Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Reason #9.

And last but definitely not least - reason #9 why Adelaide rocks like a mofo.

It has the world's first fully reversible one-way freeway/expressway.

Yes you read right... a reversible... ONE-WAY freeway.
I shit you not.

You can read about it (and see pictures!) here

How does it work I hear you ask?

Like this:

Northbound: (Mon-Fri: 2:30am-1:30pm, Sat-Sun-Public Holidays: 2:30pm-1:30am),
Southbound: (Mon-Fri: 2:30pm-1:30am, Sat-Sun-Public Holidays: 2:30am-1:30pm).
No traffic enters: 1:30pm-2:30pm and 1:30am-2:30am each day.

We took it, in both directions, at different times of the day...it was very exciting.

Why is it one-way you ask? Well, the short answer is that it cost too much to make it go in two directions...but the monkeys didn't design it so it could be extended to two directions at a later date either.

Adelaide rocks :-)

Sunday, March 26, 2006

But we are like developed and shit.

Transcript of an excerpt from today's messenger conversation with Kiwi mate currently resident in Taiwan:

Mouse says: (2:49:25 AM)
how is it that a poor arse country like Kenya can be placed higher on the medal table than New Zealand?

Mad Hatter says: (2:50:12 AM)
cos we suck?

Mad Hatter says: (2:50:15 AM)
and they can run

Mouse says: (2:50:31 AM)
yep - but we are like developed and shit

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

8 reasons why Adelaide rocks like a mofo.

Hello, my name is mad hatter and I have a confession to make. On the weekend I went to Adelaide....excuse me, this is difficult to admit.... and I liked it.

I feel that I have to explain how this happened.

Firstly, I was in fabulous company - 2 lots of mates from NZ who didn't know each other but were both there at the same time for different events - and seeing as they both asked so nicely I couldn't refuse. Turns out they got on rather well together as well - which is always good.

Secondly, it was 'festival month' in Adelaide - which is when the city comes alive and people come out to play - we were also there on St Pat's day - which never hurts ;-)

OK - so now for a pictorial explanation of why Adelaide rocks like a mofo:

Reason #1: They have nifty public art installations.







Reason #2: But they are also rather fond of pies.



... especially this foul melange - an upturned pie submersed in pea soup and topped with tomato sauce - the sartorially named pie floater.



As the green man notes, these are typically only available extremely late at night from caravans parked around inner Adelaide and consumed by individuals who have usually had far too much to drink. An aesthetic element to the whole proceedings is the excellent colour and texture that they add to the vomit some time later. I am pleased to note that, although this was being consumed by someone I personally know [an Adelaidian needless to say], it did not make an encore performance.

This was said pie cart - complete with trashed slappers in their best party frocks who had no doubt just staggered out of the casino of the same name as the pie cart ... spooky coincidence or canny cross-promotion?



Reason #3: Their pubs have 'playstations' (their term not mine - am reliably informed that it is a nintendo 64 - old skool!) that are encased in wood.



Reason #4: Their fringe festival attracts groovy carnies.









Reason #5: When you get married you celebrate by doing laps of the main street (we saw them 3x).



Reason #6: Our host had a car with a built in fridge (someone mentioned it being like giving matches to a pyro).



Reason #7: Speaking of pyros... Adelaide has them too.




Reason #8: When you finish your weekend in Adelaide you look like this:



This poor puppy was so trashed in the departure lounge on Sunday morning that he didn't notice me snapping off a dozen shots of him. Note the panadol packet in shirt pocket - it's a pity my camera zoom's not good enough to show the drool stain on his shirt (VERY artistic).



And THAT, dear friends, is why Adelaide rocks like a mofo.

Wonder where I can go to top it? Suggestions welcomed ;-)

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Bic Runga's pretty cool eh?

Should really be packing prior to tomorrow's ridiculously early flight to Adelaide (I do have a reason to be going, not just some sort of masochistic tourism) but I can't do that until I have raved about the Bic Runga concert I just got back from.

Because it rocked.

More than 682 old people in rocking chairs can rock.

I have seen her sister playing in Stellar (who also rock), have all of her CDs, seen her on TV, listened to her on the radio, got the teatowel etc but this was the first time I have seen her live - and 'OMFG' she is cool.

The promo spiel for the night was rather uninspiring at first appearances - 'Bic Runga and studio band' - until you realise that her 'studio band' includes musicians on loan from some of NZs best bands - including Neil Finn on piano.

As for the mysterious Bic in person? Well, it seems she is a beguiling mix of incredible exoticism and supreme nerdyness. The nerdyness doesn't come accross in the media but boy does it ever on stage.

You would think that someone who looks as stunning as she does, with Cleopatra haircut, black stockings and heels and black pinafore-ish frock (complete with large pockets on the front for shoving one's hand into every now and then during a song) would be completely intimidating - and they should - but not when the wearer is skipping around the stage in between songs and giggling like a (very cool) schoolgirl.

And she is SO kiwi.

And I love her for it.

Sample banter (she didn't do a lot) included:

"Right-o"

"Thanks for coming and uh, thanks for buying my new album - it's #26 on the charts - woohoo! - I don't need to get a job!"

"Yeah, and I just wanna thank the band for coming all this way and for hanging out with me"

"We were going to invite the kiwi Commonwealth Games athletes along but we didn't want to bum them out with our loser vibes".

Have I mentioned that she rocks?

Her backup singers looked like they'd just popped into the Opotiki pub on a Friday night - gossiped with each other during songs and, at one point, made 'don't go there girlfriend' hand gestures at each other before (quietly) cracking up.

And Bic did a bit of that too - in between sounding as gorgeous as she does. Her voice is one of the better ones I have ever had the privilege of listening to, and that's not just the one-eyed Noo Zullander in me speaking (much).

The venue was the fabulous Hamer Hall (goddamn awesome acoustics) in the Melbourne Arts Centre (where I saw Antony and the Johnsons a few months back - it seems I have now reached the age when my concerts are in Arts Centres not skanky pubs - not sure this is good for my street cred.

And I have never seen as many bone carvings or paua jewellery items in one place in my life. There were more kiwis per square inch than a London ex-pat pub. And we knew it...and it felt goooooooooooood. As I sat there blissing out (and missing home) I could hear the same happy sighing noises that I was making going on throughout the auditorium.

Time to get me home for an Easter visit methinks...or at least to buy some more paua jewellery ;-)

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

A claaaaaaaaaaaaaasy barbie [mate]

Last weekend I hosted a very classy BBQ on my fabulous deck, which is attached to my equally fabulous house [modesty is one of my few failings]. A mate who was staying did the catering (cos' I can't cook to save myself - there is definitely something to be said for having trained chefs as houseguests!) and it was all proceeding swimmingly. Refined conversation was taking place and the mood was relaxed yet a little sophisticated.

Then I went and ruined it.

Glancing off the edge of my deck onto the neighbour's rooftop I noticed a magazine lying there and called out to my houseguest to see if it was one of hers that had fallen off the railing.

As she and another mate came to check, the wind flipped the pages of what, at a very cursory glance, had appeared to be a women's magazine - to reveal that it was in fact a reasonably hardcore porn mag. Enough to make all of us go 'oh dear god!' and look away while turning red.

Sure enough, within seconds of this happening, all guests were hanging over the balcony peering at what I can only assume had been hastily chucked out of the neighbour's window when his girlfriend/parents/minister/caseworker came in unexpectedly.

But no, that wasn't enough for said classy guests. An exceedingly complicated rescue mission was mounted to retrieve the lads' mag from my neighbour's roof - which involved 3 adults, who, collectively, have more degrees than a thermometer. This efficiently planned and executed mission involved commandeering my mop and broom, taping them together and clumsily appropriating said magazine:



...which they then had a bloody good laugh at and left on my deck for me to return to the neighbour's roof when they had gone.

So, in the spirit of heartfelt retaliation, here is a lurvely piccy of Mr Terry (Sharanjeev) Johal, university lecturer, PhD candidate and professional porn connoisseur, purveying said magazine during my no-longer-classy BBQ.



N.B. Terry was perfectly happy for me to blog this picture, on the proviso that I added his disclaimers as follows - pick and choose as you wish (and feel free to add your own suggestions):

"I am shocked and honestly appalled at the lack of quality and artistry in this magazine - which is not mine, nor i have never seen it before."

"I was only looking for the WMDs"

"the terrorists made me do it....."

"hey, it was the cartoons that shocked me"

Friday, March 10, 2006

Silent soup

If you have never experienced true silence, this is what it feels like.

Picture a New York soup kitchen. A small one, operated by lovely catholic nuns, and a handful of volunteers (mainly Christian types, with one random person waiting for a visa to be processed). The kitchen is in a state of chaos. There are 150 people to feed, three people cooking meatballs, and a youth group who are just there to torment you by doing nothing, or strategically standing in front of you when you are holding scalding hot food. Then it happens. You drop a pot of sauce, and like a kid with a tick, you involuntarily yell "f***k." And there it is. True silence.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Good question!

Another joy of being an akademik is that the standard of toilet graffiti is somewhat higher than in the average office [ok, so that might be a little debatable but there has to be a hook somewhere].

Although risking some seriously odd looks and a possible harassment case your intrepid correspondent boldly took her camera into the ground floor toilets to capture this little gem for you.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Drinking nuts unite!

Not even engrish this time - just beautifully ambiguous english. Great promotional concept though!

Thanks, yet again, to Dr Steph (ex-NZ, now Nigeria-based but currently in Melbourne...as you do) who spotted this when we were at the supermarket yesterday.