, otherwise, why bother.
At the hands of a master like the woman Krishna who used to be maitre’d here I would knowingly hand over all my worldy assets(or a beleaguered credit card) for the feeling that I was briefly, a Roman.
It was a strange respite. A moment of calm in the day, where it seemed like the Big Day Out didn’t really exist. Even if we had played at it.

Soon Frankie ‘NZ idol’ Stevens arrived and occupied the table next to us.
Eventually he was joined by his hair.
No, just kidding, it was Paul Ellis fellow judge.
Which was slightly weird because he had once signed our band to Sony and when things soured (long story) he sent us a fax calling us “The laziest band in the world”.
Something I am very proud of.
They shared their table with teenie girls and talked about ‘the market’ and ‘phrasing’ and vocal coaches. Shit that had nothing to do with a dirty old rock band like the Stooges.
We called a cab. We were off back to the real music world.
“Mt Smart, Driver..”

We arrived back thirsty.
We decided to go to the bar...
Which is never as simple as it could be at these things. This time you arrived at the entrance to the bar and were told you that you need to have a band confirming your age.
“My god. Doesn’t everything about me confirm my age. Do I really need a band?”
I did, and of course you couldn’t just get the band at the entrance you had to go somewhere else to do that..
Why do we always have to do this crap in New Zealand?
I had to walk to some tent half way down the field to confirm what everyone already knew. I’m no spring chicken.
I say - Just put a gay guy in charge and be done with it.
They know how to look after the public.

After a crap beer in a plastic bottle, a brief tour of the event caused me some disquiet.
There was something missing. There was no sense something was about to happen, no frisson.
Even the kids looked bored, even though they were texting their little hearts out, trying to look essential.
Also AWOL “The Racket”.
The Volume, the noise, the sound that makes your stomach churn, gone.
The warning signs were there when I spotted two guys talking in the front row when we played.
‘whats that all about’ I wondered in between verses.
Now my worst fears were confirmed;

Frisson absence and volume depletion.

“We will have to move to the front for Iggy”
I said once the volume issues were verified by a rough concensus.

Getting there was remarkably easy, a stroll in the park really.
Sometimes you really have to fight to get through but here, I could have conducted a tour for Japanese tourists.
It was especially easy for a veteran like myself.
Survival systems developed after being; punched in the head and knocked out cold at a Deep Purple concert, vomited on at a Ramones gigs and spat on (everyone was) at the Members concert at Mainstreet where skinheads eventually burned their leather jackets on the dance floor..
I once spent a whole gig where The Sweet played at the Gluepot (only one original member) abusing them until the end when I realised the only reason I was there was because Doug Hood had given me a free ticket to help load them out. So I was then forced to skulk about on stage hoping none of them would recognise me while helping them pack down.
The point is that I've survived a lot of crap at concerts and have developed numerous survival techniques s and systems for getting to the front of a stage, so Big Day Out 2006 was never going to present a big challenge.
And really, if all else fails just pogo your way to the front.
No one in their right mind will get in your way (anyone who has seen me pogoing will be nodding silently).

5 rows from the front and suddenly there were a lot of familiar faces. Even the seemingly mild mannered David Slack was there.
And of course there was Iggy.
And some Stooges.
I had to wonder how reverentially these guys were treated in Australia.
When I lived in Sydney in the late eighties you could go and see an Australian band that was a version of the Stooges in a pub in Surrey Hills every night of the week. Actually, on the weekends you could see about half a dozen of them. I used to joke that a statue of Ron Ashton ought to be erected in a square in Surrey Hills to honor his contribution.
Probably not a statue of how he looks now though. (Think: comic shop guy from The Simpsons).

But really, when they played “TV Eye” or “Loose” it didn’t matter what they looked like. It’s the Stooges man. The Stooges!!
And if you don’t understand why they are so cool or so important then you have probably missed the bus so I wont bother filling you in here.

There was an apparent clash with Mars Volta that troubled some people but you must be kidding if you’d rather see them than the Stooges. In twenty years time no one will know who Mars Volta are and the Stooges will still be influencing bands (Iggy will probably still be playing, the friggin freak).

After Iggy, the White Stripes were on.
I love that chicks ‘meat and potato’ drumming. I love lot of their songs, but compared with the magnetic charms of a certain kid at home twiddling his thumbs (Sucking actually), they couldn’t compete. Especially after the Stooges.
I was off to see junior. I hailed a cab. When I told the cab driver where I wanted to go (it cost a lot of money) the drivers eyes lit up and he vowed to open a college fund for his kids..
But..I didn’t care..
"Driver take me to my baby.. Step on it"


Although I had abandoned junior to wallow in rockery, I spent much of the day being congratulated by friends, smoking cigars and swapping baby stories and so on. The best story came from our bands mixer Tex. He is back living in Dunedin and I had heard a rumour about a rumour that had percolated there, in splendid isolation, concerning my son’s name.
I was simply ‘dying’ to know if it was true.
When Tex said “I think congratulations are in order.”
I said “yeah thanks..”
and continued “ Do you know what we have called him?”
Tentatively, more like a question than an answer Tex said “Pinnochio?”
Excellent.
Pinnochio lives. Still giving me joy, and in Dunedin, providing the tantalizing impetus that manufactures urban myths. That desperate desire for something unfeasible to be true, just because it will make the world a more interesting place.

It's Alive!

11 Jan 2006
.THERE’S A NEW KID IN TOWN!
....................
........................ ..The birthing control Centre

The Jimi Page in association with Mrs K productions are proud to announce the arrival of our new child.

Mother and child: fit and well.
Father: well chuffed.
Weight: 7lb 14oz
Sex: I don’t think my wife will be keen, she’s just given birth to a baby boy.
Name: a work in progress. For the moment can be known as:- junior, the little fella..

The Gory Details

Men who are uncomfortable with ‘labour talk’ feel free to click this link which will provide a page of soothing sports gibberish, you can then join the page further down.
Women, Metrosexuals and existing fathers – read on. . .

The labour began at 5am on Sunday and finished at 5.45 pm Monday night, when the baby was born.
36 hours of pain, contractions, anxiety, pushing, walking, pacing, breathing and eventual release for Mrs K.
She was incredible and apart from a 'we are not amused' dalliance with laughing gas, she took no pain killers. She is, apparently, the talk of the hospital. At the end of the delivery the midwives paid her, what I would imagine, is their ultimate compliment;

“She’s homebirth material..”

I don’t know how women do it, it looks sooo painful. Rest assured if men had to do it, they wouldn’t. It would be an order of ‘elective caesarians all round please gov’nor’.
In the midst of the most intense part of the labour Mrs K, who had asserted that she would not scream like they do in movies, did issue a cry of pain. But, being the class act that she is, she choose an utterance, that is a timeless classic, long forgotten in the modern world.
Not for her the garish primal screams, the phrases borrowed from Tarantino movies; your ‘m@#@#$r f$%$*&rs’
No, simple, direct, effective;
“Ow” she said “Ow”.
This was no ordinary “Ow” though.
It was an ‘ow’ hissed through clenched teeth, an “OW” that raised to a cresendo, it was an “ow” that said ‘get this bloody thing out of me before I die’.
But it was an “Ow” nonetheless. What a dame! She’s all class my wife.


The actual moment of birth is indescribable. But, of course, I’ll try to describe it anyway.
“It was. . ah .. like a … umm ..I felt like err.. We ..”
No I can’t. It won’t do it justice.
Words aren’t adequate.
Maybe I can use book titles instead;

“The Agony And The Ecstasy”
“The Way Of All Flesh”
“The Son Also Rises’

OR regarding the wife;
“How To Win Friends And Influence People”

No, sorry they won’t do either.

Maybe a song title then ;
“Unforgettable.”
Yes.

The Baby - 'The Nice Man Cometh’

At a city courtroom...

Bailiff: You JAMES no-middle-name-to-mention KUMARA stand accused of being complicit in the wanton over-rating of your babies cuteness. How do you plea?
JK: Guilty of all charges your honor.
JUDGE: It a serious charge. Do you have anything to say for your self?
JK: Your honor, I plead insanity.
JUDGE: Insanity?
JK: Yes Sir. I’m just crazy about that kid.
And. . .your honor, there are attenuating circumstances.
JUDGE: Such as?
JK: Exhibit A your honor.
(produces photo and hands it to the judge)

EXHIBIT A

JUDGE: My, he is a handsome devil isn’t he?
(hands photo around court, there is much cooing and froing)
JK: exhibit B your honor

EXHIBIT B
JK: Your honor ( begins pacing around courtroom. clasps hands behind back) Did you see the paper this morning?
JUDGE: yes I did.
JK: Did you notice that the All Black captain Tana Umaga is giving up Rugby because of his family?
JUDGE: yes. Where is this leading?
JK: Well sir. If Tana Umaga can raise his family up higher than the job of All Black captain, Surely I can overate my son a bit.
With respect, your honor.
JUDGE: Of course! Yes. This case is dismissed! I sentence whoever brought this charge before the courts to two weeks hard labour or one day at an ACT conference.
BANG!
JUDGE: Bailiff slap a crap song on this story and send it to Allie Mc Beal.


It’s hard, you see, to be impartial. No parent can be with their own kid. I’m sure even the elephant mans’ parents found something to admire (‘What an adorable wee trunk!’).

While Mrs Kumara was superb, we were not without help. Our midwife, a very old friend Cheryl was amazing (she still is!) Tina, who was her second was brilliant too. We trusted them absolutely.
Our friend Nicola, who we selected to be a support person, was great too. In the end, because of the way things went we didn’t call her, but we knew she was there and she would have done anything. Which was enough.

At the moment, juniors all I can think about. Our bands playing at the Big Day Out and usually I would be excited. As it is, I have to remind myself it's on.
I will be on stage, we will go into the chorus of a song and I will play all the wrong chords. After it's finished a band member will say;
"what are you doing?!! the chords! all wrong!"
and I'll say, blank faced.
"They're only chords man, I've got a baby"
(sorry band members, just kidding. I'll play a blinder, for the boy)

So for a while the Jimi page may be emmersed in and intoxicated by baby love.
I make no apologies.
My new best friend arrived on Monday, courtesy of the miracle of childbirth, and we have some catching up to do.
There’s a lot I need to share with the little fella;
I need to tell him about - The All Blacks (‘the 1996-7 team was the best team ever, junior and I’ll tell you why…’), Captain Beefheart, My dad.
I need to introduce him to his crazy uncles from the bands I’ve been in. We have to go to yum char together. I have to show him how to launch the Kon Tiki. I have to explain why Harpo was always the funniest one in the Marx Brothers. We have to go out in his uncle, CAP’n Pete’s boat the HMS Lucinda on the Hauraki Gulf and he will realize then, why Auckland’s a great city.
But all that is a way away, for the moment we just need to get acquainted. Step by step.
We got plenty of time.

My work has already begun. I have been changing his nappies.
Last night one change took;
A whole roll of toilet paper, 3 wipe flannels (I used a new one each wipe) and two nappies before he was sorted. Today when super Cheryl arrived and changed him all she needed was one flannel.
So I have a lot to learn, and I better do it quick before I wear out the washing machine and decimate the forests of the world.

Hang on, I have to go now – cos someone requires me to stare at them for hours on end . .
And. . .
I think it’s my son!

The Author and the Angelic Upstart
"We meet at last!"

Imminent

7 Jan 2006

............................
2006 A name Odyssey

.............................

...........................0 0. Lurking about ....

Ok. So the Mrs K is now two weeks overdue and the baby is still not here.
So we can assume a certain tardiness or an ‘I’ll wait till I’m good and ready’ independence.
We, the parents, are over-ready.
We have performed all known rituals and to no avail. All that is left is castor oil. Maybe the oldest birth inducing tonic of all.
We’ll see.

Maybe the baby wont come until we have a name for it. We have plenty of girls names but it’s the boys who are causing the problems.
We’ve tossed a few ones around but mostly they kept spinning around and around, they were rejected, we let go of them and they flew out of orbit, into space.
Pinnochio, for instance, is headed for deep space.
It gave me great joy while it was here though. The absurdity of it.
Pinnochio.
The period of confusion followed by horror when I related it to the mother in law. Precious moments.
Thank you Pinnochio.

The other day I had a boys name revelation while listening to the ghastly ‘matinee idle’ show on the radio.
“What about ELVIS?”
“No one is called Elvis” I said eyes wide with anticipation.
But, sadly Mrs K’s withering stare spoke volumes about the way she felt about ‘Elvis’.
“No-one is called Elvis for a reason’ She said.
and the no-one that was never going to be called Elvis was jettisoned to the stars also.

ELVIS IN SPACE! SHOCK!!

Recently I intoned;
‘What about Jimi?”
“Jimi Jnr”
“jimi J”
I realised quickly that Jimi J would be destined to become a DJ.
(“DJ JIMI J - at the khuja Lounge tonight!).
It’s not that I dislike the idea of being a DJ it’s just that everyone seems to be one.
I was at a café the other day and the young guy (actually he was more of a haircut than a guy) basking in the glow of own his nascissism took a break from ignoring his customers to tell the pretty waitress the following;
“There’s record swap at real groovy I might check out”
Bored indifference from girl.
“yeah. I guess I didn’t tell you but, I’m a DJ. . .”
I laughed aloud.
They gave me a combined ‘whatever’ but, really as a chat up line it has to be one of the most clichéd, circa – 2006.

So if the baby is born a boy then it will have no name at the moment.
It will just be known most excellently as ‘the boy with no name’.
Which is kinda cool, like ‘the man in black’.

Interior of Film Noir Office – It
is poorly lit, has venetian blinds, a fan rotates slowly.
A man is hunched over a pile on the floor.
Humphrey Bogart walks in.
“What happened? Whats that smell?”
“The boy with no name was just here…
He left this . . .”

Close up of a pooie nappie.
Dramatic music.

Extreme close up of pooie nappie. .
very dramatic music.

“ARE MY EYES DECIEVING ME! or does that thing smell disgusting!”
In the name of god lets get out of here. .”
Exeunt Door
Bogie: “of all the smells, in all the office’s, in all the world. I have to walk into this one..”


Topically, the herald had a list of the most popular names in New Zealand in it today. On the list a few of our ones.
The name MAX was there, in the top ten. Which is bloody annoying because I thought it was an unusual name, but it seems to be unusually usual instead.

At the moment I don’t care what it called I just want it here. Out.
Reducing my sleep. Making me busy. Confounding expectations. And creating the smell that would make Bogart Exeunt (whoever made that word up anyway?)

IF nothing happens before then, Mrs K will be induced tomorrow night, so this will be my last blog as barren J Kumara.

Happy New Year

1 Jan 2006

................................Happy New Year!

.............................

.................. 2006 - The Year of the Red Dog (Not yet though)

2005 was quite a year, a bit of a watershed year for me really. I don’t know why, though. It was not like at the end of 2004 I demanded change, that at the end of year I walked out of the traditional new years eve gathering, looked to the skies and howled at the moon -

“As the lord is my witness! This year will be different!!
Things will change! They must change.
Never again (clenches fist) will I generate late fees way in excess of the actual fees for my video store!
Guitar Picks! (clenches buttocks) I laugh in your face! Hah! Hah! Hah! because, this year. . . you will not escape my clutches!!
The plan is ! marriage! Baby! House! And so on . .
Hah! Hah! Hah! (laughs like maniac swinging head from side to side..) “

Mind you maybe the answer does lie in the stars. At least the astrologically minded would have you believe so. People like our friend, the mysterious Alana Z, who has a bob each way, star sign wise, by following the Chinese sign as well as the traditional one. So last year, maybe Virgo was in Libra’s quadrant. And maybe Libra resented the intrusion so it decided to make someones life change, namely mine. OR maybe in the Chinese system 2005 ‘the year of the green chicken’ meant changes were a foot. I would certainly like to change the green chicken for a brown one, unless it was thai green chicken, which I like.

Over the last year I’ve also started this blog. It has had it’s own rewards and is free and remarkably easy to do. When I started doing it I wondered whether I would have enough to write about. As it is, I have too much. And I have had several blogs I have written or begun but felt the time was not right to issue them (My ‘ode to Noel’ for instance, a peek into the miserable world of John Pilger). I also wrote one about barbeque’s but realised I could say so much about them that one blog was not enough. I could write a bloody book (“The construction and operation of the haphazard barbeque in any environment or situation”)
OR do an endlessly extending series. And because it is such an important topic I know that I have to do it justice, otherwise I should not start.

Last week I titled the blog “You can observe a lot by just watching’”. it is a foolish, nonsense quote by American sports personality Yogi Bera who has almost as many idiotic quotes as the inimitable Murray Walker. But I think the quote makes some sort of strange sense. Just shut up and watch the mundane and it’s amazing what you can come up with. Look how much milage I got out of the sausage sizzle at the Warehouse ( the last two blogs??!!) If you can write about crap like that you can write about anything.
I think (therefore I am) a terrible ‘watcher’ Or a great watcher, depending on which way you look at it. (Beware! Jimi Kumara come to WATCH, at a Barbeque near you!).

Like everyone else I got caught up in the election. Mostly because it appeared as though their was a veer right and that the ground swell of public opinion was going sweep Brash and co into parliament. That didn’t happen, but the result was far from satisfactory. Labour shat on my fijoa wine soaked friends, the greens, and it pisses me off, still.

My favourite politics post was my pre-election sum-up, because I had to write quickly cos we were going out and because it is funny and places the whole election in a skewed, nonsensical perspective, which is where it belongs somehow.
I did one blog where I mentioned food but I really need to do more in the new year because I love food and I love it’s history, it’s social use and everything to do with it.
Mostly I like to eat it.
I need to write more music and telly stuff. I began a ‘guide to Coronation Street’ but again, because it is such an important matter I never finished it in a way I was satisfied with.

My only music blog was about the 3d’s and more like – my, ah those were days… sigh of nostalgia.

I don’t think I have one favourite blog but I like the one about fishing and also some of the ones about having a baby on the way.
Of course I have written about impending fatherhood. It is somewhat encompassing, after all, so I couldn’t avoid it.

At the moment we are entering a phase where we are actively encouraging the baby out.
We have a selection of old wives tales we are working through. Things that people have advised us will bring on the labour.
Later today we will go for a big walk, for instance.
(“It always works mate. I guarantee it”)
The book also advised having a curry. But we have curries all the time and I think that only works on people who aren’t used to it. I cant imagine it working on Indians for instance.
Having sexual intercourse is a hot topic too. Everyone seems to feel they can advise us on our sex life;
“Have a shag. It works everytime. Use this position (grabs pencil and scribbles down figures and detailed instruction). While your doing that grab your wifes breast thus. . .”
I wouldn’t mind but I really don’t feel a gas station attendent should become that familiar with his customers.

Anyway, the word ‘induction’ looms over the horizon. In the far distance through my doubting Thomas telescope I can see the phrase, ‘cycle of intervention’ and around the corner on a gingham tablecloth is a Caesar Salad. Mmmmmm.

The highlight of my year was our wedding. Friends and family rallied, we took a punt and it landed just inside the touchline, 5 metres from the line. All I had to do was turn up to score. We were worried about the weather but it was a superb day and that night the stars came out to play. We even got together a few bands and ran few some old show tunes.

‘Love, love will tear us apart again. . . ‘

It did and 2006 promises more of the same.

Hip hip horray!!

Engrish Specials

26 December 2005


...............You can observe a lot by just watching. . .

.................................

.................... Snoopy's Christmas - good? Bad? ugly?

It’s official. Our baby has formally rejected the baubles of Christmas and said ‘bah humbug’ to tinsel time. Perhaps it is the commercialism, the songs that appear only once a year, or maybe it just doesn’t like sausages.
That’s right dad ended up back ‘shitting on onions’ at the warehouse on Christmas eve. I was initially resolute, a stop there was not possible, then the wife said;
‘we just need a couple of things Jimi. lets go in to the red box’
‘No way!’
Said I. Putting my foot down. (quite literally. The car moved slowly but surely out of the warehouses magnetic pull)
‘Look! they have a sausage sizzle’
I was done for. The tractor beam of meat was on.

Ext Warehouse store Henderson.


Today the sizzlers had Santa hats on. The girl in attendance said they were collecting money ‘to help people who were dependent on drugs’
Wow! I’m as liberal and charitable as the next man but, shouldn't these people should pay for their own drugs?
Call me old fashioned.
And aren't there are more worthy recipients for our money?
I watch telly isn’t there ‘a little boy waiting’ somewhere?

I imagine a black child with a large belly pacing incessantly around a clay hut tapping his rolex watch;
“they’re late……again. I ‘m sick of it. . .”

At the warehouse .. They were so blatant about it too, collecting right out in the open.
I handed over my dollar.
‘Don’t spend it on ‘P’. ‘

Inside the tension is palpable. Christmas goodwill has given way to Christmas bad will. Rudeness is de rigeur. Don’t stand in the way of the determined mothers with kids in tow. If they need to get to the ‘decorations’ section move aside.
We see our midwife and her husband Tim. She stops to talk but is agitated and fidgety, shifting from foot to foot.
I am suspicious.. either she needs to go to the toilet or she has been given drugs by the sizzlers.
“merry Christmas my friend!” I say.
A clever reference, to the song of the moment -“Snoopy’s Christmas” which is either, the worst xmas song ever, or the best one.
“The babies good.’ I say proudly.
‘That’s great. Let’s go Tim. I need to buy. . . like the wind.’
And so she was gone, lest Christmas crash like a flaming biplane from WWI.

Laugh well

At the music section of the red box - a big man laughs.(me)
There is a CD titled. The 20 greatest Rock Songs Ever- VOL 2.
Volume two!?? Doesn’t that pretty much rain on the parade of volume one?
On the selection a couple of songs I would have been sure, would have made volume one.
‘Black Night’ by Deep Purple, a song with some of the coolest drum fills you have ever heard and ACDC’s homage to the all encompassing hangover
“It’s A Long Way To The Shop If You Want A Sausage Roll.”

Speaking of hangovers (‘the wrath of grapes’) I have met a few people this week who have been a little TOO jolly this season. With eyes the colour of Santa’s suit they have declared ‘only one sleep till Christmas’ around the 22nd of December and are keeping to their word.

I know theres some ocean around here somewhere"
"Dont worry. I know a shortcut!"



The cycle of birth and death continues this week and while our baby has failed to hold up it’s part of the birth end of the cycle the sorry spectacle of pilot whales beaching off our coast shows them doing their best for the death camp. But It’s absurd, why are they called pilot whales? They have little sense of direction. It reminds me of the scene at the green peace conference where someone is talking about dolphins..
“these beautiful animals are constantly being caught in these nets. It’s a tragedy made worse because they are such an intelligent creature. Some people say they are smart as humans”
Someone in the crowd yells out;
“If they’re so smart how come they get caught in the nets.”
The bloody pilot whale should be renamed ‘the blithering whale’ or the ‘aimless meandering whale’ or just ‘ken’s whale’ after our old friend once seen land-locked, floundering, deeply beached in his leather jacket outside the back of old Windsor Castle..
“He’s had four elephant beers to many. . .”

- Somewhere a little child waits..
And that somewhere is in the wife’s delectable mummy tummy.
Next week I may bring the happy news. But we are happy to wait.

Merry Christmas my friends!
( c. Royal Guardsman.1968 – Attr. Snoopy’s Christmas Best/worst song ever)