Monthly Archive for October, 2008

Unbalanced (literally)

Published
by
Robyn
on October 24, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 2 Comments

A couple of weeks ago I had a really mild cold that just left me feeling a bit worn out. It seemed like it was all sorted, but then when I woke up on Saturday morning, something very odd had happened.

Everything felt… strange. It was like I was detached from the world, like there was a layer of delay between the way things were and the way I experienced them. I didn’t know what was going on, so I went to the doctor who diagnosed me with labyrinthitis, inflammation of parts of the inner ear that control perception of balance (otherwise known as the labyrinth).

Labyrinthitis is a pretty cool name for an ailment. In order to explain how it works, I have created this handy infographic:

So basically it means that the part of my inner ear that senses balance isn’t functioning properly. If I turn my head quickly, I get a woozy, spaced-out feeling. In fact, I’m pretty sure how I feel all the time is the sort of experience some people try to get when they use certain kinds of drugs - out of it as, bro. But I like to be in control of everything, including my senses. I do not like my inner ear telling my brain LIES.

The other annoying thing is the vocabulary I have to use to describe how I’m feeling: I feel spaced out, unbalanced, dizzy. But all of these terms can also be used metaphoricially to describe states of mental health. So I feel the need to say “I feel unbalanced - literally! I’m not mentally unbalanced! I just a bit wobbly!”

Fortunately it hasn’t all been motion sickness and misery. I’ve read Dana Thomas’s book “Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Lustre” and feel validated in not owning anything designer or blingy; watched season one of the unexpectedly charming Psych on DVD; a aslightly depressing documentary on the consequences of peak oil, The End of Suburbia; and the very first episode of Gloss (awesome!) and the documentary Architect Athfield on the brilliant new NZ On Screen website.

Now all I need to do is wait for my immune system to confidently say to the Virus of Disorientation, “You have no power over me,” and I can go back to just being metaphorically wobbly.

Friday afternoon late train blues

Published
by
Robyn
on October 14, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 6 Comments

It was a Friday afternoon, and I was waiting at the train platform for the train home. Half-past five came and went; no train. But I had my iPod, I had some internets on my phone. I could wait for a while. And finally the train came about 20 minutes late.

All was good until the train arrived at the public transport jewel of Lower Hutt, Waterloo Station. An Englishman got on the train, lugging a suitcase, wearing a Lonestar steakhouse t-shirt and looking rather bothered.

He started complaining aloud to anyone who would listen. “The bloody train was half an hour late”, he moaned. (There must have been a tear in the delicate fabric of the space-time continuum that suddenly added on 10 minutes to the time around Lower Hutt). “I don’t know why I came to this bloody country. Trains run every 5 minutes in London,” he proclaimed, somehow mistaking the suburbs of the Hutt Valley (population 100,000) with being akin to London (population 7,350,000).

No one responded or sympathised. He then proclaimed, “The country’s going to the pack, why wouldn’t the trains be any different?” This drew a response from a middle-aged lady sitting nearby, who’d migrated to New Zealand from England 15 years ago. She asked him why, if he disliked it so much, didn’t he leave. “I am bloody leaving. I’m going to Australia on Monday. Biggest mistake of my life coming here.” Oh, really?

“This country’s 30 years behind the rest of the world,” he angrily exclaimed. But, kind sir, that’s why we like living here. The trains might not run as frequently as in other places, and sometimes there are stoppages, but trains don’t get blown up by wannabe terrorists, and innocent people don’t get killed by paranoid police.

The accidental tourist eventually shut up, and the train made its way on to Wellington. Just past the Kaiwharawhara platform, the Englishman got up and stood by the door, obviously wanting to get off the train as soon as it reached Wellington station.

StoppedBut - ha - the train stopped and stayed stopped. The conductor came along an explained that the signals system wasn’t working and had to be operated manually, so only one train at a time could enter or leave Wellington station. There was going to be a long wait.

Another passenger really really had to wee, so he walked out onto a connecting platform between carriages and went off that. I figured this would just reinforce the Briton’s opinion that he was riding on the “bloody Flintstones railway”.

The conductor came out again with an update. We’d get there, eventually, but, “That’s what happens when you don’t invest in your railway and now we’re paying for it.” We get to blame both the last National and current Labour government for this. Oh, but Wellington will soon have the shiny new trains, hilariously named Matangi.

Secret messageThe stopped train gave me a chance to check out the surroundings of the railyard, which usually flash by. I saw some graffiti in memory of Darren. What fate had taken him? Maybe he was an English tourist. I wonder if he’d be happy knowing his memorial place was doubling as a public urinal?

Eventually the train got to the head of the queue and finally rolled into Wellington station, one hour after its usual time. I was surprised by how civil everyone (except the angry tourist) remained on the journey. There were a few phone calls made explaining lateness, visitors to the Upper Hutt scrapbooking expo amused themselves with their goodie bags, but no one was furious.

I suppose, when it comes down to it, spending an extra 40 minutes on a lightly filled Welington train isn’t really all that bad.

City of stuff that wasn’t there the last time I looked

Published
by
Robyn
on October 1, 2008
in Uncategorized
. 3 Comments

I went to Auckland for the day for work. It was my first proper return to Auckland since I left.

On the flight over, as the plane flew over South Auckland on its decent, the two men sitting next to me (strangers who had been chatting) had this conversation.

Man 1 (Looking out the window): It’s a ticking time-bomb that’s going off.
Man 2: What is?
Man 1: South Auckland.
Man 2: Oh, why’s that?
Man 1: Third-generation Polynesian kids.
Man 2: Yeah, that’s the problem with society today. You can’t even bloody well give them a smack these days.

The conversation soon turned to the election, but here’s the interesting part: while they both reckoned National would probably win, neither of them really fancied John Key as prime minister. They thought he was inexperienced and not particularly trustworthy.

Anyway, on the ground in Auckland, I noticed the following things were different:

  • The Mount bar in Mt Eden is now The Mount Sports Bar. This is signified by a green plastic sign that looks like it was designed in Microsoft Paint.
  • The people in my new flat have put little flags in the window, but I didn’t see what country they were for.
  • All the public art in Aotea Square has been removed ahead of the big redevelopment. This scares me because traditionally when Auckland public art goes into storage, it gets forgotten about.
  • St Patrick’s square has also been ripped up and is being reconstructed with a robust new look for the new millennium. Its fountain has also been removed.
  • And to complete the trilogy of ripped-out fountains, the lovely one outside the Art Gallery is gone, as the space is being used for the new gallery extension.
  • (Yeah, I bet Auckland forefathers are really embarrassed that they build so many inadequate public spaces that weren’t robust or world-class enough so now they have to be ripped out and rebuilt.)
  • The new Westpac HQ on Customs Street is coming along nicely. It’s a smart design that fits in nicely with the older buildings on Customs Street, but looks of this decade.
  • There’s now a Gucci shop, right next door to the new Louis Vuitton shop. Boring.
    The crazy plastics shop on K Road has closed down. It astounds me that they stayed in business for as long as they did.
  • The old Brazil seems to be getting a new occupant. They seem to be doing a partial renovation, which greatly pleased the passing Rentokil serviceman. (”About bloody time.”)

The daylight is different in Auckland compared to Wellington. I’m not sure what it is, but Auckland light seems softer, more diffuse. Wellington has darker, sharper shadows. Is it clouds? Landscape? Lattitude?

I also went to the New Gallery and saw the Walters Prize nominees.

  • My favourite, on a personal level, was Cloud by John Reynolds, which comprises of hundreds of little canvas squares with words and phrases of New Zealand English written on them. TREE TOMATO.
  • There was also ACK by Peter Robinson, some giant bits of styrofoam that filled a couple of rooms. It pissed me off because of its giantness and room-fillingness. It made me feel all doomed and on the verge of extinction.
  • I was pleased to see the Digital Marae collection by Lisa Reihana. I’d seen three photos from it at the Tjibaou Centre in New Caledonia (which you should go to one day). Digital Marae has large photos, sounds and digital projections which combine stylised image of Maori in costumes inspired from various era in history. I love the Josephine Baker-style one.
  • And finally there was Dejeuner by Edith Amituanai, a series of photos looking at Polynesian rugby league players playing professionally over in France. I found it kind of depressing how they photos showed their French living rooms transformed into a really ordinary working-class New Zealand living room, complete with a bookcase with a set of Encyclopedia Brittanica sitting in the centre of the room. I felt alienated from the Polynesian, French and rugby league cultures shown.

So who’s gonna win the $50,000 prize? Probably the styrofoam. [1/11/08 - Turns out my prediction was correct: Peter Robinson's ACK got the $50,000.]

It was a really nice day in Auckland and I started to feel a bit wistful and wondered if I shouldn’t have left Auckland. But on the way to the airport, it started raining that special kind of fat Auckland rain and the traffic on the motorway was awful. And I knew I would never miss that.