Stone Cold Quizzin’

Tuesday night pub quiz. Entertainment section. A clip of Young MC’s “Bust A Move” was played. The question was asked if it was released in 1989, 1991 or 1993.

I was like “I know this! I had this tape! It was my favourite song!” and wrote down 1991. But it was 1989. And we had double points riding on that round.

My memory failed me because while “Bust A Move” was released in 1989, it didn’t really pick up the pace until 1990, and also my absolute favourite Young MC songs, “Pick Up the Pace” and “Keep It In Your Pants”, were from his 1991 album, Brainstorm.

So as a result, my team came third and won a $25 bar tab*. But just think of the riches and glory that could have been ours had we come second or first.

Attempting to console myself for this devastating loss, I’ve been watching old Young MC videos on YouTube.

Now, I wrote this record for when I perform, lonely nights inside the university dorm…

* But really, third place and a $25 bar tab is awesome.

The accidental old-lady botherer

It was a Sunday afternoon and I had a caffeine withdrawal headache and I wasn’t in the mood for no nonsense. I just wanted to get some cash out from an ATM and go along to my favourite cafe and get a coffee.

As I was nearing the door of ASB Bank’s ATM lobby, a middle-aged woman entered it ahead of me. When I got inside, I saw that she was at one ATM, but the other one was out of service, so I stood back about two metres behind her and waited.

She seemed really tense and eventually turned around to look at me. I think she didn’t realise that the other machine was out of service, so she needed to find out why I wasn’t using it and why I was standing behind her.

“Are you waiting to use this one,” she asked. “Yes, that one is out of service,” I explained. She glanced over at it and said, “Oh, I didn’t even notice that when I came in. I just went straight to this one. Well, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t holding you up.”

I thought it was an interesting choice of words. I mean, she hadn’t even been there for minute and yet she apparently felt that she was taking too long.

But then I considered her choice of words – “holding you up”. It seemed like a bit of a Freudian slip. I think she was scared of the strange person lurking behind her. She was alone at an ATM on a quiet Sunday afternoon. She was scared that I was going to hold her up.

She had become quite flustered and seemed in a hurry to get her cash from the machine and leave, away from the notorious gangsta criminal R.O.B.Y.N.

Man, all I wanted was a coffee.

One-way mirror

A few months I was at an art exhibition opening in Raglan, and I was possibly the youngest person there. The crowd was mainly middle-aged folks, and the entertainment was provided by an elderly gentleman who told a joke that went a little somethin’ like this:

A man found a bottle, rubbed it and a genie appeared and promised to grant the man one wish for setting him free. So the man said, “OK, my wish is for there to be a bridge between New Zealand and Australia.”

The genie replied, “I can only grant wishes for things that are possible! A bridge between Australia and New Zealand is too far! Not even the best engineers can manage that! Wish again plz.”

So the man said, “OK, well, I wish that I could understand my wife.”

The genie paused, and then said, “Hmm… Let me have a think about that bridge idea again…”

The joke brought much raucous laughter to the (wined and cheesed) middle-aged audience. But I did not lolz. Instead I was thinking, “Wait, was that a sexist joke? And if so, who was it sexist towards?”

Then I realised – the men were laughing at it from the perspective of, “Ha ha! Women are so confusing and hard to understand! No wonder the genie couldn’t change her!” and the women were laughing at it from the perspective of, “Ha ha! Men are so bad at reading emotion and subtext! No wonder the genie couldn’t change him!”

It was like the middle-age comedy version of an optical illusion – a joke that is funny to everyone who hears it, but for different reasons.

And so it made me wonder – am I going to get to a point in my life where I’ll be laughing at jokes about how men are X and women are Y?

Oh, I hope not. Pass the Courvoisier.

Che-che, bro? Chur, mate.

I recently did a bit of research at work to help figure out how to spell the New Zealand slang word chur (and, yeah, that’s the spelling we settled on).

It’s a hard one to look into because it’s the sort of word that’s never used in any sort of formal writing. Online it’s most likely to be found in blogs, forums, social networking websites, but never stuff like newspaper articles or things written by reputable writers.

The first time I heard chur was probably about 20 years ago, and yet it doesn’t appear to have made it into any Kiwi slang lists. Instead those are chocker with the kind of words that probably only your great-uncle and his cobbers down at the RSA use non-ironically.

So I guess it falls upon me – oh the burden – to get something down in writing. This is what I’ve found – there are two separate words – chur and che.

chur (tʃɜː)

  • Chur is pronounced with the ‘ch’ in ‘chop’ and the long vowel sound in ‘bird’.
  • It could also be spelt cher, but I don’t like this because it’s confusing with Cher the singer (pronounced ‘Sheer’)
  • Use 1. Chur is used appreciatively, in the way that someone might say “awesome” or “excellent”. Eg “They had a two-for-one special on Tim Tams at the supermarket!” “Chur!”
  • Use 2. Chur is used to show thanks. “Do you want this packet of Tim Tams? We bought too many.” “Oh, chur!”
  • Chur is often coupled with a vocative term, eg, “Chur, bro.”
  • The vowel sound in chur can be drawn out to emphasise the appreciation. “Chuuuuur! That’s awesome!”

che (tʃɛ)

  • Che is also pronounced with the ‘ch’ in ‘chop’, but takes the shorter vowel sound in ‘bed’.
  • Che is a shorter-sounding word.
  • Use 1. Che can be used to mean an affirmative, like “OK” or “yep”. Eg “I’m off to the supermarket.” “Che.”
  • Use 2. Che is often doubled as che-che. This used about the same as Use 1 of chur – to show appreciation or praise.

Origins

So where did this interesting word/s come from? I dunno… But I did pick up a few theories:

  • It’s short for cheers.
  • It’s short for choice.
  • It’s short for true.
  • There was this guy in Rotorua who had a speech defect and when he tried to say “choice” it came out as “chuuuuu”.
  • Howard Morrison invented it.*

I’m sure that it originates from Maori English, but how it got there is less certain. It seems that chur and che probably have the same root, but it could also be argued that they might be from two separate sources.

As a disclaimer, I should note that I did a couple of first-year linguistics papers and I have vague hobbyist interest in New Zealand English, but that’s about it.

Most of this is speculation. I just want to get what is in my brain out on the interwebs. If anyone has any more information or theories about chur/che, do share!

* Here’s a clip from Eating Media Lunch, where Howard Morrison claims to have invented chur in 1960:

Update: May 2010

I’ve heard a really compelling theory of the origins of chur from Te Rau Kupenga. He says it’s an East Coast term that came about through subtle changes over time and the influence of English on Maori.

In the beginning was parekareka, meaning “sweet as!”. This was shortened to kareka, then mutated into kelega via regional consonants. That then became chalega, which was shortened to cha, and finally turned into chur.

The only thing standing between you and me is the bus, baby

I had the day off today, so I decided to go to Sylvia Park because it is a mall and it is shiny and new.

I considered taking the train – the new Sylvia Park station opens today – but it actually looks like going from Mt Eden station Sylvia Park could require three trains, which is, like, totally ridiculous.

So instead I took the 512 bus. It starts off fairly ordinarily – Symonds, Khyber, Broadway, Great South, Main Highway, Ellerlie-Panmure Highway, but then once it hits Mt Wellington, it goes on this dizzying circuit of various suburban streets, including one called Ferndale, which is the fictitious setting of Shortland Street, which makes me think that the bus isn’t actually grinding around the suburban hills, but rather I’ve accidentally jumped across a vortex in the space-time continuum and am in a parallel universe/limbo where I must circle the mean streets of Ferndale South in a bus until finally I get to jump back in to the relative civilisation of Mt Wellington Highway.

Now, when I first visited Sylvia Park a few weeks ago, it was a quiet Friday. The mall felt like a 1960s English Corbusian-inspired housing estate that had been turned into a New Zealand mall, and I was quite excited by it all.

But when I got to Sylvia Park today, I realised I’d made a terrible mistake. It was the school holidays, so the mall was packed with babies&children&teenagers.

Enough Sylvia Park school holidays mayhem! I jumped on the first bus that came along with “DOWNTOWN” on its destination board. What I didn’t realise was that it went to downtown via Panmure, when meant entering a whole other space-time continuum and going on more crazy-ass circuits, past butcher shops that offer discount rates on sausages for sports clubs and hangis.

But as it happened, I’d just signed up with Twitter, so I amused myself by sending progress reports to the interwebs:

3:25pm On a bus. Endlessly circling the streets of south central Panmure. Oh, make the relentless suburban landscape end!

3:38pm Taniwha Street in Glen Innes. I paid over five dollar for this bus ride. I expect magic.

3:44pm The sun has come out and the bus is turning into Kohimarama, which is not in my cellphone’s dictionary.

4:02pm Why can’t this bus do what the 274 does and drive along main roads instead of detouring along all these suburban side streets?

4:13pm Downtown, sweet downtown. Only an hour to get here from Mount Wellington.

Life would be so much easier if I were a shut-in/hermit (hermette?) type.