Archive for December, 2007

Matchboxes

I went to the Auckland Art Gallery yesterday because it was a Sunday and I wasn’t working. (Oh, I’ve been working lately, baby. I’m been working.)

The main art gallery building was restricted to a few ground-floor galleries because the rest is shut off in preparation for the coming expansion - they’re going to pull down the cool 1970s part and replace it with a giagantor extension. Yeah, architecture from the ’70s isn’t quite heritagey enough to be kept.

Unloved, unwanted

The art on display there was mainly a sort of greatest hits selection, including plenty of Goldies and Lindauers for the tourists. It was all a bit boring, but the Love Chief exhibition (brilliant name) tickled me greatly, which I think was its intention.

Over the road at the New Gallery, there was Likeness & Character, a selection of portraits, including Tony Fomison’s The Ponsonby Madonna, right there, in my face. Lovely.

It all got me thinking about the art of self-portraiture. There’s a lot of it going on these days what the craft of the digital camera self-portrait - hold the camera at arm’s length, look seductively down the lens, and snap. But I’ve seen self-portraits done this way that are more than just a quickie taken for a Facebook profile. It’ll be interesting to see how this develops. (A Flickr search sez: “We found 6,091 groups about self and portrait.”

Upstairs at the New Gallery was Making Worlds, which seemed to be primarily geared towards a “Hey kidz! Art is kewl!!!” audience, but managed to be rather interesting for senior citizens such as myself.

There was a collection of Eugene Carchesio’s decorated matchboxes, with an activity table where visitors could decorate their own one. A gallery attendant told me that they had to keep putting aside matchboxes that were too rude for the family-friendly theme. Cocks in the boxes were a particular problem. Well, there’s a whole exhibition theme right there. I made a family-friendly cockless box.

Red Hot 2

My favourites from Making Worlds were Callum Morten’s International Style 1999 - a miniature replica of Mies van der Rohes’ Farnsworth House - showing the spooky side of Modernism, and curtains.

And I also liked Chiho Aoshima’s City Glow animation. A five-screen-wide journey through a lush city where snake-like buildings squirm amongst the flowers. And it had an awesome gothic graveyard scene.

I walk past the Art Gallery all the time, but I hardly ever go in. I shall have to do this more often, because there is so much good stuff there.

Also, oh, it’s New Year’s Eve. How’d that get here so fast?

Present, presents

Christmas this year feels like it almost passed me by unscathed. Somehow I managed to avoid most of the worst aspects of the festive season.

Earlier in the month I was in Farmers and they were attempting to set a festive mood by playing early-’90s-style R&B versions of Christmas songs. It didn’t liven my spirit and send me merrily a-skippin’ to the till. It just annoyed me - really annoyed me - so I left.

You know all those Christmas pop songs that no one likes but everyone plays every Christmas, like the musical abominations that are “Snoopy’s Christmas” and “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”? Well, I managed to avoid hearing any of those in their entirety.

I’m not sure quite how I managed that, but I think it might have had something to do with not actually having much Christmas shopping to do. Buying stuff online or at other times during the year is a good way of avoiding Christmas craziness. (Not that you’ll do it, but I’m just sayin’.)

But for the times I did venture into shops, I found one really good way to stay sane: listening to good music on my iPod in the shop. It had the added bonus of making shop assistants leave me alone - it’s just that much harder to ask me if I need help with anything or if I’m just happy browsing. But it did mean that they eyed me suspiciously, as if perhaps I was actually listening to the audio book “U Can Steal It! Shoplifting in seven easy steps!”

As for Christmas Day itself, well, it was boring, but that’s how it always is. If most of the day was grey, there was a bright moment of gold when Christmas lunch was served. We went for slow-baked salmon this year, which quite frankly kicks the arse of anything ham or turkey may have to offer.

And I will make this observation: comedy presents are fine, but when you get one real present and the rest are comedy ones, it does get a little depressing when you realise that all those nicely wrapped presents are $2 Shop lolz. Yeah, I guess if you stop believing in Santa, he stops believing in you.

But, you know, no matter what goes on on Christmas Day, it’s never a bad day. I have my spunky new camera, and generally stuff is rather good.

Season’s greetings

So, yeah, I had a pretty good birthday.

In the morning I found various birthday greetings left by people in different corners of the interwebs: here in comments, on Facebook, Twitters, emails, and also text message. It’s all very modern, and it was lots of fun reading them all.

Later in the afternoon, I co-opted a Christmas party I’d been invited to and turned it into my birthday party. Well, at least that was my plan. When I got there, I found myself having such a good time that I gave up on the “Hey, um, it’s my 33rd birthday!”.

Things were going well at the party - there was good booze and good food, but then things got even better when David Saunders showed up. He was in The 3Ds, which is my second favourite New Zealand band of all time. Part of me was being 18 years old and wanting to go “OMG! You are so cool!!!!!”, but another part of me was being all 33 and grown-up.

Then a bunch of partygoers went to the King’s Arms for their Christmas party gig thing, featuring Blam Blam Blam (yeah, them). So I went along to that and did something that I’ve never done at the King’s Arms before (that sounds ominous, but it’s not). The Blams were good, but I reckon the Wellington gig was better.

So now I can finally get into the whole Christmas spirit. Really, for me, the build-up for Christmas is two days long.

Now I’m with the whanau. It looks like one of the cats is anorexic or something. She won’t can has cheeseburger? She’s currently curled up next to my right foot, which is not an unpleasant thing.

Season’s greetings.

33 on 22

Hey, guess what! It’s my birthday on Saturday. I’m going to be turning 33 on the 22nd, which has a nice sort of symmetry to it.

The Saturday before Christmas is one of those days that tends to get owned by the Yuletide build-up, so I thought I’d deal out a subtle (SUBTLE!!!) reminder this year.

33 is apparently one of those panic ages - you go, “OMG! Jesus was 33 when He died and look at all the stuff He achieved in His life! I’m 33 and no one capitalises pronouns when they talk about me! I suck!” But I think that’s kinda silly. I mean, the deal is that Jesus is perfect, so what kind of wretched life would you make for yourself if you tried to be perfect all the time. Mm.

But there is one thing that’s cool about 33 - LPs spin at 33rpm. And everyone knows that vinyl is really cool.

Anyway, if you want to give me a present, these are two things I like:

  1. Bad poetry.
  2. Postcards.

You can email me or post to PO Box 68 603, Newton, Auckland 1145. Merci.

New dumb pony club

There was a work do at the races, which did not set my heart a flutter. See, I’m not a pony girl. I’m not hot for horses. I don’t quite understand horse racing - it’s just gambling on animal performance. And there’s something about racetracks that seems really bleak.

The function had a dress code, wherein ladies were advised to wear a cocktail dress. But ever since the cocktail dress incident of ‘96, well, let’s just say that there are some promises that can never be broken. I wore jeans.

So, upon arriving I checked out the bar. On the weekend I was having a discussion about how the worst drink in the world is anything that can be described as “complementary bubbly”, i.e. cheap sparkling white wine that someone is providing (free!!!!) in attempt to class things up. Well, there was complementary bubbly a go-go.

I sat down with my complementary bubbly and read the race guide. A few pages in was “a ladies’ guide to betting,” which seemed to have been written in 1962.

[L]ife itself is a bit of a gamble. We marry, buy dresses one size too small in anticipation of a huge weight loss and we embark on a myriad of programmes to preserve our looks and prolong our lives. Any dead certs in there? Only one so far that I can see.

You know how some people ask if feminism is still relevant in our modern society? Well, when I got to the part where it compared horses with husbands (lolz!!!) I knew the answer.

The race guide also had a hilarious list of the theme tune each jockey had picked to be played after his or her victory. Now, it’s probably not a huge surprise that most of them were songs with obvious victory choruses, like “U Can’t Touch This”, “I Want It All”, “Blaze of Glory” and “These Boots Were Made For Walking”. But there were a few unusual choices, like “Of Wolf and Man”, Metallica’s song about a shape-shifting man-wolf, and the “Ghostbusters” theme song, suggesting a Scooby-Doo-like adventure featuring a horse being ridden by a goulish jockey.

As it happened, I couldn’t bet on any of the horses because I didn’t have any cash. If I did, I could have followed the “ladies’ guide” and chosen the horses based on their names or the colour of the jockey’s shirt. (”$20 each way on Princess Fluffy and the one in the pink shirt!!!!”) That would have been fantastic.

The magic combination of complementary bubbly plus horse racing plus bad ’80s music (Really, since when did Club Nouveau’s 1987 cover of “Lean on Me” ever get any party started?) did not add up to a good time.

So the valuable lesson learned is that Robyn and the horse-racing experience does not make a good combination. Perhaps I should stick to greyhound racing.

A weekend in Wellington

It’s a fact that while Auckland is New Zealand’s largest city, Wellington is New Zealand’s coolest. It’s something to do with the geography - the compact city centre - and that it’s the capital city. Somehow this all adds up to a being lovely place to live.

So when I heard rumours of a Wellington shindig encompassing the Annual Wellingtonista Awards and the Public Address Christmas do, I quickly booked some flights to have a long weekend in the capital.

Out the window

Thursday

When the day came, I almost missed my flight after the airport bus didn’t show up, but thankfully the flight was delayed due to bad weather in Wellington. Yay for bad weather in Wellington!

As soon as I arrived at my hotel (top floor, corner, wall-to-ceiling views - hey, cool) I got ready and headed down Cuba Street to Mighty Mighty, where the bar was full of cool Wellington people.

First on the line-up was “It Doesn’t Give My Opponents Much Time Either” - a quiz about the politics and culture of the Muldoon years. While the proper teams answered on stage, I showed off my awesomeness to my tablemates by knowing that the 1480 Kroozers were skateboarders.

Next the Annual Wellingtonista Awards were presented, honouring the best of Wellington. (During my Wellington weekend, I got to experience a few of the winners and nominees, and I’m confident that the best things did win.)And then - yee-yah - Blam Blam Blam played. I reckon it was even better than their gig at the King’s Arms back in September. Even their less known songs got a good audience reaction, and there was much jumping around. “Don’t fight it Martha it’s bigger than both of us” was a full-on emotional experience, while “There is no depression in New Zealand” took on an extra special dimension being played in the nation’s capital.

Over the evening I met lots of cool people I’d only previously known online, as well as a few nervous fanboys who were lovely to meet.

Eventually Joanna, the wonderful hostess, rounded up the remainders and we headed off to the Hawthorn Lounge, a superb cocktail bar disguised as a gentlemanlady’s club. Um, I can’t remember what we drank, other than that it was good.

Finally for the evening a late-night food mission, but this is where Wellington lets itself down. There was a kebab shop on Courtenay Place. They would sell us inadequate felafels, but they didn’t want us to eat there, so we had to resort to trickery to get a table. They ended up booting us out. Man, all I wanted was a kebab.

Shoe and bag rescue 2

Friday

I decided to take it (relatively) easy on Friday. I went to Te Papa and saw the Toi Te Papa exhibition of the history of New Zealand art. I’m glad they’re taking their responsibility as the national gallery seriously now. It seemed like the one part of Te Papa that wasn’t all geared up to be fun and educational 4 kidz. It’s just a whole lot of good paintings.

I went for a walk along the waterfront (it was windy) and came across the new Meridian building, as recommended by Tom.

Later I went along to the Thistle Hall, which was having a fund-raising event, selling a number of artworks for $100 each. I found a watercolour that tickled my fancy so I bought it. (But now I feel like I need something… darker to balance things out. Hm.)

After an unpleasant experience being crammed into the hotel lift with a bunch of office workers dressed in 1920s gangster costumes, I came across Tom and Kowhai going to the Madame Fancy Pants VIP evening. MFP is a shop that sells clothing and accessories, and I bought a cool badge that says “Reading is sexy”, which, as you know, is true because you are reading this and you are sexy.

We finished the evening by having a polite, well-behaved drink at Superfino. I had a poached-pear punch, which was just right for an early summer night. Are there even bars like this in Auckland?

Poached pear punch

Saturday

I met up with Mike. I’ve known him now for 11 years. Crikey! We walked around and he showed me where Wellington’s finest graffiti and sticker art could be found. We wandered up Aro Street, then all the way down to the waterfront, where we had fried crap from Viggo Mortensen’s favourite fish and chip shop.

We were meeting Mike’s friend Shannon in Civic Square, which was also the setting for a climate change festival, so we were entertained by a hippy choir singing those sorts of songs that only hippies sing (the kind that involves self-congratulatory rhythmic clapping).

When Shannon showed up we wandered off, pausing only to put a Green Party sticker on a campervan (lolz!!! irony!!!!), then having a coffee at Fidel’s. That seems like a lot of walking, but I think it’s much easier to walk around central Wellington because it’s so flat. You can’t go far in central Auckland without hitting a steep, demanding hill.

Then I met up with Jo and Tom. We had a drink at Floriditas (srsly, Wgtn is all about the booze), then dinner at a Thai restaurant and coffee and Ernesto’s. Jo went off to see the Gossip (which, from all accounts, was brilliant), and Tom and I were joined by Stephen, and we had more good cocktails at the Hawthorn Lounge.

F heart

Sunday

I had a few hours to spare before my flight, so I visited the Wellington City Gallery, which had a Bill Hammond exhibition - his epic paintings of unusual animals - and a couple of montage films by Tracey Moffatt. I only saw one - “Love” - a montage of clips from romantic films showing the different ways women are treated in films. It’s really unnerving to hear a succession of leading men shouting “Whore!” (Hollywood is still male-centric.)

Finally I left Wellington, a hot and sunny day, and flew back to Auckland, which was being all grey and rainy and moody.

I figured out why Wellington is so good - it’s not just the geography, it’s the people.

Wellington

I just spent a fun, action-packed long weekend in Wellington. I’m rather sleep deprived, so words will have to wait for later, but until then here are some photos.

Wellington stuff:

Mighty Mighty

Wellington graffiti:

F heart

The alligator and the girl fight

On Friday night I got the ferry over to Devonport to see Bill Direen playing at the Masonic Tavern. The ferry was full of nicely dressed middle-aged couples returning to the Devonport after a night out in the city. (I like the idea of living in Devonport and ferrying to the city. That could be me, I tell you, if only great-grandpappy Mays hadn’t sqandered the family fortune!)

Anyway, after seeing Bill Direen play at the PR Bar back in September and being very impressed, I was keen to see him again. After all, it’s not often that he plays these days.

The Masonic was full of many people who looked like they’d been fans of Mr Direen since the ’80s. In fact, I got talking to one lady, a long-time fan, who was in Auckland for a conference and couldn’t resist coming along.

For me, the Bill Direen experience comes down to this: he’s a really good songwriter. It’s just a pleasure to hear the words unfurling with the musical accompaniment.

My favourite tunes were the Russian rug song, which is best appreciated in a seated position, and a rearranged “Do the Alligator”, which is best appreciated in a twisty, slinky position.

I had a splendid time, and I suspect that the older audience members had an even better time.

Then on Saturday night I went to a girl fight!

Heather’s been learning women’s sport-fighting at Mania gym for a while now. It’s a combination of several martial arts and wrestling, and is much more practical than traditional martial arts of self-defence. Yo, it’s street.

So there was a big event at the Transmission Room, and Heather was fighting in the penultimate pairing (cos she’s that good).

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I ended up really enjoying it. I suspect many years of watching Superstars of Wrestling had prepared me for being an appreciative audience member.

So, with Supergroove’s “You Freak Me” playing, Heather came out as her alter ego Fabienne Rush, and magically transformed from a lovely, code-writing, SJD-loving girl into a fierce-as lady wrestler. Seriously, she was scary.

Needless to say, she kicked her opponant’s arse. It was really cool cheering her on - and it sounds like she has a bit of a following.

I think I’m a bit too much of a wuss to do anything like that (plus having Lasik puts me out of contention for any extreme contact sports like that, dammit), but I was really impressed by not just Ms Rush, but all the ladies getting fierce in the squared circle.

‘Twas a good weekend!