Awry, Amiss, Amok


Psssokay, some points of note:

  • I'm working too much with my hands and not enough with my head. Contract negotiations and a slight business restucturing follow. If anyone would like to earn around $40/hr fitting out wardrobes up here in Auckland, leave me a comment. It's not very hard, you just need common sense, patience, and a good eye for detail.
  • Wellington and I are unnaturally fond of each other. Being Anniversary Weekend in Aucklame, we drove down on Friday night. Saturday included breakfast at Fidel's, much moseying about in town, a swim at O Bay and a preposterous number of bumping-intos. Sunday worked along the same lines, finishing with a bit of a feast cooked by yours truly in the siblings' sweet new house.
  • Let's get this straight, Russell Brown is my media hero. But when he linked to me, called me 'pal', and told me off in the one post, he lost some serious points. Am I the only one who feels it is a little disingenuous for someone who is viewed as being proffessionally in-the-loop, well-informed, and media-savvy to compose his posts based entirely on the results of a Technorati search query?='big%20day%20out? And then to draw the startling conclusion that it was obnoxious of me to be obnoxious... However, as a member of the elite group of middle aged men who can pronounce 'pot' without adding 'tut-tut', he still commands my undying respect.
  • Thought it might be nice to fall in love but she was all like 'not even' so I thought it might be nice to be sulky and lovesick but that's not happening either. Apparently I have already sold my soul to The Man.


I'm as red as a barber pole and can hardly move my neck. That's two Yay!'s way up for the Big Day Out. The run-down:

Thursday night — much-anticipated arrival of Dani and Celia. Anna came too. Smoked some lovely pot and made some lovely spoons on the airbed. Poorly inflated airbed + pot = do try it.

Friday — girls take ages to get ready eh. I mean, it's sweet commanding an army of hawt biatches, but they really take ages to get ready. So despite getting up at 8.30, we didn't make it out to the stadium til 1.00, just in time to see Pluto suck some ass. Dani, Anna and I proceeded to get gosh-darn muttoned (Being 'muttoned' is the state where you try to say 'munted' but are too muttoned to do so.) off about three beers each while Celia and Daniel (with a beard!) enjoyed a very sweet Living End show. Suprise Hit Of The BDO Number One: Mudvayne. They were loud and hard and tight and totally for-reals, and the crowd was a bundle of laughs.

Hanging out with Blair (Yay! Blair!) prevented us from seeing Brakes Coup but we did make it to the smaller stages in time for The Go! Team. Can I just say, "Holy Crap!" They've got a whole new genre all to themselves and it makes me extremely happy. Pretty black lady with singing and dancing! Two drummers! Noise! I was so excited to have stumbled across these gems that I just surrendered to the Pretty Black Lady and embarked on Operation Dance Like No One's Watching. Joining Daniel and I in this was a little dude on Lord-knows-what: everytime he clapped his hands he could apparently see some sort of ejecta coming out of his fingers. After the show he gave me a hug and I picked him up and swung him round and it was flippin' sweet. Napoleon Dynamite on acid.

We gave The Brunettes a fair hearing but seriously, 21 people on stage does not a good festival act make. Too bad. Henry Rollins' spoken word act was next. We expected poetry or prose but got inane anti-American standup. This just in, flying from the States to the other side of the world to bad-mouth the States is lame. But it didn't matter too much because Shihad was on, playing some weird Happy New Year's show. Yes John, 2006 is going to be great. Thankyou for pointing that out. Perhaps next time put more effort into your vocals and less into being a sentimental, over-the-hill, never-quite-made-the-mark hasbeen. You could start a club with Shirley Manson. Still, that said, My Mind's Sedate was ground-shaking and terribly exciting; they really did push the overdrive to 11.

Predictably, I guess, the crowd for Franz Ferdinand was composed almost entirely of 14 to 17 year old girls. When Dani and I joined a faux conga line to push through to the front the chaperones of said girls made it clear that they were very displeased with our rude behaviour. I maintained my cool while one Dad lectured me about his daughters waiting an hour and a half to get near the front for this show. (I told him that's a shame, an hour and a half wasted, when I just turned up 2 minutes ago and look at me, I'm front row centre!) I also maintained my cool while one of his minions poured her drink on my head; I calmly explained that the front few rows are no place for impressionable (crushable) young girls. Whilst maintaining my cool, I resolved to be the designated Obnoxious Guy, which worked fantastically. I was already Obnoxiously Large Backpack Guy, and Obnoxiously Pushy and Selfish Guy but Bam! I whacked it up another notch with a stunning Obnoxiously Protective Of Female Companion Guy and Obnoxious Heckler Guy combo! My best heckle of the show: "Play another hit single!" I also yelled 'Yay' a lot. Franz didn't exactly play a stonker but the show was saved when they got three guys onto the one drum kit and made it sound good. Also Bic Runga was on side stage for some reason, and she is nice to look at, basically.

I missed Iggy & The Stooges and most of The White Stripes in favour of The Mars Volta: best decision of the day. I've never been in a crowd that was more in love with the act, and I've never seen a better performance, period. No talking, or even stopping between songs, just an hour and a half of full-force rock and roll baby. That guitarist actually plays like Hendrix. And the drummer! And Cedric! And that black guy on keys! There's not really a lot I can say besides Best. Concert. Of. My life. The security guys were literally trying to start fights which was stupid and potentially dangerous, exspecially with certain unnamed members of the crowd shouting 'Riot! Riot!' I was disappointed I didn't get to fight the whole day but I was sun-stroked as all crap by this stage and besides, I drank at least four beers over the course of the day so it was probably for the best.

We had a logistical nightmare meeting up at the end of the night featuring lost cellphones, dead batteries and a mammoth walk for Dani and I, almost entirely around the stadium complex. And the taxi driver didn't even know how to get to Avondale. The night was capped off beautifully with another pot/spoon/airbed combo and I woke exhausted and impossibly sore. Oh yeah, that's the other thing - it was sweet to be bigger and stronger than the average person in the mosh pit for my first time. It makes getting around a lot easier.

The girls left me fairly smartly on Saturday and I slept through the day like an orphan. Daniel came over later for pizza and wine and the luxury of my couch; he bailed on me this morning so I am left here alone and worn out but satisfied.

The Takahe Has Landed

So. Auckland.

Well I can't say there have been no tears before bedtime but to be fair, it is not entirely shit. I'm working like a circus pig so I'm not left with much time/energy to suck the marrow out yet, but the emotional barometer is pointing to Outlook Promising.

Flatting with someone who only exists at 50Hz is a bit of a party. And by party I mean, interesting and valued experience. I was looking forward to living with an unpredictable kid gloves on why is she crying again no you don't look fat in that will you please not talk about that while I'm eating flighty floosey. That is, a girl. But at the moment I'm feeling more like the girl of the house —what with missing my mum and whatnot— so it is basically the same as living with a boy that smells nice. And can't beat me up. Her Wiccan sacrifices have not yet caused any issues either — there is a strictly defined blood-letting corner that keeps mess to a minimum.

I bought a bike. Before paying rent, or bond, or advance, or buying a bed. But what a bike! It's a brand new Haro F2. Totally worth sleeping on the floor for. I promptly removed most of the stickers and can't wait til I scratch it enough to warrant a matte black paint job.

This Thursday three of my favorite people are staying at my house in anticipation of the Big Day Out (which my boss assumed was a whole weekend long, when he gave me the time off, incidentally) and I am looking forward to them immensely. Let's get this on record: Celia, I love you more than life itself. I especially miss your boobs and potty mouth.

Oh, and about Auckland, what's the big deal? The traffic seems okay and the people are definitely more friendly here. And I happen to prefer Asian faces to Lower Hutt ones anyway. The only real thing wrong with this city so far is the bugs. I wake each morning with an armada of bites ready to replace those of the night before.

Oh yeah, the bike, I was thinking about getting a new one. A new new one. Keep up. I live 10k from the CBD so I thought I might get a road bike and get back to my hardout roots. Hardout like getting up at 5.30 and riding 10k and then working 10 hours and riding 10k back. Speaking of roots: FFD will be there on Friday and I am having Second Thoughts about them. How did that happen? How does this always happen!?

Have been repeatedly goaded to sneak around and sniff female housemate's undie drawer. Have not yet gained sufficient courage / sunk to such depths. Will keep posted.

Word to your mama. And mine, if you see her. Schniff.


Mkay y'know how I have in the past made mention of Le Parkour aka Freerunning? Well yesterday Tere and I went out for a very scientific session and used logic to overcome our fears. One fear in particular was 'if I do anything wrong here I will break my face and maybe die.' We made a little video. Take note of how high that is, when I am standing at the base for reference — that is definitely the scariest thing I have ever done in my whole life.

The video's in .3gp format, you might need to use Real Player.