O and i was thinking tonight that we all hate America, but America is the melting-pot where we all meet.
Thursday 27 November, 02003
Wednesday 26 November, 02003
Tuesday 25 November, 02003
So, the world cup is in the northern hemisphere now. Saturday was such an emotional rollercoaster. I started watching the game supporting Australia, simply because they’re in our hemisphere and ‘downunder’ and ANZAC, etc etc. But after watching George Gregan for about ten minutes I quickly turned into an England supporter. (OK, it wasn’t quite a roller coaster). Maybe it’s the fact he just does not stop talking to the ref for the entire game, maybe it’s the fact I could lip read what he yelled at Kelleher in the semi, or maybe it’s simply because he looks like a chocolate covered scorched almond, whatever it is, I just can’t stand him. I can’t say I was happy to see the Poms kissing the cup (in fact it sickened me), but it was better than seeing any Aussie hold it. The Poms were deserved victors. Interesting statistic: The English ended the tournament scoring one less try than the Aussies. Nobody can say they played boring rugby. Let’s face it, the ABs wouldn’t have had a show of winning that game if they were there. Not enough experience, not enough big forwards and nobody who can kick drop goals. The English are definitely the best side in the world.
Professionals everywhere are inundated by paperwork. Why? Paper trials of accountability. Is total accountablity a good goal? Lecture 3 [22min real audio & transcript] of the 2002 Reith Lectures by Onora O’Neill discusses this issue. The rest of the series is great too.
Monday 24 November, 02003
Puking clears the soul. Breavman rememberered what he felt like. Fry’s Stationery, buying school supplies. Ten years old. The whole new school year coiled like a dragon to be conqurered by sharp yellow Eagle pencils. Fresh erasers, rows of them, crying to be sacrificed for purity and stars for Neatness. The stacks of exercise books dazzlingly empty of mistakes, more perfect than Perfect. Unblunted compasses, lethal, containing millions of circles, too sharp and substantial for the cardboard box that contained them. Grown-up ink, black triumphs, ineradicable mistakes. Leather bags for the dedicated trek from home to class, arms free for snowball or chestnut attacks. Paper clips surprisingly heavy in their small box, rulers with markings as complicated and important as a Spitfire’s dashboard, stick red-bordered labels to fasten your name to anything. All tools benign, unused. Nothing yet an accomplice to failure. Fry’s smelled newer than even a winter newspaper brought in after the thump on the porch. And he commanded all these sparkling lieutenants.
In his best moments he reminds me of CS Lewis.
Some women possess their beauty as they do a custom sports-car or a thoroughbred horse. They drive it hard to every appointment and grant interviews from the saddle. The lucky ones have small accidents and learn to walk in the street, because nobody wants to listen to an arrogant old lady. Some women wear moss over their beauty and occasionally something rips it away – a lover, a pregnancy, maybe a death – and an incredible smile shows through, deep happy eyes, perfect skin, but this is temporary and soon the moss re-forms. Some women study and counterfeit beauty. Industries have been established to serve these women, and men are conditioned to favor them. Some women inherit beauty as a family feature, and learn to value it slowly, as the scion of a great family becomes proud of an unusual chin because so many distinguished men bore it. And some women, Breavman thought, women like Shell, create it as they go along, changing not so much their faces as the air around them. They break down old rules of light and cannot be interpreted or compared. They make every room original.
Saturday 22 November, 02003
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the all blacks lost to australia on sat. It was a game which must have done wonders for the new zealand marijuana economy as rugby fans all tried to escape the horrible reality of it all. Aaaaaah!
Anyway, something drastic is bound to happen in nz rugby. Here are a couple of suggestions:
1) Fire john mitchell. All his crap about a ‘journey’ obviously didn’t work. Beyond that facade of being the stereo typical dumbarse lock forward, i wonder if he’s actualy clever enough to regret not picking mehrtens and cullen ( i love hindsight). Someone like merhts who can actualy kick drop goals could’ve come in handy when we couldn’t score tries. john, there’s being ‘different’ and ‘controversial’, then there’s just being plain ‘stoopid’!
2) I heard this wonderful concept on radio sport when i woke up this morning…Richie McCaw for captain. I concur. The ab’s problem over the last five years has been that none of the captains were actualy the best in their positions. Richie definitely is and he leads by example.
Wednesday 19 November, 02003
I’ve moved house. I now live at 4b Wilkinson Street in Oriental Bay, Wellington. New phone number is 04 977 5179. It’s pretty mint so far. I’ve got a bunch of cool new flatmates: Shannon Richard Tonga Dave and Jaapie. Everyone here seems to play at least two instruments. The lounge has a beautiful view of Wellington harbour. It’s pretty clean. There’s room to sunbathe. The beach is no minutes walk. I’m pretty thankful.
Incidentally, you may be interested to know that i didn’t get the job at the Salvation Army that i have been pinning my Every Hope And Dream upon. So that is a shame.
Monday 17 November, 02003
People demand freedom of speech to make up for the freedom of thought which they avoid.
Sunday 16 November, 02003
Spent this past week on holiday with Richie & Simon up north. We went skiing, hotpooling and visiting and it was all super nice. I got some really nice clothes up north – a maroon leather jacket for $30 from Rotorua Salvation Army, which Simon picked out for me; and some brown flares for $60 from the seconds shop in Taihape. Jono’s 21st was pretty phat too, aside from some unbelievably reprehensible behaviour on the part of yourstruly. Started moving into new flat yesterday, feels like i’m getting married to five strangers. Slept in till noon, missed church and choir. Worked with youth groupers on plays for the Brooklyn Festival. Got church this avo which i’d rather miss but have promised the choir director i’ll turn up for practise which is immediately before the service. Apparently we lost some sport on the weekend.