Fryday congratulates George W. Bush

This week the George W. Bush Library and Museum in Dallas was finally opened. It opened to considerable speculation as to which book, other than The Bible, the library would contain. The choice of Tolstoy’s War and Peace came as a revelation, though a spokesperson for the President quickly explained that President Bush had not read all of it. He said the President had read “about half; skipping over the peace bits to get to the war bits.” Now, in writing that passage I can reasonably expect to get sued by President George W. Bush or at least receive a visit from our GCSB. The passage is clearly defamatory or it would be without the qualification that it is nonsense, clearly made-up and clearly untrue. It is satire. The same satire Fryday employed with Bush’s Letters to God and Helen’s letters to her therapist. It is the same satire that I intend to employ in respect—but without respect—to the Conservative Party leader Colin Craig. Should I be worried? Well, Mr Craig threatened to sue The Civilian, but then again he stated emphatically that he, Mr Craig, had a well developed sense of humour. A well developed sense of humour and a right-wing and righteous Christian seems a bit of an oxymoron to me, but I’ll let that pass. Archaic phrases such as “Day of Reckoning” (on the redefinition of marriage) are more telling. For what it is worth, and to George W. Bush it is worth very little, Fryday congratulates President Bush and his family. Every former President receives a library; President Bush is no less deserving. If I have mocked it, then I hope I have done so gently and in good humour and in some reverence for our shared past. As for Mr Craig? Well, I reckon that day of reckoning is still to come.

Leaning to the right

It may have been used before but I first heard the term “New Journalism” in relation to American writers of the 60s Tom Wolfe, Truman Capote, Hunter S. Thompson and others. As I understand it New Journalists didn’t just report on the story, they became part of the story and, in the case of Hunter S., became the story. Today’s journalists could and should have learnt from that. To do that. We then wouldn’t have had so many recent cases of shoddy reporting. Take the Jesse Ryder affair. When that story broke we were told that Jesse was in a critical condition with a fractured skull, broken ribs and a collapsed lung after having sustained a brutal and prolonged attack where he was beaten mercilessly at the hands and feet of up to four or five men. His subsequent recovery was deemed to nothing short of miraculous. And so it would have been if the first reports had an ounce of accuracy. Instead we learn now that—allegedly—there were just two men, one (king) punch and Jesse’s injuries amounted only to severe concussion. * How could the media have got that wrong? Inexperience? Interviewing their iPads? Haste to get the story out first? Probably the latter. But even so could not “Cricketer Jesse Ryder is in hospital following what is believed to be an assault.” Suffice? With more later when the facts are procured? Another example came last night when radio news bulletins told me that 70 people had died in the Texas fertiliser explosion. This morning I read it was 15. A journalist colleague and I were both canvassed recently about the introduction of a new industry body called The Foundation for New Journalism in New Zealand. The communication was so convoluted that we were and are still unsure of what they are and what they intend. That’s not an auspicious start. That apart, it seems that one of their objectives is to arm young journalists with the skills and the ability to service the new Internet-based media. All very laudable, if late. From my point of view those new journalists, we the public and a certain cricketer from Wellington would be better served if the Foundation concentrated on teaching those new journalists the basics—the basics being get it, and get it right. * This is in no way a criticism of Mr Ryder, who has been as ill served by the media as much—if not more—than the rest of us.

I'll dine out on that...

A few years ago I disposed of an unused chest freezer by giving it to a charity collecting scrap-metal as a fundraiser. Two burly scrap-metal merchants of questionable charitable intent duly arrived, tossed the freezer into the back of their ute, and drove off leaving a stench that I thought would linger longer than Peter Dunne. What I hadn’t realised was that the freezer, lying dormant and switched off for over a year, contained a meat pack. I had not before the time smelt anything like it. I fully expected to receive a complaint and a cleaning claim from the scrap-metal merchant and numerous complaints from those along a route which surely for a while would be a road less travelled. Neither happened. I guess the good people of Helensville thought the odour just another element in a far from rich tapestry of life more akin to sack-cloth than fine needle-work. This month Helensville suffered another loss. Porcini, the restaurant that for years had been the gild in Helensville’s fast fading lily, closed for the last time. Owners Peter and Karen had enough. There would be few who blamed them for that but many who would still regret it nevertheless. In its time the restaurant hosted prime ministers, mayors, sailors, disgraced lawyers, obnoxious individuals and excited and excitable families—my own included. I went often. What happened inside Porcini, stayed inside Porcini. The culture, the conviviality, the courtesy that permeated that place couldn’t survive outside. Not in Helensville. Not ever. There is that which lingers in Helensville. The bad and the good. My freezer odour among the former; memories of Porcini truly among the latter. Thank you Peter. Thank you Karen.