A Comfortable Existence

I have never fully described or indeed subscribed to the adjective “creative.” I don’t know what it means, but I do know what the trappings mean. They mean that as long as I describe myself as a writer I can get away with most everything. I can be moody, sullen, non-communicative and sexually rampant. That’s what “creative” people are supposed to be (unless you are John Grisham) and it covers in delightful obscurity a multitude of sins…or at least explains them. A comfortable existence. But it’s also a crock of shit. Last night I enjoyed the company of good people, two of whom are professional writers. But…each of whom (in this case) is also a husband, lover and friend to a spouse. And somehow the pretensions, elitism and wankerism just kinda faded away under scrutiny, assessment, and…quiet smiles one of which would be Hemingway’s in a quiet grave.

Blowing my Top

At the moment I am sitting on the periphery of a volcanic eruption.

The volcano first blew its top last night and wiped out most of Mangere. The stench of methamphetamine hangs in the air. Most of the population escaped because seismic warnings allowed Civil Defence and other authorities to evacuate much of the affected area. In fact there are no reported deaths, few injuries and essential services in Mangere such as Kentucky Fried Chicken have already been restored. Burger King has a whole new inject to its Smoky Bacon flavour ASH is thanking everybody for the free publicity. Nevertheless trauma counsellors are over-stretched and the fall-out literally and figuratively will continue for many years to come—most of the evacuees were sent to Hamilton.

Of course this is an exercise—a two-day Civil Defence exercise in which I am involved as Rodney’s Civil Defence communications controller. Remarkably it’s gone extremely well and I am drawn to the conclusion (you’ll be glad to know if you live in Mangere) that it would go equally well for real. At least I hope so; the tourist benefits of being the Pompeii of the Pacific won’t be seen in our lifetime.

But I do have a couple of questions about this exercise. Why choose Mangere? I quite like Mangere and a lot happens there already. Why not choose Mt Roskill or Mt Albert where nothing does? I could also suggest Hamilton but apparently the fault-line, like everybody else, avoids it.

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Now playing: John Fogerty - Bad Moon Rising
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Is there a doctor in the house?

Few would argue against the view that Dr Michael Cullen’s handling of the economy has been masterly if a little miserly. But his pronouncements of late suggest a far less deft hand. For example, to imply that the recently announced deficit is somehow the fault of the National Party’s two-year-old call for tax cuts owes less to logic and accuracy than politicking and desperation. Frankly, Dr Cullen like the government of which he is a key part, looks tired and devoid of ideas. And what of the deficit itself? Where did that come from it? It has come out of the blue, or the black to be more accurate. The operating balance in the seven-month period was in deficit by $394 million, $4.2 billion below forecast. That primarily reflected $2.5 billion lower-than-forecast returns on the financial asset portfolios of the NZ Superannuation Fund, the Accident Compensation Corp. and the Earthquake Commission. The second biggest negative contributor to the accounts apparently was a $1 billion more-than-forecast loss on the re-valuation of the ACC claims liability. Ah, so there we have it. It’s my fault! The fact that I injured my back last year and the complete inability of medical practitioners funded by ACC to fix it are the reasons we have this deficit. Perhaps therefore its time for me, along with the Economy, to change doctors.

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Now playing: Bruce Springsteen - Girls In Their Summer Clothes
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