Logo Bull

I don’t know about you, but I am feeling sorry for the Auckland City Council over this logo issue. The introduction of a new logo is almost invariably greeted with the twin cries of “It cost what?” and “my ten-year-old could have done better than that.” Auckland’s new logo has elicited the same response as did Te Papa and Auckland, eh! before it. Closer to home, I had much the same trouble with the Welcome to Rodney gateway signs. So, there is nothing new here and, as so often happens, spin doctors are hung out to dry trying to defend the indefensible—the indefensible here being debate on a largely subjective issue with a populace believing it knows it all. Compounding this is the logo’s similarity to Triangle Television’s, and here the designers can be taken to task for not having done their homework. Then there is the apparent one million dollar price tag and the timing of the introduction so soon after councillors and candidates made rates control an election issue. So, it all becomes a bit of a mess. My friend and erstwhile colleague Mark Fenwick is trying to handle this for the Auckland City Council. Mark has some saving graces that will enable him to handle this with aplomb: he is experienced, he is placid and, whilst he is fully committed, he never lets the job get to him. Nevertheless, he has had a litany of issues that have seen him cornered into becoming an apologist for his council—most notably expensive junkets of councillors and staff. In my very similar role to Mark I have never had that magnitude of issue but ‘in the small pond’ of Rodney I have had the higher visibility, which may or may not have worked against me in the recent elections. I did lose that election, and some attribute the loss to my association with council as its “spin doctor and apologist.” I don’t. I don’t know why I lost, but it may well have been because of who I am rather than what I am. I just didn’t hack it. But we move on and I have moved back to council in a new and challenging role. And if in the future I find myself regretting the missed opportunity of becoming a councillor I shall simply create and put out there a new logo for the council to take my mind off it. Have a good weekend.

----------------
Now playing: Roy Orbison - The Comedians
via FoxyTunes

The Fire Below

George W. Bush up to and in his early years as President believed he had the God-given right to be leader of the Free World. He might have been right and had that right. Even if not, his delusions of and allusions to grandeur are still understandable. If you have a taste and indeed a driving necessity for acceptance and ratification why not shoot for the top, particularly when that of the literal and paternal definition of “our father” has been less than forthcoming? George then took one step further in making it abundantly clear, particularly in the setting of social and foreign policies, that the will of the American electorate (twice) is somewhat secondary to that of God (interpreted). So young men and women die in Iraq and malformed foetuses do not. Such is the will of George W. Bush with God side-lined in apparent compliant silence. Or is God that silent? Might we now think that He has finally lost patience with his self-proclaimed protégé? That the problems now besetting the Bush Presidency may in fact be God-Given? One can of course exclude the man-made that eroded the electorate’s faith in the current President—they include the scandals that resulted in the resignation of so many in his administration and contributed to the departure of “good people” whose belief turned to disgust. But then we have natural events such as the hurricane that destroyed New Orleans, and now the fires of California. Were they sent by God to teach Bush a lesson? It is humbling and somewhat frightening to think so, but the answer, of course, is probably not. However, allow me my flight of fantasy. And allow me to go even further: would it not be interesting to think that with the “Bush fires” of California, as tragic as they are, God is now saying to Bush, “Look, I have named these fires after you as parting gift. Now, get the Hell out of the White House before I really lose My cool?”


----------------
Now playing: Lou Reed - I'm Waiting For The Man
via FoxyTunes

A Penny: For My Thoughts

In days or yore when men were bold and women told, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Duchess of Aquitaine and Gascony and Countess of Poitou (1122^[1] – April 1, 1204) was one of the wealthiest and most powerful women in the world. She was Queen consort of both France (to Louis VII) and England (to Henry II) and later mother of two kings of England, Richard the Lionheart and John Lackland.

But, though some may argue in favour of Boadicea, it was not until much later, with the reign of Elizabeth I, that we have a woman rule in her own right. We then fast forward millennia, passing such personages as Catherine (The Great, as experienced by her horse) and Victoria (as experienced by John “what’s up Maam” Brown) to arrive at Penny Webster.

Penny is the first female mayor of Rodney District. She was elected last Saturday and the result confirmed last Wednesday. She will be sworn in next Thursday; I shall be in attendance, not as I had hoped as one of her councillors but as one of here advisors. I missed out on an election—not by much, but enough. A miss, as they say, is as good as a smisle.

Penny will be good for this district. She is open, honest, articulate and intelligent. She is at present conciliatory and compassionate in extending an olive branch and building bridges to those who fought against her and lost. I personally would neither damage the tree nor pay for the bridge; neither is worth it. But I am also neither a Penny nor, clearly, even the full quid when attracting popular appeal to myself.

Nevertheless I am told I am deserving of some satisfaction for having helped deliver what many are now predicting will be the most unified Council this district has seen in 21 years. As for me, neither the Queen Maker nor Svengali I be, a mere functionary is the allotted role for me. But I am at the feet of the seat of power, and the view from here is not at all bad. I am quietly content.

My thanks and love to Maggie for patiently husbanding me through this electoral process at and during a time when she needed and deserved to see more of me.

----------------
Now playing: Jimi Hendrix - Angel
via FoxyTunes

A Huapai Opus

In the early 50s of the last century Jack Kerouac chronicled his journey with Neal Cassaday across America. On the Road (originally Gone on the Road) became a classic spawning a multi-genre industry of road trips—most with the implicit intent of “finding America and, in the process, finding oneself.” As a result, Kerouac today rivals Ernesto “Che” Guevara as a dated but resilient icon of every disaffected generation since. But he was not the first. Such epic journeys and the chronicling of them have been the stuff of history since The Iliad and probably before that. Now, I am to add to this rich depository. My own cross-country odyssey starts in about one hour. This long-destined and fate-induced journey, this final relic for me of youthful exuberance and adventure, this homage to my heroes, this wrenching of roots, begins today as I say farewell to Huapai and hello to Red Beach. I admit it has not quite the lustre and mystique of the aforementioned On the Road or even the more recent Easy Rider (it’s hard to complete with the majesty of a Harley when you drive a Peugeot) but you have gained voyeuristic pleasure from observing my foibles before, so this is a simple plea for your patience and perseverance again. My next Fryday will be written from a new location, a new home, layered with all the excitement that is omnipresent, indeed mandatory, with the New; tinged with the sadness at the loss of the Old.

Whither goes, asked the Sage; hither came the quiet answer.

----------------
Now playing: Lynyrd Skynyrd - Call Me The Breeze
via FoxyTunes

The Spring of our content

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune are part and parcel of politics, as well as New Zealand on Air funded programmes. But also, as Oscar said: there is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. You see, in my trials and tribulations in running for a seat on the Rodney district council I have history and literature on my side. Shakespeare sympathises; Wilde offers a solution, or at least a consolation. In short, armoured with such majesty, I am inviolate and slings and arrows largely impotent. I am further reinforced by the fact I combat no precedent of history. I cannot recall great gods or kings called Colin, let alone Wayne and the only King John we can recall we would rather forget. So, I sit set to be attacked on all sides, but can I take it seriously? No. Fact is, there are better foes than them (King Wayne?), and worse (or better?) targets than me—George (I am sorry about your traffic jam) Bush among the latter. Bring it on.

The Spring of our Content

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune are part and parcel of politics, as well as New Zealand on Air funded programmes. But also, as Oscar said: there is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. You see, in my trials and tribulations in running for a seat on the Rodney district council I have history and literature on my side. Shakespeare sympathises; Wilde offers a solution, or at least a consolation. In short, armoured with such majesty, I am inviolate and slings and arrows largely impotent. I am further reinforced by the fact I combat no precedent of history. I cannot recall great gods or kings called Colin, let alone Wayne and the only King John we can recall we would rather forget. So, I sit set to be attacked on all sides, but can I take it seriously? No. Fact is, there are better foes than them (King Wayne?), and worse (or better?) targets than me—George (I am sorry about your traffic jam) Bush among the latter. Bring it on.

----------------
Now playing: Amazing Rhythm Aces - King Of The Cowboys
via FoxyTunes

The Race for Grace

Amazing Grace is the best movie I have seen in the last five years. I cannot recollect or compare further back nor do I care: for the moment this movie, exquisite in its telling and rendering, is to be simply savoured. William Wilberforce is largely forgotten today, though there is now the predictable rash of books following this movie on his life. Why he should be forgotten worries me. There have been other reformers of course, many of whom equalled Wilberforce in zeal. None however seemed to be as effective or as eclectic. Wilberforce was not only instrumental in abolishing British involvement in the slave trade, he also introduced free education and the National Health Service, all of which he accomplished without being Prime minister. Yet it took a modern-day film-maker to give him the resurgent fame he so richly deserves. Hollywood is yet to do the same for William Blake, but one lives in hope. So, why the worry? It is simply this: our remembered history is replete with those who did bad—Hitler, Genghis Khan and his soul-brother Kublai, Nero, Rasputin et al. Yet we remember little of those who did good, unless they, such as John F. Kennedy and Ghandi, lived in the 20^th Century. All else we seem to be forgotten. Is it deliberate? Do we simply gravitate to the bad rather than the good and pay homage to the horrible rather than love the laudable? Perhaps its our nature. And, if it is nature that the bad live on in our memory while the good do not, we are condemned. George W. Bush will live on.

----------------
Now playing: Simon & Garfunkel - You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies
via FoxyTunes

I Need Councilloring (sic)

As George W. Bush said of me, “He’s a good man, a good guy. But as God is my witness, my life, my passion, my raison de etching, I can’t understand him getting into politics; only a moron becomes a politician.” A moron I may be, but I am indeed getting into politics. This week I put my name forward to stand in Rodney’s Hibiscus Coast Ward as councillor. The election is October 13 and the announcement of my candidacy was made by the local newspaper last Tuesday. As a consequence, today is in all likelihood my last day as the Council’s communications manager. I shall be stepping down from that position and going on leave until the election and electorate decide my fate and future. I do so with the full support and love of Maggie, for which I am grateful and without which I would not have attempted this. You on the other hand may not think that standing for councillor is such a big thing, and usually it may not be. But in my case it involves a major life-change. If I am successful I am bound for community service for three years with a massive drop in income; if I am unsuccessful I will almost certainly have not only burnt bridges I will have disintegrated them with an explosion that would put that of George W. Bush’s brain before Iraq into flaccid impotency. Certain people, if they get into power, will likely make my job untenable. I may even have to move to Hamilton to escape. Either way, I intend to return to writing, something I have reluctantly neglected for so long. The present mayor of Rodney, John Law, may think he is the inspiration for this. He is not. He is wrong. For once. The inspiration for my move into politics is indeed the fore-mentioned George W. Bush. I have followed his political path with interest and I am persuaded that his politics are my politics. I, too, believe I am ordained for this role by a higher being—in my case, Ivan Cleary. I also believe I have the fervour, the passion and spirit within me—notably copies quantities of Laphroig Single Malt. Moreover I have a vision of world dominance: it is my intent upon attaining office to invade Waitakere seeking weapons of mass destruction, namely Bob Harvey, and follow that with an unleashing of the dogs of war against political corruption, namely Helen Clark’s wardrobe. I will stand on a platform of positivity. So, I am out of here; gone by lunch time possibly. But Fryday will continue and I look forward to coming back next week—a free man. Enjoy your weekend.

----------------
Now playing: Ry Cooder - River Come Down (PKA Bamboo)
via FoxyTunes

The Lost Generation

Social mores and movements come and go. But at least they are not usually cyclical, and that’s good; I cannot see any good reason for the return of, for example, women’s liberation. However, women’s liberation, if a little strident, was at least justified and largely successful. Another movement of the time was equally successful (for its authors) but in my view wholly unjustified. In fact, it was intrusive, offensive, pervading, resilient and just simply silly—I refer of course to political correctness. I don’t want to go through all the examples of the damage political correctness wrought on the English language—you and I know them well and ridiculed them enough, but I do want to draw your attention to two residual examples. The first is radio’s most venerable programme, Morning Report on the National Programme. During Maori Language Week a couple of weeks ago they initiated the format of having their opening comments and introductions in Maori. Fair enough for the occasion, I guess. But it has now continued and indeed got worse to the point that the dissertation and distribution of the news and the subsequent commentary on that news is somewhat delayed by the somehow ordained prerequisite to get through “all that Maori stuff.” What’s worse is that it is delivered, with some enthusiasm and alacrity, by two rather aged, middle-class white guys; it therefore is unnecessary, unsubstantiated, unbridled and, depending on your perspective, patronising and offensive. The second example of residual political correctness, and the one that started my train of thought, is a comment made to me yesterday that the word secretary had been replaced by personal assistant. I did not know that. Of course I know some good personal assistants (and in one case an exemplary one) but I also know that the honorific secretary was once an honoured one. Indeed up to the mid 20^th Century it instilled both reverence and fear. Many great works of literature were written not by the assigned authors but by their personal secretaries; it is also believed reliably that British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli gained most of his information, inspiration and motivation from his secretary; so too did Adolf Hitler in his last days, with Martin Bormann. So, I see nothing wrong with being a secretary or being called such. In fact, I think the term personal assistant is by comparison somewhat derisory. Why one has replaced the other, I do not know. The question I ask though is where are those who perpetrated this insidious sickness upon us? Where are those who created this political correctness? Is no-one willing to fess up? Are they too embarrassed, those generators of silliness? It seems so. They are now lost to us, but their damage remains. Clearly, though, I am bored—why else would such matters tax my brain or your time. I apologise. On other matters, Fryday has moved with the times and now has its own blog. You’ll see the URL below. Mostly it will be just replication of the Fryday you get by email, but there may at times be additional stuff, so check it out if you have the inclination.

Tena koutou.

----------------
Now playing: Ry Cooder - Teardrops Will Fall
via FoxyTunes

A Wet Fryday

I was of the view until recently that Hamilton had only one quality which was that God, in a fit of adversity and perversity, created Hamilton to make Auckland look good. Then along came Dick Hubbard, and Hamilton failed even in that endeavour.

That then presented me with the challenge of finding something else totally useless. I excluded politicians and pukekos because, whilst both are blights on the landscape and seem to have little useful function, they are both testimony to God’s frailties and humility—He knows He made a mistake in creating politicians and pukekos but is prepared for them to remain as shrines to imperfection. As is Brian Tamaki, except that Tamaki has nothing to do with God, of He him.

So then we have moss.

What on earth, and particularly on a wet step, is the use of a moss, except to make money for Rod Genden and Wet & Forget? Mosses are, Wikipedia tells me, small soft plants that are typically 1–10 cm tall, though some species are much larger. They commonly grow close together in clumps or mats in damp or shady locations. They do not have flowers or seeds, and their simple leaves cover the thin wiry stems. At certain times mosses produce spore capsules which may appear as beak-like capsules borne aloft on thin stalks.

Sounds like The Green Party to me.

But having just slipped on my step and come close on several other occasions during the recent rains I cannot think of any reason for moss’s existence (Mr Genden apart) and I shall not trouble myself to find one. Moss exists; it is enough.

On a slightly happier subject, I am enjoying a new and previously unknown malt scotch from my beloved Islay. It is called Smokehead and is described such: "It’s like a cannonball - an explosive rollercoaster of peat, smoke and spice with some delicate sweetness. The single malt flavour is described as fresh, fruity and immense, with notes of sherry, iodine, toffee, smoke and sea salt. The taste hits the palate at once with cocoa, peat and some honey sweetness, before exploding with peppery spice and more earthy peat."

Peat is, as many of you know, a rudiment of good malts and particularly so of those of Islay. The major component of peat, which is "mined" for use as a fuel and as a horticultural soil additive, as well as in the production of Scotch whisky, is decaying moss of the genus Sphagnum.

I did not know that.

Oh well, it seems Hamilton in the totally useless stakes, as in much else, continues to stand alone.

----------------
Now playing: Katie Melua - Dirty Dice
via FoxyTunes

Hello Sailor

I am of the blunt-end sharp-end variety of sailor. In other words I know as much about actual sailing as Helen Clark knows about fashion. But I do have some knowledge of theatre and presentation, and, like many New Zealanders, I am staying up, forsaking the enticements of (among others) Morpheus to stay in bed, in favour of watching Television One’s coverage of the America’s Cup.

For those reasons I feel I am entitled to comment on the commentary. To put it bluntly: Television One’s commentary team of John McBeth and Peter (Pete) Montgomery has to go. The former still knows nothing of competitive yachting, and the latter has failed to recognise that most viewers now do, and he, himself, has reached his use-by date or lay-line as “we” in yachting circles call it.

Am I alone in being fed up to futtocks by McBeth’s incessant giggling at his unfunny “jokes” and by Montgomery’s incredibly patronising attitude to viewers and guest commentators, most acutely recently with Russel Coutts, with repeated interjections such as “for the folks at home, who nothing of sailing, explain what you just said”? Individually these irritations may not amount to much but collectively and accumulatively they are starting to spoil much of this event for me.

So, here’s the plea…

If we are to have New Zealand involvement in the next America’s Cup, and let’s hope we will, get rid of McBeth and Montgomery. Instead let’s have a commentary team comprised wholly of current and former America’s Cup sailors and skippers—people who know what they are talking about. There is precedent. Channel Nine’s cricket commentary team is comprised entirely of former players, so is that channel’s rugby league commentary team—both are the best in the business.

However, will such a team be too technical for us “landlubbers” as Peter Montgomery described you and me Tuesday night? No, I don’t think so. I understood every word Russel Coutts uttered (when he got a chance) that same night and Peter Lester is always clear, concise and accurate. Of course Coutts may not be available as a commentator for the next Cup but Lester will be and Dickson is likely. I am prepared to bet, too, that if Alinghi lose the Cup Butterworth will be looking for something to do.

But that’s for the future. For now I have no choice but to put up with McBeth and Montgomery if I want to watch the live coverage. Unfortunately, with these two around, I have to say my Cup doesn’t exactly runneth over about that.

----------------
Now playing: The Mamas And The Papas - If You Go To San Francisco
via FoxyTunes