In the light...

Yesterday I buried my father. That is not the literal truth; my father was cremated, not buried, and I certainly did not do that! But you get the point.
I have resisted writing about the death of my father until now because I thought you would find it (a) boring and (b) a solicitation for sympathy, when none was wanted nor needed.
The moment of death—and note here my refusal to use the euphemism “passing”, passing is what’s done in cars—was a relief and a release, not least for my father. His illness was long and cruel, particularly for a man for whom life was a banquet. He wanted to go. His reply to a caregiver in his last days was evidence of that. She asked him if he needed anything; he answered “a gun.”
As it was, his death was somewhat more sweet and serene. It happened just after he farewelled a woman who meant so much to him in his later years. And, if there is an afterlife, I believe there are enough people and dogs in it that knew Dad and would be there to welcome him. I think he knew that.
So, this Fryday is not about lamenting a lost father, though it stems from that, it is more about a lost love. At yesterday’s service I planned to read Dylan Thomas’s classic poem on the death of his father, Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night. It seemed apt and my favourite passage has all the power and intensity of a nail gun:
Do not go gentle into that good night
Old men, at close of day, should rage, rage
Against the dying of the light.
I love that passage but faced with the death of my own father I found myself questioning its veracity. What on earth was Thomas thinking when he wrote Do not go gentle…? Of course they should go gentle. My father did in that last tranquil moment. And the arrival of peace was I think a blessing. Did he “rage rage” against that arrival? No. He wanted to go. So he did. Simple. And I, at close of day, am thinking that my once favourite poem is, in the light of day, just a load of crap.


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Now playing: Various Artists - Amazing Grace (Bagpipe Instrumental)
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It's so wong

Down the road from the home I share with my wife, two dogs and a cockroach is a combined café and bookstore. It is a pleasant place to eat, read and meditate. It was also the gathering place of the Helensville literati, until he left. After a morning writing I took myself there for lunch yesterday. I hoped to recharge the brain with some good reading. Instead I purchased a Joe Bennett book. Just kidding. Joe is a good writer and very very humorous. He has a syndicated column in several newspapers and about 10 collections of those columns. He’s a Pom, now resident in Lyttleton. His commentaries on New Zealand life are dispassionate and, unusually for a Pom, perceptive and respectful. I don’t know how many columns Joe Bennett produces, but I am assuming he commits to at least one a week, and the subject matter ranges from his dog (frequently) to Paul Holmes (less so). HE MAKES MUCH OF THE MUNDANE. Which leads me to Bill English. I have nothing against our deputy prime minister, but I watched him on television yesterday and his performance in the House was insipid at best. His defence of Pansy Wong was toothless in the face of a sustained attack by Pete Hodgson. Incidentally, it was Pete Hodgson who gave us the parliamentary quote of the year the day before. After a not particularly funny and certainly laborious speech in rhyming couplets by National list MP Aaron Gilmore Mr Hodgson commented: “Mr Gilmore delivered his speech in verse, Not particularly well-written; certainly not terse.” Ms Wong was not well served by her deputy leader and if her command of English is not good her command by English is decidedly lacklustre. As indeed is he these days. I met him once and found him distant. I can live with that; more than I can live with the hypocritical joviality of Rodney Hyde, anyway. But what John Key and the government and New Zealand need these days is strength. The country is going through appalling drama at the moment and politically there is more to come with the Foreshore fiasco. To watch Bill English sit there so lacklustre and seemingly still smarting and sulking at being overthrown in favour of John Key is not a good look. He should retire and be replaced with someone—anyone—with more drive and direction. Joe Bennett fills the bill. So, sadly, does my cockroach Bill.

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Of Nappies and Nipples

In his later years the great American actor Spencer Tracy was incontinent. Katharine Hepburn looked after him. She was his soul-mate, his partner, his life. She was with him when he died. Katharine was Spencer’s backbone. His rib. And it was in that guise that she starred in a movie with him—Adam’s Rib (1949). It of course evoked the biblical proclamation that God created Eve from Adam’s rib. Why the rib, I don’t know. I would have thought there is at least one other male appendage more crafted for creation than a rib. But a rib it was. I won’t mess with God. But that doesn’t explain nipples. If woman is derived from man, in that order, why does man have nipples? On a man, they must be about as useful as a George W. Bush dissertation on quantum physics. But they exist. And according to the Bible, they existed first on a man. Why? Was God experimenting? Is man an experiment—a try-out, a prototype—and woman the real thing? Did God, when He was designing the male architecture, say I’ll put one of those there and that one there and see if that works and if it does I’ll give them to Eve and make them super sensitive so that Adam has something other than apples to munch on? If that is the way it worked, I guess God simply forgot to take them off Adam. God can be forgetful—look at Hamilton. But if we do not accept God as the answer then there is still the question: why do men have nipples? For the answer to that, I trod the oft-trod passage of modern pilgrimage: I went from God to Google. And according to Google, all men are bisexual, which of course explains the rugby scrum. It appears that when we first appear, God has a bet both ways. It is only later in the piece that he bestows an extra piece. Or not. Meanwhile, the nipples stay. And maybe God has a point. Nipples do no harm. In fact, they give men a small glimmer of equality with women. Something shared. And in that context nipples have a stand-out quality—unique as a body part. I could kiss them for that.

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Now playing: Leonard Cohen - Democracy
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A Special Place

Queen Victoria is purported to have stated that she was not amused. By what or by whom I know not. But she would have been in good company in New Zealand this week. The country, rightly, is in a sombre mood. There can be very few who have not been touched deeply or do not share the grief of the Pike River families. Much continues to written of the tragedy and Fryday is tragically ill-equipped to add anything profound, except to state that there is one individual who should take Fryday’s cue and shut his mouth. He is an embarrassment and, as their self-appointed spokesperson, a further and unnecessary infliction on the grieving families.
My own week has been lightened immeasurably by the arrival, occupation and company of a French family. The family includes my goddaughter of whom I have responsibility for her spiritual guidance and upbringing. Again I am ill-equipped. I have to rely on the good sense of the girl herself to lead the right path through life. I am sure she will—a week with me has undoubtedly shown her the result of taking the wrong path. The fact she is now heading toward Hamilton will undoubtedly complete that education.
Their command of English is excellent but still provides some amusing moments such as “get a grip, mate” delivered with a soft and lilting French accent. They apparently learn that from television. And I too have learnt from observing them. I have learnt that there is much in this country that is totally foreign to—well—foreigners. Hokey Pokey ice cream is one of course. But I didn’t realise that Jaffas was another. Smokers too. And you should have seen their surprise and delight when they ordered hot-dogs from the Leigh Café to find they came as some unidentifiable object on a stick. There is nothing like that in France.
No doubt as they travel through New Zealand they will find much more that is unique to this little country of ours. And whilst those children will not know it –and nor should they—their presence has given me a near-xenophobic pride in New Zealand, particularly the way in which we as New Zealanders compassionately and sincerely dealt with Pike River. New Zealand ceased to be a country; it became a family. Could that have happened in another country? In France? I don’t know. Perhaps. So, I won’t call it unique to New Zealand. Just very very special.

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The Two Faces of Facebook

There is a passage in The Social Network when Facebook co-creator, Mark Zuckerberg, says the servers serving the site and its 500 million friends must stay up. If they go down, he says, Facebook goes down and so does its credibility and quite possibly its future.
Well, this morning Facebook went down. It’s still down, at least for me. So, do I feel dispirited, distraught and deprived? No. I love Facebook but I am not addicted to it or reliant on it. For me it just serves as another way of keeping in touch with friends new and old. It doesn’t teach me anything or otherwise enrich my life and I can see why some don’t understand Facebook or its popularity and others openly despise, fear or simply ignore it.
But it’s there. There to share.
It’s there with its zillions of photos of drunk teenagers making silly finger signs, trash-talking students, stupid surveys, myriads of ads and invitations to parties at Castor Bay. Facebook can be stupid and stupefying.
But it’s also there for families and friends to share, to chat, and to upload photos, thoughts and memories in a manner that mail—even email—cannot accomplish.
I have heard some elderly folk lament the lack of personal contact and somehow blame Facebook for that. Well of course families and friends are different these days. Only it seems in Hamilton do they still stick together, picking on their banjos. The rest of us, as my own family attests, are spread throughout the world. Facebook is a way of bringing us together, keeping us together.
So there are two faces to Facebook. On balance I would have to venture the opinion the world is better off for having it.
Even if Facebook is still down on me; I am not down on it.


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A Nod is as Good as a Winkler

One of my more humiliating episodes of a life richly episodic was in a play called I Hate Hamlet in which I played the great American actor John Barrymore teaching a young actor how to play Hamlet. I am no Shakespearian actor. I was excruciating and it was fully ten years before I returned to the stage—and that was in drag!
But as bad as I was, it wasn’t as bad as the television appearance of Henry Winkler when he attempted a soliloquy from Hamlet. True to their wont (and credibility) the American audience cheered and whistled as The Fonz finished his farcical and facile portrayal. The point is, that audience thought Mr Winkler couldn’t really act in high theatre and in their admiration for him—or more accurately The Fonz—it is was lost on them that they were exactly right. But The Fonz was the epitome of cool in those days and Mr Winkler played him brilliantly particularly when we consider how remarkably uncool Mr Winkler looks these days.
So what has all this to do with Len Brown?
Mr Brown was cool too. Particularly when compared to that walking stress-inducement John Banks. That may have been the reason for the landslide vote in his favour.
But already after just two weeks in office and in conversations I am having with others I am detecting some disquiet and disappointment at Mr Brown’s performance so far. His Obama-like vision seems to have cooled somewhat and already I am hearing that he is starting to prevaricate on promises made and to hedge on some key issues.
However, it is early days. Mr Brown may yet become the best mayor Auckland has had in decades and Fryday will be proved wrong.
But if I am right, Mr Brown’s election campaign may just prove to be nothing more than a great acting performance deserving both the acclaim Mr Winkler undeservedly got and the public derision I deservedly did.
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Helen Earth

Hell on earth did Helen Kelly get to have so much sway over the film industry and in particular the production of The Hobbit? Yes she is president of the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions which purports to have 350,000 members which I doubt, but surely in that role her focus should be protecting the interests of members rather than decimating the industry that feeds them? However, the rights or wrongs of the industrial issue are not the issue of this Fryday—despite the fact that Helen Kelly has fostered just about every malcontent going from women’s rights to global warming (oh please!) and her crony Robin Malcolm is almost as bad. No, the issue at issue is who is Helen Kelly? Kelly is a common name but I wanted to know if she is related to the late Pat Kelly—a staunch communist and erstwhile secretary of the Cleaners and Caretakers Union in the 70s. So, where could I find out? Wikipedia of course. But do you know what? When I went there, the page on Helen Kelly had been “deleted.” Deleted? Why does that somehow unnerve me?


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Aitken for it

I am sure there are New Zealanders out there who take the sporting rivalry with Australia seriously. I haven’t met them and nor do I particularly want to, given that they come from Hamilton. But I do derive some modicum (and no that doesn’t mean ejaculation over the Internet) of satisfaction at the look on Australian netball coach Norma Plummer’s face when her team was beaten by the Silver Ferns last night. I have nothing against Norma—I like most men try and avoid that—and I think she is good for the sport and for television, but she along with Australian cricket captain Ricky Ponting exemplify everything that is wrong with Australian sport. Confidence, even arrogance, is good in sport and I wish we had more of it in New Zealand. But supercilious superiority is not. And that is what these two exhibit. Norma lost last night. So did Ricky. One is tempted to say to them get over it. But because they don’t read Fryday that’s pointless and in any case I don’t really want them to get over it. I want them and their superiority to dwell in the loser basement for a little while yet and for the Silver Ferns and their coach Ruth Aitken to enjoy all the plaudits they so richly deserve... as New Zealanders.

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When Whetu Comes Knocking

ME: So you want the job?
HE: Sure do, bro.
ME: And you think you are qualified for it?
HE: Sure do, bro.
ME: But why?
HE: Why what?
ME: Why do you think you are qualified for the job?
HE: ‘Cause it’s a choice job.
ME: Yes Whetu, but why do you think you are more deserving of the job than, say, me?
HE: ‘Cause look at me, bro. I looks and sounds like a New Zealander, don’t I? Nobodies look like they come from Aotearoa like Tangata Whenua, unless you thinking of John Key after he is off sunning in Hawaii.
ME: So you think being brown is qualification for the job?
HE: Yep.
ME: Anand Satyanand is brown.
HE: Who?
ME: Sir Anand Satyanand, the Governor General.
HE: The what?
ME: Look, are we at cross-purposes here…?”
HE: I’m not cross.
ME: You’re looking for a job?
HE Sometimes, bro.
ME: You want this job?
HE: Choice job.
ME: The Governor General’s job?
HE: The what?
ME: The…Look, what job are you looking for?
HE: His job.
ME: Whose job?
HE: Paul Henry’s job. Choice.
ME: Oh God!
HE: Free breakfasts, eh?


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Should that not be pubic places?

I feel embodied and enriched by my vicarious association with these wo-men (see previous Fryday), especially when I read what else the one on the left (in more ways than one) has involved herself with:

Research Interests
In 1985 I completed a Masters thesis in which I argued that sexual violence against women helps to ensure that space ‘belongs’ to men. In 1997 I completed a doctoral thesis titled ‘Geographies that Matter: Pregnant Bodies in Public Places’.

Over the past decade my main research interests have been in ‘geography and the body’. I’ve critiqued the (masculinist) epistemology and ontology of the discipline. I have also focused attention on the ways in which particular axes of embodied subjectivity such as gender, sexuality and maternity become entwined with space.

My current research interests are:
- maternities and space including mothers using ICT
- sex and gender studies including masculinity studies
- feminist, queer and poststructuralist theory
- 'fat' bodies: representations and materialities
- food, place and identity for migrant women
- qualitative methodologies

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Ana Kiss (My A**s)

I don't usually give Fryday over to other writers, but I couldn't resist this, which is, characteristically, from the Hamilton NZ Facebook page. Anarchist Geography?:

Two Waikato University feminist geographers have had their work acknowledged by the New Zealand Geographical Society which is meeting in Palmerston North this week.
Professor Robyn Longhurst has been awarded the society’s most prestigious award, the Distinguished Geography Gold Medal for outstanding and sustained contribution and service to geography.
Her colleague, Associate Professor Lynda Johnston has been awarded a Distinguished Service Award for her significant contribution to New Zealand geography and its community over the last five years.
They both obtained their doctorates at Waikato and have gone on to become well known internationally. The Geographical Society’s Executive Manager June Logie says it’s great to see them rewarded for many years of strategic and important work. “They are significant feminist New Zealand geographers who’ve made enormous contributions in their area of research. Their work has received much acknowledgement here and overseas and it’s great to see them.”
Longhurst and Johnston research and write about people and place and the importance and influence of gender in people’s lives. Much of their work has been a collaboration - their latest book is called Place, Space and Sex: geographies of sexualities published by Rowman and Littlefield.
Professor Longhurst says she was drawn to human geography by a previous Society medal winner Ann McGee who taught at Waikato. “When I was a student, Ann really opened my eyes to radical geographies, she even taught anarchist geography, and it became important to me to do research that brought about positive social change.”
“We’ve also had good support for our work from the university,” says Associate Professor Johnston. “Waikato’s led the way with feminist geography and given us time and space to do work that’s far from mainstream and sometimes risky. So it’s good to be recognised.”

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