tramspotting

Goat tree

2009-02-21T18:23:00.005+11:00

More things I love about Melbourne:

I can be grumpily walking down the road to catch a train yet find myself entranced by a tree that has been 'decorated' by an unknown someone who knows precisely how to make my day.

Free to good home ...

2008-11-29T00:04:00.002+11:00

There are many things I love about Melbourne ... the fact that this can happily sit in a shop window without humour-deficient animal rights activists cracking the shits is just one of them :-)

Slow! Small (dumb) dog

2008-10-14T21:31:00.006+11:00

When visiting Nelson in Noo Zulland at the start of this year (yes, I have some catching up to do on the blog front :-s) we had the good fortune to stay at the house of a friend of a friends (the best sort when it comes to free accommodation in nice places).

The house was perched high on a hill, with gorgeous views over Nelson and the ocean. The hill was so steep, in fact, that when you turned off the road you found yourself going down a driveway with zero visibility at one point, due to the sheerness (is that a word?) of the drop below.

While this feature made for several entertaining automotive moments of the 'oh jesus, we're going to die' variety, it also clearly posed a problem for the owners, whose dog liked hanging around the driveway ... just under the driveway crest that drivers can't see over as it happens.

In true Noo Zulland style, however, any risk to aforementioned dog was averted by this fabulous sign ~ which got right to the point. Perhaps government education campaigns could learn a few things from this approach?

What? No handicrafts?!?

2008-10-10T20:42:00.006+11:00

I stopped by Uno the Extortionate Cobbler this afternoon to be reunited with my one and only pair of comfortable work shoes (those with wonky feet will know what I mean when I say that parting from them for any period of time is more than traumatic) and found myself waiting in line behind two members of the Bandidos motorcycle gang (according to their website their first leader was called 'Snotgrass', I shit you not).

As I waited patiently behind them (even though they took a long time I didn't feel the urge to get tetchy or ask them to hurry up for some reason), I watched them spend some time instructing Uno the Extortionate Cobbler on the precise location of the patches that they needed sewn on to their new leather waistcoats. [By way of context, Uno resides in one of the most expensive mall/plaza/thingies in the Melbourne CBD].

Uno, who is normally downright rude to customers, was the most attentive I have ever seen him. I could even see him making a mental 'do NOT fuck it up' note to self as they left his store and wandered over to join their colleagues who were sipping coffee at a nearby cafe. Not only did he not advise them of a cost, he also didn't give them a little 'your name is x, your item # is x and it will be ready by whenever I damn well feel like it' slip ... perhaps hulking great gang members are memorable and worthy of expedited ... dare I say 'free' ... service?

I subsequently learnt that the entire gang was in town for what was (euphemistically?) described by local media as a 'family weekend' ... wonder if it will involve picnics and joint prayer sessions?

So, I consider myself a little wiser for this experience ~ for some reason I had always just imagined that gang members were quite handy with the old needle and thread ... I used to have little daydreams about bikie sewing circles akin to boy scouts ... but it seems even the big boys have learnt the art of outsourcing. Guess you learn something every day.

Revealing my true self

2008-10-01T22:52:00.004+10:00

I have often received flack from friends who know me, for my steadfast refusal to publish pictures of myself on this blog ... to reveal my true identity as it were.

Well, the time has come ... for the curtain to be lifted, the shutters to be drawn, the sun to rise, the [insert shyte metaphor here].

Ladies and Gentlemen, please find a clipping from my old university that not only reveals my true identity, but also includes a headshot of me ...

... if, indeed, I am an 18 year old Japanese girl called Shuko Keji.

I was on the 7.42 train to work the other morning when I idly flicked through my old university's Alumni magazine and found this gem. My partner and I pissed ourselves laughing the rest of the way into the city. Within hours I had received an email titled 'mea culpa' from the comms manager at my old university, mortified that she had irretrievably offended me. I responded by thanking her for making my day and asking for another copy as a memento.

What I think I love most of all, is the fact that Ms Keji is wearing a ginormous name badge in her photo ... perhaps the proof readers thought it was 'mislabel yourself Thursday' or some other such quirky cultural convention?

If only I was that cute and could get away with wearing yellow without looking like a jaundiced marshmallow ...

The weather in Sydney is fine.

2008-04-13T23:13:00.003+10:00

So I was flying back from Noo Zulland on Thursday after another full on but fabulous trip home.

My airline of choice on this occasion was Emirates (home of the sexy airbuses with the cool ceilings that have fake stars on them when they dim the lights).

I had finished watching Juno (pretty good) and was working my way through dodgeball (complete bollocks but perfect for mind-numbing plane trips) when the intercom crackled into life yet again (I swear Emirates does more gratuitous, interminably long multilingual announcements than any other airline in existence).

This time it was our swarthy and exotic-sounding captain, he of the masculine and sexy pilot voice (TM), saying:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are beginning our descent and should arrive at our destination in 45 minutes. The weather in Sydney is fine and we should land in Sydney at 6.30pm local time."

This announcement shouldn't have raised any eyebrows amongst the passengers, except for the minor fact that we were meant to be flying to Melbourne. The few of us who weren't in a plane-induced stupor looked quizzically at each other, wondering if we had made some sort of monumental cock-up. After a second or so our eyebrows concurred that it was in fact the pilot who had cocked up so we sniggered and settled back down to feeling dopey.

Less than a minute later, however, our captain came back on the air again, sounding decidedly less swarthy and sexy, saying "Ah ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain again ... we are going to Melbourne, not Sydney", at which point the entire plane pissed itself laughing and the pilot giggled in a distinctly unsexy way before abruptly going off air.

Contrary to popular perception, it appears that even pilots are human :-)

CRAIGIEBURN!!!!

2008-03-22T12:23:00.004+11:00

I travel in to work by train most mornings (unless I miss it and then the joys of the #19 tram beckon). The line I travel on intersects with quite a few other lines at one point in the journey, at North Melbourne station.

As the train approaches North Melbourne, the nice Connex lady's dulcet pre-recorded tones come wafting across the intercom, telling us that the next station is North Melbourne, and that we should change there for the Sydenham, Williamstown, Werribee and Broadmeadows lines.

Until recently that is.

A few weeks back the Broadmeadows line (otherwise known as 'Broady' to the nasty-abbreviation-obsessed locals) got longer, extending past Broadmeadows to the new identical McMansion suburb of Craigieburn [aka, middle of effing nowhere but cheap as chips and very prestigious in an aspiring nouveau riche kind of way ~ check out www.delfincraigieburn.com.au for more information about the exciting opportunities offered by Craigieburn].

This is clearly the most exciting thing to have happened to the pre-recorded Connex lady for some time, cos' the amended message now goes: "The next station is North Melbourne, change here for the Sydenham, Williamstown, Werribee and [insert little dance of unmitigated joy and excitement here] CRAIGIEBURN! lines."

It is very exciting.

I am excited.

In addition to my excitement, it also makes me snicker every time I hear it, just another of the many perks of public transport I guess.

I have a spalling teas tomow :)

2008-03-16T22:02:00.003+11:00

Just got back from a Noo Zulland (me and the missus had popped over there for a mate's wedding). For me, heading back home is always a welcome opportunity to catch up with the smallest members of my wonderfully post-modern whanau ~ my little sisters, aged 6 & 8.

They are both gorgeous kids, the sort that are prone to leaving misc notes around, making pictures for you or, in my case this time, making a fabulous bracelet which spelt my name in plastic letters ~ I was the envy of all my mates while wearing THAT bling.

This artistic/linguistic gem also caught my eye on my last day, a note left by my oldest little sister for my dad on the office whiteboard. She rocks :-)

The mower was impounded for 28 days ...

2008-01-15T11:20:00.000+11:00

Sometimes I just love New Zealand:

Disqualified driver pulled over on lawnmower

Tuesday January 15, 2008

A disqualified Dargaville driver on a ride-on lawnmower was pulled over by police and allegedly blew more than double the legal alcohol limit.

Police say a 53-year-old man was arrested after he was seen by a patrol car riding his mower down River Rd, intending to ride to his home around three kilometres away.

The mower was impounded for 28 days and the man will appear in the Dargaville District Court at the end of the month. He is facing charges of careless driving, driving while disqualified and drink-driving.

- NEWSTALK ZB

The perfect team.

2007-11-14T20:31:00.000+11:00

Reader beware: Parts of the following post contains mushy observations that would get a journalist fired for being cliched and hackneyed [not sure what hackneyed means exactly but I reckon this fits the bill].

I was standing on platform 4 of Flinders Street Station tonight, waiting for Connex to get their shit together and send me a train. The train was sufficiently delayed that I was seriously entertaining the idea of buying something colloquially known as 'heart attack in a paper bag' from the purveyors of fried nastiness that live in their boxes of evil on the platform.

Luckily I was saved from this fate when something far better caught my attention. It was 'blind person and their guide dog rush hour' this evening for some reason. I had watched a guy cautiously crossing St Kilda Road a few minutes earlier while taking the tram, and Platform 4 at Flinders St was host to not one but two vision-impaired commuters with guide dogs heading in separate directions. The older of the two was standing next to me with his dog while I waited, and I found myself mesmerised for about quarter of an hour, just watching the two of them interact.

The old bloke was exactly that, a weather-beaten Aussie in his 60s with cropped hair and a hard-earned pot belly. The sort of guy you'd expect to see mowing the lawn outside his house in the summer with his shirt off, or happily ensconced in his shed at the bottom of the garden.

If his guide dog were human, they would have been twins; an old, solid golden lab, now turned white with age. The dog was sitting at ease, the harness resting on his back and his neck chain hanging loose as well. Even though the dog wasn't attached to his owner he was still connected, leaning ever so slightly against him while they both waited patiently amid the commuting chaos. The old bloke kept one hand by his side and would touch the dog's head every now and then. When a train came on their platform (the wrong one), the bloke put his hand reassuringly on the now-standing dog's shoulders and sat him back down (I can't figure out which train is arriving half the time so I was relieved to see it wasn't just me getting it wrong).

At one point, the man put his hand down to the dog's head and, in an almost imperceptible movement, softly massaged the dog's eyelids. I don't know what it was about this gesture but I stood there feeling ridiculously emotional for 6.57 on a Wednesday night. It was both moving and reassuring. I don't think I've seen a partnership that good in a fair while.

Speaking of muses ...

2007-10-25T22:54:00.000+10:00

... my last post reminded me to spend a little time committing the actions of a mysterious benefactor to (electronic) paper.

But first a little background: My 'regular' readers will know that I am the proud owner of one slightly neglected scooter (it has been downgraded from 'love of my life' to 'weekend fling' since I resumed public transport commuting unfortunately ... it's not you, it's me). When i've finished using it for the day I park the aforementioned scoot on the sidewalk next to my house, bid it goodnight, remind it not to get nicked and then go indoors.

For the last nine months (on and off) however, I have been dancing a curious dance with a complete stranger, in which my unwitting scoot has played a rather pivotal role. Early this year I went out to my scoot in the morning, and saw a 5c coin on the seat. Assuming some community-minded individual had picked it up off the ground and left it there for whoever dropped it, I put it on the ground and carried on my way. The next day it was there on the seat again and I, getting a tad peeved that the community-minded individual clearly thought it was my 5c, put it on the ground again.

The next day, the coin was there again. And it was only then that I looked closer and realised that it was a 10c coin, not the 5c originally left. Being, at the time, on the subsistence wages of a university lecturer, I thought, 'right, finders keepers', popped it in my pocket and forgot about it ... until the next morning when a 5c coin was again sitting on the seat of my scoot.

This routine of 5c and 10c coins turning up on the seat of my scoot continued for a week or so, until I mentioned it to my partner, who pointed out that it wasn't particularly normal for scooters to spontaneously generate Australian currency and offered forth some rather interesting conspiracy theories. Amongst other amusing options, these included the possibility that someone was planning on stealing my bike and was paying it off 5c and 10c at a time.

Whatever the rationale, the money kept coming, and I kept putting it in my pocket. After a few weeks it occurred to me that whoever was doing it might have developed something of a compulsion and might need a hand to break the habit (I could have let them continue indefinitely but there are faster ways for me to get rich quick). I didn't quite know what I would say in a note (humiliating or embarrassing whoever it was was the last thing I wanted to do), so I simply started putting the coins into a glass jar that I left next to my fence. A few would accumulate there over a few days and then kids/misc opportunists would clean it out. I'm not sure exactly what effect this had but after a few weeks more the coins stopped, leaving me a touch sad but with a sense of things being back in their proper place.

I thought that was the end of it but a few weeks later it started again, 5 and 10 cents at a time. It petered out after a week but it still happens every now and then.

After some months of this happening, it's not something I resent in the slightest, rather I love the thought that there is someone mysterious, mad, magical or just interesting who thinks my scooter (or me) is worthy of such affection. My very own scooter fairy. Inspiration and warm fuzzy feelings come from the strangest places ... a cheap scooter parked on sidestreet in Brunswick is one of mine.

A muse appears on the 12.01 Upfield line.

2007-09-12T12:42:00.000+10:00

So it's been a fair while since I've written ~ during which time my Masters thesis has been finally finished, printed, bound and lovingly placed on a shelf never to be opened again.

I have also got thoroughly jack of being a university lecturer, so (never one to wallow and whinge more than strictly necessary or pleasurable) I have got a new job that will give me magnificent karma and very little pay. It starts in 6 weeks' time and is part of the reason that I am writing again, as it will involve me becoming 'exclusive' with my first love; public transport.

Yep, me and the Upfield line and the St Kilda Road tram will be becoming intimate over the next while ~ and in my own perverse nerdy way I am looking forward to it.

It's funny how things go full circle really ~ this blog was started way back in the day (May 2004 for anyone who is impressed by such things) as a way to record my observations of the myriad weird and wonderful people that I saw on my daily commute. Somewhere along the way I got a scooter which drastically altered the purpose of the blog, and Blogger got all fancy with photos and video capabilities etc. While multimedia fanciness is a lurvely thing, one of its effects has been to make me a little lazy in the writing department; relying on visual gags and bitchy comments rather than rich description and simple appreciation of difference in all its glory.

So, it seems strangely fitting that, as I am about to re-enter another public transport phase, the most magnificent muse should appear before me on the 12.01 Upfield line on the way into work today.

She got on a stop after I did, which allowed me to fully appreciate her exquisite uniqueness as she walked purposefully in my direction. One might say that her most distinctive feature was an oversize orange felt hat that Robin Hood might wear if he was observing 'take the piss out of your usual headgear day'. But 'distinctive' is a relative term when you consider that this was offset by a muted strawberry bag, and bright yellow leggings overlaid on vivid black and white striped tights. Most people would look seriously silly in this kind of ensemble but she looked fantastic and carried if off beautifully ~ the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous and of some sort of Asian descent (Thai or Burmese at a very uneducated stab) no doubt helped.

Anyhoo ~ she walked purposefully past me and straight out the door of the carriage. I assumed she was heading into the next one but she stopped and stood on the little platform between the carriages as the train rolled along. She was staring out at the world going by and I thought for one horrible moment that she was thinking about jumping off ~ but to my absolute relief and immense pleasure she started singing.

I was one of the few people facing in her direction so I found myself staring, entranced, at this young woman (mid-20s perhaps) standing between two train carriages, singing to herself and the world while looking completely, indisputably happy.

It occured to me while watching her that many people surveying the scene would assume she was in some way imbalanced ~ which tempered my smile just a tad because of the inference that it takes a mental illness to be prepared to express yourself with such simple beauty; honestly and without fear of judgement. If this is truly the case then my worries for the world are even more so after reflecting on this.

The cynic in me checked for the ubiquitous white earphones that seem to come with any commuter under 40 these days but there was nothing, she was just singing to herself and appreciating the view from the slightly gritty perspective of a surburban commuter train. Watching her sing in silence (I couldn't hear anything) was one of those rare experiences that makes you feel all uncool and mushy ~ one of those infectious joy kind of deals.

One of the reasons that I am leaving my current job as a lecturer is that I am finding myself becoming just a touch cynical about it ~ and that's not the kind of person I want to be ~ I want to be the kind of person that is entranced by uninhibited people singing on the train and who finds beauty in the everyday. Unbearably cliched and mushy I know but hey, I guess someone's gotta do it.

Over n' out :-)

High tech warfare.

2007-02-28T14:08:00.000+11:00

This is the logo from an item of hand luggage that I bought in Koh Samui a year ago for $20. It has been extremely handy, having travelled to the UK, France, Singapore and New Zealand since then - it even survived being 'misplaced' en route to London (thanks Emirates!) and seems to cheerfully handle the ongoing trials and tribulations involved in being an international bag of mystery.

I credit this value for money and all round robustness to the fact that it is called 'Combat'. It is clearly a high tech, cutting edge, hardcore item of luggage of mass destruction - something the logo leaves the viewer in no doubt about.

Yay for incongruous branding - it makes life that little bit brighter :-)

Bad hair transcends all politics.

2007-02-20T14:55:00.000+11:00

While watching TV last night I had the pleasure of watching an interview on a current affairs show 'Lateline'. The interview in itself was unremarkable - a 15 minute 'hard news' interview with Labeed Abbawi, Deputy Foreign Minister of Iraq - 15 minutes of tedious and predictable proportions.

What WAS impressive, however, was the combination of:

A windy day
A fabulous 'comb-over'
Mr Abbawi's stoic refusal to acknowledge that he was in the midst of a hair crisis of monumental, nationwide, televised proportions.

Had me and the missus in hysterics for its duration.

Giddy up baybee

2007-02-13T12:07:00.000+11:00

Well, will you look at that - mid-February 2007 was hiding behind my bedroom door and has just leapt out and whacked me on the head. Sneaky beggar.

Soooo - to continue with the pre-xmas theme on the joys of Singapore I would like to introduce my non-Asian readers to an amazing gadget that I was priviedged to see demonstrated on Orchard Road in Singapore in December: The iGallop.

This mind-boggling device is promoted as an 'exercise' machine - but, if we were all to stop beating around the bush (if you'll excuse the expression) it would perhaps be most appropriate on display at the Melbourne Sexpo. Methinks perhaps as well, that the target market for this particular exercise fad is husbands buying them for their wives - can't imagine why.

For your viewing pleasure I have included a video of the Chinese ads for it - which are more to the, ahem, 'point' than the uber cheesy and serious singaporean ones (also included below for comparison) - I know which ad would motivate me to buy it more. And I am not even going to ask what is going on in her pants in the Chinese ad :-s

I have also included a suggestion of a more appropriate use for the iGallop at the bottom - as ably demonstrated by Salad the Cat ... and yes, I promise I won't be posting 3 videos every time, am just excited by finally figuring out how to do it.

Merry mutant!

2006-12-27T21:27:00.000+11:00

I thought I should perhaps make at least a cursory nod to the festive season, seeing as I have been accused of being somewhat 'bah humbug-ish' this year.

So - here goes.

May I present a festive illustration from the side of the 'Luxury Christmas Crackers' that set me back $3.50* in the Footscray 'misc-crap-that-you-really-have-to-have' store. These luxury babies were Australian themed and made in Indonesia.

Now far be it from me to cast aspersions as to the typical Indonesian christmas cracker illustrator's knowledge of Australia's indigenous animals, or Australia in general for that matter ... but my guests and I were reasonably certain that Australian Emus don't have four legs ... although possibly the Indonesian ones do?

The map of Australia on the box also had dinosaurs in Western Australia - but we thought best not to be too pedantic at xmas ... in fact, from what I understand, the addition of a few dinosaurs could potentially be a significant improvement for WA ... perhaps they should seek the advice from the makers of my xmas crackers?

Merry festiveness y'all ;-)

*And no, I didn't win even one of the crackers I pulled.
Sympathy donations can be made to www.saveastarvinglecturer.com

Culinary highlights of Singapore.

2006-12-24T00:12:00.000+11:00

While in Singapore I had lunch and went for a wander around the Bugis Street market with a mate/colleague of mine, the indomitable Mr Tezza who was teaching there at the same time as me. Mr Tezza is an ex-pat Singapore boy himself although he is similar to me, insofar as that he has been away long enough from his 'homeland' to lose track of which places are good to go to, what is 'so hot right now' etc etc.

One of the things he hasn't forgotten about, however, are the joys of a peculiarly Singaporean dish - one that he vividly remembers from his childhood, back in the days even before he had managed to misspend his youth.

It is a simple dish, involving two, equally healthy, ingredients (hunk of icecream + multicoloured bread). It costs around 80 cents Singaporean and can only be bought from little old men standing at mobile icecream stands. In the interests of cross-cultural understanding I of course had to try for myself...

My verdict?

It rocks.

It looks like this.

That is all.

The power of bun!

2006-12-13T12:24:00.000+11:00

Back in Melbourne town now - settling back in and answering approximately 4.26 million emails per day from the lovely but occasionally confused students that I was teaching in Singapore.

Thought I'd post up another memento of my Singapore sojourn, this one from the food kiosk outside the Underwater World on Sentosa 'Island'. The Underwater World itself wasn't too bad but the sign below was what impressed me most - never underestimate the power of bun!

Useful signage.

2006-12-03T14:36:00.000+11:00

Just a quickie, so to speak, for this post.

This is a picture snapped on Thursday while boarding the free bus that takes tourists around Sentosa 'Island'. Sentosa is a rather curious tourist trap, literally 300 metres away from Singapore, that includes a 'magical musical fountain' and large ugly statue of a MerLion (some sort of mythical concrete animal mostly sighted in its natural habitat of Singaporean corporate logos), resplendent with mobile phone receiver sticking from the top of its head.

Not sure if this sign is any relation to the nightclub concept of a 'door whore' but it made the bus trip, while crammed in with approximately 3.2 million pushy Indian tourists, that little bit more pleasant :-)

Ouch.

2006-12-02T03:18:00.000+11:00

I spotted this little gem on one of the advertising boards in the underpass that goes under Orchard Road, the main shopping strip in Singapore. It was next to the ads for the Singaporean army, which I am hoping was just a coincidence.

They've really hit the nail on the head with this one - I can think of no more appropriate image to illustrate a Brazilian waxing service than that of a woman doubled over and looking pained.

But wait, there's more.

Not only will it make you double over in pain, it brings out the women - yes, more than one - in you. Whatever exorbitant price they're charging is a bargain when you think about it that way.

Ultimate toast.

2006-11-30T14:43:00.000+11:00

Right, horror quantitative data analysis lecture dead and buried so must be time to get back to posting.

To continue with the food theme, I thought I would showcase this fabulous advertising poster from a cafe at the 'Far East' shopping mall on Tuesday. With a sales pitch like this who could resist*???

*Well, me actually.

Big sheet (spicy flavour)!

2006-11-29T16:55:00.000+11:00

Hello again - yes, tis' I, your sporadic [spasmodic?] blogger.

This time I'm in Singapore, teaching at a Singaporean University, attempting to perform minor miracles by teaching a semester-long course in two weeks. Stress-free zone all the way baby!

So - in the interests of retaining my sanity while attempting to conjure up a lecture on frequency distributions (amongst other equally enthralling topics) I thought I would resort to some juvenile humour.

Ladies and Gentleman, may I present the newest taste sensation - the 'Big Sheet' [only ever to be pronounced with a strong Australian accent] 'Tasty Sea' snack - now in new Spicy Flavour.

As you can see from this shot I couldn't wait to try it before taking a pic for the blog. Was indeed a big spicy sheet - a most tasty sea that was easily delicious.

Contains graphic airline scenes.

2006-11-15T13:31:00.000+11:00

I used to think that New Zealand led the world in the 'she'll be right' attitude towards potentially dodgy or dangerous situations - the Vietnamese attitude towards powerlines (amongst other things) made me realise, however, that various places excel at upholding amusingly dodgy standards depending on the situation and their various dodgy specialities.

An example: on a recent trip back to NZ to show my new partner around the land of the long white cloud (and engage in a little healthy Aussie bashing for good measure) we took Air NZ from Melbourne to Auckland, and then Qantas from Auckland to Melbourne.

On the way there, I flicked through the in-flight entertainment schedule, which included the following warning in relation to the movie Superman Returns:

It always used to amaze me when in-flight news programs included extensive footage of the most recent plane crash etc etc so this seemed a slightly over zealous but still worthwhile thing to note.

On the way back, however, Qantas treated me to an in-flight screening of their featured film - Oliver Stone's 'World Trade Center' - 129 minutes of September 11-themed feature film - an entertaining contrast.

She'll be right mate!

2006-10-30T15:43:00.000+11:00

Those who know me (and let's face it, there are only 1.3 people who actually read my blog so we're talking about all readers here) will know that I am a scooter enthusiast.

You may remember my scooter exploits from such memorable and enthralling postings as 'my first scoot' and 'the joys of scooting'. At the moment, however, I am 'in between' scoots - not cos' of an accident (for a change) but because I am upgrading to something a leetle zippier (but only a leetle).

As a result I have returned to the joys of public transport and scabbing lifts off my partner ... in truth mostly the latter, given how ~~innately lazy~~ passionate about car-pooling and efficient use of resources I am.

This morning we were heading through the city and I was preparing to do my stunt dive through the traffic (necessary in order to be dropped off without getting rear ended by nasty commuters) when we were overtaken by a guy on a motorbike.

I always check out fellow bikers, I guess I'm curious to see who else is as mad as me to risk life and limb on a daily basis in the city traffic ... but this guy was in a league of his own I have to say.

Would hate to cast aspersions as to how he may have injured himself, but anyone ~~looney~~ brave enough to ride a motorbike while needing to bring along a crutch for the subsequent walking bit (it was strapped across the back and sticking out either side so as to conveniently swipe any pedestrian who got in his way) has balls the size of Pluto.

Helmets off to you my friend, helmets off.

Soak or stoke - your call.

2006-10-07T16:02:00.000+10:00

Was riding up one of the main streets in the CBD yesterday and, while waiting at the lights, was a little bemused to see a microcosm of the world today played out before me.

A rubbish bin had substantial amounts of smoke billowing from its top and a young male tourist was wandering nervously around it. He peered in the top and walked off a short way to the pedestrian crossing, then came back and peered in again, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to it (which they weren't) or sorting it out (ditto).

He then poured his bottle of water into the bin, in an attempt to put out the fire, and walked again towards the pedestrian crossing, looking back to see if it had had any effect (it hadn't). He was clearly reluctant to leave the fire unattended.

As he was doing this a woman in her power suit strode past the smouldering bin and threw in several large pieces of paper ... no doubt on her way to somewhere very busy and important.

Yay for oztraylian humour.

2006-09-25T11:21:00.000+10:00

As a card-carrying Aussie basher (who is quite happy to live here, work here, use the health system etc etc), it is a rare occasion when I give a 'shout out' [note hip street slang usage applied only slightly incorrectly] to Australians for anything.

But credit where credit's due - for the fabulous minds that came up with the name of the latest entrant to the competitive bottled water market here. And yes, of course I fell for it and bought it just cos' of the name.

Our most popular menu item...

2006-09-23T13:56:00.000+10:00

Hmmm, it seems that, since returning to semi-regular blogging duties, the focus has been largely on R13-rated engrish specimens. This means I am either:

frequenting dodgier engrish venues
more on the lookout for examples to blog and make fun of in a juvenile manner
carrying my camera with me more often
a smut peddler who will stoop to new lows for a cheap laugh.

What the hell, let's go with option 4, in the spirit of which, I present the last item on the drinks menu at the BYO Korean restaurant I went to on Thursday night :-)

Active intent

2006-09-17T19:17:00.000+10:00

As most of my loyal readers will be aware, my recent blogging hiatus was due to a mad dash to finish my never-ending Masters thesis (fondly referred to as 'schmesis' or 'the bane of my life').

During this time I managed to stay more or less sane (not a bad accomplishment in the world of postgrad study I'm told), despite insane stress levels, fulltime work and an average of 4-5 hours sleep a night.

This achievement did, however, come with a pricetag; namely the consumption of more junk food than one person should consume in a lifetime, spread over a two-month period. A notable component of this consumption was sufficient quantities of icecream to make me a substantial shareholder in all Australian icecream companies.

So, the schmesis is now dead and buried (thank fuck) and the waistline redemption strategy has commenced ... sort of.

Thus far, it has consisted of one visit to the gym, where I remembered why I hate it (red face, sweat and gasping anyone?).

But needs must.

So, in honour of this momentous occasion (which is clearly the beginning of my professional sporting career), I would like to post a picture of the tag from an item of clothing I bought a while back. The logo was the only reason I bought it and I think it sums up my attitude towards exercise beautifully ... and what better brand name could you possibly come up with for a logo that shows a person sitting down?

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack.

2006-09-11T16:24:00.000+10:00

The thesis is dead, long live online procrastination!

[Said that Hatter, returning to the world of blogging in style by posting up the business card of the fine dining establishment where she had dinner on Saturday].

For the record, the food was great.

A little gem from the Onion.

2006-07-18T23:24:00.001+10:00

Exhibit A: Blatant attempt to distract loyal blog readers from fact that the Hatter has been inexcusably negligent on blogging front. Normal service WILL be resumed soon - promise!

Professor Pressured To Sleep With Student For Good Course Evaluation

June 27, 2006 | Issue 42•26

FAYETTEVILLE, AR—Alan Gilchrist, an associate professor of English literature at the University of Arkansas infamous for his tough grading standards and dry lecturing style, was coerced into sleeping with an undergraduate on Monday in order to earn a good course evaluation. "My tenure's on the line here, so I allowed a student to take advantage of me," said an emotional Gilchrist of the experience, which he hopes will earn him at least six "very much enjoyed" responses on the eight-item evaluation form. "I told myself it would be just this once, and that it would be over soon, and that it wouldn't be that bad, but I was used. And I can't stop showering." Sources said that the unidentified student is one of the most popular and charismatic on campus, raising questions about possible abuse of power.

Blogging mea culpa

2006-06-30T11:20:00.000+10:00

Forgive me ~~mum~~ my legions of loyal readers, for I have sinned... it has been 18 days since my last post.

It's not that I don't love you it's just...

Well, it's not you - it's me.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as I emerge from under this pile of thoroughly average essays crying out to be failed and have sarcastic comments scrawled over them.

It will also be resumed when this godawful jetlag stops torturing me and I get to sleep at something other than 4.30am. The dawn chorus can be fucking annoying when trying to get to sleep.

That is all.

I will be nicer next time.

xxxxx

The Hatter.

Working on commission for Dubai Tourism #2

2006-06-12T17:14:00.000+10:00

Must be time for more on the joys of Dubai.

Dubai is an ~~intensely boring~~ intriguing city that upholds many admirable traditional values. It is also a largely dry city alcohol-wise.

Consequently, their entertainment options are ... shall we say ... also a little conservative.

I was gutted I couldn't compete in this mall-based entertainment extravaganza due to time restrictions - SO would have kicked arse if I had been able to.

For the adults, the customer service culture is also pretty fab - this fruit juice bar had all the mod-cons, including complimentary cigarette lighter.

And last, but by no means least - children's entertainment is well-covered too...in every sense of the expression...

... 'Burkha Barbie' anyone?

Working on commission for Dubai Tourism #1

2006-06-11T18:30:00.000+10:00

Well I'm now in London doing a whanau thingy - as I am wont to do on occasion. More about the joys of London later but I thought I had better fulfil my contractual obligations to Dubai - bland stopover city to the stars.

Never thought i'd meet a city more boring than Singapore but Dubai takes the cake. It has shopping [expensive gold kitsch anyone?] going for it

....and sand

...............and more Filipino workers than locals (who don't work)

....................................and some fabulously named restaurants.

Taking higha edukation seriuslee

2006-06-02T01:07:00.000+10:00

Although I am working hard on my 15 year plan to become a furniture restorer I have had to settle for being a university lecturer in the interim while I work my way up.

This involves subjecting myself to the scrutiny and ridicule of up to 170 pubescent students at a time on a regular basis. In one of my classes the poor sods are stuck with me for 3 hours in a row - during which time they talk amongst themselves, look bored and critically assess every aspect of me - presentation, funny accent, hairstyle etc etc.

This is not great for the ego and the pay is rather dismal ($30K paycut to make the move from being a PR gal to an academic anyone?) but there are certain perks:

Inflicting my notoriously cheesy music tastes on them at full volume before class (the less cool the better as far as I am concerned - watching them writhe in agony is a joy)
Torturing them with the revision lecture at the end of semester ('is she telling us what's in the test or is she just mucking with us?')
Reading the end of semester evaluations - highlights of this semester included "the interface should be burgundy next time" [name one thing most in need of improvement] and "the madhatter is sometimes funny" [name one thing you enjoyed the most].
Marking the little buggers' assignments [170x 1500 word essays + 250 exams + 20 major assignments for this semester].

Now why would the last one be a pleasure you ask? Well - it's not. Except that my 'essay marking coffee table' at home currently looks like this:

[wanders off sniggering]

I even forget my own birthday!

2006-06-01T08:57:00.002+10:00

Tramspotting turned two yesterday - a momentous occasion in the life of any ~~badly neglected~~ cutting-edge blog.

Now my inability to remember birthdays, anniversaries etc is well-documented. Just ask Mouse or anyone else I have managed to offend over the years ... but forgetting my own blog's birthday - now that's a new low.

There have been several possible reasons posited for this inexcusable omission thus far, none of which could possibly include:

The four hours sleep the night before owing to major computer crashes and lecture that had to be rewritten 3 times
The fact that it was the last day of teaching for the semester
The fact that Dr Steph and Dr John are in town
The fact that aforementioned docs drink like fish and dragged me kicking and screaming [....honest!] to a vodka bar for the night

The fact that the vodka bar has this on the menu:

(which looks like this when being prepared by a waitress in what, from memory, strongly resembled a french maid's outfit):

Or the fact that it seemed like a good 'nightcap' after a couple of vodka shots, a large vodka cocktail and some more shots (errr...and the drinks that somehow happened before heading out)
Or that, after terrorising a number of innocent service workers (taxi drivers and supermarket checkout operators come to mind) some more drinks seemed like a good idea at home ... CS cowboys anyone?
... as did playing with sparklers on the deck at 1am

Given that none of the foregoing are possibilities, it seems I'm fresh out of excuses - any ideas why I might have forgotten my own blog's birthday?

One for kiwis of a certain age.

2006-05-29T21:52:00.000+10:00

OMFG.

Best ...

... badge

............... ever.

Sincere thanks to Fishy who, in addition to posting me more beautiful bootleg DVDs than a girl can shake a bootleg stick at, found this little pearler and paid actual money for it.

Old skool all the way!

BTW - is now a good time to admit I had a poster of Rene Naufahu [aka Sam Aleni] on my wall when I was young enough to get away with it? Should I also add that it was ripped out of a copy of RTR Countdown?

No...probably best not to.

Aussies: restoring your faith in the future of mankind

2006-05-22T18:02:00.000+10:00

Australians rock in so many ways.

This is a series of verbatim excerpts from this article in today's Age newspaper. I shit you not:

"A man has been jailed for nine years for setting fire to an associate who woke him up to sell him a stolen kitchen.

"Damian Catania, 30, was not interested in the kitchen, which was offered for $2000.

"But Justice Kevin Bell said in the Supreme Court that Catania visited would-be salesman John Ioannou an hour later, as Mr Ioannou was trying to put the kitchen back into the new house from which he had stolen it."

...

"Mr Ioannou, a carpenter, had partly disassembled a kitchen that had been installed in the new house, not far from Catania's home. Catania did not want to buy the kitchen, but agreed to pay $80 for Mr Ioannou to fix his leaking shower.

"Justice Bell said Mr Ioannou had burns to 60 per cent of his body after the fire, and was placed in an induced coma for five weeks at the Alfred Hospital."

...

"Catania told police: "I'm sorry for the person that got injured. I never meant it to go that far..."

Blogger's block? Post a roo!

2006-05-19T20:40:00.000+10:00

In the absence of anything noteworthy, witty, quotable or even remotely interesting to say this week (the joys of being submerged under mountains of assignment marking), I thought i'd post up a picture of a kangaroo I took a few weeks back and see if it fooled anyone into thinking that my life is more interesting than it really is.

Did it work?

Sign language Oztraylia-style

2006-05-15T23:53:00.000+10:00

The country in which I have resided for the last two and a half years is one of many contrasts. The city I live in is one of the coolest in the world (in my expert opinion) but the rest of the country is essentially redneck bogan-ville (bearing in mind that I am in no way prone to sweeping generalisations). Great scenery but you'd better keep your banjo close to your person if y'know what I mean.

But...

...what I will grant the Aussies is that they do a very nice line in entertaining signage.

Whether its to-the-point warnings about killer wombats (Ballarat) and cliffs (Great Ocean Road):

Inspirationally-labelled natural attractions (Tasmania):

A little 'local' humour and safety advice (Great Ocean Road):

Or just plain old-fashioned confusing and bizarrely prioritised tourist signs (Great Ocean Road):

Seeeeeeee - it's not ALL bad. Let it not be said that I don't give credit where credit's due.

Rug up for winter.

2006-05-06T22:52:00.000+10:00

Yay for grassroots [scuse pun] HIV-prevention organising.

Rug Up for Winter

Eleme Junction

2006-05-04T07:50:00.000+10:00

Everytime I leave somewhere people say that they will miss me and how sad they are that I am leaving. It's good for the ego. And I still email and visit with these people whenever I can - as demonstrated by this next few weeks - friends in 6 countries all across the world planning to take me out and look after me and genuinely want to spend the short time I have with them with me. That is why I am lucky. I know good people. I learn something from the good people that I meet - interesting, intelligent, experienced and inspirational people everywhere I go. People that teach me something, make me think something that influences the way I view the world. I don't know yet what the gross inequities and extremes of environment that I see teach me. So I'm open to suggestions as to what Eleme Junction teaches a person. Eleme Junction, the bane of traffic in Port Harcourt, is a microcosm of activity and life anchored firmly to a roundabout that shuffles vehicles in a disorderly fashion either up Aba Road towards the camp, down Aba Road towards the city, out towards Transamadi Flats or out towards the airport. In the centre of the roundabout is a concrete turret, crumbling stairs circling up to a viewing platform, gospel posters peeling in faded shreds from it's walls. Here gather the traffic controllers, in violently coloured blue and yellow uniforms, who alternate between animated hand gestures, halting and directing the belching eddy of traffic, or leaning disheartenedly watching the inexorable grinding and thrusting as trucks, cars, overloaded transit vans, motorbikes, wheelbarrows and street hawkers assert their self-determined right to enter the circle of chaos, causing a deadlock from which no vehicle can extricate itself. Eleme Junction plays host to a swathe of businesses - some housed in recognisable buildings, with large signposts attesting their services - "Scaffolding for hire", "Machinery and Spares", "MTN (phone company) unlock service" and some relying on the 3 metre high stack of plastic chairs or prominent display of gates, hubcaps, timber or mechanical parts to attract customers. These buildings are set far enough back from the road to allow an area of ground, pockmarked by potholes and piles of industrial, domestic or vehicular refuse, where the proprietors of the semi-permanent shacks of bowed wood, rusted iron sheets, tarpaulins, tattered umbrellas, plastic tables and stacked crates operate their business - bread, clothing and shoes, hair weave-ons and manicure, fast-food, taxation advice, kerosene and other consumables. Moving between these fragile structures are the wheelbarrows of bulbous yam and carrots, glass display cases of oversized pasties and other brown fried finger-food and vendors of hats, walking sticks, sunglasses or phone accessories. Dotted between them and extending down the side-streets squat women in vibrant national dress, laughing and smiling with each other as they oversee their pile of pyramidally stacked tomatoes, onions, dried fish, landsnails or bananas. Housewives, cooks and house-staff wend through, selecting purchases, adding them to baskets carried with a sensual ease balanced on their heads. Through this constant melee dart the street-sellers - desparate young men and women, risking life and limb to congregate at junctions, sidling alongside vehicles, extending bottles of cold drink, fried plantain, MTN recharge cards, handkerchieves, newspapers and a myriad of other items I would never consider needing while stuck in traffic. They press their bodies against the cars, pleading each sale, accepting the battered small Naira notes, sprinting alongside cars as the congestion jerks forward to collect their money or give change and then spinning in the convulsion of traffic to attempt another sale or to narrowly avoid physical injury as the vehicles plough onwards. So far I have justified the experience of patience (2 hours to go through a single roundabout), indifference (blatantly avoiding eye contact with the beggars and MTN card boys while stationery for 20 minutes), revulsion (it's just unnecessary for people to have to live in burnt out shells of cars filled with rubbish) and perverse curiosity.

The irony is killing me.

2006-04-28T01:17:00.000+10:00

Saw this on the noticeboard at uni today - one of the better lost and found (and lost again) notices I've seen.

Noo Zild revisited

2006-04-22T21:59:00.000+10:00

Around about every 10 months to a year or so, the need for decent cafe food, green fields, fab beaches and familiar but ever so slightly silly accents becomes too much for me and I jump on a jetplane back to Noo Zulland to check in with friends and whanau and get my kiwi fix.

So I did that last week - and it rocked as only NZ can rock.

Normally I travel somewhere then blog about it with tongue firmly in cheek - in a 'tee hee look at the natives' sort of way (who moi? condescending elitist snob? .... never!). Problem with doing that about NZ is that it's too goddamned cool and I am unashamedly one-eyed about it.

... except for the cannibalistic chickens in Raglan - they're fair game.

Grocery shopping - the new adventure sport

2006-04-13T06:13:00.000+10:00

Dr Steph reporting for first blog duty.
As the hatter said in her introduction I am a kiwi in Nigeria based out of Melbourne, recovering from living in Vietnam and soon to be working in Nepal. An Ausvietigerianepalkiwi at last count.
However, my time here in Nigeria is drawing to a close.

And, inevitably, I am a bit sad to be leaving already. After all, it's taken me 4-months to work out where the lights for the tennis courts are, what time the bread lady comes with a station-wagon full of croissants to sell outside the clinic on a Saturday and where to buy food that is not 10x the rational price or made out of crude oil byproducts.
My efforts to obtain edible items fulfilling the above criteria had previously not taken me further than the Shell Camp down the road, to the shop in our camp which stocks Italian imported items that must have a discrete Gucci sign on them somewhere to justify their cost, and Park 'n' Shop (locally known as Park 'n' Steal) which sells everything from laptops to 500g bags of cumin seeds but never what you want or need at the time. There are many reasons for the difficulty in grocery shopping here:
a) my on call roster is not conducive to having days off
b) there is never a car/driver/mopol (mobile policeman – big black man with large gun who escorts you when traveling to prevent unnecessary hassles on the street) available when you want one
c) the traffic can reach prohibitive levels stretching the traveling time out to 3-4 hours to go the 12km to town
d) s#$% always happens just as you’re getting ready to go into town.

Somehow though, we managed to pull together all components of a shopping trip last Saturday, and found ourselves being shown around a Utopic warehouse of gargantuan proportions which brought to mind the feeling of a contraband cache of illicit foodstuffs amongst which we, the oyibos (foreigners) would take refuge behind a stack of pure vegetable oil as the authorities confiscated the gingernuts. Sating our starved senses on imported beef, duck, mozzarella and Chilean grapes we then went down town to do a basic shop at Park ‘n’ Shop. Due to the gridlocked and desparate thrusting of cars into an inadequate parking space it is soon to be known as “Not a show in hell of parking ‘n’ it’s daylight robbery what they charge in there”.
Not so the depot for soft drinks and beer located, logically enough, in what, from the outside, appears to be a hospital. Easy parking, cheap Star beer and the reassurance that in case of emergency God Heals.

A new sporadic guest blogger.

2006-04-10T22:50:00.000+10:00

In light of my long-standing ~~inability to blog regularly~~ committment to supporting nascent blogging talent and well-documented ~~laziness~~ philanthropic leanings, I would like to welcome Dr Steph to the blogosphere as another Tramspotting guest blogger.

Dr Steph (ex-NZ, previously Vietnam, now Nigeria, soon to be Nepal) will no doubt ~~get me off the hook and reduce the need to blog so often~~ enlighten us with her many and varied experiences and pearls of home-grown wisdom, in between saving lives and trying not to get shot.

Welcome Dr Steph!

OK, it's out of my system now....honest

2006-04-10T22:24:00.000+10:00

Also supplied by Timothy Mark Arnold

...who is a real person

... and who really did supply this pic

... honest.

When poultry gets silly.

2006-04-10T07:14:00.000+10:00

Hmmm, seem to have inadvertently started something here. Within minutes of posting up the eeeeeeeeeevil swan piccy (see previous post) Timothy Mark Arnold had chimed in by sending me his own equally silly version.

Which also rather tickled my fancy.

It's a ~~swan~~ duck.

In a bonnet.

That sort of looks like a bunny.

I like bunnies.

So does Tim.

It's too early for me to be awake.

Hey kids - got your own poultry pic? Send it through to Tramspotting and you (and your duck) can get your 5 minutes of fame!

...

[sits down and starts pressing email send/receive expectantly]

When swans go bad.

2006-04-09T11:31:00.000+10:00

This pic accompanied a story about the inevitable spread of HN51 'bird flu' to Britain in today's Age.

It rather tickled my fancy.

The Gambler, he broke even....

2006-04-05T14:22:00.000+10:00

Note from the Mad Hatter: This week's guest blog is brought to you by Evil Monkey (ex-NZ, currently Philippines based) and the letter 'K'. Thanks Evil - you rock!

Today I noticed something in the Mega Mall.....

"What's this?" I say to myself. "Is Kenny Rogers, alive and well and living in the Philippines?

No....but his chicken is....

It seems that ol' Kenny's chicken is doing well in this nation of poultry fanatics. But even if you don't want chicken, there's always Kenny's Muffins:

But should buying food from a country and western singer disturb you somewhat, you can always turn to the Philippines other big chicken outlet, Max's Chicken House, which apparently is "The House That Fried Chicken Built":

Reason #9.

2006-03-29T13:00:00.000+11:00

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 :-)

But we are like developed and shit.

2006-03-26T03:52:00.000+11:00

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

8 reasons why Adelaide rocks like a mofo.

2006-03-22T13:06:00.000+11:00

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 ;-)

Bic Runga's pretty cool eh?

2006-03-16T23:53:00.000+11:00

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 ;-)

A claaaaaaaaaaaaaasy barbie [mate]

2006-03-15T15:10:00.000+11:00

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"

Silent soup

2006-03-10T15:19:00.000+11:00

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.

Good question!

2006-03-07T14:27:00.000+11:00

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.

Drinking nuts unite!

2006-03-01T15:29:00.000+11:00

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.

But I promise to pay my taxes....

2006-02-26T04:04:00.000+11:00

Amongst all of the tragedy and injustice in this world, no injustice seems quite as pronounced as your own. Your friend's cat dies. Sad. Your cat dies. Absolutely heart wrenching tragedy.

And so it goes with my current views on migration in the US. A couple of years ago, while I was studying at Arizona State University, I would often read about the number of would be migrants dying as they attempted to cross the border from Mexico to the US (460 in 2005 alone). The US solution to this? Increase patrols. Put up more fences.

Then I tried to migrate to the US. I didn't need to endure a desert crossing to do it- but I still didn't go about it in the most legal way. My plan was simple. Come stay with my friend in NY and eventually find someone who might be willing to sponsor a work visa for me. Unfortunately I discovered the hard way that your chances of becoming legal here are much higher if you are (a) a model, (b) an agricultural worker or (c) an Australian. That's right, if you're a hand model, handy with a cherry picker or were born in Burpengary, you are in luck. Of course it also helps if you are rich. Filing a petition for a work visa, once you employ the use of an immigration lawyer and pay all of the relevant fees, can cost you up to $7000US. So here i remain, an unemployed alien (the category my bank put me in when i opened an account) doing voluntary work and contemplating the injustice of it all.

While of course i am reasonable enough to see that my own situation is not a heartbreaking tragedy, i can't help but think of the thousands of illegal workers here, who through whatever means, have risked everything to cross into the US and work primarily in low income jobs. The US administration will claim that there are plenty of ways for these workers to enter the US legally, and will even claim that they have tried to make it easier for them to obtain the proper visas, through those extra places in the agricultural categories for instance. How helpful. Of course, a person who chooses to risk their life running across the desert to enter the land of the free is going to have a spare $7000 tucked away for safe keeping. In fact, I am sure most who choose to cross the border "economy style" are just trying to save a few pennies for the condo they are going to buy on the other side.

If the US is willing to accept that these migrants are currently filling major gaps in the agricultural and service sector, they should also acknowledge that a process which does not reasonably allow most of them to become legally recognised, or does so for three years but gives no guarantees long term (as Bush has proposed) is severely lacking. I have the luxury of being able to give up on the American dream and move on, most do not.

I make no apologies for my presumptuous overly simplistic and personalised rant. My cat just died.

Sigh.

2006-02-24T09:11:00.000+11:00

Oh ~~Mohammad~~ Christ.

'Our values or go home: Costello'

Small [nerdy] pleasures.

2006-02-23T11:55:00.000+11:00

There are not tooooooo many perks that come with being a univercity lekturer - but yesterday provided one of em' while I was busy doing the 'welcome to our degree you cute little shit-scared first years' BBQ and pretending to be a welcoming lecturer.

Little student: "So, uh, what can we call you?"

Me: [completely straight-faced] "Your Highness will do to start".

Tee hee.

The abominable snowman- alive and well in NY

2006-02-22T13:27:00.000+11:00

✍Political rants from an unemployed kiwi in Brooklyn✍

November 1st. My first day in New York. Well technically that would be true if I left Brooklyn that day, but I didn't. Instead I spent a jet lagged day in Bayridge (think Hamilton- the most boring part) cold calling people in apartment buildings for a local city councilman called Vincent Gentille. With the election in a couple of days, Vinny's big sell was that he had gotten rid of sunday parking meters. That's right- because of Vinny you "don't have to pay to pray!" And if you can't get re-elected on your parking policy, then what hope is there right?

Several hundred phone calls later, Vinny won. The democrats mayoral candidate did not. To be fair, running against a Republican incumbent with millions of dollars to throw into his campaign was always going to be a hard ask. You see, here in the land of the free, limiting how much of your personal money you put into your campaign would be an infringement on your freedom of speech. Who knew that you could buy free speech?! Mayor Bloomberg obviously.

But it's not all about the politics right? There's high rise buildings, good pizza, bright yellow taxi cabs and picket lines. But not as we know it. You see, a strike in New York is an expensive business. If you are a subway worker for instance, and decide to take part in an organised strike when the MTA threatens to raise the age of retirement and make you start paying a big chunk of your pay to cover healthcare, you could not only lose your job but be forced to pay a $25,000 fine for each day that you strike. Fined to strike? I'm still not sure if the right to strike is as expensive as free speech. I'm sure there is a catalogue somewhere that could tell me.

The MTA workers went on strike though. For two days Manhattan ground to a halt. Thousands of people walked across the Brooklyn bridge, complaining as they went about how many blocks they would have to trek that morning. I walked across the Bridge with them and wondered- if I asked them whether they would be willing to walk for two mornings so that some guy who has worked under ground for 20 years will have the right to retire next year, instead of in 6 years, would they do it? What if I threw in a free bagel and coffee?

And now it is February. The month that the Young Democratic Socialists of America hold their annual conference. It was I guess the equivalent of Young Labour's summer school, except here the conferences are used as a chance to remind the small number of YDSA members that there are others out there that think the way they do. Like the three guys from Arkansas I met, who drank whiskey like it was beer and had the fist and rose tattooed on their arms.

So there it is. I can testify that America has Democratic Socialists. Not quite enough to give you hope that things will change- the political system here doesn't leave room for that kind of wishful thinking. But they exist all the same. It's a bit like seeing a Yeti though-they are rumoured to exist but only the odd lucky person ever sees them- and even then no one would probably believe you.

I believe in the Yeti. I just hope they can vote.

Bootleggin' the Thaigrish

2006-02-17T22:02:00.000+11:00

So, uh, a 'friend' of mine was in Thailand recently, perusing completely illegal CDs and DVDs in a ~~dis~~reputable CD and DVD store.

She was rather taken by the high standards of reproduction on the available wares - especially the geometry-inspired remix of Dido's 'I'm no angel'.

What's more, the display system used left no room for confusion whatsoever - ALL good :-)

N.B. The feet in the photo of definitely my friend's - any resemblance to mine is completely accidental.

One for the laaaaaaaaaaadies.

2006-02-10T23:08:00.000+11:00

So have I ever mentioned that I worked as a mobile DJ for a few years in my halcyon youf?

Not something one would boast about I guess - except that it was kind of fun in a ridiculously naff sort of way. I worked for this charmingly old skool bloke called Al who ran an outfit called 'All Star Entertainments'. He was a bit of a legend who used to wear white tux jackets when DJing and had a sideline managing country singers (and an Elvis impersonator - I shit you not) who recorded records in his garage. He paid well, had some kickarse stereo equipment and all the latest music. And he called every group of females he ever encountered 'ladies' (a term that makes me want to throttle anyone who says it...except Al...who somehow managed to be endearing while misogynising :).

And when I say 'DJing', we're not talking all of this fancy schmancy mixing and scratching, no sireee - in the days before itunes and mp3s (which, come to think of it, have probably rooted his business completely) we were using nothing but the sexiest combo of minidiscs (hot shit!) and CDs.

So I would rock on in to a random community hall, school hall, house, barn, pub etc etc, set up my sexy decks and get down to playing ... whatever the drunken bastards wanted. Which, in most cases, involved 'ring of fire', 'the gambler' (no 21st birthday or barmitzvah complete without it!), 'tub-thumping', 'blister in the sun' and probably some AC/DC in for good measure. I got VERY good at dealing with drunken requests for songs that go 'la la de laaaaaaaaaa or something', and other equally unforgettable tunes.

Memorable highlights of my mobile DJing career included the night when the clock struck 12, someone requested 'you can leave your hat on' by Joe Cocker and all men at the pub-based birthday bash got in a circle and took their clothes off. Nothing like a little visual horror to end a great night at work. Another, even less pleasant, version was the Indian bogan 21st where I had to send out an SOS for more metallica and was rewarded with having to play music for 2 strippers who did such a full-on strip (pulling strings of pearls out of..., getting the lucky birthday boy to lick whipped cream out of...) that I was pretty much operating the system blind for fear of being irrevocably scarred.

Sooner or later though, the fun had to come to an end. I finished my degree and ditched the mobile DJing career-path for something a little more morally bankrupt. But the habit of accepting random requests has stayed with me (somewhat opening myself up to hassles there). In fact, I rather enjoy it.

So, with no further ado, I am proudly presenting the latest Nigrish shot from our Nigerian correspondent Dr Steph (below), and an utterly random shot of Paris from Timothy Mark Arnold (above), who, not content with his last mention, is now demanding more space on my blog while refusing to make his own (for the record, there is no engrish/humour etc in the paris shot - just Tim showing off his nascent photoshop skills and me patiently humouring him).

And I must surely win the prize for the most tangential introduction ever.

Over and out :-)

Confidence-inspiring menus courtesy of Thailand.

2006-02-10T11:07:00.000+11:00

Hight speed oriental elegancy ... @ cheese.

2006-02-07T21:05:00.000+11:00

As promised (I am not one to disappoint my many fans), here are some equally silly shop signs:

Would YOU buy from these stores?

...and more silliness.

2006-02-06T20:28:00.000+11:00

Last lot of t-shirts (promise).

Stay tuned for stupid signs in the next exciting installation of Thaigrish revisited :-)

Let the Thaigrish begin!

2006-02-05T16:06:00.000+11:00

OK - so I just got back from 10 days in Thailand, evenly split between family time on Koh Samui and slightly less honourable pursuits in Bangkok.

Regardless of where I was, however, it was an opportunity to indulge in a little (well, ok, a LOT) Engrish collecting (Thaigrish?). On Samui every other shop is proudly proclaiming something pretty damn funny - and in Bangkok the mates who I met up with dragged me around every mall in town - which is rather handy cos' Thailand does a REALLY nice line in idiotic engrish t-shirts...which I have risked life and limb and disapproving stares from shopkeepers to collect for you.

And now, because it is my blog and I can cry if I want to (sorry, random age-showing pop cult ref in there for good value), I am going to inflict them ALL on you - ahhhhhh, the slide show of the new millennium.

So let's ease into it gently - with a little competition. My shout to the person who can tell me what a wodoct is when it's at home (and no, don't cheat by googling it - I am the first person to write this word on the internet it seems!). Whatever it is, I reckon it's a pretty profound thing to say on a t-shirt.

...and some more t-shirt fun:

More to come soon :-)

Being slightly less than responsible in BKK

2006-02-04T00:15:00.000+11:00

So am wrapping up a little jaunt with some mates in Bangkok now, post-family get together in Koh Samui. No time to blog it up properly but these pics might give some indication of the general tone of the trip ... ;-)

Insectinal fortitude

2006-02-01T13:15:00.000+11:00

Also muched through a bag of fried grasshoppers and silkworms the other night (surprisingly good) - surely that gets me some cred to offset the jetski....?

White trash all the way baby!

2006-01-30T21:37:00.000+11:00

OK so I have a confession to make.

After years of pooh-poohing jetskis and the wankers who use them I gave in to temptation and tried it today in Koh Samui (Thailand), where I happen to be.

And, fuck it to death, it was bloody marvellous. A waterborne, noisy, white trash, testosterone-inducing blast - combined with the 'wheeeeeeee this is wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too much fun!!!'-factor.

Mutter mutter mutter...

"Curse you Thailand and your white trash tourist temptations!"

(Does the fact that I went to a Thai drag cabaret show complete with Banarama and enough feathers to make a million duvets last night earn me any cultural counterbalance points...?)

Every kowlage acquired is not lost.

2006-01-21T22:35:00.000+11:00

I dearly wish I could lay claim to having taken this shot but I cannot tell a lie - it comes courtesy of the fabulous Dr Steph who took it by accident whilst hanging out in Nigeria (her current lunatic assignment that provides me with no end of amusing emails).

It is truly a parable for our modern times - and it really resonates with a post-grad student such as myself who has been working to acquire my own little kowlage collection over the last few years. [beats chest in fit of academic fervour]

Steph has suggested the term 'Nigrish' for this particular sub-species of Engrish - and I rather like the word - not least cos' it sounds just a little rebellious.

Squint and enjoy.

A wee musical appreciation rant.

2006-01-20T01:39:00.000+11:00

Thought i'd just take a leaf out of Hammy's blog and do a bit of a rave about the concert I just got back from.

Which, for the record, was goddamn awesome.

Headlining was Antony and the Johnsons. If androgynous gospel-inspired soul from a man with the voice of an angel and a nice sideline in cabaret patter floats your boat then this is the boy (girl?) for you. Props to Timothy Mark Arnold for introducing me to them some time ago and for being my charming date this evening.

In a rare twist of fate and good taste - the support acts were also pretty damn special. Coco Rosie is a little hard to describe, other than being somewhat akin to a gorgeous smacked up mongrel crossbreed of Billie Holiday, Bjork and deep south-referencing white girl rappers. It is actually two sisters (one classically trained in Paris and the other who goes by the name of Red Bone Slim) and a drummer - all of whom took some delight in appearing in white trash costume and wigs while working their spell on us.

And even the support act's support act was good! [rolls on floor in paroxyms of ecstasy]. A local group called the Stiletto Sisters, a joyous, mischievous bodice-wearing trio of violin, cello and accordion who play some damn fine gypsy music. Will definitely turn into a groupie for their regular melbourne gigs.

OK - enough music raving - normal service will be resumed shortly :-)

OBVIOUSLY not here.

2006-01-15T21:29:00.000+11:00

Flash and I went for a wander around Tasmania a couple of weeks back.

Tassie is a very cool sort of place, give or take the lack of cellphone coverage and stone age internet access (not good for two communication-addicted bunnies such as ourselves). Each town (if you can call somewhere with less than 200 people a town and not a truck stop) had an 'internet access centre' which appeared to be permanently closed other than between 2.27 and 2.32pm on a Wednesday when the locals would get together to check their town hotmail address and play their banjos.

But I digress.

After a few days of road-tripping through the wilderness we got to Launceston - which is a funky little mini-city/large town - although pronouncing the name proved a little tricky for Flash.

Anyhoo - apart from an excellent furniture design museum, very pretty gorge, good pancakes and historic buildings, Launceston does a nice line in graffitti and counter graff.

Such as this:

Feel the mystical object by finger...

2006-01-12T21:06:00.000+11:00

This little engrish beauty - also a xmas present (this time from Flash) - is for some sort of bizzaro mini portable chemical icepack type thing...I think.

Perfect for emergencies when you need to apply ice bag for wrench or are simply looking for a little 'magic water'.

... and here's the very decorative front in for good measure.

Blumen bad!

2006-01-10T08:44:00.000+11:00

This shot of a bottle of hand soap comes direct from Nigeria where Dr Steph the lovely lunatic kiwi is busy saving the world, eating goat's head and treating air crash, car crash and gunshot wound victims to name but a few entertaining scenarios (signatures for the petition to get her to blog her seriously entertaining/scary/disconcerting/engrossing [tick as needed] emails home are being accepted now).

Not so much Engrish as a case of something being lost (or added?) in German translation.

Remembering all those we enjoyed together...

2006-01-08T18:39:00.000+11:00

It seems my fondness for poorly translated engrish kitsch is becoming well-known among my friends and associates. A number of my xmas presents this year were engrish themed - and bloody magnificent they are too!

Exhibit A is quite possibly the sexiest clock I have ever seen - it is now hanging on my dining room wall kitsching up what is otherwise quite a classy room. The text in blue (double click the image to see a larger version) reads: "Happy to you. Young blood conviviality infinite. Best." which I find rather profound, in combination with the coke bottle-shaped pendulum.

Props and big ups to Shaun the eagle-eyed shopper who nabbed this for me somewhere in the motherland and posted it all the way to Oztraylia!

I have attached a scan of the box and a closeup of the text on the face - no further explanation needed - just enjoy its engrish magnificence :-)

All I want for xmas...

2005-12-26T15:56:00.000+11:00

Well, Coles Myer (aka the group that owns pretty much the entire goddamn Australian retail sector - kmart, stationery superstores, supermarkets etc) has EITHER reached new highs of cutting edge self-referential reverse-psychology black humour-themed advertising nous...

OR

...desperate new lows.

It's a tough call.

What do YOU reckon?

Bet the rats are relieved.

2005-12-24T12:53:00.000+11:00

Well xmas is tomorrow and I should be writing my thesis but, in the interests of festive procrastination, I thought I'd share a little gem from a smoothie bar I went to in the States a few years ago. Not sure I am too keen on their take on 'local flavours'.

I really get a ridiculous amount of pleasure out of these sort of typographical cock-ups - and if I can combine it with a little festive Yank-bashing then all the better :-)

Knee-jerk patriotism Noo Zulland-style

2005-12-21T11:18:00.000+11:00

In honour of the nausea-inducing events of the last fortnight in Sydney (yay for race riots!). I thought I had better keep up with the one-eyed Joneses and post up my own little patriotic rant. So here goes - be warned - it's pretty 'out there'.

Was in Highpoint shopping mall on the weekend (fondly referred to by locals as 'knifepoint' for not entirely unobvious reasons), attempting to buy a BBQ and outdoor table and not kill anyone as a result of my soaring 'fuck-i-REALLY-don't-want-to-be-in-a-shopping-mall-2-weeks-before-xmas' stress levels.

Was just getting ready to ankle tap the next person who tried to push past me when Tezza, Barbara the new Swaustrian flatmate and I spotted a beacon of sanity in the distance. The New Zealand Natural icecream franchise!

Along with randomly watching my first ever televised All Blacks game when I was in Vietnam my patriotic weakness in Australia is being an, ahem, 'regular' customer of this store - only to be found in nasty shopping malls. This is definitely patriotism - not cos' I am a guts.

So, was looking forward to getting my usual Noo Zulland icecream drink fix (the profoundly named 'Chillo') when something caught my eye.

Wait for it....

A bottle of L & P!!!

:-D

[dances little patriotic jig]

Tezza and the Swaustrian can confirm that I was somewhat overcome at seeing, for the first time since I moved here 2 years ago [goddamm, it's been 2 years!] this little Coca-Cola Amatil-owned slice of New Zealand iconography.

For those not from New Zealand with no idea what the hell I am talking about - just go here and watch the funniest goddamn nostaligia-inspired television advertisements ever made. Do it - do it now.

And yes, even though L & P was never my favourite drink I bought a bottle - and am now waiting for the perfect summer's day when I can leave it out in the sun on the deck, open the lid, let it go almost but not quite completely flat and imbibe to my little patriotic heart's content. Just need to add some sand/chlorine and sunburn to the equation and I would be right at home.

Merry Chrismukah [with props to the OC and La Nadine] y'all.

Fly by wire.

2005-12-16T10:22:00.000+11:00

Went to the St Kilda night market last night (home of cute stalls, funky t-shirts and many 'pseudo alternative' types, a semi-dark (beige?) art in which I occasionally dabble).

For some reason this year Melbourne has had an unprecedented fly invasion – and it was especially evident at St Kilda last night. Everyone (me and flatmate included) was walking around madly swatting their arms around their heads, looking like they were in the grips of some sort of psychotic episode.

Not sure what it is about badly grounded electric lights (or plastic flowers?) but the flies lurrrrrrrrved the set-up shown here.

Felt like Alfred Hitchcock should be somewhere with a megaphone yelling ‘cut’.

EXTRA ordinary!

2005-12-14T23:01:00.000+11:00

As if being jumbo-sized wasn't enough!

Sushi and pro-capitalism

2005-12-08T20:22:00.000+11:00

The Japanese place where Tezza and I occasionally have lunch is getting all political on us!

Vinastyle in Melbourne town.

2005-12-07T10:49:00.000+11:00

It's been a couple of months since I came back from Vietnam but every now and then I find myself doing something that puts me right back into central Saigon.

One such trick I have been working on is the art of putting as much crap as is humanly possible on to a scooter, regardless of stability, legality etc. I have dabbled with multiple small suitcases, multiple large bags of fertiliser etc but the other day it was time for a new challenge.

In a fit of thesis-writing enthusiasm I went out and bought a new printer/scanner/copier/washing machine combo thingy with which to print the screeds of indispensible knowledge that I am no doubt going to be churning out over the next few months.

Problem was that it wouldn't fit on the front flat bit of the scoot where I normally cram stuff that needs to be carried 'en route on scoot'. My scoot has a pretty large top box at the back but it wouldn't fit there either. There was, however, just enough space between the top box and where I normally sit to perch the (rather large) box.

Next issue was figuring out how to attach the bugger. I haven't got as organised as carrying rope or bungee cords with me in my scoot (I prefer to go for the completely disorganised chaos approach) so I was in need of some rope. Being just about to leave uni I went and raided Tezza's office to see if he had any rope-type materials. Alas, Tezza being an academic he was sadly lacking in any practical materials such as rope - we grabbed some scissors and a canvas bag left over from the open day and wandered back to the scoot with some vague ineffectual intention of cutting the bag into a rope of some description...which would have worked SO well.

Luckily for the egos of all concerned, my scavenger instincts took over as I spotted a rather convenient dumpster full of old uni crap sitting near my scoot. So, after a few minutes scavenging I emerged triumphant with a telephone cable that was perfect for the job of dodgily lashing a too-large printer to the back of a too-small scooter. At this point Tezza's boy scout training kicked in and he did a most respectable job of tying said printer and scooter together - leaving me to crawl through diabolical traffic in 30 degree heat for nearly an hour ....felt just like being back in Saigon!

All the young things are doin' it!

2005-11-17T22:12:00.000+11:00

My mate Trent who lives nearby has made the most marvellous discovery. There is a genuine old-skool lawn bowls club within staggering distance of both our houses.

It is so old skool that the bloody thing was set up in 1896 - and they seem to have forgotten to raise the price of their beer since then.

So Trent and I rocked on up after work tonight and spent a seriously relaxing and entertaining few hours playing silly beggars in the sunshine, bowling badly in barefeet with beer in hand - it was pretty damn cool.

We were the only ones bowling (everyone else was inside looking after their beers) but soon enough the president of the club came wandering out and started teaching us how to do it slightly less badly than we had been doing it.

As the sun set over the immaculately manicured greens (that I spilt beer on but managed to hide lest I suffer the wrath of the skirted, doc marten-booted greenskeeper who seems to take her job rather seriously!) our game got even worse as the beer got to work - but it was even more irrelevant by that time than when we had started.

So if you're looking for an entertaining, relaxing outing, I thoroughly recommend raiding your local bowls club [and you can stop sniggering now!].

:-)

[Phyrric] victory is mine!!!

2005-11-12T14:08:00.000+11:00

Right - I THINK I have emerged from the other side of kit-set furniture hell more or less intact. The same can't be said for yesterday's endeavour - a cheap, nasty but more or less functional bookshelf.

Was going allright until I got to the bit on the instructions that showed the back board and a picture of a nail and hammer with the inspiring instructions: 'tap tap 004c x 40'.

So, I duly tap tapped 40 nails in, turned the blasted thing over and realised that I was somewhat off the mark with approximately 20 of em.

Ah well - the joy of bookshelves is that you can put stuff on them to cover up the nastiness, which, in my case, constitutes about 20 nails that are poking through the backboard.

I will not be repeating the kitset exercise for as long as I can possibly manage but, for the record, I came, I saw, I tap tap tapped x40 and [more or less] conquered.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to write a conference paper and moderate some essay marking - which will no doubt be mountains easier than wrangling nasty kitset furniture!

Sofabed: 1 Mad Hatter: 0

2005-11-07T11:40:00.000+11:00

Continuing in the domestic ranting theme, the last few days have been kitset furniture hell.

It's a simple enough recipe: take one nasty kitset sofabed, one moderately domestically challenged gal - combine with a pinch of allan key and adjustable wrenchy thing and set to steam.

After a suitable length of time [let's just say it was a leetle longer than the advertising promised], the Mad Hatter tightens up the last allan key thingy that you tighten and stands up to admire her handy werk.

Cue: anguished groan as the Mad Hatter realises how royally she has fucked it up.

You would think, that with a four piece frame, two of which are impossible to put on the wrong way around and the other two of which have a very definite right and wrong side, there wouldn't be too many problems right?

But that's cos' you have over estimated the abilities of someone who is completely lost in the trees of nuts, bolts and screws and diagrams etc - rather than looking at the big picture. Sure enough, one of the ends of the sodding thing was on the wrong way around resulting in me starting all over again, swearing like a trooper and cursing the evil monkeys with design software that invented kitset crap.

Grrrrrrrrr.

Going to my zen place now, I may be gone for some time.

Full service will be resumed shortly.

2005-11-05T19:39:00.000+11:00

So, ah, where was I?

Ah yes - came back from living in Vietnam, got buried for a little over a month in mundane real world stuff and am now just about ready to seek refuge in the soothing world of cyberspace monologuing once again ;-)

So, will start back into things gently - with a brief commentary on the adage that you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

This has come about because I used a dishwasher for the first time in my life today. "How could such a geek like you not have used one of these indispensible pieces of electronic equipment?" I hear you cry?

Well the answer is threefold: Firstly, I grew up in a houseehold with 2 older siblings and a mother who maintained that she had three children so why would she need a dishwasher. In retrospect, I heartily agree [child labour laws are for pansys ;-)], although I suspect that the dishwasher would have been a more cost-effective move than the three kids. Secondly, when I moved out of home the classy abodes we rented never had such luxurious fripperies as dishwashers - so there was no change in the status quo.

Thirdly, even if there had been a dishwasher present, I probably would have failed to learn to use it - because, as everybody knows, there are many varying levels of geekdom. There are task-specific geeks - such as computer geeks, language geeks, magic role playing geeks etc. And there are the more well-rounded generic geeks who spread their geekiness across a wide range of nerdy activities.

I would like to think of myself as a more or less generic geek - but everyone has their archilles heel - in my case it is domestic electronic appliances. Computers? No problem. Televisions, video recorders/players, dishwashers etc? Serious issues. Just like I am physically incapable of filling out a form correctly, I am also incapable of operating even the most basic household appliances - rice cookers are an especial flaw.

So, when I recently moved into a new and rather more modern pad than my previous homes, I found myself sharing the kitchen with a near new dishwasher. I have been in the house for nearly three weeks now and there has been an increasingly uncomfortable silence growing between us as I consistently sneaked over to the sink and quickly washed my dishes by hand before retreating out of 'Dishy's' space. It took the more mature of us [me!] to break the silence today - by asking a mate what pellet thingys I should be buying and following her instructions to the letter: "get dishwash pellets, open door, put dirty dishes and pellets in machine, close door, turn on". It all started off smoothly enough but at the end [i think] of the cycle, Dishy got his revenge by stopping work mid-cycle [yes, even machines go on strike in Oztraylia] and beeping at me....incessantly.

After asking some mates on messenger how to fix it and getting no useful responses [standard response: "you don't know how to use a DISHWASHER?!!!"] I went for the jugular and turned Dishy off and on again. It stopped the beeping but I am pretty sure he will just do it again next time...bastard.

So now, the standoff has transferred from being betwen me and Dishy to being between me and Dishy's manual - which is sitting glowering at me in a drawer. I am a firm believer that instruction manuals are for wusses but I think I should probably get over that particular personal phobia and get the better of this appliance...soon.

So, after ranting to myself for a while I have come to the conclusion that I have no insights to offer on the adage about teaching an old dog new tricks [will get sued for false advertising - it wasn't brief either!] but have this to offer on old stubborn dogs teaching themselves new tricks: 'we're fucking useless at it!'.

Peace out :-)

Haere ra Vietnam.

2005-09-25T04:45:00.000+10:00

Well tonight it's 'hen gap lai' (but not 'tam biet') to Vietnam. I'm getting on the 9pm jetplane and heading back to Melbourne town to whence I came.

The last 3 months have passed in a blur - haven't really begun to process this experience yet I think - but initial impressions are that it has been pretty bloody amazing.

As one of the staff members at the university I have been based at said to me 'you'll be back - this place has a way of getting under your skin' - and of course he's right. No doubt about it.

:-)

Cambodia's greatest hits #3.

2005-09-24T02:14:00.000+10:00

Siiem Reap airport provided my brother and I with a number of giggles other than entertaining duty free signs (see the last entry).

First up was our disbelief when we landed and taxied past the 'PMT Air' plane. I kid you not - have even copied the logo from their www.pmtair.com website as evidence. Not sure how I would feel about flying with them to be honest.

And then, another engrish charmer from Vietnam Airlines, who we were flying back to Saigon with: a calm reassuring stewardess intercom voice came on halfway through the flight to let us know that "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are currently smashing through a patch of turbulence, please fasten your seatbelts" .... so we did.

Cambodia's greatest hits #2.

2005-09-18T22:19:00.000+10:00

Bottle of water bought while in Siem Reap.....maaaaaaaaate.

Cambodia's greatest hits #1

2005-09-16T13:06:00.000+10:00

Well, it's T minus just under 2 weeks until I am back in Melbourne trying to remember how to do my own washing cooking and cleaning and I've got a fair bit of knuckling down to do between now and then so no time to do my usual roving correspondent piccy taking.

So, with no further ado, here are some highlights of both Cambodia and Vietnam, starting with this sign from Siem Reap airport's duty free shop.

P.S. If Labour doesn't win tomorrow's election I am gonna be seriously pissed...but I reckon she'll be right.

Oh all right then...

2005-09-14T15:06:00.000+10:00

Maybe just one Ha Long Bay piccy - apologies for the overcast sky not cooperating - will have to learn how to photoshop properly and get the better of nature ;-)

Vietnam (brief) debrief: Hanoi and Ha Long Bay and back to work.

2005-09-13T12:51:00.000+10:00

After Cambodia and a Saigon stop-off we headed up to Hanoi and out to Ha Long Bay for a few days each.

In Hanoi we stayed with some lovely friends and their two evil cats in their gorgeous apartment on one of Hanoi's many lakes - I blogged up Hanoi last time I went there so I won't bore you with a repeat.

And Ha Long Bay was bloody marvellous, mostly because we paid a little more than most people do to get a great 2 day tour. For $55 US per person we got 2 days/1 night on Ha Long Bay, sleeping, reading and lazing around on the gorgeous boat, being fed (mostly) good food, getting a tan (as much as a whitey like me can tan) and swimming in the world's most scenic outdoor swimming pool.

None of the photos I took do the place justice so just add it to the list of places to go to before you die if you haven't already been there, done that (or 'BTDT' as my supervisor says).

My brother left from Hanoi for Paris on Sunday and I flew back to Saigon (a true Vietnam Airlines special - a 3.5 hour delay on a 2 hour flight!). Now, I'm back and knuckling down to do some work before leaving Vietnam at the end of the month. Will have to relearn how to cook, clean, transport myself and all those other boring proletariat chores when I get back to Melbourne - will be a shock to the system!

Cambodia debrief #3: Siem Reap (Angkor Wat)

2005-09-12T19:24:00.000+10:00

Warning: another ridiculously self-indulgent amount of photos follow. I won't hold it against you if you don't finish!

Flew from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap in the morning and was in the taxi heading to our hotel by lunchtime. When I realised that our taxi was following a 4WD with a mokey on a lead sitting on the roof (South East Asia's not a great place to be an animal lover in, unless by 'love', you mean 'eat'), I knew we were in for a fun/crazy time. (Apologies for crap quality photo - taken through window of taxi in a hurry - better to have some blurry loch-ness monster-type evidence than none at all).

Like the masochistic tourists that we are, my brother and I checked into our hotel and hit the Angkor temple circuit within an hour of touching down in Siem Reap. [For those who are a little blurry on place names (like I was), Siem Reap is a town in Cambodia - it is also the gateway town to the Angkor temple complex which was done around the 9th-13th centuries. Angkor Wat is just one of the temples within the Angkor complex which covers a pretty vast area].

One of my Saigon mates is a photographer who is a bit of a pro at avoiding the tourists at Angkor - which, providing you have the right advice, was remarkably easy to do. It just involved us getting up at ridiculous times of the day - those who know me know that '5am start' is not in my vocabulary - but that's what we did on 3 consecutive days.

Between my brother and I we took god knows how many photos of the temples (more than a CD's worth!) so I won't torture you with them all - much better versions are available on postcards and coffee table books.

...but that said I can't resist doing a few of em' and a few 'Mad Hatter TM' piccys from the back of a motorbike (I'm honestly not sure how I ended up with this transport fetish - not healthy at all).

So! Let's start with the classic 'tree in temple' shot from Ta Prohm - a super atmospheric temple complex that is infested with tourists at all times other than the sneaky time we went. For a better shot just look at the cover of the Lonely Planet for Cambodia ;-)

Followed by another 'tree in temple' shot from Ta Som temple (at least I think it was Ta Som - after 3 days they all tend to blur into one a bit!).

...and a few 'between temple' scenery shots.

And a few shots of Angkor Wat itself:

...and some of the very funky Apsara carvings within Angkor Wat.

This place, called Preah Khanh (excuse spellink) was one of my favourites - hardly any tourists and literally falling over in places but absolutely spectacular - I just love how nature every now and then says 'right - you've had your fun, i'll take that back now thank you' :-)

We were at Preah Khanh near dusk and these two, ridiculously cute kids (Cambodia specialises in em') came tootling past us on their way to visit one of the guards with their cute, furry god-only-knows-what-creatures on their shoulders.

But this kid with a football up his shirt at Ta Som temple also gave them a run for their money in the cute stakes.

All templed out yet? Well by Day 3 we were in danger of getting temple fatigue so we hired a tuk tuk guy who said he was 21 but looked about 10 to take us to two places 30km and 50km out of Angkor respectively.

The first stop, Banteay Srei, is about 1 hour's drive away and ridiculously over-touristed from about 7.30am onwards so, mad sods that we are, we headed there for before 7am - would have been earlier except for the flat tuk tuk tire on the way.

At that time of day my vision is a little blurry and I think my camera was feeling empathetic - but I like the colours in these anyway (and no blog is complete without a rice fields and water buffalo shot in it somewhere).

Banteay Srei is tiny compared to most of the other temple complexes but is beautifully carved and looked great at the time of day we got there.

After which, it was time to hit the unpaved road section of our trp - and to wish that we had taken motorbikes instead of a tuk tuk (which we nearly jack-knifed on a bridge) as we spent an hour travelling on a diabolical dirt road that turned our back's into a chiropracter's wet dream.

But what awaited us at the end, after a seriously sweaty 1/2 hour uphill hike through what looked like New Zealand bush, was well worth it. Some devoted loon carved an entire river bed - it goes on for at least 500 metres and is quite amazing - and the waterfall cool-off afterwards was very welcome!

OK - enough torture - I guess this is the digital equivalent of the much dreaded holiday snap slideshow - but at least this one is optional - if you made it to the end I am impressed!

Next stop was HCMC for an evening of clothes washing and sleep and then we headed up to Hanoi to do a little Ha Long Bay-ing which will be posted up asap...and yes, I promise to do shorter posts with less pictures from now on!

Cambodia debrief #2: Vietnam to Phnom Penh

2005-09-08T17:33:00.000+10:00

So where to begin? Between my brother and I we took some ridiculous number of photos between us so this will definitely be another gratuitous photo-fest. But hopefully they are at least of passing interest to my loyal readers (all 2 of you) ;-)

We left Saigon on Friday 2 September - which warrants a photo in itself cos' all the people in the city had disappeared and been replaced by Vietnamese flags. The quietest I have ever seen it - apparently Tet Festival is the same.

Unlike Noo Zulland, which is at the arse end of the universe, the countries in South-East Asia are all conveniently close by - so, 45 minutes later, we were in Phnom Penh. We met up with a Cambodian mate who works at the French embassy - and, within 4 hours of arriving in town, found ourselves having an extremely messy (but entertaining) night, gatecrashing the farewell party of one of his colleagues. Was yet another twilight zone moment, dancing to old French pop songs with pissed Frogs in the middle of Phnom Penh!

Amongst other things, we did the obligatory tour of Toul Sleng (aka the S-21 prison where the Khmer Rouge got up to some pretty atrocious shit) which was pretty hard going but well worth seeing in person. Nothing like several rooms full of people's photographs staring at you to personalise genocide.

Our touristing in Phnom Peng got a little more light-hearted when we were travelling on motorbike with our mate (the ones in Cambodia are extended to take 3 people and are brilliant fun) and the famous Cambodian rain started up. We had raincoats on but they were a little irrelevent when our bike died in about 80cms of water outside the royal palace and we ended up wading through the COMPLETELY flooded street.

Apparently one legacy of French occupation in Cambodia is a seriously shit drainage system - Phnom Penh regularly floods but by everyone's reaction you would think it was the first time. So, we abandoned ship off the bike and waded to slightly higer ground and stood with a bunch of wet monks (whose email addresses we got when they requested copies of the photos) and watched small Cambodian children swimming down the road and people pushing stuck vehicles through the floodwaters.

All quite entertaining really.

At this point anyone remotely sensible would have retired to a cafe or something but no, we carried on touristing in the rain.

So, one royal palace and an abortive mission to the national museum later we had just about done Phnom Penh...except for dinner. Our mate took us out to the suburbs to a fantastic place called Hen Lay. I don't really know how best to describe it - maybe an aircraft hangar with food and live bands would be a good start. This place, on the river, was absolutely massive.

And, not content with one band or piped music, there was the house band and a full-on cabaret of about 6 singers who did songs with backup dancers and costume changes and everything. This place was so big that there were concert-type video screens at either end for those people who couldn't see the stage!

My brother, who was still a tad jet-lagged and disoriented after flying from Paris the previous day, got even more disoriented when mobbed by the 'beer girls' when we sat down - their job is to thrust a card with the name of their beer brand in front of your face and say the name of the beer as loudly and insistently as they can. Not too bad when there's only one of em' but when there's about 10 the effect is quite entertaining!

We spent a little while hanging out on the waterfront in Phnom Penh as well - watching this dude who was doing his best South-East Asia Ray Charles impersonation...

...and enjoying the fried bug sellers - fried tarantulas are seriously cool!

And then it was time to head on to Siem Reap and get some temples and culcha in us.

Stay tuned for the next installment.

Cambodia debrief #1: Let the silly pictures commence!

2005-09-08T16:58:00.000+10:00

Well my brother and I have 'done' the tourist trail in Cambodia - 2 days in Phnom Penh and 3 in Siem Reap (where Angkor Wat and associated temples live). We did 3 consecutive 5am starts and lived to tell the tale.

To say that Cambodia (especially Angkor) is the schiznit would be a pretty vast understatement - that place kicks ass!

Many many silly piccies and gratuitous temple shots will follow as soon as I have a decent internet connection. But to get the ball rolling - this is a shot of the back of a tuktuk in Siem Reap - beautifully combining my two nerdy passions of engrish and public transport.

Squint, read carefully and enjoy :-)

Voting Noo Zulland style.

2005-09-02T12:13:00.000+10:00

Well my brother arrived from Paris yesterday morning and we embarked on a high-speed intro to HCMC before leaving for Cambodia today. As part of the touristing we went to the New Zealand consulate to lodge overseas votes for our upcoming election.

My mate has the expression 'Vinamoment' to describe those uniquely surreal Vietnamese moments that seem to happen pretty regularly here (almost every vietnamese company is 'Vina-something or another' e.g. Vinamilk, Fonterra's equivalent). Well this was one of those - but it was actually a New Zealand moment in a Vietnamese setting - seriously bizarre and quite entertaining.

We found the consulate and went in, finding a big kiwi bloke who wandered up and said 'oh, you want to vote?'. Overseas voting only began 2 days ago so I think we may have been some of the first, which is never a good thing.

Pretty quickly transpired that he didn't really know how it worked - there was a Vietnamese chick who sort of did but she also seemed intent on covering up our unique voting numbers on our papers with a black sticker - not really sure what that was about.

Anyway, we sat down in the 'official voting room' and muddled through the paperwork for my brother - who went behind the designated official 'voting bookshelf', did his thing, put it in the overseas ballot envelope and posted it into the box (we even got a photo of him doing it in case the press called).

My one should also have followed suit but at that point the consul, who had wandered in earlier and said hello, called the Vietnamese chick away on some 'urgent business'. Leaving me mid-voting process, sitting opposite the big kiwi guy and wondering what to do - as he clearly didn't know.

So, in time honoured Kiwi style, we engaged in chit chat. Turns out he has been in Vietnam for 12 years - and, when my brother said he had lived in Paris for 14 years the guy responded with 'wow, and you still vote? I gave up on that years ago!'....

...and yes, the person saying this was also the person wearing the 'returning officer' badge who was helping us to vote.

So, after about 10 more minutes he disappears off and comes back grumpily cos' it seems the consul has stolen the Vietnamese chick in order to help him pay for some plane tickets for his upcoming holiday this long weekend...which, of course, is seriously urgent business.

So, the returning officer, after a few more minutes thumb twiddling, eventually says, 'well, you've ticked the boxes, why don't you just leave it with me to put in an envelope and post into the box for you......?'

Hmmmmmm....... thinks I, while pissing myself laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

'Um, OK, seeing as the sole chick who can do it is otherwise occupied with planning the consul's holiday, sure what the hell...she'll be right mate, right as rain!', says I.

So, I'm pretty sure I voted...but if Aunty Helen doesn't get back in I am singularly blaming the Vietnamese consulate in HCMC!

Right - time for some Cambodia - we've got a plane to catch.

Hen gap lai :-)

2005-08-31T14:07:00.000+10:00

Well my big bro flies in from paris for a visit tomorrow and the next day we embark on a mad touristing mission to Cambodia and then back to hcmc and then up to hanoi - should be manic and fun :-)

Coincidentally, Friday (the day we leave for Cambodia) is also the Vietnamese national day - a national holiday when the entire freaking country travels or buys and waves flags (or both) ... of course I would have to realise this AFTER booking our flight for that day.

Wish us luck for getting out of the country in one piece!

Tee hee.

2005-08-30T17:58:00.000+10:00

On the highway on the way to uni today my xe om guy and I passed a middle-aged Vietnamese guy on his motorbike. Nothing whatsoever unusual in that but his t-shirt which read "Norwood High School Post-Prom Party. May 23, 2003" brought a smile to my face.

You've got to wonder: All this time his family thought he was a good family man working hard in Ho Chi Minh City every day but for the last 2 years he's really been leading a secret life as a college sophomore in the states....must be a hell of a commute.

If only it were that easy!

2005-08-25T19:18:00.000+10:00

Ok this is a (rather crappy) picture of one of my favourite Engrish purchases ever.

I went on a little stationery binge a while back (as I am wont to do) and I was looking for a blank notebook. Well, sitting near the back, looking a little lonely was this beautiful baby - all styled up like a proper Collins diary - with the words 'Race Relations Handbook' embossed in gold on the top right-hand corner in a very proper way.

...and yes, it's blank on the inside.

...and no, I'm not going to make any further comments about that for fear of lynching.

It also has a world map on the inside with, amongst other gems, the new capital of Tasmania - 'HOBRAT' proudly marked.

As my friend Teacher Rebecca from Taiwan would say, 'Book This Is Yes Cool!'.

And, of course, it set me back the stunning amount of 15,000 dong (that'll be $1 US ma'am).

:-)