Archive for February, 2006

Emma the Enemist

It was a sunny Saturday arvo and Ashura and I were coming back to Auckland on the ferry after a day sightseeing on Waiheke. We had boarded the ferry and taken a couple of seats and waited for other passengers to board.

Soon a woman sat down in front of me. She was wearing bunny ears and holding a wine glass. I knew this could only mean one thing. Then I saw a woman down the row from her wearing a bridal veil, and my worst fears were confirmed - it was a hen’s party.

There wasn’t enough room in the row for all of the hen’s party to sit together, so one of them ended up sitting next to Ashura. She announced that we were sitting next to a bunch of booze hags and indeed she was wielding a wine glass (and all evidence suggested it was by no means the first glass of the day). Soon she started conversing with it and told us that she’d been over on the island for her sister’s hen’s party.

She wanted to know where Ashura was from. He truthfully said Japan, but this annoyed her and she demanded to know where he was really from. I was also interrogated as to my nationality. When I revealed I was a New Zealander, she started talking about how beautiful New Zealand was.

Emma, for that was her name, demanded to know how we’d met. Ashura said it was an unusual story and perhaps that it was best left to me to tell. So I told Emma the story, even though she wasn’t really interested and didn’t appear to detect the parts I’d fabricated.

It was time for Emma to tell us about her, because, well, that’s what’s really important. Emma was a New Zealander who’d been living in Sydney for a while. She liked it there and was studying for a bachelor of naturopathy. She lived there with her partner and she’d recently had some really bad PMS and had badgered him into agreeing to moving to New Zealand with her for at least a year.

Emma spied the skull-themed jewellery on Ashura and demanded to know what the skulls meant. He said it was about being naked, nothing to hide, or somethin’. Emma felt that Ashura was hiding something and wanted to “challenge” him on this. She said she often challenged people, and some of them didn’t like it.

A few years ago she saw a therapist. Not because she was messed up, you know, but just because she thought it would be helpful. It was helpful for her and she thinks everyone should see a therapist.

As part of Emma’s work as a naturopath undergraduate, she has performed thousands of colonic irrigations on people. She said that people who get in touch with their inner child had the most stuff flowing out of their bowels. Gallons of brown inner child flowing out of these people as Emma touched their souls.

Ashura’s skulls ‘n’ black attire had reminded her of someone - that guy in that movie. It took her a while to remember who, but finally she recalled it was Johnny Cash, as played by Joaquin Phoenix in “Walk the Line”. She felt it was important that Ashura know this.

Emma told us that even though she had a glass of wine (and a view pieces of grit/sand/ash in it) and had been drinking a lot that day, she wasn’t actually a drinker. Because of her work at a naturopath, she needed to set a good example for her clients and not be a complete and utter booze hag. In the past, however, she had previously been a complete and utter booze hag, but her partner wasn’t happy with her heavy drinking and wanted her to stop, so she did. But she was taking advantage of this celebratory event to make up her period of sobriety.

In high school Emma had been a bit of a bonker. She was known as the girl who bonked everyone, and she wondered what those people from high school would think of her now. See, she had changed. She wasn’t Emma the bonker any more. She had seen a therapist and changed.

Emma’s fellow booze hags had, by this stage, moved down to the lower deck and demanded that she come and join them, so Emma bid us an emotional farewell and she, her wine glass and inner child left us.

Almost a week later we were walking along High Street when Ashura heard a familiar sound. It was Emma. “Emma,” was yelled. She turned and looked but didn’t see us. We could have gone over and said hello, given up an update on our inner childs, but it seemed that we’d had a special moment on the ferry, and that special moment had passed.

Pants on fire

Mon ami Ashura666 is in town and we’ve been having a jolly good time exploring Auckland and beyond. People have been asking how it was that I came to meet Ashura666, or Ashura-san as we call him sometimes. In fact, it wasn’t until today when Emma from Sydney, who was part of a hen’s party, asked that I realised I had never told the story of how I and Ashura-san had met.

See, it was long ago, 1998, when I was on holiday in Rotterdam. I’d always wanted to visited the Netherlands and had been fortunate enough to get some work on a commercial liner heading from San Francisco to Rotterdam. After overcoming severe seasickness, I had become a valued member of the Statandam’s crew, or krew, as we fondly called ourselves.

The boat eventually docked in Rotterdam and after I said goodbye to my new friends, I found myself alone and friendless in a strange land. One lonely afternoon, I found myself wandering the city, in search of something, someone.

I stumbled across a cirus, Het Grote Vrolijke Circus van Nederland. It was almost showtime, so I bought a ticket, and tried to find a seat. The circus was a popular family pastime for the people of Rotterdam, so it was pretty full. After much searching, I finally found a seat next to a miserable looking fellow.

Over my time on the Satandam, I hadn’t spoken any English, instead speaking a pidgin hybrid of Dutch, Portuguese and Polish, which seemed to be the best means of communication for the multinational krew members. So imagine my surprise when my miserable seat companion spoke English.

It turned out that Ashura-san was an English cultural attache from England on diplomatic business in Rotterdam. He was attending het circus in order to get a good idea of the local culture of Rotterdam. We started talking and then realised that neither of us really wanted to be at the circus and actually wanted to go to the pub, so we left and got pissed.

Since then, we have remained steadfast amigos, and we have visited each other in whatever country the other had been resident at the time. 2000’s surprise weekend in the United Arab Emirates was great, as was 2004’s vacation in Washington State, but it’s great to finally be able to show Ashura-san around my sweet home of Auckland.

Real life

Re the old people who want to see a commercial-free TV channel and TV programming just like the olden days.

I look back fondly upon Beverly Hills 90210. I don’t watch The OC cos it seems kinda dull. But not going to insist that 15-year-olds should get 90210 on DVD and stop watching Mischa Barton being all skinny and messed up. Likewise, I would not trade Eating Media Lunch for McPhail and Gadsby, nor Shortland Street for Close To Home. Contrary to what our rose-tinted hindsight will have us believe television today is actually more sophisticated and complex than it was 30 years ago.

It sounds like the nostalgic oldies would appreciate a digital channel playing the greatest hits of New Zealand television. I know I’d tune in (or download) if Peppermint Twist were to be made available for the first time since 1987.

I’ve seen the future, and it’s on my iBook.

Re Girls Aloud

I was walking down K Road and saw a nightclub was advertising that Girls Aloud would be playing there on Monday. First I got really excited, then I wept bitter tears of disappointment.

See, while The Aloud are my favourite pop group at the moment, sadly, tragically, I won’t be around on Monday to go. Nor will I be here for their Top of the Pops taping.

I saw a press release asking for audience members for TOPT. Interestingly, the group was described as “indie-pop”. I’m guessing this description is being used because there would be near rioting if the awful truth were to emerge - Girls Aloud were formed in a Popstars TV series.

It was Popstars - The Rivals, in late 2003. But unlike the boyband, One True Voice, not only have The Aloud not split up, but they’re on to their third album (fourth if you count the Christmas CD). Their secret to success isn’t hair straighteners, it’s that they work with really good song writers. It takes good songs, not dance moves, to get to number one.

But meanwhile in Aotearoa, there’s still this aversion to people who don’t write their own songs. ‘Tis a pity. There are a lot of talented songwriters out there who’d rather not have to diet and spend weeks away from their families in order to get their lovely pop songs heard.

I envy the lucky people who will get to see Girls Aloud live.

Re re.

A lot of people think re is short for regarding. It’s actually Latinese and is short for res, which means thing. This is what happens when you spend your days looking up words in the dictionary, ow.

Night light

I spent most of the lantern festival wandering around taking photos. Other people did this too. Here’s a hint: if you’re taking photos of lanterns and you want them to look all glowy and wonderful, remember to disengage the flash. A pair of zebras demonstrates the difference between flash and no flash.

But I realised that if I spent all the time looking through a viewfinder, I’d start to miss things. So it was time to engage in the peripheral business.

I enjoyed the karaoke. There were some really awful performance, including a good-awful rendition of “Let It Be” and two girls in short shorts who did a nervous, wobbly bad-awful ballad. (To put it in NZ Idol audition terms, he’d get flamboyantly rejected on-camera by the judges, but the girls would get weeded out on the first day.)

But there were good, entertaining performances some guy did a crowd-pleasing version of Spandau Ballet’s “True” (which even prompted screaming from the audience), while two ladies did an enthusiastic rendition of Blondie’s “Call Me”.

As for the food, I had an adequate vegetarian pad Thai, a refreshing passionfruit slushy thing, a superb pork bun, and a pearl milk tea. I couldn’t finish the pearl tea. There’s something a little unnerving about sucking on a straw and having a succession of sweet li’l balls firing into my mouth.

At fireworks time, Teh Matt and I ventured across to the Wellesley Street overbridge and put our cameras exposure settings to work, before crossing to the other side and watching the fireworks spurting above the trees in Albert Park.

More lantern festival photos here.

Islander

When I read this in the Herald today, I knew I had to get out of town.

[T]he [Mission Bay Jazz and Blues festival] also drew a large group of young teenagers and before the night was out many of them were in a fighting mood.

One jazz fan said he was sitting near the fountain on the grass when he noticed large numbers of teenagers arriving.

Some were as young as 12 and 13. They were texting each other on cellphones, some were drinking and there was tension in the air.

I mean, tension is one thing, but when teenz start texting each other, you know that trouble is a-brewin’.

So I went to Kawau Island with my bro. It was a nice hot summer day and we explored the Mansion House and went for a massive walk around the reserve.

I really like that in the Mansion House, amid all the restored rooms with their elegant kauri panels, there was a board with photos of the Mansion House’s time in the ’60s and ’70s as a hotel, complete with the now-demolished extra accommodation blocks built out the back.

I had a strange experience with one of the ferry crew on the way back. As I handed him our tickets to clip, he made a comment to my brother about how women are always so organised and how men usually have to muck around in their pockets trying to find the tickets. It was strange - he was talking about me to my brother, but it wasn’t actually me, rather some general stereotype of women that he was imposing upon me. It’s hilarious because I’ve just misplaced my contents insurance invoice… again.

Hot pics of Kawau island delights can be found on Flickr.

Sniiiiiiiip

I’m in an official state of mourning (wearing black, but also lots of black eyeliner and therefore looking fabulous) at the news that Smash Hits magazine has come to an end after 28 years.

Now, for those unfamiliar with ver Hits, it might be easy to think that Smash Hits was lame pop magazine for teen girls with lame interviews with lame pop artists. No, no, that was all the imitators who came after Smash Hits. Ver Hits was the originator. It was the one that decided that pop took itself too seriously and it was time to have some fun. Sometimes knowing what’s in a pop star’s fridge is more revealing than hearing about their arsehole stepfather.

What I’ve learned from the various obituaries for Smash Hits is that the mag’s zenith came in the late ’80s around the time that Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan (wait - do I really need to use their surnames?) ruled the world. And it just so happens that this was the time when I was a regular Smash Hits reader. Yes, I read almost every Smash Hits in 1987 and 1988. (Actually, “excitedly devoured” is a better description than “read”.)

I got the Australian edition, which was the English edition with a few pages replaced with features on local acts, but that made me like it even more. It meant I was in on the Kylie and Jason phenomena even before it arrived in England, let alone New Zealand. Smash Hits were gleefully covering Kylie’s first single - a mediocre cover of “The Locomotion” and fuelled her poptastic fire.

When I was 13, I did a project for third form music where I compared four of the leading music magazines (Smash Hits, Number One, RTR Countdown and some other one). Smash Hits, I declared, was the best. Not only that, but the teacher singled me out as having one of the best projects (everyone else had done stuff like a biography of Belinda Carlisle).

Smash Hits was a huge inspiration to me. When I was 12 I co-authored “Bon Jovi Mini-Mag” (which despite its name, was not really about Bon Jovi, and ended up being burnt by co-author Caroline’s dad when he declared it was obscene), and then later did two editions of “Perv” (which despite its name, was not obscene). And indeed Smash Hits’ lively style has been an inspiration to be right to this day.

Occasionally I’d buy a contemporary Smash Hits, but, you know, it’s not the same any more. Pop stars don’t sit down and answer questions about what’s in their fridge, without their publicist - eager to avoid mentioning eating disorders - jumping in and abruptly changing the subject.

A few months ago I discovered the joy of buying old Smash Hits yearbooks on eBay and got a complete set from 1983 to 1991 (cos after that came grunge and everything changed). As a memorial tribute, I had a look through the ‘87 and ‘88 editions and was reminded of the variety of stories issues included. Things like:

  • A Neil Tennant board game.
  • A pin-up poster of Midge Ure.
  • A six-page biography of Bob Geldof.
  • “A day in the life of Terence Trent D’Arby”.
  • An analysis of popstars’ handwritten lyrics.
  • Never-ending Paul Weller coverage/worship.

And here are a few photos of bits and pieces from the yearbooks.

Smash Hits yearbooks

Pop stars height comparison chart

Books, batteries and the Beano.

Beastie Boys photo album

But while Smash Hits is about to cease being published, its spirit lives on (yay!). One of my favourite www interweb sites is Popjustice, which I heartily recommend if you like pop music. They even have a book of remembrance for Ver Hits.

Other Smash Hits links

Early ’80s Smash Hits - was it any good? - a discussion.
Smash Hits from December ‘81

(That’s enough - ed.)