Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Home by the Sea - Goodbye 2008

Images of sorrow, pictures of delight
Things that go to make up a life
Endless days of summer longer nights of gloom
Waiting for the morning light
Scenes of unimportance, photos in a frame
Things that go to make up a life

Blast to Taieri Mouth

The incoming salt air sneaks past my open collar, cooling my chest before bleeding outward, down my arms and out.
The roar from the engine rises in pitch as I change down and pass a dawdling Sunday driver. He's running late: it's Tuesday already.
Shifting up, I lean into the approaching left-hander; up and over the rise to meet the coast. As I roll into the sweeping right, I watch the breakers fall on the shore, and the toi toi's flash by in a blur. The sun shines on, and the air smells of kelp, as the throttle rolls on to 100.

OK - It used to be a bigger number; a much bigger number, truth be told, but these days I'm feeling a lot less bullet proof, and a hell of a lot more respectful of the law.

And right now I'm feeling very very old.

Monday, December 29, 2008

New Year thoughts

Sometimes lyrics are all you need; especially when the music doesn't quite make the grade.

Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems,
Better put 'em in quotations

Say what you need to say

Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

Say what you need to say

Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You'd better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Then never say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say

Um... about the photo on this post. Just a tip for 2009. If you don't do anything else - rent or buy Spaced. You wont regret it.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

In a lifetime

A visit to Deadlyjelly's house is always an education. Upon entering there is the compulsary kissing of the house "blarney stone", before venturing upstairs to the dulcet tones of one of the many possible Enya songs on offer, until you finally come across the house shrine to Bono.

While this can be a shock to the uninitiated, you can often miss it when you're so away from home. So with all this in mind I dedicate this Youtube clip to Hunkahubby and Niamh - so far away from the comforts of home, especially as witnessed by the body language in this photo.

Grab the kleenex. I wont tell a soul !

Friday, December 26, 2008


I'm in Dunedin.

I say this as information, but also partly as an affirmation; all this because it doesn't feel like I'm actually here yet.

Hitting the ground running after arriving late, I find myself missing something. Today, in the madness of Boxing Day sales I was less than enthused with the wall to wall people. It occurred to me that perhaps I had become a stranger to this city; this life, and that I could no longer be taken from one existence, and dropped into another.

That and the fact I saw NO ONE I knew.

I know this too will pass, but right now I crave some normalcy. My friends have also changed - I am beginning to suspect they have been swapped like in some Z grade Sunday afternoon movie plot - Invaders of the Body Snatchers or some such ilk.

For example: Matt has a totally new hair style - and I'm pretty sure there was no "product" in there AT ALL .... and IG... Well IG is going camping for goodness sake. Camping - with tents and shit - if that isn't enough to keep you up at night......Cats my Dogs!

Coupled with all this madness is the impending realization that another year has passed, and I will soon have no choice but subconsciously grade myself on my 2008 experience.

I have to say plan B is looking a much more satisfactory option; I just need to find the proper balance of vodka and red wine - tricky, since I failed so dismally last new years eve. Turns out this old dog can learn some new tricks;

1) You CAN have too much of a good thing actually.


2) The resulting bad can last for days.....

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Bloody Forrest Gump

Jenny died on a Saturday morning....

Christmas (love it or hate it), is a time when we often find us measuring ourselves to times past. Destiny weighed and poured; is your glass half empty, half full, or spilling from the brim ?

If you cant change the past, and the future is unwritten; the only thing you can live is the here and now: just make sure it's the here and now you want.

Don't tie yourself to any resolutions for a tomorrow that never comes. Make the smallest of changes today; right here, right now.

Or don't ....

The point is, it's your life to make, or to break. Just don't look back in anger when it didn't have to be that way. I don't wanna say I told you so next year, OK ? :)

Don't worry - I wont - trust me :)

Sunday, December 21, 2008

No one is to blame - really!

Back in the 80's I made Fonmeister laugh when I suggested this could be the song of my life.

All these years later I have to admit, the joke is wearing a little thin. :)

  • Lyrics (will pop up in another window)
  • Thursday, December 18, 2008

    I was there first !

    In the early 80's I spied a double cassette of Bruce Springsteen's "The River" at a friends house. I always wanted to listen to Springsteen ever since I saw the cover of "Darkness on the Edge of Town", but I was still in school earning $2 an hour part time in the weekends. It's a sad state of affairs when a $9 LP became too much a stretch of faith for a 16 year old.

    I regret the fact I couldn't muster more faith on an album cover when Meat Loaf's Bat out of Hell was in such demand. In retrospect Springsteen would have been a far more astute choice.

    A few years later I had my own copy of The River. I brought Nebraska on a whim, before cementing my musical relationship with Bruce in 1986 when I purchased "Born to Run". Sure - I died a little when "Born in the USA" came out - the cat was out of the bag, and Springsteen had finally hit the mainstream.

    I hated "Glory Days", loved "My Hometown" and begrudgingly accepted that "Dancing in the Dark" was probably Bruce's best attempt at a commercial pop release, even if I hated the fact they thought he needed to prove something by writing it.

    For me, Springsteen as always been the brooding poet; the political musician with a dream and undying love for his country. His voice, so distinctive; a new generations Woody Guthrie.

    I was trying to find my way home

    But all I heard was a drone

    Bouncing off a satellite

    Crushing the last lone American night

    This is Radio Nowhere

    Is there anybody alive out there

    This is Radio Nowhere

    Is there anybody alive out there

    As he gets older he just gets better - and although some fan's admiration may fade as his backside begins to sag, those of us that remain will be in good company. :)

    [Just kidding Ms Jelly]

    Hot soup on a campfire under the bridge
    Shelter line stretchin' round the corner
    Welcome to the new world order
    Families sleepin' in their cars in the Southwest
    No home no job no peace no rest

    The highway is alive tonight
    But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes
    I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
    Searchin' for the ghost of Tom Joad


    My Hands Are Tied
    Oh I Could Be A Victim
    When My Tongue Won't Move
    You Have Tied With Your Heartstrings
    When I Needed You Most
    I Couldn't Find The Language
    When I Needed You More
    I Couldn't Say A Word

    Dave Dobbyn may be an acquired taste, but the guy's a genius in my book.

    Monday, December 15, 2008


    "So", he said."I cant really talk about it".
    "Why not", she asked.
    "Well, It's really awkward", he replied.

    "Maybe I'll write about instead", he mused.

    And, he did.

    When I embarked on what would be my first attempt at serious alcohol consumption since New Years Eve 2008, I could never guess at the horror that awaited me at the end of the evening. Truth be told, it would be far happier affair; hands wrapped around a porcelain bowl, asking to die.

    Oblivious to all and sundry, I had my bottle of Kim Crawford Unoaked Chardonnay (thanks NFG) for company. I didn't see the other couples wax and wane - the dynamics of power shift from side to side. I didn't hear the terse tones rise above the sizzle of the sausages on the BBQ.

    My bottle had a screw top, and all was well with the world.

    At the end of the night, my second bottle running desperately low, we retreated like the sun before us, to the lounge to continue what we started.

    Before I had realised it, a solid core of friends remained.

    If I tried my hardest, I still couldn't remember how it happened: but the deal was this. Everyone in the group had to take their part in turn and say something positive about one of those who remained. When the group had done its round, the next person got to hear.

    But my wine bottle had a screw top, and all was well with the world.

    Then the kind words came; a group of friends who had known each other since primary school. All the energy of those words stored, the tears that followed flowed in a flood, sweeping aside barriers like matchsticks. From an outsider looking on, it seemed all at once I was a peeping tom. I didn't belong here, I was only six years old.

    It was about then I forgot about my damn screw top, and realised that I too was expected to contribute to this emotional maelstrom; and worst yet, receive.

    You have to understand what it means to be a New Zealand male.
    You have to understand how difficult that would be for me.
    There are ways, and there are ways.
    But walking away from this truth would speak more about the person I would be,
    rather than the person I could choose to be if I stayed.

    "So", he said."I cant really talk about it".

    And now you know why.

    Sunday, December 14, 2008


    Into the Christmas Spirit so to speak . Translation - I'm pissed - actually, everyone's hammered.
    An evening with alcohol is not always a safe choice, but honest - never the less, when it comes to the ones we love.

    Saturday, December 13, 2008

    Change of Pace

    Back to the 80's for 3:41.
    It wasn't all Duran Duran and shoulder pads :)

    Forget our fate
    The pedlar sings
    Set up to sell my soul
    I've lived a life for wealth to bring

    And yet I'll gaze
    The colour of spring
    Immerse in that one moment
    Left in love with everything

    Soar the bridges
    That I burnt before
    One song among us all

    The Vanilla Vegetable

    During the long summers of my childhood, lunches consisted of a seemly never ending Christmas ham, boiled new potatoes and lettuce salad. God I miss iceberg lettuce.

    Back in the day, a kiwi salad consisted of broken up iceberg lettuce, with sliced hard boiled egg and tomato on top. The mayo was a kiwi mixture of Highlander condensed milk and vinegar.

    Running into the house, covered in dirt and grass stains, you would pick and choose from the table before running out the door again; lunch, a brief intermission from a grand summer adventure.

    But today we have matured as a nation; we have mescaline, and what a pathetic excuse for a salad it is.

    It was like the salad "project brief" was to go out to the garden and find anything green that wouldn't kill you. The second, more immediate preference, seemed to be to find as many leafy items of different size and shape as possible - the more artistic the arrangement the better it seemed. It was a shame taste wasn't a part of the dynamic - the bitter aftertaste in my mouth speaking volumes today.

    Upon walking away from my completed BLT at lunch this afternoon I noticed most people seemed to have followed suit; those "lovely" mounds of shapely leaves relegated to a mere garnish; something parsley had done well enough all those years ago, but with much less effort and wastage.


    Wednesday, December 10, 2008


    It's like you know you shouldn't look; but you can't help yourself.

    After my famous run in with a psychic in Sydney many years ago, it seemed to me that actually knowing shit about your future was an excellent way of making sure it didn't happen- if you catch my drift.

    So when my mum recently visited the latest psychic d'jour I made a distinct point of making sure she didn't tell me anything about my personal life.

    [Note: Of course I didnt care about stuff that was going to happen to others. But it kinda bothers me that so far a lot about what she said about others has since come true.]

    To my chagrin, Mum still sends the odd comment my way every now and again - comments I try immediately to forget; with little success it appears...

    "He loves his job, even if it's a bit stressful at times", she said.

    Hah - recently I've been asking myself if I do in fact still love my job.

    Last night, after waking from a nightmare involving a complex set of computer machine language instructions, (to perform a complex work function THAT WAS A COMPLETE LOAD OF SHITE), I'm starting to see the stressful side of the coin.

    It was then, in my fragile state of mind, I pictured myself in a me-oriented variation of a John Kirwan advert for mental heath. Satisfied I was in fact only mildly derranged, or at worst dead tired, I turned over, looking foward to what remained of the night.

    This shit I could do without.

    So, were the pearls of widom from Mum's soothsayer coming back to haunt my subconcious; along with my current workload, creating in turn some version of the truth?

    Or was it just good old fashioned stress ?

    Ironically I'm unsure if tapping in to the "psychic hotline" makes a difference or not..
    But with not knowing, at least I'm not in control of my life again -

    And thats the really important thing - right?

    Saturday, December 06, 2008

    I miss my second

    Life is a margarita.
    Presented in crystal for some,
    plastic for others.
    Contents a clash of flavors and memories;
    around it all the constant possibility of a little salt circling, should you foolishly think the flavour has faded .

    counting the pluses and the minuses,
    through the myriad of possibilities -
    an experience to cherish;
    gone far too soon.

    Never to be taken alone.
    With a second, an entirely new perspective emerges.
    If life is a margarita; make it so.

    Tuesday, December 02, 2008

    Angel Dream - Tom Petty

    Hope this inspires you on your way today..

    Musical posts will abate soon :)

    Letters are mostly all there - just need to arrange them from their nonsensical musings.

    Where is my mind?

    Office politics played no small part in my day.
    Dipping my toe in the big boys pool, idly checking the temperature, I was invited in to play.

    I should have stayed in the kitchen. It would have been much safer with all those knives about.

    With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
    Try this trick and spin it, yeah
    Your head will collapse
    If there's nothing in it
    And you'll ask yourself....