Friday, December 16, 2022

Whetu Calls: Water Gate

 Whetu is an old friend of Fryday’s. Not that I think he knows that. He doesn’t have email or access to the internet. In fact, he is so far off the grid he thinks “the grid” is somewhere stockcars line up or steaks are cooked.

But, for all his isolation and frequency as a guest of His Majesty, he is a masterful observer of Man and, if his repeated success in finding me despite my efforts to avoid him are exempla, an astute detective.

I should know by now that if I get a knock on my door at a late hour, it will likely be Whetu. This happened to me yesterday, which I find doubly surprising and deeply worrying given that I now live in a gated community, and at that hour, the gates were locked. Nevertheless, I felt an obligation to respond. Here is how the correspondence went.

HE: Kia Ora, Bro.

ME: Whetu.

HE: You got new home?

ME: Yes.

HE: You didn’t tell me.

ME: It slipped my mind.

HE: But I found you.

ME: Despite those gates being locked.

HE: They is?

ME: Don’t take it personally.

HE: Been a long time.

ME: Yes.

HE: A lot of water has passed under the tree.

ME: Under the bridge.

HE: That, too.

ME: Yep.

HE: How much?

ME: How much water?

HE: How much money.

ME: What!

HE: How much money for that water? I come to collect. It’s called Three waters, not free waters. Auntie Mahuta told me that.

ME: She’s your Auntie?

HE: Yo, bro.

ME: But you are, what, twice her age?

HE: A distant auntie. Anyway, she made whanau in charge of three waters. I get water under the tree…

ME: Bridge.

HE: I throw that in for free. I get tree water, and

cussies get other twos.

ME: And what are those?

HE: What?

ME: What waters?

HE: Ah…. rain?

ME: And?

HE: Dirty.

ME: Dirty waters?

HE: Yo.

ME: There seems to be something a bit murky about this, too.

HE: No, that Four Waters. Hone handles murky.

ME: Hone Mahuta?

HE: Uncle.

ME: Well, whatever money you are asking for, I am not paying it.

HE: You’re not?

ME: No.

HE: No?

ME: No.

HE: Well, I tells you what.

ME: What?

HE: I’m thirsty. Give me a couple of bottles of Waikato instead.

ME: Waikato water?

HE: Waikato beer. I am not drinking that river water s**t.

 

Friday, December 9, 2022

All Talk

 


Eric Bogosion as Barry Champlain: Talk Radio (1988).

 

This week one of Mike Hosking’s featured guests was the American actor and writer Eric Bogosian.

I have long been a fan of Bogosian. His most recent appearance on the entertainment media was his masterly performance as the ruthless and eventually jailed US senator Gil Eavis in HBO’s hugely successful Succession series. Eavis, though fictional, is believed to be based on Senator Bernie Sanders, though, of course, Sanders has never been imprisoned as far as I am aware, anyway.

It is not the first time that Bogosian has played a character based on reality. I first came across him in 1988 when he and Director Oliver Stone converted Bogosian’s stage play, Talk Radio, into a film of the same name.
On stage and in the film, Bogosian plays a late-night talk show host called Barry Champlain. Most of the story involves Bogosian/Champlain sitting alone in the studio, with his producer next door, taking calls from an increasingly strident, delusional, and sometimes potentially dangerous gamut of callers who want to cover everything from home recipes to hate crimes. There is on Champlain's show a recurring thread—and threat—of anti-Semitism.

Gradually, over the course of the show, Bogosian/Champlain cracks under strain. It’s a disciplined and highly captivating performance by Bogosian in the movie, especially considering there are only a few other characters—other than call-in voices—in the movie and none in the one-man stage version.

Champlain is a deeply polarising character whose listeners either love or hate him. But none can do without him.
It is ironic that Bogosian appears with Mike Hosking, a host who has a similar polarising effect in New Zealand—but there, the similarity ends.

Thankfully.

As I said, Champlain is based on an actual character and event. Alan Berg was a late-night talk show host working for KAO in Denver, Colorado. He had an acerbic style that was loved by some for its entertainment value and hated by others, particularly by white supremacists (Berg was a Jew), who perceived him to be a threat.

At 9:30 p.m. on June 18, 1984, after a shift on air and a quick supper with a former girlfriend, Berg (50) returned to his townhouse. He stepped out of his car, and gunfire erupted, with Berg being shot twelve times. He died at the scene.

Nobody was found guilty of the crime, and certainly, no one was jailed for it. But it is widely believed that at least one of those white supremacist groups was responsible for it.

Nothing of that nature has happened in New Zealand, and nor is it likely—it is not in our nature.

But it is a salutary lesson that words can hurt our country—and polarising words most of all—words that wound. There is a line in Talk Radio that says, “Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words cause permanent damage!”

I hope that permanency is not the case, but in my view, there are too many of those such words around now. They are in our pubs, at our dinner parties, profligate on radio and television.

We don’t need them.

We need light relief… next week, Fryday brings back Whetu.

Friday, August 19, 2022

Letters from Wogistan: Drama

 


 

The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Office of the Foreign Secretary

123 Bruce Springsteen Boulevard (third door on right). Telephone: 125.

 


Sharma Drama

Member of Parliament

Parliament House

In New Zealand

 

Dear Mr Drama

Our Presidente for life Yoseph Flagrantie send you fragrant greetings from the Peoples of Democratic Republic of Wogistan.

Our Presidente follow your warfair with great Prime Minister Jacinda Adern with great interest and concern.

Why is it that youse think she has done wrong when all the media in your country say that she can do no wrongs?

 

Presidente is great fan of Mrs Ardern and if you were in this country Presidente say that he wouldn’t want to be in your pants. He rather be in Mrs Aderns pants.

 

You has been warned.

 

 

Sincerely

 

Yoseph xxx

Yoseph Wankerstan

Foreign Secretary The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Proprietor Spartacus Male Gym and Bathhouse.

 

Friday, August 12, 2022

Disrupt, dispute, disrepute—a sorry saga

 

I am not a believer in the adage that there are two sides to every story.

There are countless stories where there is only one side to be told, and only conspiracists feel the obligation to construct another.

But then there are stories, presented as essential truths, that are so outlandish, nonsensical, and farcical that one is compelled to contemplate that there must be another side to the story.

Stuff published such a story this week. It was of a 72-year-old teacher from Mt Maunganui who was found guilty of a serious misconduct after he forcibly removed an in-ear headphone from a student.

The student was sharing the headphone with another student and listening to music while the teacher was conducting a maths class.

One student was also drumming on his table and disrupting the class.

Now, it must be said that in removing the headphone (after the student declined to do it himself) the teacher broke it. A verbal altercation ensued which resulted in the teacher leaving the class to seek help.

That is the essence of the story, as reported.

It is what happens next that compels the two sides theory.

One of the two students complained to the principal.

The college principal made a mandatory report to the Teaching Council.

An investigator reported to the council’s Complaints Assessment Committee, which charged the teacher with removing and breaking the student’s headphone and/or failing to appropriately de-escalate the situation after the incident.

The Teachers Disciplinary Tribunal found the teacher had engaged in serious misconduct by removing the headphones unexpectedly and recklessly. It said the teacher’s actions were likely to adversely impact the student’s wellbeing, that his actions could bring the teaching profession into disrepute, and that it was an unreasonable and unjustified use of force.

The teacher was censured and had conditions imposed on his employment for two years.

The teacher then appealed the tribunal’s decision to the district court, which upheld the decision.

He then applied to the Appeal Court for leave to appeal the decision. The Appeal Court this month declined the application, rejecting all his grounds for appeal.

On Tuesday, the teacher said the saga had been “farcical”, had cost him $55,000 so far and could cost another $20,000.

He promptly retired from teaching.

So, a teacher’s career has ended, and he is considerably out of pocket, because he attempted to stop a student from disrupting his class.

When I was 10 and in form 1, a teacher grabbed my hair and threw me across the classroom after I mimicked his distinctive teaching style. That was thoughtless on my part and over-the-top on his. If his actions had become known (I didn’t tell my parents) it would have been a sackable offence—if not criminal—even back then.

It was that egregious.

But this? How could such an event, as reported, have such serious ramifications? And as for the charge of failing to de-escalate the situation, I would have thought that was exactly what he was attempting to do initially by removing the headphones.

In my view, it the whole thing defies explanation, as it stands. Unless there is something else is at play here, the actions of the various parties in leaving a teacher hung out to dry are deplorable. If anything, it is those actions that have brought the teaching profession (and judicial system) into disrepute.

 

Friday, July 1, 2022

The Curious World of my Gym

 

For a little over a year, I have been working out at a gym. Initially, it was for health reasons, now it is for health and because I enjoy it.

There are five gyms to choose from in the small town I live in. I chose the second largest for reasons I will go into in a moment.

I go at least four times a week and work out for about an hour and a half each time, which at my gym makes me hard-core, though I acknowledge there are those who frequent their gyms more often and work harder than I do.

Significantly for what follows, I am in the gym at the same time each day at the end of my working day. I am often in the gym with the same people every day and that has taught me a thing or two about gym etiquette and the hidden philosophy of gym-going.

Let me start by telling you about the people. The reason I go to the second largest gym in town is that the largest and most popular is replete with poseurs who spend more time in front of the mirrors than the equipment. [1]

The people in my gym are in a different world—their world. They work-out in relative silence with only brief engagement with me or any of the others. At most, there will be a smile or a wave across the room as acknowledgement of my presence. 

Even so, over time you get to know something of them, or assume you do. I share the gym with two massive men. Both would be over six foot seven and look intimidating with their magnificent beards and no-nonsense demeanours; yet, because I work out at least as much as they do and often harder, they are among the first to help with techniques and modifications to my exercise programme. They are gentle giants.

Then there are the former gang members. I assume they once belonged to a gang because the facial tattoos suggest such and I assume they no longer belong to a gang, because most gang-pads have their own home-gym or own one elsewhere. There used to be four or five guys, but they stopped coming when vaccine mandates arrived. I miss them—they were always friendly in the distant way of the dedicated gym-goer.

The most dedicated at my gym is a girl. I commented to the gym-owner that she is in the gym every time I am there and she works hard but never smiles. He replied that she is indeed the most frequent gym goer he has and is painfully shy.

These are the people—the good people—who populate my gym world and share a philosophy of co-habitation.

But there are people whom I am not so keen on. Let me tell you why—their habits.
There is an unwritten gym etiquette based on, in my belief, common sense and common courtesy. These guys, and they are mostly guys, have neither. Here are my pet hates. Do you agree or disagree and are you able to add some of your own?

  • People, mostly young, who use the gym equipment to sit on when sending or reading texts, often for protracted periods.
  • People who don’t put the weights away, expecting someone else, will.
  • People who simultaneously use three or more pieces of gym equipment, effectively depriving their use by others.
  • Young people, mostly male, who congregate around a set of gym equipment (often using it just to sit on and talk) passing the equipment between themselves in rotation, thus having the same effect as above.  

It is interesting that the last mentioned happens a lot more frequently since the departure of my “gang” friends.

I know I sound like a curmudgeon, and an elderly one at that, but come on people—common courtesy! Fortunately, I have Fryday to vent my frustration. Also, for the same purpose, a punching bag at the gym—that’s if one of those toerags doesn’t get to it first.

 

 



[1] The second reason is that my gym doesn’t have the classes such as Pilates, Zuma, etc, run by raucous hyper-active advocates of the body-perfect. I prefer to work away in silence.

 

Friday, March 11, 2022

The Contradictions of Covid

 

Yes, I know we are all sick of it. But I am genuinely sick of Covid. I have it, my wife has it, and both of us are in self-isolation. We are not alone, of course—well, we are in terms of the isolation, but we are not alone in having Covid; the medical people supporting us have told me that there is plenty of anecdotal evidence that in these RAT days plenty of people are not reporting their positive results. To me, that is a shame and irresponsible. Reporting is easy to do, it is the right thing to do, and you are showered with an amazing amount of support from various agencies when you do.

Until now, I haven’t shared that I/we have Covid. What’s the point? As already stated, it is not—these days—uncommon, nor if my experience is anything to go by, does it have dire consequences. It is no big thing

So, why do I mention it now?

Two reasons, the first of which I have already alluded to. That is the amazing amount of support thrown at you when you report you have Covid. My wife and I were contacted immediately by the Ministry of Health to offer support and then by our doctors also offering support. The Ministry and the doctors are both making follow-up calls. Equally impressive are the people running those services. They have been friendly, informative, supportive, and showing genuine empathy—even more impressive, given the pressure they must be under.

That’s the upside.

Sorry, I am afraid there is a downside.

If you contract Covid, you start to do a bit of research, and you soon become acutely aware that the “official” information out there is little more than a dog’s breakfast.

It is a mess—uncoordinated and often—too often—contradictory. For example, the simple question of how long the self-isolation is. In the leaflet they emailed us, the Ministry of Health told us they would be in regular contact, will monitor our conditions, and based on their findings, tell us when we can be “released”. There is no mention of further tests—RAT or otherwise. The Government and our doctors, on the other hand, are saying it was ten days (now seven days) with a further test the day before release—at least it says so on some of their websites.

The latest informal advice we got was that the self-isolation period was about to be reduced even further or even done away with.

I also questioned why nobody was telling us (or cared) what strain of Covid we had; the RAT test certainly doesn’t differentiate between Delta and Omicron. In reply, I was told the Ministry wasn’t bothering with that anymore: “It’s all Covid.” Really? Early on, we were told that Delta was likely deadlier than Omicron, so there is a difference, and I am surprised we are left to flounder around self-diagnosing based on the seriousness of our symptoms.

That last point does perhaps illustrate something else. How much more is the Government no longer bothering about with their “management” of Covid? For the most part, they have dispensed with contact tracing (which calls into question the value of scanning); under RAT, they have no objective measure of how many Covid cases are out there (I think it is rampant); and their agencies are no longer on the same page as far as information is concerned.

As I said, it’s all turned into a bit of a dog’s breakfast, saved in our case only by the quality and compassion of the people dealing with us at the Covid coalface.

Our gratitude for them is beyond measure.

As a somewhat funny aside, my wife was asked by the attending nurse how she was feeling. My wife responded, “I’m over it.” The nurse replied, “Yes, dear, I think we all are.” My wife had to hastily explain that by saying “over it” she meant “through it.”  For many of us, both interpretations would suffice.

 

Friday, February 11, 2022

Let's do a bit of Face Time

 



 

Resting Bitch Face A.K.A. RBF is a recognised and researched condition. It is a facial expression conveying that the person who has it is (take your pick) angry, annoyed, arrogant, contemptuous, superior to you or at the very least removed from the current conversation. The condition is genuine and is covered in extensive detail in populist portals such as Wikipedia and Urban Dictionary.  Celebrities known for it, or accused of it, include Victoria Beckham, Anna Kendrick, Aubrey Plaza and among the relatively few men with it, Kayne West.

 

I have it. And I can tell you that in my experience, it is not a case of what you see is what you get. If I look at you with an expressionless face, I am not holding you in contempt, I am not angry with you, and I certainly don’t think I am superior to you. It is just that smiling (for example) takes a physical toll on me. I want to smile more to make you feel better, but I prefer to have a spontaneous, shared, and warranted smile. I could make a smile a permanent fixture on my face, but that would be both physically exhausting and somewhat hypocritical. Just—please—be assured that unless you hear something to the contrary (from me), I like you and am interested in you even if my face doesn’t show it.

 

I like faces, particularly eyes. It is said that eyes are windows to the soul. They are certainly the most expressive of our facial features. As evidence of that, consider the greatest actors of our time—particularly in the time of close-ups. They act with their eyes. They tell a story with their eyes. Their eyes suggest they have set aside their souls in favour of that of their character. The best modern-day exponent, in my view, is Anthony Hopkins. He did it early with Hannibal Lector in Silence of the Lambs (if you believe Lector had a soul) and again as Burt Munro in The World’s Fastest Indian. The best single example of the eyes at work is that of the great British actor Tom Hardy in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk. In the film, Hardy plays Farrier, a Spitfire pilot. He spends almost the entire movie wearing an oxygen mask. Yet, Hardy manages to convey all his emotions of his character—fear, anger, triumph, and despair—through his only exposed facial feature, his eyes. It is a work of art which in these Covid-masked days we can but envy and perhaps aspire to.

 

So that brings me to the dude above. But, before I reveal who he is, allow me to ask you two questions:

  1. What year was the photograph taken?
  2. Which films has he appeared in?

 

Take your time; I’ll wait

……

The answer to the first question is 1910.

The answer to the second question is none. Despite Brad Pitt good looks (to whom he has been likened), he is not an actor. Hermann Rorschach was a Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst who lived from 1884 to 1922. His most significant and possibly only claim to fame is as the creator of the once exalted ink blob test as a means of identifying a person’s personality traits. That test has since been discredited. 

 

Yet I can but wonder whether there would have been a better outcome for Rorschach had he followed a similar path in our time? And that is perhaps an indictment on the media today. We see it in New Zealand; we see it on CNN and Fox. In these days of style over substance, presentation over professionalism, visuals are our default position.

In Rorschach’s case, with those film star good looks and medical qualifications, he surely would be the media’s go-to guy for all things medical. He may have to eschew that inkblot stuff, but why not be our latest covid-modeller? He might not be any better at the job than the current lot. But let’s face it, if we can no longer expect credibility, we could at least improve the eye candy.

 

 

 

Friday, February 4, 2022

Whetu Calls: The epidemiologist


 

I have known Whetu for a long time. Longer than anticipated and, on reflection, longer than desired. In the time I have known him I have moved house three times and on none of these have I given him my home address. Yet he crops up. He finds me. It is uncanny. The only times he has granted me a hiatus is when he is in prison, which are, admittedly, frequent. His crimes are petty, mostly involving the theft of cars, a couple of burglaries and shoplifting. As far as I know, he has never been convicted of a major crime involving violence or being a member of the Labour Party. I personally have nothing against Whetu. In fact, I admire him for being the entrepreneur he is. And the ruses he adopts and adapts to extort money from me are genuinely creative; but he is an intrusion, an unwelcome visitor, and a penetrator of my comfort zone—I do not like being penetrated. So, it was with some displeasure today that I opened my door to find Whetu on my doorstep. The exchange went like this:

HE: Kia Ora, Bro.

ME: Whetu.

HE: You gots new home?

ME: Yes.

HE: You didn’t tell me.

ME: It slipped my mind.

HE: But I found you.

ME: Obviously. Look, Whetu, what is it this time? And how much?

HE: How much?

ME: How much money do you want? Or, to put it more accurately, how much money are you NOT going to get from me?

HE: I don’t want no money from you.

ME: Really?

HE: I got plenty of money. I gotta new job.

ME: Really? With who…whom?

HE: Pacifica University.

ME: Never heard of it.

HE: It’s new. I am their epdi…epid…epri…bug doctor.

ME: Bug doctor.

HE: I tells them how much covid cases to expect. I models for them.

ME: And what does modelling mean?

HE: Standing around and looking good.

ME: What on earth do you know about Covid?

HE: Nothing.

ME: Nothing.

HE: I makes it up. Television comes to me because I am at university, asks me how much covid cases there are going to be next week, and I tells them.

ME: And how do you know?

HE: I looks it up.

ME: Looks…Look it up, where?

HE: First three numbers of last week’s Lotto draw.

ME: That’s not very scientific.

HE: Well, if you want to get scie…scia…

ME: Scientific.

HE: Yeah, that. I sometimes gives them the first four numbers—scares the shits out of them.

ME: So, what have you come to see me for?

HE: Next week there are going to be 8,433 covid cases.

ME: So?

HE: Want to buy a mask?

 

Friday, January 21, 2022

Vaccines and Vehemence

 


 

vehemence

/ˈviːɪm(ə)ns/

noun

noun: vehemence; plural noun: vehemences

Great forcefulness or intensity of feeling or expression. "the vehemence of his reaction".

 

Last year, the rupture of what I had considered a resilient friendship deeply upset me. There are three reasons for that:

 

  1. The rupture was predicated on a misunderstanding that could have been “sorted”.
  2. I had the, and I now think naïve, view that a friendship, particularly the length of this one, should be able to withstand misunderstandings, at least to the point of agreeing to disagree.
  3. The rupture was so abrupt and complete that I questioned my judgement in forming the foundation of a friendship with this person.

 

I have calmed down now and moved on. But it got me thinking. Was that event symptomatic of a wider malaise infecting our society? 

Are we so stressed out even a minor and previously thought insignificant issue attains wider ramifications and consequences—without the possibility of atonement?

I hope that is not the case. I fervently do. But it appears to me that New Zealand is becoming increasingly polarised on a far broader range of issues and that polarisation is now exhibited with far greater exactitude and vehemence.

 

And nowhere in my world is that more obvious than the pro-vaccine v. anti-vaccine debate. 


Fryday won’t contribute to the debate; this post is not about vaccines. It is about the vehemence in which the argument is being waged and what it says of whom we may have become.

 

My starting point is that I have the elective right to make my own decisions, provided I am not breaking the law or intentionally harming someone. You—and I mean a collective you— have the right to arrive at your own decisions under the same adjuncts. You also have the right to persuade me to your opinion if you have a view contrary to mine.

 

No problem.

 

However, there is a problem in that some in this debate ignore the aspect of not intentionally harming someone.

I can cite three examples from my neighbourhood:

 

  1. An elderly lady allegedly approached children in our town, telling them they would die if “Mommy and Daddy” forced them to have a jab. That lady has been reported to the police. I believe I know who she is.
  2. People waiting in their cars at vaccination centres have been accosted by placard-wielding anti-vaxers so aggressively that they intimidated the occupants and frightened the children. Again, the matter has been referred to the police.
  3. One woman in the small, gated community my wife and I live in sent a message to us claiming DHB staff and the military were going door-to-door asking residents whether they were vaccinated—and should we (the community) lock our gate to keep them out.

 

That last one, more naïve than harmful, recognises a factor present in all three examples. People are so intense about this issue that they cannot allow people to have an opinion opposing theirs. Why is that? Why the evangelical zeal? Why has one side in this argument turned into a Latter-Day Saints visit? And why, in extreme examples, is it necessary to target kids?

 

I have no answers to those questions. But the questions themselves worry me. I have never seen the likes of this venom in New Zealand—at least not on this scale. I am uncomfortable with it; I don’t like it and, whilst there is room for passion and zeal, there is no room for this crap.[1]

 

To use a well-worn phrase: this is not who we are or, for most of us, want to be.

 

PostScript:

I was naïve last year in thinking a friendship could withstand a disagreement, particularly one based on a misunderstanding; I am perhaps being equally naïve this year in hoping we can all pull back and show a little common sense—and courtesy.

 

 

[1] It can be argued that the 1981 Springbok tour forged the same intensity and did divide the country. But that was for the most part attacking an issue (apartheid)—not targeting individuals and certainly not children.

 

 

 

Friday, January 7, 2022

Doing No.2s


 

The best print advertisement headline I wrote while working in advertising owed its appeal to logic rather than imagination or creativity, so its subsequent success in winning an award was largely undeserved.

It was for Budget Car Rentals who were at the time having trouble with one of its competitors, and the No.1 in the market, Hertz allegedly spreading misinformation about Budget’s vehicle availability in Australia.

The headline I wrote for my ad. was:

The Truth, Hertz.

As I said, not particularly imaginative, but it captured the public’s attention, made Hertz angry (I believe) and garnered me an advertising award.

It wasn’t the best headline written for the car rental industry. That accolade goes to the famous slogan created for Avis by DDB in the 1960s:

When you’re only No.2, you try harder.

So successful was that headline, that Avis’s market share and profits quickly grew to the point that there was a very real risk of it becoming No.1!

There is merit in being No.2; it leaves something for you to aspire to and the motivation to achieve it. I would be quite happy if anything I achieved thus far got me to the position.

But for me, it comes down to something else. Two is my lucky number and 2022 is replete with them (only 2222 is better, and I am unlikely to see that in) so I am looking forward to 2022 with optimism.

I hope you can do the same.

To that end, Fryday wishes you, your family, those you love and all those you simply want the best for, a year in which you attain your dreams, and which leaves you happier moments experiences and memories.

After all, we’ve all worked bloody hard for that over the last two years.

We deserve it.

 

Whetu Calls: Water Gate

  Whetu is an old friend of Fryday’s. Not that I think he knows that. He doesn’t have email or access to the internet. In fact, he is so far...