Weblog of Lois and Dougie - the daily musings of a lady and her cat

I have written before about one of NZ's more colourful (in the Foot in Mouth sense) members of Parliament, John Tamihere.  Despite a Prime Minister-directed sojourn John is still adamant that men need to reclaim their masculinity, recently suggesting at a Men's Issues Summit that men should write novels, short stories and songs about male lifestyles.  This surprised me, as much of what has been celebrated as culture has been written and composed from male experience.  Women have written and composed since the days of Sappho, but when they were able to bring examples of their experience into the mainstream in the last century, such _expression was making up for centuries of receiving little recognition of their voice.

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In my first job as an English teacher, I had to take underground trains to work in a place a few stops down the line from Wembly Stadium (the mecca of english soccer).  One day I was travelling south as football fans travelled north, packed into the carriages and singing so enthusiastically they made Welshmen look like beginners.  If John doesn't fancy going Barmy (and some would say he is already pretty barmy), perhaps he could just become an english soccer fan.  That is, if he can do so without taking fright at cheering on metrosexual David Beckham.

Quite a few Pacific Islanders name their first son after the father, and that boy is named 'Junior'.  I have heard of sons taking their fathers' christian names in the US too, though the boy concerned may be called for example, Michael Prince Jackson Jnr (yes I know Jacko didn't name his child this way - it's just an illustration!), while the father can become Michael Prince Jackson Snr.  What the term 'junior' has in common in both examples is the the 'junior' person is younger than the 'senior'. 

As the super 12 rugby tournament reaches its conclusion (final next week) the thoughts of the nation turn to selection for the iconic national team, the All Blacks.  Being an All Black, is , for any male rugby player in NZ, the pinnacle of achievement in the sport.  Those of Maori descent can play in the NZ Maori (a team for which those of such lineage feel proud to play) and for those whose skills base suits it, the New Zealand Rugby Sevens team, but All Black selection has the highest status in the rugby world.

You may wonder where I am going with this, but what prompted me to think and write about the concept of 'junior' was the revelation that a 'Junior All Black' team will be named next month.  This would be a fabulous opportunity, no doubt, for young players to gain Test (international) experience while not ready to make  the All Black squad.  But, apparently to make this experience work for the youngsters, older more experienced players may be selected to play in the team as well.  Say what?  How are those guys going to feel?  Is being picked for a squad in order to benefit young players snapping at your heels going to be more of a priviledge than playing for the ABs? 

The concept of 'junior' has been lately niggling my life a bit, too.  For some jobs I apply for, I am told the role is 'junior', and that I'd get bored, or I am overqualified for the role.  I often feel that the word 'junior' is used to a) discriminate against me because of my age, and b) pay the person who gets the job peanuts.  I wonder how much experienced, capped (that means having played Test matches) players will be paid if they get picked for the 'Junior All Blacks'?

Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen of England, is to be immortalised in oil by none other than that celebrated protrait artist to monarchy around the world... Rolf Harris.  For those not familiar with Harris, he is a cheeky, jocular australian (probably in his 60s or 70s by now I would imagine), who rose to fame doing quick paint-sketches on TV, playing the didgeridoo, and singing comic songs such as '(I'm) Jake the Peg'.  Apparently his choice to paint Her Majesty has not been well received by monarchists. 

In reporting this, the local sunday rag (the Herald on Sunday, should any reader wish to check it out online) commissioned local primary school children to give the Queen's portrait a try too.  The results were delightful if a  little spooky - one child gave her eyes lashes of somewhat different size, with one reaching almost to her hairline, the other reasonably proportionate.  Another, young Karnit Sharma aged 9, in an interesting juxtaposition of signs of age and plastic surgery, gave her the appearance of a double chin coupled with lips so big they are either of African origin or some ageing actress's surgery gone wrong (Melanie Griffith comes to mind).   God bless the good children of Mangere Bridge School.  Who knows, maybe one day one of them might get to paint Prince William!

I have always been keen on festivals.  In the UK I worked on the Anti-racism festival, danced in the Notting Hill Carnival, and attended the Latin American Film Festival without fail.  In Auckland there is a good range fo festivals in the summer, including the Pacisika Festival (celebrating cultures of the Pacific Islands), The Multicultural Festival (celebrating world cultures), and  The Chinese Lantern Festival (celebrating the Chinese New Year).  While we're on the subject of New Year celebrations, we also have a Diwali Festival (the Hindu New Year), and there is in fact a Maori New Year called Matariki, though no festival of note yet, but I am sure Matariki's day will come.

Currently there is a Readers' and Writers' Festival, which seems to be going on forever.  You may guess from the last part of that sentence that I am not participating an awful lot in this one, despite enjoying both reading and writing.  The events include speeches by writers, book signings etc, not things that exactly rock my boat.  Worse still (for me) is that all the printed media (of which I am an avid consumer) is awash with reviews of such events, reviews of the featured authors' books, it's a wonder there aren't reviews of reviews.  What seems odd to me is that if people enjoy reading (fiction, and mostly book festivals aer about fiction) so much, why read about reading?  Isn't that akin to watching a television programme about watching television?

To be fair, I do realise that book reviews are read to find out about new releases of books, just as film reviews are read to find out about new films.  But I do wish the latin American Film Festival (over here) had been longer (than the 3 days) and the Readers' and Writers' could either be shorter, or move to a suitably bookish town like, say, Invercargill (not far from university town Dunedin and with drizzly weather to boot).

Check this out from the weekend paper:

'A Romanian traffic cop has been demoted after he fined a driver for his looks.

Marius Vlasceanu pulled over Gheorghe Tosa as he drove through Craiova, but he failed to see the funny side as he was  fined te equivalent of $55 and given a ticket, the reason given that the fine was for "having a face like a moron and being a big monkey". 

Vlasceanu has been given a desk job in a remote village'

Presumably there are no villagers with moronic faces, or they've all moved to Craiova.

One of my friend's Dads told him, "Son, get a job you love and you'll never have to work again".  Good advice I guess.  At the time I had a job I was passionate about.  I worked in the theatre.  but I lost my passion for that, not so much in not finding performances magical, but more tiring of the long, anti-social hours, and disenchantment with the people too.

At my hiphop dance class recently, a chick came in and started handing out cans of Red Bull.  Red Bull is a caffeine-loaded energy drink favoured by teens and clubbers in the UK, who like to combine it with vodka etc to get hammered but stay upright at the same time.  I don't like it myself, but thought it might come in handy after the dance class.  Meanwhile, another girl at the class asked, "So how do you like being a Red Bull Girl?", to which RBG replied, "Well, it's a very important job..."  Say whatttt??? Important.  Sweetheart, saving peoples lives is important.  Raising children is important.  So is building roads.  But thinking that being a Red Bull Girl is important is taking singing off the company hymnsheet way too far.

I always thought that doing mundane, nine-to-five work, be it in a factory or office, would be a kind of quiet life, a world away from the histrionics of the ego-ridden entertainment business.  Certainly there is a broader range of personalities, but somewhere along the line, in between my entrance to the workforce and changing my career (for the quiet life), it became a job requirement to be passionate about nothing particularly exciting.  If I were excited about shipping containers I would start to consider checking myself into a mental health facility, if there were any left to check into.

I will save my passion for life for the time that is truly mine, whether I am dancing, watching the sun set over the sea, or hugging a friend hello.

One of my friend's Dads told him, "Son, get a job you love and you'll never have to work again".  Good advice I guess.  At the time I had a job I was passionate about.  I worked in the theatre.  but I lost my passion for that, not so much in not finding performances magical, but more tiring of the long, anti-social hours, and disenchantment with the people too.

At my hiphop dance class recently, a chick came in and started handing out cans of Red Bull.  Red Bull is a caffeine-loaded energy drink favoured by teens and clubbers in the UK, who like to combine it with vodka etc to get hammered but stay upright at the same time.  I don't like it myself, but thought it might come in handy after the dance class.  Meanwhile, another girl at the class asked, "So how do you like being a Red Bull Girl?", to which RBG replied, "Well, it's a very important job..."  Say whatttt??? Important.  Sweetheart, saving peoples lives is important.  Raising children is important.  So is building roads.  But thinking that being a Red Bull Girl is important is taking singing off the company hymnsheet way too far.

I always thought that doing mundane, nine-to-five work, be it in a factory or office, would be a kind of quiet life, a world away from the histrionics of the ego-ridden entertainment business.  Certainly there is a broader range of personalities, but somewhere along the line, in between my entrance to the workforce and changing my career (for the quiet life), it became a job requirement to be passionate about nothing particularly exciting.  If I were excited about shipping containers I would start to consider checking myself into a mental health facility, if there were any left to check into.

I will save my passion for life for the time that is truly mine, whether I am dancing, watching the sun set over the sea, or hugging a friend hello.

There are few things to dislike about autumn really.  Beuatifully-coloured leaves, crisp clear air and the rich light of the sun low to the horizon...  and it is the time to resume a favourite hobby of mine - going to the hotpools.  I love water.  Warm water that is.  I would rather stick pins in my eyes than jump into cold, chlorinated water (unless it is a very hot day), but a soon as the weather starts to cool I take long drives on the weekend to the hot pools.

Even better than spring water in spas and swimming pools, is natural hot springs in the country.  I once went to a cave in Banff, near Canada, and enjoyed relaxing with a local guy.  I invited a couple of backpackers there another time, which was quite amusing.  Jo and I, from the hostel, invited Brian and Adrian, to come to the cave with us.  But we told them that you could only go there if you bathed in the nude.  Jo said to me before we went that she was pretty sure the guys had never been naked in front of women before, except to have sex.  Well, the guys managed to survive the nude thing, but I did laugh when we first got there and found two locals enjoying the pool - wearing trunks!

In the US I went to a swimming hole somewhere in California (outside San Francisco) and we bathed under the stars.  It was like being in the planetarium as there were no lights for miles around.  A special place indeed.

A new friend and I are going to a place called Rotorua to enjoy 'The Polynesian Spa'.  It has a range of pools, and offers fantastic beauty treatments.  What could be better? 

Here at work, the angels are still around and probably oblivious to the fact they are being worshipped from afar.  I am thinking of trying very subtly to match my new friend and my angel up, even though he is my angel, just because it makes sense.  A guy in his 20's, a devout catholic, is unlikely to want to date an old but happening chick who doesn't believe in God.  Ah well, it keeps us amused up to a point just looking.

I can't say I have a lot of sympathy for celebrities, since their  bucketloads of money might not buy love, but can sure make not being in love feel a darn sight more comfortable.  I do find it strange though, that they seem to fall in and out of love with each other rather quickly.  I can't decide whether this is because a) the media assumes and reports any man and woman seen together as dating or b) they have yo-yo-like hearts which they can retract and swing toward another glittering celeb before the ink is dry on the divorce papers.

To be fair, if I dated someone for three weeks or so (which could be a record, but let's not go there) I wouldn't see it in magazines.  Even though Brad is single now, and would trip over himself to get to me if he could meet me (ha ha), any cameras racing around to get a picture would sure-as-heck not be doing it because of me.  Speaking of Brad, he's either done a yo-yo from Jennifer to Angelina, or was a lousy dude while still married, by hooking up with Ms Jolie.  Meanwhile, 'heart-broken Jen' has no trouble getting around town with a nice-looking dude or two, while the rest of us can wait weeks or months between dates, or at least going out with a member of the opposite sex rather than our girlfriends. 

Oh to have a yo-yo-like heart with a string long enough to traverve the pacific ocean.

Not long after I started this blog, I wrote an entry about 'fantasy men'.  I did get a comment from one reader about this, but genereally assume it is a little tangent of my imagination that I enjoy on my own.  Now, however, I have a new partner in crime.  A colleague, visiting from overseas, and I have started our fantasy man club pooled from around the office. 

It all started after an hilarious discussion between my colleague and I, and a gay friend.  We started discussing our young male colleagues, and I admitted I had the hots for a guy who I said, "has the face of an angel'.  After slyly checking him out at work, my colleague agreed, though she still prefers a guy in IT.  Anyway, along with another cutie these guys became our 'angels'.  There is 'church angel' (that's my one) - so called because he goes to church so often I am beginning to wonder if his true vocation is the priesthood, 'IT angel', and until recently, 'London angel' (that's where he's from, we think). 

Unfortunately, 'London angel' fell off his pedastal recently.  These lovely objects of our affections lose our interest if we find out they are partnered-up.  This doesn't stop me, n particular, promoting to angel status guys who are too young/too hot to look twice at me/etc, but then, that's why they are 'fantasy men'.  'Church angel' is devout in terms of his faith, which frowns on (amongst other things) pre-marital sex, using contraception, and abortion.  Hope I 'll never need the last one, but I'd like to think I might get to enjoy sex again before the menopause.  Right now I just seem to be in an endless 'men-pause'. 

Oh well, we're having great fun trying to dream up ways to enveigle 'Chuch angel' into some fun worthy of confession (me), while on the lookout for opportunities to accidentally end up alone with 'IT angel' (her).  This is probably some of the best fun distraction I've enjoyed at work in a long time, and boy, do we need to make our own fun in this job!

I read somewhere recently that sportsmen such as Tiger Woods have had LASIK eye surgery to improve their vision.  Not to avoid wearing glasses or contacts, but to make their vision more accurate, almost like that of a hawk rather than a human.  I think this was referred to as 25/20 vision or the like.  I always thought 20/20 vision was the superlative, so 25/20 is a bit like 'giving it 110%'.  

It seems to me that if it is going to alright for one sportsperson to enhance themselves this way, everyone must be allowed to, in fact there should probaly be competitions for enhanced persons.  They could probablyhold an enhanced Olympic Games.  A colleague of mine and I discussed drugs in sports last year during the Olympics.  We both thought it a fabulous idea if everybody could take any drugs they liked.  Long jumpers would need their pits to run the length of the stadium, the pole vaulters would start at around 50m and the sprints happen so fast it could be like human drag racing, maybe complete with parachutes to stops them at the end!

Just a thought.

One of the great things about having overseas visitors is shwoing them round your home town.  What you take for granted, and that which seems mundane (like suburban house styles) can be suddenly seen anew with the help of your visitors' eyes.  It is also an opportunity to bone up of the history and significance of monuments, reserves, and the like.

It has been a while since I read a 'Lonely Planet' guide but I got one from the library to lend to my new friends.  It has been interesting for me to read too, and of course I took a look at the entries about things to do and see so I might make some suggestions.  But one thing I might not suggest is a visit to the Auckland Public Library as Lonely Planet's comments about it are either a complete lie, or one of the worst ways of fleecing tourists that I have ever heard of.

I quote, "As a visitor, there are two ways you may use it.  The first is by paying $10 per day or $30 a week, (Monday to Saturday) which allows you to peruse the library's shelves but not to borrow."  Ah, come again???  You're supposed to pay $10 a day just to look?  I've been to the library atthe Senate in Washington DC and I don't think it costs all that much.  There they have (they say) every book which has ever been published, in huge underground vaults - a somewhat more impressive selection than you'll find in Auckland.

And how do they collect this money?  I have been into the library several times and read without borrowing, yet have not been approached about paying for it.  Do they just approach anyone who looks foreign? (not a very efficient method of inding tourists in a multi-cultural city).  Is there a sign asking users to check whether their nationality or residency allows them to skip this charge?

Next time at the library, I am gonna ask!