On Sunday 9 April, Peru will go to the polls to elect a new President and Congress. Since there will almost certainly not be a clear majority for any candidate, a second round of voting for president is expected to take place on 7 May.
It's a significant time for Peru; after all the turmoil of the last twenty years, it will be a substantial achievement for the process to run calmly, produce a clear set of results, and deliver an orderly handover of power.
Beyond that, the election will have a major influence on how the country develops over the next five years. There are fairly stark political differences between the presidential candidates, and the eventual outcome will give weight to one of the competing visions of the overall political and economic direction of South America.
The presidential candidates in Peru and their parties are:
Lourdes Flores Nano
The candidate for the Unidad Nacional party, Lourdes Flores is hoping to follow the example of Chile's Michele Bachelet and be the second woman elected president of a South American country. Described by some as a "right-wing conservative", she is in truth more of a pragmatist and a social liberal. Her policies and even some of her language appear to be modelled on those of Alvaro Uribe, the popular centre-right president of Colombia.
In congress since 1990, Flores distinguished herself by being among the staunchest opponents of Alberto Fujimori's constitutional coup in 1992 and a consistent critic of the Fujimori administration. In the last five years she has generally supported the neoliberal, trade-oriented policies of Alejandro Toledo.
Though she was a clear leader in polls as late as December 2005, Flores has gradually been overtaken by Ollanta Humala (see below). The latest poll shows her second, on 27 percent. However, on a head-to-head basis with Humala - likely to be the case in the second round of voting - polls have her preferred by 53 to 47 percent.
According to a poll reported by Peruvian TV station 90 Segundos, of those who say they will vote for Lourdes Flores, only 7 percent are motivated by a belief that she will combat corruption. Twenty-one percent say they will vote for her simply because she is a woman, while 39 percent favour her proposed policies.
She promises to modernize the armed forces, create 650,000 jobs per year through mixed public and private investment, and lift tourism from 1,200,000 to 2 million visitors per annum. Her contribution to the obligatory rhetorical bashing of traditional enemy Chile has been a call to beat Peru's southern neighbour at its own game by strengthening commerce and "winninng the war of globalization".
Her campaign to date has focussed on an exhausting schedule of streetside meet and greet sessions in different parts of Peru. She danced the marinera (the national folk dance) in a visit to the north coast, and got down to reggaeton in the jungle city of Pucallpa.
Despite these efforts, and her clear, concrete policies, critics say that she is struggling to shake off her image as the "candidate of the rich" and to connect emotionally with majority of poor, marginalised Peruvians.
Ollanta Humala
Formerly a lieutenant colonel in the Peruvian army, Humala is head of the Partido Nacionalista, but for the election he and his candidates are running under the banner of the liberal Union por el Peru.
Along with his father Isaac and his brothers Antauro and Ulises, Ollanta Humala is a founder of the "etnocacerist" movement, which combines promotion of power for indigenous people with economic nationalism.
Widely described as a "left-wing populist", Humala sees himself as being in the mould of Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez, and newly elected Bolivian leader Evo Morales. In January he attended the visit of president-elect Morales to the presidential palace in Caracas, where both Chavez and Morales pledged their support.
He promises to "stamp out" corruption and restore dignity to the Peruvian armed forces, which he says have been corrupted by involvement in drug trafficking and domination by graduates of the CIA-influenced School of the Americas (where he himself trained). He opposes foreign control of economic resources in Peru (especially by Chile) and proposes renationalization of key industries, beginning with the most recently privatized.
However, he has stressed a commitment to South American integration and "brotherhood", and boasted of his meetings with Chavez, Morales, Kirchner (Argentina) and Lula (Brazil) - pointedly, of course, leaving out Chile.
Humala has a chequered military and political history. In 1992 he commanded a unit near Tingo Maria during the struggle against the Shining Path, where it is alleged that he involved in human rights abuses. Investigations into this matter are ongoing.
In 2000, he led an "uprising" against Fujimori in the sierra of the Tacna region, along with about 60 other soldiers. Hugo Chavez recently called this a "quixotic" effort, but others have suggested that it was a piece of grandstanding, at a time when Fujimori's government was already crumbling.
Antauro is currently in jail, after his own abortive "uprising" in Andahualylas in January 2005, which I wrote about at the time (there's also some further background on etnocacerism in that post), in which four policemen and one rebel were killed.
Ollanta, who was at the time a military attache in South Korea, gave a rather extraordinary interview to the BBC (here, in Spanish), in which he appeared to both distance himself from the actions of his brother and also justify them.
His campaign has involved many large public rallies, at which he rouses the crowds with stirring rhetoric.
As he has developed his candidacy, Ollanta Humala has been at pains to distance himself from some of the more extreme pronouncements of his family. His father Isaac openly embraces a racial politics, promoting power for "the brown race", and has called the childless Lourdes Flores "an old maid", while his mother Elena has made violently anti-gay remarks. Antauro has contented himself with suggesting that the current president, his wife, and the prime minister "should be shot".
Ollanta has reportedly told his parents to stop making public pronouncements, and groaned at a press conference that "sometimes I wonder if Antauro is actually an enemy".
However, Antauro was today (6 April) recorded as saying from his jail cell that the distance established between himself and Ollanta is "strategic" and that "[their] objective is the same".
The Lima-based media views Humala with fear and loathing. News and current affairs outlets openly warn of his authoritarian tendencies and his "threat to democracy". They reacted with some horror to the perceived subtext of Humala's suggestion that, under his presidency, media would be enlisted as "allies in the battle against corruption".
However, this is all rather counter-productive, as it simply cements the reputation of Humala as an outsider who is distinct from the traditional political class.
Neither the finger-wagging of the Lima elites nor the human rights abuse allegations have defused the visceral response of Humala's supporters, who simply see an underdog that shakes his fist on their behalf at the rich, white, and poweful. His appeal is especially strong with voters who are poor, uneducated, and male.
The 90 Segundos poll found that of those who would vote for Humala, the most popular reason was "because he will address corruption" (29 percent), while all of 1o percent would vote for him simply because he is ex-military.
Alan Garcia
Former president of Peru, 1985-90. Garcia, known to all and sundry in Peru simply as "Alan", is the the leader of the APRA party. Founded in 1924 by Victor Raul Haya de la Torre, APRA is the oldest of the Peruvian parties. Originally Marxist, now turned social democratic, it was periodically banned up until 1979.
When APRA and the fresh-faced, 36 year-old Alan Garcia were elected in the 1985 polls, there was a wave of optimism, and he began his term with the support and hopes of a large proportion of the population.
Instead, his term was an unmitigated debacle, characterized by hyperinflation of a cumulative two million percent, the intensifying of the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) terrorist insurgency, human rights abuses by the military, a 20 percent fall in Peruvian GDP, and an estimated additional five million Peruvians dropping below the poverty line.
Among other achievements, funding allocated for a desparately needed mass transit system in Lima "disappeared", and the project has only recently recommenced.
Meanwhile, Alan Garcia managed to enrich himself. Some allege that during the 1990 elections he and APRA clandestinely backed Alberto Fujimori in the second round of voting against the first-round winner, author Mario Vargas Llosa, whose party had promised to investigate allegations of corruption against Garcia.
But following Fujimori's auto-coup in 1992, charges were re-opened against Alan Garcia. He escaped to Colombia, where he remained until 2001, when the statute of limitations was deemed to have run out. Forty-eight days after arriving back in Peru, he ran as a candidate in the presidential election, where he won 48% of the vote (Peruvians being tigers for punishment) and was narrowly defeated by Alejandro Toledo.
This time around he has averaged around 21 percent in the polls, consistently in third place, though in a late surge there's a chance he could push Lourdes Flores out of second spot. Most polls show that in a run-off between Humala and Alan Garcia, Humala would win easily.
His greatest claim to fame in recent times was when during a protest march he allegedly kicked the backside of a poor homeless man who got in his way. This was siezed on by many as a truer representative of his personality than his stirring oratory, and "la patada (kick) de Alan" is frequently referred to in discussions of Peruvian politics.
Though the media tends to present him as a failed and petulant buffoon, he is definitely viewed as the lesser of two evils when compared to Humala. Not only is it assumed that he and his party learned their lessons from the disasters of the 80s, but more importantly he is a known quantity, a stable and predictable part of the political establishment.
In my next post, I'll look at the possible influence of the minor candidates, and the legacy of the outgoing president, Alejandro Toledo.
Categories: South America, Peru, Peruvian Elections, elecciones peruanas, Lourdes Flores, Ollanta Humala, Alan Garcia
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
South America Again
Casual readers of this blog might wonder why it's called "South America Bidsta". Ok, so actually it's a bit of a dumb name and I should probably change it at some stage.
"Bidsta" is me; one of those blokey monikers your friends give you. Originally I called the blog "Bidsta Blog": back in 2003 I was still among the first few million early adopters of blogging, so it still seemed like a less than completely lame idea to put "blog" in the title.
Then, when I was in South America (where I spent a year from April 2004 - April 2005), I decided to add Google's Adsense code to my site, in the hope that I'd get a few visitors who'd click on the ads and make me a few cents from my blogging (yes, I should have known better...). It then ocurred to me that if I added "South America" to the title of the blog, Google's robots would figure that my posts were mostly about SOUTH AMERICA and post appropriate ads - probably about travel to said continent.
People who visited my site would then be so intrigued by my fascinating tales of life in Peru and elsewhere, they'd probably want to think about going there. Aha! - they'd look to the top of the page to find a travel agency offering adventure tours. Click! And I make nineteen cents US.
A nice, naiive theory, spoiled by the fact that Google seems to have made a big experiment out of how it applies ads to people's pages (my posts on South America now have ads for travel there - many months after anyone might have read them). In addition, about 1 percent of people visiting a website tend to click on the ads, no matter how relevant they might be. And finally, at that stage I hadn't figured out how to publicise the blog to anyone but my friends and family (most of whom had forgotten who I was by late 2004), and had got a bit sporadic with my posts amidst my commitments to romance and adventure amidst the towering Andes etc etc.
With the results that my insightful updates on Peruvian politics and dashing tales of trekking im the wilderness were read by a total of about three people. Which kind of cut down the percentages at ad-click time.
Now, I've been back for about a year and have posted (ranted, perhaps) on all kinds of things, with a recent trend towards complaining about getting woken up in the morning. Though my AdSense clicks are a lost cause, my average traffic has gradually climbed, thanks to my links into Technorati, a handful of regular readers, and oh, all of about three people who have been so kind as to exchange links with me. I should be refining my position as a boutique pundit on New Zealand affairs.
But, at this pivotal moment, it turns out that I'm actually going to South America again. Yes, on the 18th of April I fly out from Auckland, bound for Lima.
This will be quite a different trip from last time. Then, I spent a year with the general goal of meeting people, making friends, learning something about the culture and history , and ticking off as many tourist highlights as possible.
It worked out pretty well. Like many before me, I was enchanted by the beauty and joie de vivre of the city of Arequipa in southern Peru, which I ended up making by base and my home for about six months.
I walked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu and did the Death Road and Salar de Uyuni in Boliva. I climbed 6,000-metre mountains and trekked though the remote back country of the Andes. I went rafting and horse riding in Argentina, visited the coffee-growing centre of Colombia, and explored the ruins of the Lambayeque, Moche, Chimu, Wari and Nazca cultures on Peru's desert coast. I compared the nightime carrete, juerga and rumba in Santiago, Lima, Cali, Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro. I met the taciturn natives of Lake Titicaca and the staggeringly beautiful girls of Cordoba.
At all times I stuck strictly to the moutains, deserts, canyons, coasts and cities. Although if you look at a map of South America you will see an enormous green swathe which takes up almost a third of the continent's land mass, I did not once set foot in the Amazon. In my total of eighteen months spent in Latin America I've never yet been into the jungle. I admit, I'm a little squeamish about it.
But this time I'm biting the bullet. After a week to ten days catching up with friends in Arequipa, I intend to head back to Lima and then make the arduous and mildly dangerous trip across the Andes and into the lowlands, all the way to the frontier town of Pucallpa, which is the end of the road.
From there, it's by boat, four days down river to Iquitos, a city of 500,000 people - the world's largest with no road connection. This, I understand, is a trip you probably want to do once; most people who can afford it take the plane. Hot, dirty, crowded, terrible food, surrounded by beggars and thieves, I'll almost certainly suffer, and will probably regret ever deciding to do it.
Jungle tours can be arranged from Iquitos (and I understand it has quite a nightlife), but you're still not fully in the virgin Amazon. So I plan to take another boat even further downriver, to Leticia. This is small town, actually in Colombia, but right at the point where the borders of Colombia, Peru and Brazil meet. If you were really motivated to do so, this is probably a spot you could disappear and erase your identity.
Leticia is a backwater with almost mythical status; a kind of lost Macondo in the steaming jungle. I've read a bit about the area, and am eager to see it for real.
From Leticia there really is no way back unless you want to spend a week plugging upriver. So, assuming I've got that far and haven't been struck down by malaria, I'll grab a spot on a local plane into Bogota. What Garcia Marquez derided as a grey and serious city should be very welcome after my sojourn in the insect-ridden Amazon. From there I fly out to Santiago (ci-vi-li-zacion! as the bus driver called out when we crossed the Bolivian frontier into Chile on my last trip) for three days, then finally back to Enzed.
There's a lot I want to achieve on this trip. Just for a start, to properly record some of the many colorful, larger-than-life stories my friends and acquantainces from Arequipa tell so eloquently. And to finally get hold of a decent selection of CDs of the huaynos, chicha and tecno-cumbia that, for me, makes Peru Mexico's rival in richness of musical culture and its superior in originality.
In addition, I want to push my comfort boundaries a bit and dig a bit deeper into learning about people's lives. Last time I thought I figured out quite a lot about what makes Peru tick, but I didn't really scratch too far beneath the surface. This time I will be attempting to tear myself away from another round of pisco sours and flirting with the cute girls dancing merengue, and do some of the possibly difficult, tiresome and unpleasant work of understanding the place better
It's the Peruvian elections on the 9th of April, and what will almost certainly be a second round of the presidential vote in May when I'm there. This will be a fairly pivotal moment, not only for Peru, but for helping define the overall direction of South America and its political future for the next five to ten years.
I'll try and post on that while I'm there, as well as providing regular updates on my trip into the jungle (and apologies if I'm making it sound like Heart of Darkness). In the meantime, in the next few weeks expect a couple of (possibly rather serious) posts on South America, and in particular that strange bundle of contradictions and absurdities which is Peru and its political life.
Categories: South America, Peru, Colombia
"Bidsta" is me; one of those blokey monikers your friends give you. Originally I called the blog "Bidsta Blog": back in 2003 I was still among the first few million early adopters of blogging, so it still seemed like a less than completely lame idea to put "blog" in the title.
Then, when I was in South America (where I spent a year from April 2004 - April 2005), I decided to add Google's Adsense code to my site, in the hope that I'd get a few visitors who'd click on the ads and make me a few cents from my blogging (yes, I should have known better...). It then ocurred to me that if I added "South America" to the title of the blog, Google's robots would figure that my posts were mostly about SOUTH AMERICA and post appropriate ads - probably about travel to said continent.
People who visited my site would then be so intrigued by my fascinating tales of life in Peru and elsewhere, they'd probably want to think about going there. Aha! - they'd look to the top of the page to find a travel agency offering adventure tours. Click! And I make nineteen cents US.
A nice, naiive theory, spoiled by the fact that Google seems to have made a big experiment out of how it applies ads to people's pages (my posts on South America now have ads for travel there - many months after anyone might have read them). In addition, about 1 percent of people visiting a website tend to click on the ads, no matter how relevant they might be. And finally, at that stage I hadn't figured out how to publicise the blog to anyone but my friends and family (most of whom had forgotten who I was by late 2004), and had got a bit sporadic with my posts amidst my commitments to romance and adventure amidst the towering Andes etc etc.
With the results that my insightful updates on Peruvian politics and dashing tales of trekking im the wilderness were read by a total of about three people. Which kind of cut down the percentages at ad-click time.
Now, I've been back for about a year and have posted (ranted, perhaps) on all kinds of things, with a recent trend towards complaining about getting woken up in the morning. Though my AdSense clicks are a lost cause, my average traffic has gradually climbed, thanks to my links into Technorati, a handful of regular readers, and oh, all of about three people who have been so kind as to exchange links with me. I should be refining my position as a boutique pundit on New Zealand affairs.
But, at this pivotal moment, it turns out that I'm actually going to South America again. Yes, on the 18th of April I fly out from Auckland, bound for Lima.
This will be quite a different trip from last time. Then, I spent a year with the general goal of meeting people, making friends, learning something about the culture and history , and ticking off as many tourist highlights as possible.
It worked out pretty well. Like many before me, I was enchanted by the beauty and joie de vivre of the city of Arequipa in southern Peru, which I ended up making by base and my home for about six months.
I walked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu and did the Death Road and Salar de Uyuni in Boliva. I climbed 6,000-metre mountains and trekked though the remote back country of the Andes. I went rafting and horse riding in Argentina, visited the coffee-growing centre of Colombia, and explored the ruins of the Lambayeque, Moche, Chimu, Wari and Nazca cultures on Peru's desert coast. I compared the nightime carrete, juerga and rumba in Santiago, Lima, Cali, Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro. I met the taciturn natives of Lake Titicaca and the staggeringly beautiful girls of Cordoba.
At all times I stuck strictly to the moutains, deserts, canyons, coasts and cities. Although if you look at a map of South America you will see an enormous green swathe which takes up almost a third of the continent's land mass, I did not once set foot in the Amazon. In my total of eighteen months spent in Latin America I've never yet been into the jungle. I admit, I'm a little squeamish about it.
But this time I'm biting the bullet. After a week to ten days catching up with friends in Arequipa, I intend to head back to Lima and then make the arduous and mildly dangerous trip across the Andes and into the lowlands, all the way to the frontier town of Pucallpa, which is the end of the road.
From there, it's by boat, four days down river to Iquitos, a city of 500,000 people - the world's largest with no road connection. This, I understand, is a trip you probably want to do once; most people who can afford it take the plane. Hot, dirty, crowded, terrible food, surrounded by beggars and thieves, I'll almost certainly suffer, and will probably regret ever deciding to do it.
Jungle tours can be arranged from Iquitos (and I understand it has quite a nightlife), but you're still not fully in the virgin Amazon. So I plan to take another boat even further downriver, to Leticia. This is small town, actually in Colombia, but right at the point where the borders of Colombia, Peru and Brazil meet. If you were really motivated to do so, this is probably a spot you could disappear and erase your identity.
Leticia is a backwater with almost mythical status; a kind of lost Macondo in the steaming jungle. I've read a bit about the area, and am eager to see it for real.
From Leticia there really is no way back unless you want to spend a week plugging upriver. So, assuming I've got that far and haven't been struck down by malaria, I'll grab a spot on a local plane into Bogota. What Garcia Marquez derided as a grey and serious city should be very welcome after my sojourn in the insect-ridden Amazon. From there I fly out to Santiago (ci-vi-li-zacion! as the bus driver called out when we crossed the Bolivian frontier into Chile on my last trip) for three days, then finally back to Enzed.
There's a lot I want to achieve on this trip. Just for a start, to properly record some of the many colorful, larger-than-life stories my friends and acquantainces from Arequipa tell so eloquently. And to finally get hold of a decent selection of CDs of the huaynos, chicha and tecno-cumbia that, for me, makes Peru Mexico's rival in richness of musical culture and its superior in originality.
In addition, I want to push my comfort boundaries a bit and dig a bit deeper into learning about people's lives. Last time I thought I figured out quite a lot about what makes Peru tick, but I didn't really scratch too far beneath the surface. This time I will be attempting to tear myself away from another round of pisco sours and flirting with the cute girls dancing merengue, and do some of the possibly difficult, tiresome and unpleasant work of understanding the place better
It's the Peruvian elections on the 9th of April, and what will almost certainly be a second round of the presidential vote in May when I'm there. This will be a fairly pivotal moment, not only for Peru, but for helping define the overall direction of South America and its political future for the next five to ten years.
I'll try and post on that while I'm there, as well as providing regular updates on my trip into the jungle (and apologies if I'm making it sound like Heart of Darkness). In the meantime, in the next few weeks expect a couple of (possibly rather serious) posts on South America, and in particular that strange bundle of contradictions and absurdities which is Peru and its political life.
Categories: South America, Peru, Colombia
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
The "Man Drought" Strikes Back
Last August I posted on the so-called New Zealand "man drought". Uncovered by an opportunistic Australian who had read off some numbers from the 2001 census, this "drought" involved an apparent demographic gender imbalance in the 20-49 age group.
It was quickly seized upon by the print media, TV, watercooler chatter, and people like my flatmate's 24 year-old friend who rang her up and asked anxiously: "Did you hear? There's a man drought in Wellington!" (with a tone that might have been suitable for "earthquake" or "bird flu epidemic"). [Postscript: I saw said friend at a party a few weeks later, surrounded by at least four eager and jostling males].
Though I had some personal perspectives and theories on why the "drought" was becoming an instant cultural myth, my initial priority was to post on its lamentably dumb, credulous treatment in the media. I was going to do a follow up, but as time went by, figured it was maybe too silly a topic to waste the effort on.
But now the man drought is back in the news. "New Zealand women settle for less" shouted the headline in last weeks Christchurch Press. Supposedly a trend has been identified of women "marrying down", by choosing partners of lower educational, and sometimes economic, status, because of a lack of eligible men.
The resident expert is again boffiny Wellington economist Paul Callister, who appeared in print and on TV last time around spouting off about the future dynamics of relationships.
He has been contracted by the Department of Labour to investigate the demographic imbalance. Among his findings are that, surprise surprise, the "man drought" has been overhyped. The gap in women and men in the 20-49 age group is actually more like 33,000 rather than the 53,000 depicted by the 2001 census.
But he thinks he has uncovered a drought of sorts - one of smart blokes:
Callister said the most significant finding of his research was a 10 per cent increase in the past two decades in highly educated women marrying men with fewer qualifications and, in many cases, lower-paid jobs. This had happened largely because of a lack of eligible partners of equal educational or economic status, he said.
The Press article eagerly extended the metaphor of scarcity , talking of "slim pickings" for women. Predictably, Michael Laws got uncouthly in on the act in the Sunday Star Times, commenting that "the man drought...has had the effect of single women searching out any male with a pulse in an attempt to copulate and breed".
But as appealing as the idea might be to some of scores of frustrated women casting around for well-educated men (someone point them out, please), I just don't buy it.
Assuming that the statistics actually have the significance that's claimed, how's this for an alternative interpretation? Maybe New Zealand women, increasingly likely to be well-educated and with independent means, are simply indulging their existing inclination to partner up with the rugby players, farmers and tradespeople who our culture constantly tells us are the only really acceptable Kiwi blokes?
But in fact there is reason to suspect that the meaning of the stats has been twisted. To know what the significance is of 10 percent more highly educated women "marrying down", you'd have to know some other facts, including what the overall increase has been in highly educated women over the last two decades. If, as is likely, this has increased by more than 10 percent, the number of women "marrying down" might have increased, but not the proportion.
In other words, highly educated women are no more likely to "marry down"; there are just more of them. So it's not about a paucity of men at all - but the fact that there's more girls with degrees.
Seen this way, the discussion appears to be less about what is still a dubious and poorly quantified gender imbalance, and more a somewhat sexist insecurity about disturbance to the natural order of things.
Categories: New Zealand, man drought
It was quickly seized upon by the print media, TV, watercooler chatter, and people like my flatmate's 24 year-old friend who rang her up and asked anxiously: "Did you hear? There's a man drought in Wellington!" (with a tone that might have been suitable for "earthquake" or "bird flu epidemic"). [Postscript: I saw said friend at a party a few weeks later, surrounded by at least four eager and jostling males].
Though I had some personal perspectives and theories on why the "drought" was becoming an instant cultural myth, my initial priority was to post on its lamentably dumb, credulous treatment in the media. I was going to do a follow up, but as time went by, figured it was maybe too silly a topic to waste the effort on.
But now the man drought is back in the news. "New Zealand women settle for less" shouted the headline in last weeks Christchurch Press. Supposedly a trend has been identified of women "marrying down", by choosing partners of lower educational, and sometimes economic, status, because of a lack of eligible men.
The resident expert is again boffiny Wellington economist Paul Callister, who appeared in print and on TV last time around spouting off about the future dynamics of relationships.
He has been contracted by the Department of Labour to investigate the demographic imbalance. Among his findings are that, surprise surprise, the "man drought" has been overhyped. The gap in women and men in the 20-49 age group is actually more like 33,000 rather than the 53,000 depicted by the 2001 census.
But he thinks he has uncovered a drought of sorts - one of smart blokes:
Callister said the most significant finding of his research was a 10 per cent increase in the past two decades in highly educated women marrying men with fewer qualifications and, in many cases, lower-paid jobs. This had happened largely because of a lack of eligible partners of equal educational or economic status, he said.
The Press article eagerly extended the metaphor of scarcity , talking of "slim pickings" for women. Predictably, Michael Laws got uncouthly in on the act in the Sunday Star Times, commenting that "the man drought...has had the effect of single women searching out any male with a pulse in an attempt to copulate and breed".
But as appealing as the idea might be to some of scores of frustrated women casting around for well-educated men (someone point them out, please), I just don't buy it.
Assuming that the statistics actually have the significance that's claimed, how's this for an alternative interpretation? Maybe New Zealand women, increasingly likely to be well-educated and with independent means, are simply indulging their existing inclination to partner up with the rugby players, farmers and tradespeople who our culture constantly tells us are the only really acceptable Kiwi blokes?
But in fact there is reason to suspect that the meaning of the stats has been twisted. To know what the significance is of 10 percent more highly educated women "marrying down", you'd have to know some other facts, including what the overall increase has been in highly educated women over the last two decades. If, as is likely, this has increased by more than 10 percent, the number of women "marrying down" might have increased, but not the proportion.
In other words, highly educated women are no more likely to "marry down"; there are just more of them. So it's not about a paucity of men at all - but the fact that there's more girls with degrees.
Seen this way, the discussion appears to be less about what is still a dubious and poorly quantified gender imbalance, and more a somewhat sexist insecurity about disturbance to the natural order of things.
Categories: New Zealand, man drought
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Kiwi towns
Apparently, John Cleese trashed Palmerston North on his website, describing it as "suicide capital of New Zealand" after his recent visit here.
While Manawatu luminaries naturally feigned surprise and outrage, NZPA columnist Belinda McCammon thought it an opportune moment to dredge up all the nasty things that celebrities (from Charles Darwin on) had said about NZ (I don't know; you try and be a smart ass, and find that you've actually taken a literal tone...)
Cleese was hardly being original, anyway. PN is the currently accepted whipping-post for NZers wanting to dump all their fears about being provincial and backward onto a single place.
I forget exactly who was the recently returned NZ author, exiled in Europe for many years, who wrote in a column in the Dom Post that: "Those who grew up in Palmerston North dreamed of escape. Those who gew up in Fielding dreamed only of death".
Invercargill, immortalised by Keith Richards as "the asshole of the world", has now been rehabilitated somewhat. It seems you can't stay rock bottom for too long before you become edgy and avant garde.
A litle while ago a fashion-conscious friend of mine even suggested it could be a hidden gem. "Study journalism at the tech nearly for free; do a diving course; fresh oysters; great walking tracks on your doorstep; Queenstown and Central Otago just up the road", she listed with growing conviction. Mind you, she did grow up in AshVegas.
It's all put me in the mood to make a new "best and worst list". New Zealand is a country where urban development often seems to have been treated as an afterthought, and NZers and foreigners alike have long written off particular places as unbelievably dull, sterile and provincial (until recently, foreign travel writers often did this to NZ towns and cities en masse) . Yet it's not all bad - there have always been spots with some charm and flair. And other places with potential that sadly hasn't been realised.
Having travelled around most (though not all) of New Zealand in several tours with a folk-rock covers band, I've also been a keen observer of how the atmosphere and character changes from place to place.
Here are my picks and special mentions:
Ugliest town: Very hard to go past Huntly. Kind of Hull-on-the-Waikato ambience. Has a depressed and slightly creepy feeling. There was a fuss a couple of years ago when a motorway extension was being built in the area and local Maori claimed that a taniwha was being disturbed. Not hard to believe. Drive past the area aptly known as Long Swamp, not far north of Huntly, and you get the distinct impression that several mean-spirited taniwhas lurk nearby.
Honourable mention: Blenheim - I haven't been there for a few years, and people tell me that all the sauvignon blanc money that's poured in has changed the face of it a bit. But it would be a slow process prettifying a place which seemed to have made a serious study in defying the surrounding natural beauty by being as featureless and dull as possible.
Most attractive town: no obvious winner. Of course, New Zealand is full of diverse and dramatic natural beauty. Some of the urban spots which haven't squandered the benefits of their settings, and have even added to them, include: Paihia and Russell, Picton, Akaroa, Arrowtown, Clyde, Lyttelton, Oamaru, Hanmer and Martinborough.
Most underated: 1. Cromwell - before it became Pinot Noirsville, there was an austere charm to Cromwell, nestled in its desert setting under the Pisa Range. Most of the old stone town centre was drowned when the Clyde Dam created Lake Dunstan, but some of it is still preserved. Less well acknowledged, the new town was innovative (for NZ) with its "greenway" which ensures swathes of green public space between the residential crescents and cul-de-sacs.
Summers are actually hotter than in neighbouring Alexandra, and the general atomsphere is much nicer. There's a lazy rural feel and people are open and extra friendly. Though I'm still not sure about those giant fruit...
2. Westport - walk down Wesport's main street and it feels like you're stepping back thirty, or even fifty years. It has an uncontrived nostalgia, almost a sense of being forgotten. With almost everywhere these days featuring compulsory snappy cafes with fusion cuisine and latte, there's something comforting about heading down to the tearooms for a greasy mixed grill with shoddy filter coffee. The fact that, since its heyday, change has always come slowly to this remote spot, gives it a lingering sense of history. It's got a lush, mild feel, and is on the doorstep of some wild, beautiful scenery.
As a touring band, it would have to rank among the top few places we ever played. At the Black & White pub, gigs were genuinely wild, as locals and folk in from the bush mixed with backpackers sensing this was one place they could throw off their inhibitions and have a truly good time.
Most overrated: 1. Nelson. Don't get me wrong, the natural setting is absolutely outstanding, between the sea and three different ranges of mountains. The layout of the town is attractive enough as well, with its greenery, cathedral set amidst gardens, and the white hospital on the hill. But the cold, snobbish ambience is exactly what you'd expect if you took Christchurch, with all its stratified reserve, and shrunk it to one seventh its size.
2. Motueka - again, the sun and scenery flatter to deceive. This is Timaru with grapefruit. Stay around too long and you start to hear the banjos being plucked.
Biggest failure to take advantage of natural attributes: Napier and Hastings - the only real natural drawback of the twin Bay cities is that they're a bit isolated. In their favour is a decent port, perhaps the best climate in New Zealand, historic wealth from the hinterland - now with international prominence for its Bordeaux-style red wines - collective population great than Dunedin, and the silver lining of having to start afresh after the 1931 earthquake.
Yet Napier and Hastings have divided themselves rigidly along class lines, carried on internecine squabbles over infrastructure, and ended up creating a rather dull place which has little cultural, economic, educational or political impact on the New Zealand scene.
Honourable mention: Whangarei - warm, lush, surrounded by unique mangrove swamps, native bush and bird life, and island-dotted bays and beaches so beautiful they make you weep, you'd think the town could have been inspired to do better. But again, class differences and poverty are the strongest impressions.
Please post your own views of the best and worst of NZ's towns. I realise there's a distinct South Island bias in the ones I've mentioned here. Some parts I haven't really visited at all include Southland, Eastern Bay of Plenty and East Cape. And some of my judgements are based on more fleeting impressions than others, so feel free to vehemently disagree.
Categories: New Zealand, New Zealand towns
While Manawatu luminaries naturally feigned surprise and outrage, NZPA columnist Belinda McCammon thought it an opportune moment to dredge up all the nasty things that celebrities (from Charles Darwin on) had said about NZ (I don't know; you try and be a smart ass, and find that you've actually taken a literal tone...)
Cleese was hardly being original, anyway. PN is the currently accepted whipping-post for NZers wanting to dump all their fears about being provincial and backward onto a single place.
I forget exactly who was the recently returned NZ author, exiled in Europe for many years, who wrote in a column in the Dom Post that: "Those who grew up in Palmerston North dreamed of escape. Those who gew up in Fielding dreamed only of death".
Invercargill, immortalised by Keith Richards as "the asshole of the world", has now been rehabilitated somewhat. It seems you can't stay rock bottom for too long before you become edgy and avant garde.
A litle while ago a fashion-conscious friend of mine even suggested it could be a hidden gem. "Study journalism at the tech nearly for free; do a diving course; fresh oysters; great walking tracks on your doorstep; Queenstown and Central Otago just up the road", she listed with growing conviction. Mind you, she did grow up in AshVegas.
It's all put me in the mood to make a new "best and worst list". New Zealand is a country where urban development often seems to have been treated as an afterthought, and NZers and foreigners alike have long written off particular places as unbelievably dull, sterile and provincial (until recently, foreign travel writers often did this to NZ towns and cities en masse) . Yet it's not all bad - there have always been spots with some charm and flair. And other places with potential that sadly hasn't been realised.
Having travelled around most (though not all) of New Zealand in several tours with a folk-rock covers band, I've also been a keen observer of how the atmosphere and character changes from place to place.
Here are my picks and special mentions:
Ugliest town: Very hard to go past Huntly. Kind of Hull-on-the-Waikato ambience. Has a depressed and slightly creepy feeling. There was a fuss a couple of years ago when a motorway extension was being built in the area and local Maori claimed that a taniwha was being disturbed. Not hard to believe. Drive past the area aptly known as Long Swamp, not far north of Huntly, and you get the distinct impression that several mean-spirited taniwhas lurk nearby.
Honourable mention: Blenheim - I haven't been there for a few years, and people tell me that all the sauvignon blanc money that's poured in has changed the face of it a bit. But it would be a slow process prettifying a place which seemed to have made a serious study in defying the surrounding natural beauty by being as featureless and dull as possible.
Most attractive town: no obvious winner. Of course, New Zealand is full of diverse and dramatic natural beauty. Some of the urban spots which haven't squandered the benefits of their settings, and have even added to them, include: Paihia and Russell, Picton, Akaroa, Arrowtown, Clyde, Lyttelton, Oamaru, Hanmer and Martinborough.
Most underated: 1. Cromwell - before it became Pinot Noirsville, there was an austere charm to Cromwell, nestled in its desert setting under the Pisa Range. Most of the old stone town centre was drowned when the Clyde Dam created Lake Dunstan, but some of it is still preserved. Less well acknowledged, the new town was innovative (for NZ) with its "greenway" which ensures swathes of green public space between the residential crescents and cul-de-sacs.
Summers are actually hotter than in neighbouring Alexandra, and the general atomsphere is much nicer. There's a lazy rural feel and people are open and extra friendly. Though I'm still not sure about those giant fruit...
2. Westport - walk down Wesport's main street and it feels like you're stepping back thirty, or even fifty years. It has an uncontrived nostalgia, almost a sense of being forgotten. With almost everywhere these days featuring compulsory snappy cafes with fusion cuisine and latte, there's something comforting about heading down to the tearooms for a greasy mixed grill with shoddy filter coffee. The fact that, since its heyday, change has always come slowly to this remote spot, gives it a lingering sense of history. It's got a lush, mild feel, and is on the doorstep of some wild, beautiful scenery.
As a touring band, it would have to rank among the top few places we ever played. At the Black & White pub, gigs were genuinely wild, as locals and folk in from the bush mixed with backpackers sensing this was one place they could throw off their inhibitions and have a truly good time.
Most overrated: 1. Nelson. Don't get me wrong, the natural setting is absolutely outstanding, between the sea and three different ranges of mountains. The layout of the town is attractive enough as well, with its greenery, cathedral set amidst gardens, and the white hospital on the hill. But the cold, snobbish ambience is exactly what you'd expect if you took Christchurch, with all its stratified reserve, and shrunk it to one seventh its size.
2. Motueka - again, the sun and scenery flatter to deceive. This is Timaru with grapefruit. Stay around too long and you start to hear the banjos being plucked.
Biggest failure to take advantage of natural attributes: Napier and Hastings - the only real natural drawback of the twin Bay cities is that they're a bit isolated. In their favour is a decent port, perhaps the best climate in New Zealand, historic wealth from the hinterland - now with international prominence for its Bordeaux-style red wines - collective population great than Dunedin, and the silver lining of having to start afresh after the 1931 earthquake.
Yet Napier and Hastings have divided themselves rigidly along class lines, carried on internecine squabbles over infrastructure, and ended up creating a rather dull place which has little cultural, economic, educational or political impact on the New Zealand scene.
Honourable mention: Whangarei - warm, lush, surrounded by unique mangrove swamps, native bush and bird life, and island-dotted bays and beaches so beautiful they make you weep, you'd think the town could have been inspired to do better. But again, class differences and poverty are the strongest impressions.
Please post your own views of the best and worst of NZ's towns. I realise there's a distinct South Island bias in the ones I've mentioned here. Some parts I haven't really visited at all include Southland, Eastern Bay of Plenty and East Cape. And some of my judgements are based on more fleeting impressions than others, so feel free to vehemently disagree.
Categories: New Zealand, New Zealand towns
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Melbourne
I spent from Tuesday evening to Friday afternoon last week in Melbourne on work-related business, and it was my first visit there. What a great city! It's a place which comes close to living up to the platitudes from the tourist brochures.
The first thing you notice, coming into the city centre from the freeway which sweeps in from the airport, is the mix of grand, aspirational architecture, Victorian and modern. Walking around at ground level, you then discover the generous areas apportioned to well trimmed and watered parks and gardens.
Trains and trams loop around the central quadrant and out to their suburban spokes with what seems like unflappable logic, leaving the inner-city traffic thin and tolerable. Wandering through the CBD, you find both shady Old World backstreets with little cafes, and futuristic multi-level plazas and galleries hedged between skyscrapers.
The weather was great, too: clear and sunny all four days, and heating up later in the week. It hit 34 degrees on Thursday and 35 degrees on Friday. I find genuine heat invigorating; it speeds up the blood and makes you feel more alive. If Wellington could manage just a few weeks of such hot weather every year it would be a much more atractive place.
When visiting a new city, I can't help trying to find points of comparison with places I already know. My first impressions were that the generously broad sidewalks shaded by drought-resistant oak, maple and plane trees had touches of Argentinian cities like Cordoba and Mendoza. Something of Toronto, too, in the evidence of forward-thinking urban planning to integrate the historic and the modern, plus the wide choice of excellent food.
Later I saw little old pubs that would fit seamlessly into a London street, and 19th-century apartment blocks which gave a distinctly Parisian feel to some areas (part of Collins St in the eastern CBD is actually known as the "Paris end").
People have often told me that Melbourne is "like Wellington", both in ambience and weather. Well, maybe it's the obvious trans-Tasman comparator, if we assume that Auckland chases after Sydney. And both places have a good standard of coffee. But beyond that, I don't really see it.
The overall feel is more like how Christchurch would be in its wildest, most grandiose dreams - if only it had the imagination. As for the weather, Melbourne is known to be fickle by Australian standards, but let's face it, they're not quite the same as New Zealand's. Suffice it to say that if Wellington ever had a minor heat wave like Melbourne last week, it would be unprecedented.
Of course, there wasn't enough time to get a real feel for the ambience and personality of the place, but as far as I could tell it had a confident, friendly vibe. The conference dinner on Wednesday was a small but riotous affair at a cheery Greek taverna which rolled out Atkins-sized quantities of meat, fish and cheese, tempered by lashings of artery-clearing red wine.
On Thursday evening I went out with some fellow conference attendees for dinner and what we thought would a quiet drink or three in an inner-city Irish pub.
About 10:30pm the place was invaded by an entourage of orientation-week students from Monash University. They had a theme of "the Commonwealth Games" for their party, and there were many risque variations on athletes, netballers and hockey players.
For the next couple of hours the students swarmed through the pub indulging in flesh-baring, cross-dressing, and gratuitous public displays of canoodling, while we all sat there feeling old. Apart from the fact that some of the students didn't look a day older than twelve, I was a bit perturbed that they seemed to be having the kind of uninhibited, decadent fun that we dreamt about, but never quite managed, during my time at university.
Is this generation more liberated and in touch with their hedonistic impulses? Or do Australians just have a better time?
With most of Friday free, I had a chance to wander further. I walked down Flinders St to Flinders St station, cavernous and painted in creamy yellow, preserved in its Victorian pomp, and with a palpable aura of nostalgia despite the throngs of people which still pass through it.
Across the road I admired the rather daringly Cubist buildings of Federation Square, which include the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. I crossed the Yarra River, looking upstream to the floodlight towers of the MCG, and walked a little way into the Alexandra and Victoria gardens in the "Yarra Green Belt". I strolled a way down the riverside promenade of glass towers, nouveau riche bistros and boutiques on Southbank and crossed the bridge back to Flinders St.
I didn't make it far out of the central city area. The tourist guide (as well laid out and coherent as the city itself) and acquaintances had suggested a trip either north to retro Brunswick or south to trendy St Kilda. But there wasn't really time.
My one indulgence was a free guided tour through the Victorian Parliament. I thought it might give me some insight into a city which gives the strong impression of never having been short of money, nor afraid to spend it.
The Parliament buildings form a broad, slate grey-edifice fronted by a row of Doric columns. They are made of Grampian stone, named after the hills in eastern Victoria from which it is sourced. Inside is a rather breathtaking opulence; ornate vaulted ceilings are lined with genuine 23-carat gold leaf.
Our tour guide Tony explained the sweet irony which accompanied the establishment of the colony of Victoria. On July 1, 1851 the state gained its independence from New South Wales, which had been "robbing us blind". Six days later, gold was discovered, the start of a forty-year rush which pumped wealth into the region.
The houses of Parliament were started in 1856, and this year is their 150th anniversary. The original design was even more grandiose, and called for the eventual replacement of the vaulted ceilings by huge glass domes. But by the 1890s the gold was running out, and further construction was canned. In fact, the buildings have never been completed to design. Apparently, Premier Jeff Kennett had a plan to finish them off in 1996, but balked at the $300 million cost in an election year.
I left thinking that Melbourne was well summed up by the name of the state of which it is the capital. As far as I could tell on my brief acquaintance, it seemed to have grown up in accordance with distinctly Victorian philosophies. Conservative in the sense of wanting to preserve tradition and believing in a hierarchy of values, but embracing progress and modernity. Materialism tempered by a strong sense of the public good.
I'm not sure that any New Zealand town has consistently struck that balance - though I also suspect that none has been quite so rich.
Maybe Melbourne doesn't have the "edge" and sense of excitement of the few truly great cities. And I've no idea what kind of job you need to be able to live anywhere close to the centre. But with its strikingly cheap public transport, along with everything else going for it, my impression is that it's close to the most complete and liveable city in Australasia.
NB - will add photos to this post later in the week.
Categories: Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, Wellington
The first thing you notice, coming into the city centre from the freeway which sweeps in from the airport, is the mix of grand, aspirational architecture, Victorian and modern. Walking around at ground level, you then discover the generous areas apportioned to well trimmed and watered parks and gardens.
Trains and trams loop around the central quadrant and out to their suburban spokes with what seems like unflappable logic, leaving the inner-city traffic thin and tolerable. Wandering through the CBD, you find both shady Old World backstreets with little cafes, and futuristic multi-level plazas and galleries hedged between skyscrapers.
The weather was great, too: clear and sunny all four days, and heating up later in the week. It hit 34 degrees on Thursday and 35 degrees on Friday. I find genuine heat invigorating; it speeds up the blood and makes you feel more alive. If Wellington could manage just a few weeks of such hot weather every year it would be a much more atractive place.
When visiting a new city, I can't help trying to find points of comparison with places I already know. My first impressions were that the generously broad sidewalks shaded by drought-resistant oak, maple and plane trees had touches of Argentinian cities like Cordoba and Mendoza. Something of Toronto, too, in the evidence of forward-thinking urban planning to integrate the historic and the modern, plus the wide choice of excellent food.
Later I saw little old pubs that would fit seamlessly into a London street, and 19th-century apartment blocks which gave a distinctly Parisian feel to some areas (part of Collins St in the eastern CBD is actually known as the "Paris end").
People have often told me that Melbourne is "like Wellington", both in ambience and weather. Well, maybe it's the obvious trans-Tasman comparator, if we assume that Auckland chases after Sydney. And both places have a good standard of coffee. But beyond that, I don't really see it.
The overall feel is more like how Christchurch would be in its wildest, most grandiose dreams - if only it had the imagination. As for the weather, Melbourne is known to be fickle by Australian standards, but let's face it, they're not quite the same as New Zealand's. Suffice it to say that if Wellington ever had a minor heat wave like Melbourne last week, it would be unprecedented.
Of course, there wasn't enough time to get a real feel for the ambience and personality of the place, but as far as I could tell it had a confident, friendly vibe. The conference dinner on Wednesday was a small but riotous affair at a cheery Greek taverna which rolled out Atkins-sized quantities of meat, fish and cheese, tempered by lashings of artery-clearing red wine.
On Thursday evening I went out with some fellow conference attendees for dinner and what we thought would a quiet drink or three in an inner-city Irish pub.
About 10:30pm the place was invaded by an entourage of orientation-week students from Monash University. They had a theme of "the Commonwealth Games" for their party, and there were many risque variations on athletes, netballers and hockey players.
For the next couple of hours the students swarmed through the pub indulging in flesh-baring, cross-dressing, and gratuitous public displays of canoodling, while we all sat there feeling old. Apart from the fact that some of the students didn't look a day older than twelve, I was a bit perturbed that they seemed to be having the kind of uninhibited, decadent fun that we dreamt about, but never quite managed, during my time at university.
Is this generation more liberated and in touch with their hedonistic impulses? Or do Australians just have a better time?
With most of Friday free, I had a chance to wander further. I walked down Flinders St to Flinders St station, cavernous and painted in creamy yellow, preserved in its Victorian pomp, and with a palpable aura of nostalgia despite the throngs of people which still pass through it.
Across the road I admired the rather daringly Cubist buildings of Federation Square, which include the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. I crossed the Yarra River, looking upstream to the floodlight towers of the MCG, and walked a little way into the Alexandra and Victoria gardens in the "Yarra Green Belt". I strolled a way down the riverside promenade of glass towers, nouveau riche bistros and boutiques on Southbank and crossed the bridge back to Flinders St.
I didn't make it far out of the central city area. The tourist guide (as well laid out and coherent as the city itself) and acquaintances had suggested a trip either north to retro Brunswick or south to trendy St Kilda. But there wasn't really time.
My one indulgence was a free guided tour through the Victorian Parliament. I thought it might give me some insight into a city which gives the strong impression of never having been short of money, nor afraid to spend it.
The Parliament buildings form a broad, slate grey-edifice fronted by a row of Doric columns. They are made of Grampian stone, named after the hills in eastern Victoria from which it is sourced. Inside is a rather breathtaking opulence; ornate vaulted ceilings are lined with genuine 23-carat gold leaf.
Our tour guide Tony explained the sweet irony which accompanied the establishment of the colony of Victoria. On July 1, 1851 the state gained its independence from New South Wales, which had been "robbing us blind". Six days later, gold was discovered, the start of a forty-year rush which pumped wealth into the region.
The houses of Parliament were started in 1856, and this year is their 150th anniversary. The original design was even more grandiose, and called for the eventual replacement of the vaulted ceilings by huge glass domes. But by the 1890s the gold was running out, and further construction was canned. In fact, the buildings have never been completed to design. Apparently, Premier Jeff Kennett had a plan to finish them off in 1996, but balked at the $300 million cost in an election year.
I left thinking that Melbourne was well summed up by the name of the state of which it is the capital. As far as I could tell on my brief acquaintance, it seemed to have grown up in accordance with distinctly Victorian philosophies. Conservative in the sense of wanting to preserve tradition and believing in a hierarchy of values, but embracing progress and modernity. Materialism tempered by a strong sense of the public good.
I'm not sure that any New Zealand town has consistently struck that balance - though I also suspect that none has been quite so rich.
Maybe Melbourne doesn't have the "edge" and sense of excitement of the few truly great cities. And I've no idea what kind of job you need to be able to live anywhere close to the centre. But with its strikingly cheap public transport, along with everything else going for it, my impression is that it's close to the most complete and liveable city in Australasia.
NB - will add photos to this post later in the week.
Categories: Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, Wellington
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Making It Pay
Post summary: No one has yet figured out how to "monetize" the provision of content on the internet; bloggers and even large publications are struggling to make any money. Reliance on advertising or clunky schemes like "premium content" are not the answer. However, I believe people would be prepared to pay in small increments of a few cents at a time for online content if it were made easy and simple enough.
This could be done through a "broker" with whom users would have an account, and who would deduct the appropriate amount when a user accessed a participating content provider's site. Content aggregators such as Google, Yahoo or MSN would be obvious candidates to become such brokers, but it could easily be somebody else.
Such a system could support the viability of more small and medium-sized publications and higher-quality blogs; it could even help breathe new life into those venerable media insititutions that are currently failing financially.
******************************************************
But there was one point that couldn't be denied: right now, nobody is making much money. Butterworth quoted two women who run a hugely popular gossip site which receives up to 100,000 hits a day as saying that they make "more than a case of beer, but not enough to quit our day jobs".
What he didn't acknowledge was that the puzzle of how to turn traffic into cash is just as tricky for established media and prominent print publications as it is for amateur bloggers. It's become clear that people love sifting through the great shifting sands of information and opinion on the internet. It's just that no one has quite figured out how to appropriately reward those who generate it.
Traditional print media has varied in how it has embraced the internet - ranging from the simplicity, verve and openness of the Observer / Guardian to the tardy, somewhat clunky approach of the likes of the New York Times.
But no one is that far ahead in a business sense. The differences seem to come down to philosophy; the Guardian sees being read as a good thing in itself, a chance to spread and promote their brand. Others have viewed the internet as a threat and have somewhat resentfully posted a minimum number of articles, with the rest protected as "premium content", for which you must pay a fee.
The owners of the New Zealand Herald fall into the latter category. That paper's experiment with "premium content" has been rightly lampooned in the New Zealand blogosphere. I mean, when you can buy the print edition of the Herald for $1.50, and read a huge array of erudite comment from throughout the world for free, are you really going to go to the trouble of getting out your credit card and coughing up $2.99, or whatever, to access the Herald's op-ed writers?
Most magazines and niche publications have gone for a mixed model: they provide a third to a half of their content free online, usually with the requirement of free registration; the rest is available to subscribers only.
Meanwhile, most bloggers continue rely on "pay-per-click" advertising to earn revenue. Overwhelmingly, this is through Google's AdSense scheme. Google makes code available for content providers, such as bloggers, to post on their web sites. Google's robots then automatically check out the content on the web site, and, in theory at least, assign it appropriate ads. Advertisers pay Google for each click on an ad, a portion of which is passed on to the content provider.
There are problems with this model. First, it is open to abuse, both through "click fraud" (people generating artificially large numbers of clicks on their website ads) and by sites set up to be "ad farms". Usually with minimal or no content, these sites simply have large numbers of ads, and often use a misspelling of a popular site (e.g wikipeda.org or crikcet.org) as a domain name, in order to attract traffic.
Secondly, Google has been less than fully transparent both about what percentage of advertising revenue goes to the content provider, and their process for assigning ads to pages. Sometimes they just seem to be running a big experiment, and I'm not the only one to wonder in frustration how ads are selected for my pages.
In any case, traditional, static ads don't seem to provide a decent revenue stream for anyone. Otherwise there wouldn't be the fuss about "premium content", and respectable sites wouldn't keep throwing up ever more intrusive dynamic ads which crawl across your screen and hover for about 10 seconds before you can close them down. These are infuriating; I don't think they're going to be the answer either.
So, if you count time as money, at the moment pretty much everyone is making a loss. Yet in theory the internet should provide an ideal medium for a great range of publications to be viable. Print publishing has traditionally involved sinking a large amount of money into machinery, paper and distribution, quite apart from assembling the content. And mostly, the audience has been limited by geography. These days, most surviving publications are either very big and corporate, or very small and niche-oriented.
On the internet, however, production and distribution costs are practically zero, and the potential audience is almost unlimited. The maths suggest that with a large audience paying small, even tiny amounts, many different providers should be able to make at least a modest living. So what's going wrong? Why is everybody struggling?
You might answer that the internet is seen as one big freebie and people just aren't prepared to pay directly for the swathes of information they feel it is their right to access. I don't believe that's the case. People are prepared to fritter away their money on things they value less than their online reading. Look at texting, in particular at people's readiness to spend money on text-message voting on music shows such as C4. I myself end up losing about $20-25 per month through overuse of my eftpos card, because it's convenient and I don't notice that I'm paying.
The problem is that payment for internet content is being demanded in the wrong format. Take the online magazine subscription for example. Many of these are pretty cheap. But for not more much more you can get a print subscription. It does make sense to get a print subscription to your favourite couple of magazines. You get to read through all the articles and reviews, do the crosswords, take the magazine to bed and fall asleep with it. You can pile back copies on your bookshelf and let visitors know how erudite / left-wing / neoliberal / avant-garde you are.
But an online subscription? Do you really want to pore over the magazine's entire content hunched in front of your computer? And once you've subscribed to one, where do you stop? The whole point of the internet is that you jump from page to page, searching for content, digesting and comparing opinion. Will you now need to stump up for full access to the 10 or 12 other publications you regularly check? The most interesting premium content might be in The Nation one week, and Science the next.
The unit of payment needs to be much smaller and more flexible. The precedent is Apple's iTunes store, which lets users download songs for 99c a time. Now, a song is a more substantive piece of work than even the hardest-hitting article, so the equivalent would be 5c or even 2c at a time. Let's say you look at 20 news articles (1-2c) in a day, and 10 op-ed pieces (5c). For less than 1/3 of a coffee, you get full content, no scrolling ads, and no annoying need to register.
Even more importantly, it needs to be easy to pay. The reason premium content is doomed is that people just can't be bothered. I have to get out my credit card and enter all my details just to access one article in the Herald? Then I have to do it all over again to read an op-ed in the New York Times? No way. It has to be very straightforward, involving no more than a couple of clicks each time.
Content aggregators such as Google, Yahoo and MSN could be candidates to act as such brokers. Most people already have a trusting relationship with at least two of these companies, and would be prepared to have them handle their transactions. Users could choose from a range of deals, just as you can pay x cents per text to your cellphone provider, or get unlimited for $10 per month as part of a different plan.
In fact, a “brokering” system like I've described already exists in a sense. The comparison is with the major databases which compile medical literature, such as Ovid, or legal and journalistic material, such as LexisNexis. These database providers mainly interact with large institutions such as universities, and members of those insititutions can access the content as part of their study or employment.
Categories: blogs, internet, google, adsense, media
This could be done through a "broker" with whom users would have an account, and who would deduct the appropriate amount when a user accessed a participating content provider's site. Content aggregators such as Google, Yahoo or MSN would be obvious candidates to become such brokers, but it could easily be somebody else.
Such a system could support the viability of more small and medium-sized publications and higher-quality blogs; it could even help breathe new life into those venerable media insititutions that are currently failing financially.
******************************************************
In response to Trevor Butterworth's Financial Times article on blogging, many people (myself included) posted comments defending the potential of blogs. In particular, it was felt he had underestimated the possibilities for comment by niche experts, or for a fresher, less constrained journalism.
But there was one point that couldn't be denied: right now, nobody is making much money. Butterworth quoted two women who run a hugely popular gossip site which receives up to 100,000 hits a day as saying that they make "more than a case of beer, but not enough to quit our day jobs".
What he didn't acknowledge was that the puzzle of how to turn traffic into cash is just as tricky for established media and prominent print publications as it is for amateur bloggers. It's become clear that people love sifting through the great shifting sands of information and opinion on the internet. It's just that no one has quite figured out how to appropriately reward those who generate it.
Traditional print media has varied in how it has embraced the internet - ranging from the simplicity, verve and openness of the Observer / Guardian to the tardy, somewhat clunky approach of the likes of the New York Times.
But no one is that far ahead in a business sense. The differences seem to come down to philosophy; the Guardian sees being read as a good thing in itself, a chance to spread and promote their brand. Others have viewed the internet as a threat and have somewhat resentfully posted a minimum number of articles, with the rest protected as "premium content", for which you must pay a fee.
The owners of the New Zealand Herald fall into the latter category. That paper's experiment with "premium content" has been rightly lampooned in the New Zealand blogosphere. I mean, when you can buy the print edition of the Herald for $1.50, and read a huge array of erudite comment from throughout the world for free, are you really going to go to the trouble of getting out your credit card and coughing up $2.99, or whatever, to access the Herald's op-ed writers?
Most magazines and niche publications have gone for a mixed model: they provide a third to a half of their content free online, usually with the requirement of free registration; the rest is available to subscribers only.
Meanwhile, most bloggers continue rely on "pay-per-click" advertising to earn revenue. Overwhelmingly, this is through Google's AdSense scheme. Google makes code available for content providers, such as bloggers, to post on their web sites. Google's robots then automatically check out the content on the web site, and, in theory at least, assign it appropriate ads. Advertisers pay Google for each click on an ad, a portion of which is passed on to the content provider.
There are problems with this model. First, it is open to abuse, both through "click fraud" (people generating artificially large numbers of clicks on their website ads) and by sites set up to be "ad farms". Usually with minimal or no content, these sites simply have large numbers of ads, and often use a misspelling of a popular site (e.g wikipeda.org or crikcet.org) as a domain name, in order to attract traffic.
Secondly, Google has been less than fully transparent both about what percentage of advertising revenue goes to the content provider, and their process for assigning ads to pages. Sometimes they just seem to be running a big experiment, and I'm not the only one to wonder in frustration how ads are selected for my pages.
In any case, traditional, static ads don't seem to provide a decent revenue stream for anyone. Otherwise there wouldn't be the fuss about "premium content", and respectable sites wouldn't keep throwing up ever more intrusive dynamic ads which crawl across your screen and hover for about 10 seconds before you can close them down. These are infuriating; I don't think they're going to be the answer either.
So, if you count time as money, at the moment pretty much everyone is making a loss. Yet in theory the internet should provide an ideal medium for a great range of publications to be viable. Print publishing has traditionally involved sinking a large amount of money into machinery, paper and distribution, quite apart from assembling the content. And mostly, the audience has been limited by geography. These days, most surviving publications are either very big and corporate, or very small and niche-oriented.
On the internet, however, production and distribution costs are practically zero, and the potential audience is almost unlimited. The maths suggest that with a large audience paying small, even tiny amounts, many different providers should be able to make at least a modest living. So what's going wrong? Why is everybody struggling?
You might answer that the internet is seen as one big freebie and people just aren't prepared to pay directly for the swathes of information they feel it is their right to access. I don't believe that's the case. People are prepared to fritter away their money on things they value less than their online reading. Look at texting, in particular at people's readiness to spend money on text-message voting on music shows such as C4. I myself end up losing about $20-25 per month through overuse of my eftpos card, because it's convenient and I don't notice that I'm paying.
The problem is that payment for internet content is being demanded in the wrong format. Take the online magazine subscription for example. Many of these are pretty cheap. But for not more much more you can get a print subscription. It does make sense to get a print subscription to your favourite couple of magazines. You get to read through all the articles and reviews, do the crosswords, take the magazine to bed and fall asleep with it. You can pile back copies on your bookshelf and let visitors know how erudite / left-wing / neoliberal / avant-garde you are.
But an online subscription? Do you really want to pore over the magazine's entire content hunched in front of your computer? And once you've subscribed to one, where do you stop? The whole point of the internet is that you jump from page to page, searching for content, digesting and comparing opinion. Will you now need to stump up for full access to the 10 or 12 other publications you regularly check? The most interesting premium content might be in The Nation one week, and Science the next.
The unit of payment needs to be much smaller and more flexible. The precedent is Apple's iTunes store, which lets users download songs for 99c a time. Now, a song is a more substantive piece of work than even the hardest-hitting article, so the equivalent would be 5c or even 2c at a time. Let's say you look at 20 news articles (1-2c) in a day, and 10 op-ed pieces (5c). For less than 1/3 of a coffee, you get full content, no scrolling ads, and no annoying need to register.
Even more importantly, it needs to be easy to pay. The reason premium content is doomed is that people just can't be bothered. I have to get out my credit card and enter all my details just to access one article in the Herald? Then I have to do it all over again to read an op-ed in the New York Times? No way. It has to be very straightforward, involving no more than a couple of clicks each time.
How could this happen? You would need somebody to act as a broker for a wide variety of content providers. The broker would set themselves up to accept payments and provide internet users with an account. They would then deduct your little 2c payments from your account each time you wanted to view a web page that carried a price tag. Content providers would sign up with a broker, set their prices, and have their share of the payments passed through to them.
Content aggregators such as Google, Yahoo and MSN could be candidates to act as such brokers. Most people already have a trusting relationship with at least two of these companies, and would be prepared to have them handle their transactions. Users could choose from a range of deals, just as you can pay x cents per text to your cellphone provider, or get unlimited for $10 per month as part of a different plan.
Of course, it could just as well be someone else, and in fact somebody new is perhaps more likely, since exisiting players often find it hard to see past their current paradigm.
In fact, a “brokering” system like I've described already exists in a sense. The comparison is with the major databases which compile medical literature, such as Ovid, or legal and journalistic material, such as LexisNexis. These database providers mainly interact with large institutions such as universities, and members of those insititutions can access the content as part of their study or employment.
The challenge is to adapt this to the democratic, freewheeling, piecemeal exchange of information and views on the wider internet.
If this is possible, everyone could benefit. With only a moderate amount of traffic, bloggers and small-scale magazines would be able to pay the bills and break their dependence on advertising. We should then see a lift in the quality of blogs, the evolution of new forms and styles, and something a bit closer to a democratic media revolution than what we have now.
This is something that serious writers and editors should care about as much as amateur, bedroom-bound bloggers. After years of bemoaning the lack of any consistently quality publication in New Zealand, I was chastened recently to find out that several of my most admired titles, including the New Yorker, make huge losses, and only survive through the patronage of billionaire philanthropists. And, as it was pointed in the comments thread on Trevor Butterworth's article, the Financial Times itself operates in the red.
So, are serious publications just vanity publishing then? Maybe some would be happy to smugly argue that indeed they are nothing more than the self-satisfied twitterings of a cultural elite. But most of us would like to believe this isn't so. Unleashing the economies of scale of the internet offers the chance to prove it, just as it offers the better bedroom op-ed writers fair reward for their labour. The future for blogs is the future for everyone.
Categories: blogs, internet, google, adsense, media
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Blog on Blog
Financial Times journalist Trevor Butterworth has written a thoughtful, sceptical article on blogging. His mission: to deflate the hype which suggests that blogs are the new big thing and will take over a substantial part of the role of the mainstream media.
He points out that almost no bloggers make any money, and that most political blogging, at least, is parasitical ("fleas sucking from fleas") on traditional media, where people still do real research and write proper, thoughtful articles. He laments the low quality, stream of consciousness style of the 4-5 posts-a-day aesthetic, and wonders what George Orwell or Karl Marx would have been like, had they been able to blog.
Mostly commonsensical stuff, spiced with a bit of traditional journo's defensiveness. He does feel the need to throw in a "but what are blogs" bit; supposedly 62 percent of people still don't know. Hmmm...
The FT have set up a blog for people to comment on the original article, so I thought I'd have my say. I was preceded by about 80 previous comments, though many of them are Trevor responding in full to other people's comments. Apparently he just got kicked out of the wi-fi cafe where he was hanging out - just after I had posted my comment. So I don't know whether I'll get a response to my two cents, which is below:
[start Bidsta comment]
Trevor, great article. I agree with most of what you say: blogs are way overhyped, both as something “new”, and as a challenge to the role of the mainstream media. As you note, the economics are terrible at the moment, even for popular bloggers.
And yes, opinion has now become the new pornography. It’s a flea-on-flea feeding frenzy. And at some point there has to be some meat, so the likes of the New York Times will always be needed to generate some substance and act as an anchor for debates.
You wonder what the ability to blog might have done for writers like Orwell who were overinclined to share their every impression and opinion. It’s true that the ease of publishing leads to an atomization of discourse, and acts against the discipline needed to write something half decent. Every blogger knows the pressure to keep content rolling in order to maintain even the small audience he might have (“post or perish”, you might say).
But I think your discussion is overall a little pessimistic. You look at blogs as a media phenomenon and conclude that they’re not the revolution they’re cracked up to be. But you pass a little lightly over the role they can have in holding the established media to account. The endless dissecting and deconstructing of news articles may get tiresome, but it’s better than just sucking up the scandal mongering and warmed-over press releases forwarded to us by the corporate press.
For the non-Europeans among us who were never able to sift through the erudite alternatives of the Times, The Telegraph, the Guardian and the Independent, it’s exciting not to have to simply be passively instructed on “the issues” by an increasingly monolithic media establishment.
Also, though you discuss the LA Times’ disastrous wiki-torial, you don’t mention at all the great triumph of internet democratism: Wikipedia, which is reckoned to be as reliable as the Encyclopedia Britannica, and is infinitely more up-to-date and in tune with the zeitgeist. The Invisible Hand of the information market really works!
Is it all just pointless scribbling? Marx was obviously suffering from cabin fever when he grumbled of his and Engels’ journalism that “Ce n’est pas le guerre” – but there’s a flipside to being action-oriented. You can heroically struggle for years, but if no one ever documents it, did it really happen? If so, what did it mean?
I’ve recently been reading John Pilger’s collection of investigative journalism, which besides being heroic, inspiring stuff, gives an understanding of how difficult it can be to take an unpopular angle or uncover something that people have an interest in not knowing about.
It’s just possible that blogs could make this kind of writing easier. At the least, they offer a medium for reporting and opinion which is fresher, more direct, more personal, perhaps more gonzo, than would fit within the constraints of most publications concerned with their advertisers and their circulation.
An example that comes to mind is Steven Vincent’s posts from Iraq (though tragically, he paid for what he wrote with his life). They had an immediacy not matched by anything I’ve seen in the standard media.
So, while blogs are not some revolutionary phenomenon that will render other media obsolescent, they shouldn’t just be dismissed as overheated chatter. At best they might provide a contribution to the truth not found elsewhere. And who knows – someone might even figure out a way to make money from them sometime. [end Bidsta comment]
Of course, the layers of irony get quite dizzying. The article was all about blogging and how it's just flea-sucking ad infinitum. The article, reliant on those very blogs for its topic, itself became a blog, where it has attracted blog comments. Now here I am, indulgently blogging on the comments on the blog of the comment on the blogs.
I guess while we're examining our navels, civilization might just collapse. Now that would make an interesting post.
Categories: blogs, Trevor Butterworth, Financial Times
He points out that almost no bloggers make any money, and that most political blogging, at least, is parasitical ("fleas sucking from fleas") on traditional media, where people still do real research and write proper, thoughtful articles. He laments the low quality, stream of consciousness style of the 4-5 posts-a-day aesthetic, and wonders what George Orwell or Karl Marx would have been like, had they been able to blog.
Mostly commonsensical stuff, spiced with a bit of traditional journo's defensiveness. He does feel the need to throw in a "but what are blogs" bit; supposedly 62 percent of people still don't know. Hmmm...
The FT have set up a blog for people to comment on the original article, so I thought I'd have my say. I was preceded by about 80 previous comments, though many of them are Trevor responding in full to other people's comments. Apparently he just got kicked out of the wi-fi cafe where he was hanging out - just after I had posted my comment. So I don't know whether I'll get a response to my two cents, which is below:
[start Bidsta comment]
Trevor, great article. I agree with most of what you say: blogs are way overhyped, both as something “new”, and as a challenge to the role of the mainstream media. As you note, the economics are terrible at the moment, even for popular bloggers.
And yes, opinion has now become the new pornography. It’s a flea-on-flea feeding frenzy. And at some point there has to be some meat, so the likes of the New York Times will always be needed to generate some substance and act as an anchor for debates.
You wonder what the ability to blog might have done for writers like Orwell who were overinclined to share their every impression and opinion. It’s true that the ease of publishing leads to an atomization of discourse, and acts against the discipline needed to write something half decent. Every blogger knows the pressure to keep content rolling in order to maintain even the small audience he might have (“post or perish”, you might say).
But I think your discussion is overall a little pessimistic. You look at blogs as a media phenomenon and conclude that they’re not the revolution they’re cracked up to be. But you pass a little lightly over the role they can have in holding the established media to account. The endless dissecting and deconstructing of news articles may get tiresome, but it’s better than just sucking up the scandal mongering and warmed-over press releases forwarded to us by the corporate press.
For the non-Europeans among us who were never able to sift through the erudite alternatives of the Times, The Telegraph, the Guardian and the Independent, it’s exciting not to have to simply be passively instructed on “the issues” by an increasingly monolithic media establishment.
Also, though you discuss the LA Times’ disastrous wiki-torial, you don’t mention at all the great triumph of internet democratism: Wikipedia, which is reckoned to be as reliable as the Encyclopedia Britannica, and is infinitely more up-to-date and in tune with the zeitgeist. The Invisible Hand of the information market really works!
Is it all just pointless scribbling? Marx was obviously suffering from cabin fever when he grumbled of his and Engels’ journalism that “Ce n’est pas le guerre” – but there’s a flipside to being action-oriented. You can heroically struggle for years, but if no one ever documents it, did it really happen? If so, what did it mean?
I’ve recently been reading John Pilger’s collection of investigative journalism, which besides being heroic, inspiring stuff, gives an understanding of how difficult it can be to take an unpopular angle or uncover something that people have an interest in not knowing about.
It’s just possible that blogs could make this kind of writing easier. At the least, they offer a medium for reporting and opinion which is fresher, more direct, more personal, perhaps more gonzo, than would fit within the constraints of most publications concerned with their advertisers and their circulation.
An example that comes to mind is Steven Vincent’s posts from Iraq (though tragically, he paid for what he wrote with his life). They had an immediacy not matched by anything I’ve seen in the standard media.
So, while blogs are not some revolutionary phenomenon that will render other media obsolescent, they shouldn’t just be dismissed as overheated chatter. At best they might provide a contribution to the truth not found elsewhere. And who knows – someone might even figure out a way to make money from them sometime. [end Bidsta comment]
Of course, the layers of irony get quite dizzying. The article was all about blogging and how it's just flea-sucking ad infinitum. The article, reliant on those very blogs for its topic, itself became a blog, where it has attracted blog comments. Now here I am, indulgently blogging on the comments on the blog of the comment on the blogs.
I guess while we're examining our navels, civilization might just collapse. Now that would make an interesting post.
Categories: blogs, Trevor Butterworth, Financial Times
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Dawn Choruses
The good news: when Wellington composer Nic MacGowan broadcast a 25-minue "futuristic concert" consisting of wailing sounds dubbed the Synth Birds of Dawn, at 6:30 am from the hills surrounding Island Bay, at least eleven people complained to noise control.
It's heartening that people are now prepared to demand the same respect for peace in the morning hours, as in the evening.
On the other hand, McGowan was clearly unrepentant, and of the view that complaints were driven by mere philistinism. He appeared on the front page of the Dominion Post, defiant on a hilltop beside his Dawn Synth machine. The sounds had apparently been inspired by the dawn chorus and, god forbid, church bells.
The synthesizers and speakers on three hilltops were intended to create "soft creature-like tones" across the valley. "We were basically playing Island Bay like an instrument" he said. "it was an incredible sound, you get all these slapback echoes".
Right on. But get this, dude. At 6:30 am, many people are bloody well sleeping. I wouldn't care if it were the choirs of seraphim themselves that were singing - my response would be the same as when the unidentified council contractor chose 6:55 am as a good time to clean up the verge outside my window with a weedeater the other day.
In our rather frantic modern existence, sleep is a rare, precious commodity. And for me, and I suspect quite a few others, it is sweetest of all in the early hours of the morning. As much as we try and squeeze ourselves into the 9-5 mould demanded by this society, our metabolisms know better. You early risers are welcome to leap out of bed before the crack of dawn - but please, give us the same respect as we do to you when you stagger off to bed bleary-eyed at 10pm.
The upshot of the compaints were that McGowan decided to shift the time of his second "concert" planned for the following morning - to 7:30 am. I'm just glad I live very far away from Island Bay.
In the end, though, I understand his creative urges. So I'd like to pass this message to the misunderstood composer:
Nic, I too was disappointed that many Island Bay residents failed to appreciate your futuristic and innovative concert the other morning. I appreciate what you were trying to do.
You see, I'm an aspiring experimental musician too. Right now I'm interested in the sounds created by the interaction of organic and industrial objects. One thing I'd like to do is take a stick, a piece of driftwood, maybe, and run it up and down the colorsteel roof of a house. The driftwood the bow; the roof the instrument. A meeting of the driftwood's weathered curves, shaped by wind and tide, with the rigidly corrugated, industrial surface of the steel. You know?
Nic, can I come over and do it at your place? I would "play" your house. I'll be over to do a 30 -minute concert, ok? Starting at 11:30 pm on Tuesday night?
Categories: Wellington, noise, sleep
It's heartening that people are now prepared to demand the same respect for peace in the morning hours, as in the evening.
On the other hand, McGowan was clearly unrepentant, and of the view that complaints were driven by mere philistinism. He appeared on the front page of the Dominion Post, defiant on a hilltop beside his Dawn Synth machine. The sounds had apparently been inspired by the dawn chorus and, god forbid, church bells.
The synthesizers and speakers on three hilltops were intended to create "soft creature-like tones" across the valley. "We were basically playing Island Bay like an instrument" he said. "it was an incredible sound, you get all these slapback echoes".
Right on. But get this, dude. At 6:30 am, many people are bloody well sleeping. I wouldn't care if it were the choirs of seraphim themselves that were singing - my response would be the same as when the unidentified council contractor chose 6:55 am as a good time to clean up the verge outside my window with a weedeater the other day.
In our rather frantic modern existence, sleep is a rare, precious commodity. And for me, and I suspect quite a few others, it is sweetest of all in the early hours of the morning. As much as we try and squeeze ourselves into the 9-5 mould demanded by this society, our metabolisms know better. You early risers are welcome to leap out of bed before the crack of dawn - but please, give us the same respect as we do to you when you stagger off to bed bleary-eyed at 10pm.
The upshot of the compaints were that McGowan decided to shift the time of his second "concert" planned for the following morning - to 7:30 am. I'm just glad I live very far away from Island Bay.
In the end, though, I understand his creative urges. So I'd like to pass this message to the misunderstood composer:
Nic, I too was disappointed that many Island Bay residents failed to appreciate your futuristic and innovative concert the other morning. I appreciate what you were trying to do.
You see, I'm an aspiring experimental musician too. Right now I'm interested in the sounds created by the interaction of organic and industrial objects. One thing I'd like to do is take a stick, a piece of driftwood, maybe, and run it up and down the colorsteel roof of a house. The driftwood the bow; the roof the instrument. A meeting of the driftwood's weathered curves, shaped by wind and tide, with the rigidly corrugated, industrial surface of the steel. You know?
Nic, can I come over and do it at your place? I would "play" your house. I'll be over to do a 30 -minute concert, ok? Starting at 11:30 pm on Tuesday night?
Categories: Wellington, noise, sleep
Sunday, February 12, 2006
The Daily Minion is Online
The Daily Minion is a New Zealand-slanted news satire and absurdist site, which is now up and running at: http://www.dailyminion.com
It is in pretty rudimentary form at present. Depending on feedback, it may be enhanced and expanded in the future with more images, more sophisticated layout and some interactive elements.
Despite the title, it will not be updated daily. Nor is there the intention to produce entirely new "issues" on a regular basis. Rather, the content will be updated on a rolling basis, with new content being added to the front page and the old content being retired to the archives (under the headings of news, sport, entertainment, etc. that you can see on the left-hand menu).
Any feedback would be welcomed. The editorial staff can be contacted at editor@dailyminion.com There is also a link to this address on the site itself.
It is in pretty rudimentary form at present. Depending on feedback, it may be enhanced and expanded in the future with more images, more sophisticated layout and some interactive elements.
Despite the title, it will not be updated daily. Nor is there the intention to produce entirely new "issues" on a regular basis. Rather, the content will be updated on a rolling basis, with new content being added to the front page and the old content being retired to the archives (under the headings of news, sport, entertainment, etc. that you can see on the left-hand menu).
Any feedback would be welcomed. The editorial staff can be contacted at editor@dailyminion.com There is also a link to this address on the site itself.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Social Lives
I'm wondering what other people think who've moved to a new town or returned somewhere after a significant absence. How hard is it to meet people and make friends? How does New Zealand compare to other places? How does Wellington?
Those who know me will know that this is a favourite topic. Several different things have set me to thinking about it again recently.
One: in an idle moment, following a couple of links from David Farrar's blog (I don't recommend doing this too often; you will waste a lot of time), I ended up reading about the tortured social and sexual interactions of a group of Auckland twentysomethings. One girl in particular appeared to be quite a nasty piece of work. But one comment on her blog (which was one of the links from DPF's site), gave me pause. To paraphrase, she said:
"Anyway, why would anyone want to hang out with people they don't know? If you don't have your own friends already you must be a total loser"
Though her thoughts and actions, described on her own blog and elsewhere, appeared to border on the sociopathic, this rang true; maybe she was just being open and unabashed about what seems to be a widely (if perhaps subconsciously) held view.
This would explain why it's so tortuous trying to make friends in this country. If you don't already have a set of "mates", you're a bit suspect -- and this of course exacerbates the problem.
Another stimulus for thinking about this issue was a visit from a friend who lives in Sydney and is thinking about moving to Wellington with his girlfriend. We went out for dinner and drinks last weekend, which was, of course, sevens weekend. Wellington was alive with the carnival spirit, full of bonhomie and joie de vivre (you see, us Anglo Saxons don't even have the right words). We had a great time; it was really difficult trying to convince him it's not normally like that. He in turn claimed that Sydney was truly unfriendly, and wouldn't believe that Wellington was worse.
Another was this amusing article by Will Hide in the Observer about going looking for romance in New York. He writes:
Second, if you're alone but hoping not to be, Americans are much more approachable than we British, be it at the food store, the pub or the gym. You can chat to complete strangers without feeling like a total psycho. Third, if you're simply on your own and happy that way, New York is a great place just to hang out because everyone does it. Going to the cinema alone in Britain? Sad git. Going to the cinema alone in New York? Hey, cool, a chance for some quality 'me' time. Lunch for one in Blighty? Obviously Billy No-mates. Lunch for one in Manhattan? Alluring. A bit mysterious even.
Swap "New Zealand" for "Britain" in this passage, and the above is a pretty fair description of attitudes.
After much discussion and argument on this topic, I've modified my views a little bit. First, it's not fair to make comparisons with travelling, when you always meet people and make friends - partly because you run into a lot of like-minded people, partly because you're perceived as exotic and interesting, and partly because you yourself behave more openly.
Secondly, there's a continuum here. New Zealand is probably better than, say, northern England. Wellington is better than Christchurch. The United States has a noticeably more open social culture, at least in major urban areas. Very big cities are best of all -- it seems strange to me that many pople don't like the big-city anonymity which allows you to reinvent and renew yourself, and consequently seems to make people more open and interesting.
But it's frustrating to read the advice that pops up on places like MSN about how to get over your breakup / meet "dates" / lose weight / look for a new career. This is specific to the American context, and is always telling you to get involved and join things, where you're bound to meet lots of like-minded people.
Thing is, I've got involved in or joined several things in my life here. All of them were because I particularly wanted to do the relevant activity, rather than to meet people--though I certainly would have been open to that. But in all cases, it was the wider social situation writ small. People were always nice enough, but as soon as said activity was over we usually all disappeared back to our own lives as quickly as possible.
One thing driving this is of course the tyranny of the couple, which dominates social interactions of every type in Wellington. It's extraordinary; in Third World, Catholic Peru, there seemed to be hordes of people who were at least in principle single. In secular, late-marrying, urban, highly educated Wellington, the single person over 25 is practically an endangered species.
Supposedly there's a surplus of single women in this town (the fabled "man drought"). If so, it seems they have decided to protest the demographic imbalance by collectively going into hiding.
But I digress -- that's all for another post. Even if you discount way mass coupledom limits socialising -- since two people have exponentially more inertia than one -- it's just really hard to get social traction in this town. If you do join something, or start a new job, don't expect people to go "Hey - you're new. Do you want to come with us to have a drink / go to the game / watch a movie?" That's American stuff. Everyone will be off to hang out with their "partner" or "mates", and will expect that you will too.
If you're around for, say a year, there may be some kind of compulsory social event (say, a company party, or end-of-season prizegiving) where people from the group will see you out of the normal context and figure that you might be non-toxic. Over a couple of drinks, you might find some common ground with one or two people. Perhaps you strike a rapport, which could even lead to hanging out with them again. But you must be patient.
Anyway, this is just me opining, when I'd asked for other views. Maybe it's just me. What do you think? Has anyone else experienced the same problems? Is New Zealand any worse than anywhere else?
Categories: Wellington, New Zealand, Social Life
Those who know me will know that this is a favourite topic. Several different things have set me to thinking about it again recently.
One: in an idle moment, following a couple of links from David Farrar's blog (I don't recommend doing this too often; you will waste a lot of time), I ended up reading about the tortured social and sexual interactions of a group of Auckland twentysomethings. One girl in particular appeared to be quite a nasty piece of work. But one comment on her blog (which was one of the links from DPF's site), gave me pause. To paraphrase, she said:
"Anyway, why would anyone want to hang out with people they don't know? If you don't have your own friends already you must be a total loser"
Though her thoughts and actions, described on her own blog and elsewhere, appeared to border on the sociopathic, this rang true; maybe she was just being open and unabashed about what seems to be a widely (if perhaps subconsciously) held view.
This would explain why it's so tortuous trying to make friends in this country. If you don't already have a set of "mates", you're a bit suspect -- and this of course exacerbates the problem.
Another stimulus for thinking about this issue was a visit from a friend who lives in Sydney and is thinking about moving to Wellington with his girlfriend. We went out for dinner and drinks last weekend, which was, of course, sevens weekend. Wellington was alive with the carnival spirit, full of bonhomie and joie de vivre (you see, us Anglo Saxons don't even have the right words). We had a great time; it was really difficult trying to convince him it's not normally like that. He in turn claimed that Sydney was truly unfriendly, and wouldn't believe that Wellington was worse.
Another was this amusing article by Will Hide in the Observer about going looking for romance in New York. He writes:
Second, if you're alone but hoping not to be, Americans are much more approachable than we British, be it at the food store, the pub or the gym. You can chat to complete strangers without feeling like a total psycho. Third, if you're simply on your own and happy that way, New York is a great place just to hang out because everyone does it. Going to the cinema alone in Britain? Sad git. Going to the cinema alone in New York? Hey, cool, a chance for some quality 'me' time. Lunch for one in Blighty? Obviously Billy No-mates. Lunch for one in Manhattan? Alluring. A bit mysterious even.
Swap "New Zealand" for "Britain" in this passage, and the above is a pretty fair description of attitudes.
After much discussion and argument on this topic, I've modified my views a little bit. First, it's not fair to make comparisons with travelling, when you always meet people and make friends - partly because you run into a lot of like-minded people, partly because you're perceived as exotic and interesting, and partly because you yourself behave more openly.
Secondly, there's a continuum here. New Zealand is probably better than, say, northern England. Wellington is better than Christchurch. The United States has a noticeably more open social culture, at least in major urban areas. Very big cities are best of all -- it seems strange to me that many pople don't like the big-city anonymity which allows you to reinvent and renew yourself, and consequently seems to make people more open and interesting.
But it's frustrating to read the advice that pops up on places like MSN about how to get over your breakup / meet "dates" / lose weight / look for a new career. This is specific to the American context, and is always telling you to get involved and join things, where you're bound to meet lots of like-minded people.
Thing is, I've got involved in or joined several things in my life here. All of them were because I particularly wanted to do the relevant activity, rather than to meet people--though I certainly would have been open to that. But in all cases, it was the wider social situation writ small. People were always nice enough, but as soon as said activity was over we usually all disappeared back to our own lives as quickly as possible.
One thing driving this is of course the tyranny of the couple, which dominates social interactions of every type in Wellington. It's extraordinary; in Third World, Catholic Peru, there seemed to be hordes of people who were at least in principle single. In secular, late-marrying, urban, highly educated Wellington, the single person over 25 is practically an endangered species.
Supposedly there's a surplus of single women in this town (the fabled "man drought"). If so, it seems they have decided to protest the demographic imbalance by collectively going into hiding.
But I digress -- that's all for another post. Even if you discount way mass coupledom limits socialising -- since two people have exponentially more inertia than one -- it's just really hard to get social traction in this town. If you do join something, or start a new job, don't expect people to go "Hey - you're new. Do you want to come with us to have a drink / go to the game / watch a movie?" That's American stuff. Everyone will be off to hang out with their "partner" or "mates", and will expect that you will too.
If you're around for, say a year, there may be some kind of compulsory social event (say, a company party, or end-of-season prizegiving) where people from the group will see you out of the normal context and figure that you might be non-toxic. Over a couple of drinks, you might find some common ground with one or two people. Perhaps you strike a rapport, which could even lead to hanging out with them again. But you must be patient.
Anyway, this is just me opining, when I'd asked for other views. Maybe it's just me. What do you think? Has anyone else experienced the same problems? Is New Zealand any worse than anywhere else?
Categories: Wellington, New Zealand, Social Life
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Charged with Taking a Walk on the Wild Side
A couple of days ago, "Once Were Warriors" director Lee Tamahori was arrested in Los Angeles in a police sting operation while wearing a woman's dress and wig. He had offered an undercover policeman sex in exchange for money, and was charged with prostitution and loitering in a public place.
While this news will have shocked or titillated some, my main reactions were:
1. They still run "sting" operations to catch transvestites soliciting? An undercover cop sits all night in a car and waits to snare unwary prostitutes so they can be charged with a misdemeanour? Is this really the wisest use of police resources?
2. You can get arrested for loitering?? Wow. I thought that was a joke about how in LA you can get charged with walking, but I guess not.
While this news will have shocked or titillated some, my main reactions were:
1. They still run "sting" operations to catch transvestites soliciting? An undercover cop sits all night in a car and waits to snare unwary prostitutes so they can be charged with a misdemeanour? Is this really the wisest use of police resources?
2. You can get arrested for loitering?? Wow. I thought that was a joke about how in LA you can get charged with walking, but I guess not.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Young People These Days
So, the other Sunday afternoon I go to see King Kong with my flatmates at the little Hoyts four-plex in Manners Mall. My flatmates have got their tickets, and I head up to the counter to pay for mine.
Behind me is what I take to be a family group: a guy in his 40s plus three kids, sub- to mid-teens. During the 20-30 seconds or so it takes me to order my ticket and pay for it on eftpos, they lose patience with waiting in line.
First, one of the girls leans herself up against the coke machine just to my left. Then the adult sticks his elbow on the counter about half a metre away from where I'm entering my pin number. Then another girl moves in just behind my right shoulder. I tell you, if any of them had been wearing sunglasses and a dark suit I would have been fingering my rosary beads and praying they made it quick.
I finish paying, turn around, and just stand there, because I'm completely hemmed in. The girl on my shoulder does this startled jump back, with a look of surprise on her face, as if to say what, you mean you can't just teleport yourself out of there? (ok, so maybe I already had a pissed off look on my face).
Unbelievable. So, this cinema doesn't have the velvet rails which show you how to line up. But have we lost the lowest common denominator courtesy of allowing someone their personal space while they carry out a transaction?
I've always thought that one of the main compensatory advantages our tight-assed Anglo-Saxon society has over the friendlier Latin cultures I've experienced is that politeness extends beyond speech to action; people know how to wait in line and take their turn. But this was the kind of behaviour that would be thought obnoxious even in Peru.
We'll deal with the movie itself later.
Behind me is what I take to be a family group: a guy in his 40s plus three kids, sub- to mid-teens. During the 20-30 seconds or so it takes me to order my ticket and pay for it on eftpos, they lose patience with waiting in line.
First, one of the girls leans herself up against the coke machine just to my left. Then the adult sticks his elbow on the counter about half a metre away from where I'm entering my pin number. Then another girl moves in just behind my right shoulder. I tell you, if any of them had been wearing sunglasses and a dark suit I would have been fingering my rosary beads and praying they made it quick.
I finish paying, turn around, and just stand there, because I'm completely hemmed in. The girl on my shoulder does this startled jump back, with a look of surprise on her face, as if to say what, you mean you can't just teleport yourself out of there? (ok, so maybe I already had a pissed off look on my face).
Unbelievable. So, this cinema doesn't have the velvet rails which show you how to line up. But have we lost the lowest common denominator courtesy of allowing someone their personal space while they carry out a transaction?
I've always thought that one of the main compensatory advantages our tight-assed Anglo-Saxon society has over the friendlier Latin cultures I've experienced is that politeness extends beyond speech to action; people know how to wait in line and take their turn. But this was the kind of behaviour that would be thought obnoxious even in Peru.
We'll deal with the movie itself later.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Google and Big Government
The London Review of Books has a great piece on the rise and rise of Google (along with the New Yorker, the LRB remains the pinnacle of erudite and wittily refined writing; one dreams of being able to write that well, and having the time to practice it).
The article neatly describes the Google approach as being driven by nerdy grad-student "wouldn't it be cool if we could do this" iconoclasm. But the author worries about the consequences of the company's policy of indefinitely storing information on user searches.
Given that Google's entire business model is based on individualising advertising to the preferences of its users, this practice is understandable. But the LRB piece questions whether, in the future when the screws go on to justify the company's rapidly expanding share price, there might be pressure to use that information in ways not entirely consistent with the "Don't Be Evil" motto.
In fact, this issue is already being put to the test, as Google fights a subpoena from the US Justice Department to provide information on a week's worth of search requests, issued as part of a government attempt to justify an anti-pornography law called the Child Online Protection Act.
Yahoo, MSN and AOL have already complied with the request after it was agreed that they could supply aggregated information which wouldn't identify particular individuals. Google, however, has so far resisted.
Other writers have pointed out that Google's attitude is partly a PR exercise to show that users can trust it, rather than purely a matter of principle (the company has also recently accepted Chinese government censorship restrictions in order to gain greater market share in that country) . However, I am in full agreement with their reasons cited for refusing the subpoena - that it is irrelevant, burdensome and overreaching.
It's reasonable to expect companies, including internet providers, to cooperate with criminal investigations. However, here there has been no crime committed, and the whole exercise seems more about extending the culture of surveillance.
The proposed law is intended to "protect" children by requiring users of certain internet sites to go through a registration process. It was originally stuck down by the Supreme Court under freedom of speech considerations.
This is a classic case of the double standard about big government. Conservative administrations and their supporters view, say, universal health and dental care for children as creeping socialism, and the Bush administration has sought to reverse or weaken environmental regulations which are meant to protect everybody.
Yet it's considered acceptable to embark on unwieldy efforts to monitor the legal behaviour of adults, and tell legitimate businesses how they must operate, with no evidence that this will in any way help or protect children or anyone else. As usual, Slate is good on the numerous reasons why such a law would be both excessive and ineffective.
PR-driven grandstanding or not, Google's attitude in this case is a worthy one. But for the future, look to some pressure on them to back off keeping so much identifying information on file. Part of not being evil is not permitting that you be used for evil purposes.
Categories: google, internet, privacy, government
The article neatly describes the Google approach as being driven by nerdy grad-student "wouldn't it be cool if we could do this" iconoclasm. But the author worries about the consequences of the company's policy of indefinitely storing information on user searches.
Given that Google's entire business model is based on individualising advertising to the preferences of its users, this practice is understandable. But the LRB piece questions whether, in the future when the screws go on to justify the company's rapidly expanding share price, there might be pressure to use that information in ways not entirely consistent with the "Don't Be Evil" motto.
In fact, this issue is already being put to the test, as Google fights a subpoena from the US Justice Department to provide information on a week's worth of search requests, issued as part of a government attempt to justify an anti-pornography law called the Child Online Protection Act.
Yahoo, MSN and AOL have already complied with the request after it was agreed that they could supply aggregated information which wouldn't identify particular individuals. Google, however, has so far resisted.
Other writers have pointed out that Google's attitude is partly a PR exercise to show that users can trust it, rather than purely a matter of principle (the company has also recently accepted Chinese government censorship restrictions in order to gain greater market share in that country) . However, I am in full agreement with their reasons cited for refusing the subpoena - that it is irrelevant, burdensome and overreaching.
It's reasonable to expect companies, including internet providers, to cooperate with criminal investigations. However, here there has been no crime committed, and the whole exercise seems more about extending the culture of surveillance.
The proposed law is intended to "protect" children by requiring users of certain internet sites to go through a registration process. It was originally stuck down by the Supreme Court under freedom of speech considerations.
This is a classic case of the double standard about big government. Conservative administrations and their supporters view, say, universal health and dental care for children as creeping socialism, and the Bush administration has sought to reverse or weaken environmental regulations which are meant to protect everybody.
Yet it's considered acceptable to embark on unwieldy efforts to monitor the legal behaviour of adults, and tell legitimate businesses how they must operate, with no evidence that this will in any way help or protect children or anyone else. As usual, Slate is good on the numerous reasons why such a law would be both excessive and ineffective.
PR-driven grandstanding or not, Google's attitude in this case is a worthy one. But for the future, look to some pressure on them to back off keeping so much identifying information on file. Part of not being evil is not permitting that you be used for evil purposes.
Categories: google, internet, privacy, government
Monday, January 23, 2006
The Screw Top Wine Bottle Effect
A wonderful thing, the law of unintended consequences. Who would have thought that the screw top wine bottle, increasingly favoured by Australian and New Zealand wine makers in particular for its practicality at protecting the vintage, would double as a social leveller and rich source of amusement?
The genius of the screw top is that it confounds two deeply-reinforced instincts:
1. If you have taken something from a bottle that has a top, you screw it back on. This is held to by all but the most slovenly, especially in company. After all, you don't want the sauce, olive oil, whisky, or whatever, to get spilt, or for the dust and mites to get in and start corrupting the contents. Screwing the top back on is an unconscious reaction that you don't even think about.
2. A wine bottle, once opened and left on the table, can be grabbed and poured from at any stage. The habits are ingrained in the choreography of civilized socialising: the casual pick up of the bottle, the lean across to serve someone else before yourself, the elegant pour, and the twist to avoid drips.
So it's all set up for the following scenario, which is now frequently played out in social gatherings. Whoever has last taken wine instinctively screws the top back on. Later, someone grabs the bottle and makes to pour. Perhaps still immersed in conversation, it's several seconds before they register that no wine is coming out - and several more before they understand why. Meanwhile, the others around the table, who can see that the top is screwed on, are gifted with a long moment of delicious dramatic irony.
It would look lame and predictable if you tried to make it a stage direction, but in real life it's pretty funny.
The best part about this faux pas is that nobody is immune. In fact, those of us who habitually do and say clumsy, gauche things are a bit more careful about things like pouring wine and unlikely to fall victim more than once. It's those used to being at social ease who are at greater risk of coming a cropper in public.
Do you have one of those workplaces where the great and good will occasionally socialise with the more plebian? You'll all be sitting around having a few wines after work, all apparently egalitarian, though everyone will know who'll be telling the funny stories and who will be laughing sycophantically.
In these situations it's the great and the good - most likely to be distracted by their own conversation, most likely to be casual and unselfconscious about pouring the wine - who are most likely to be snared by the screw top trap.
And even if you can see right away that it's going to happen, your very deference prevents you from making too strident a warning. I mean, what are you going to do? Leap up and shout "Don't do it! The top's on!" What, you take him or her for a fool?
No, the best you can do is maybe rise an eyebrow meaningfully at the bottle, perhaps mumble "aah, the top" when the wine pouring movement looks inevitable and the cap remains screwed on. But you think he or she is going to be taking much notice of your subtle gestures or murmured comments? You are only a relatively lowly member of a larger audience.
Sadly, he or she is destined to continue, with confident, deliberate movements, to attempt an impossible pour, and in doing so look like a bit of a clown. And the ensuing laughter will contain only the mildest schadenfreude -- it's the perfect scenario, where someone's bubble is punctured without physical or mental harm.
Rarely can an instrument of product quality control have become such a subtle tool of comic subversion.
The genius of the screw top is that it confounds two deeply-reinforced instincts:
1. If you have taken something from a bottle that has a top, you screw it back on. This is held to by all but the most slovenly, especially in company. After all, you don't want the sauce, olive oil, whisky, or whatever, to get spilt, or for the dust and mites to get in and start corrupting the contents. Screwing the top back on is an unconscious reaction that you don't even think about.
2. A wine bottle, once opened and left on the table, can be grabbed and poured from at any stage. The habits are ingrained in the choreography of civilized socialising: the casual pick up of the bottle, the lean across to serve someone else before yourself, the elegant pour, and the twist to avoid drips.
So it's all set up for the following scenario, which is now frequently played out in social gatherings. Whoever has last taken wine instinctively screws the top back on. Later, someone grabs the bottle and makes to pour. Perhaps still immersed in conversation, it's several seconds before they register that no wine is coming out - and several more before they understand why. Meanwhile, the others around the table, who can see that the top is screwed on, are gifted with a long moment of delicious dramatic irony.
It would look lame and predictable if you tried to make it a stage direction, but in real life it's pretty funny.
The best part about this faux pas is that nobody is immune. In fact, those of us who habitually do and say clumsy, gauche things are a bit more careful about things like pouring wine and unlikely to fall victim more than once. It's those used to being at social ease who are at greater risk of coming a cropper in public.
Do you have one of those workplaces where the great and good will occasionally socialise with the more plebian? You'll all be sitting around having a few wines after work, all apparently egalitarian, though everyone will know who'll be telling the funny stories and who will be laughing sycophantically.
In these situations it's the great and the good - most likely to be distracted by their own conversation, most likely to be casual and unselfconscious about pouring the wine - who are most likely to be snared by the screw top trap.
And even if you can see right away that it's going to happen, your very deference prevents you from making too strident a warning. I mean, what are you going to do? Leap up and shout "Don't do it! The top's on!" What, you take him or her for a fool?
No, the best you can do is maybe rise an eyebrow meaningfully at the bottle, perhaps mumble "aah, the top" when the wine pouring movement looks inevitable and the cap remains screwed on. But you think he or she is going to be taking much notice of your subtle gestures or murmured comments? You are only a relatively lowly member of a larger audience.
Sadly, he or she is destined to continue, with confident, deliberate movements, to attempt an impossible pour, and in doing so look like a bit of a clown. And the ensuing laughter will contain only the mildest schadenfreude -- it's the perfect scenario, where someone's bubble is punctured without physical or mental harm.
Rarely can an instrument of product quality control have become such a subtle tool of comic subversion.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Flora to the Fore
The indigenous vs. exotic vegetation debate issue refuses to die. In Auckland, there's been a major outcry over the city council's plans to replace 20 exotic trees with indigenous ones as part of the redevelopment of Queen St. Russell Brown covers it pretty well in three separate posts (he also links to my previous post on Rosemary McLeod's "eco-fascist" column).
Clearly, the issue seems to provoke a reaction out of all proportion to the trees themselves. Latest to pick up the torch is Dominion Post columnist Karl du Fresne in a piece titled "Eco-Nazis face a backlash" Du Fresne claims there's a conspiracy to eliminate exotic vegetation and replace it with natives, based on what he calls "an ideological fixation" that exotic plants don't belong.
Apparently, the protests in Auckland consistute "the stirrings of a backlash against the eco-Nazis", while in Wellington "there is mounting resistance to the eradication of Monterey pines on the Tinakorki Hills" (though it may be suggested that such "resistance" is a little tardy, given that the planned clearance of storm-damaged pines was completed by last June).
Du Fresne is convinced there are underhand agendas at work:
"I suspect the safety argument is a smokescreen. Concealed behind it is an ideological fixation that exotic trees don't belong in New Zealand and should be eliminated"
Well, if there were an evil cabal bent on wiping out introduced flora, perhaps as a prelude to invading Poland, you would expect to find some evidence of it in Wellington City Council's Town Belt vegetation management plan (for non-Wellingtonians, the Town Belt comprises all the wooded and green areas in the hills surrounding the city).
Unfortunately for the conspiracy theorists, the vision presented by this document is boringly balanced and inclusive:
"The variety of vegetation types on the Town Belt offers a range of recreational and visual experiences which is valued by the people of Wellington. There are those who will argue for the creation of pure native forest cover, and those who prefer the open understorey of the coniferous forest. There is scope to accommodate a range of preferences. The landscape and microclimates are varied enough to carry variety in the vegetation cover and, as this is a public reserve, the desires of as many of the community as practicable should be accommodated."
Admittedly, this is still consistent with the existence of eco-fascists who think all exotic trees should be eradicated. But they perhaps seem a little less scary once you realise they're not actually in charge -- or if they are, they have heroically subjected their views to the constraints of democracy. At the risk of sounding politically correct, any such exotic tree-haters are entitled to their views. Just as Rosemary McLeod is entitled to broadcast her breezily ignorant dislike of "sludgy-green" native vegetation.
The plan does propose that "native vegetation [be] established on a much greater proportion of the Town Belt than at the present time", moving from 20 percent at present to eventually 60 percent. This will involve some development of existing native regeneration, replacement of most grass and scrub, and, yes, some replacement of exotic conifers, "notably on Tinakori Hill".
Does this mean Council stormtroopers will be dispatched to uproot innocent Monterey pines under the cover of night? Not exactly. This shift in proportions is considered "a realistic approach within the timeframe of this plan" -- 50-100 years.
Both McLeod and du Fresne mention Mt Victoria, an iconic area of mixed conifer and eucalyptus, and a setting for some of Lord of the Rings. McLeod is agitated about its future:
Something like [Tinakori Hill] will happen on Mount Victoria, too, before long. The giant eucalypts must already offend the taste fascists, and the very hills here have to be political"
In fact, the plan states that "the largest area to be retained in conifers and mixed conifer/eucalypt forest is on Mt Victoria". It further points out that the conifers "are unlikely to regenerate on their own. Where continued exotic forest is desired, replanting will be necessary". In other words, the exotic trees will not just be left alone; they will be actively maintained.
Those who like colour will also be pleased to note that the Council plans to mow some of the grassland areas less frequently, allowing for seasonal (and principally exotic) flower displays.
It's always possible that the City Council plan is all a lie, and is just providing cover for the eco-fascists. But in the absence of any evidence to support this it's probably prudent to take the document at face value.
Personally, though I am not a fascist, eco- or otherwise, I welcome the planned move to 60 percent native vegetation. Like others, I'm fond of Mt Victoria's current exotic cover (which also produces charming bush fires whenever Wellington goes two weeks without rain in summer) but overall find the pine-dominated hills around much of the city rather monotonous. And as I pointed out in my previous post, there are large areas of nothing but grass and scrub which could be hugely improved by regenerating some of the original vegetation.
Others, of course, will disagree, and some will want to retain every last iconic bush of gorse and broom against intruders such as flowering southern rata. Given the necessarily drawn out processes involved in vegetation management, they will have every opportunity to make their views known. Sadly, though, they will required to argue rationally, on a case-by-case basis. Which is a whole lot less fun than getting worked up, shouting about nazis, and pretending you're a freedom fighter.
Categories: New Zealand, Wellington, Mt Victoria, Tinakori Hill, trees
Clearly, the issue seems to provoke a reaction out of all proportion to the trees themselves. Latest to pick up the torch is Dominion Post columnist Karl du Fresne in a piece titled "Eco-Nazis face a backlash" Du Fresne claims there's a conspiracy to eliminate exotic vegetation and replace it with natives, based on what he calls "an ideological fixation" that exotic plants don't belong.
Apparently, the protests in Auckland consistute "the stirrings of a backlash against the eco-Nazis", while in Wellington "there is mounting resistance to the eradication of Monterey pines on the Tinakorki Hills" (though it may be suggested that such "resistance" is a little tardy, given that the planned clearance of storm-damaged pines was completed by last June).
Du Fresne is convinced there are underhand agendas at work:
"I suspect the safety argument is a smokescreen. Concealed behind it is an ideological fixation that exotic trees don't belong in New Zealand and should be eliminated"
Well, if there were an evil cabal bent on wiping out introduced flora, perhaps as a prelude to invading Poland, you would expect to find some evidence of it in Wellington City Council's Town Belt vegetation management plan (for non-Wellingtonians, the Town Belt comprises all the wooded and green areas in the hills surrounding the city).
Unfortunately for the conspiracy theorists, the vision presented by this document is boringly balanced and inclusive:
"The variety of vegetation types on the Town Belt offers a range of recreational and visual experiences which is valued by the people of Wellington. There are those who will argue for the creation of pure native forest cover, and those who prefer the open understorey of the coniferous forest. There is scope to accommodate a range of preferences. The landscape and microclimates are varied enough to carry variety in the vegetation cover and, as this is a public reserve, the desires of as many of the community as practicable should be accommodated."
Admittedly, this is still consistent with the existence of eco-fascists who think all exotic trees should be eradicated. But they perhaps seem a little less scary once you realise they're not actually in charge -- or if they are, they have heroically subjected their views to the constraints of democracy. At the risk of sounding politically correct, any such exotic tree-haters are entitled to their views. Just as Rosemary McLeod is entitled to broadcast her breezily ignorant dislike of "sludgy-green" native vegetation.
The plan does propose that "native vegetation [be] established on a much greater proportion of the Town Belt than at the present time", moving from 20 percent at present to eventually 60 percent. This will involve some development of existing native regeneration, replacement of most grass and scrub, and, yes, some replacement of exotic conifers, "notably on Tinakori Hill".
Does this mean Council stormtroopers will be dispatched to uproot innocent Monterey pines under the cover of night? Not exactly. This shift in proportions is considered "a realistic approach within the timeframe of this plan" -- 50-100 years.
Both McLeod and du Fresne mention Mt Victoria, an iconic area of mixed conifer and eucalyptus, and a setting for some of Lord of the Rings. McLeod is agitated about its future:
Something like [Tinakori Hill] will happen on Mount Victoria, too, before long. The giant eucalypts must already offend the taste fascists, and the very hills here have to be political"
In fact, the plan states that "the largest area to be retained in conifers and mixed conifer/eucalypt forest is on Mt Victoria". It further points out that the conifers "are unlikely to regenerate on their own. Where continued exotic forest is desired, replanting will be necessary". In other words, the exotic trees will not just be left alone; they will be actively maintained.
Those who like colour will also be pleased to note that the Council plans to mow some of the grassland areas less frequently, allowing for seasonal (and principally exotic) flower displays.
It's always possible that the City Council plan is all a lie, and is just providing cover for the eco-fascists. But in the absence of any evidence to support this it's probably prudent to take the document at face value.
Personally, though I am not a fascist, eco- or otherwise, I welcome the planned move to 60 percent native vegetation. Like others, I'm fond of Mt Victoria's current exotic cover (which also produces charming bush fires whenever Wellington goes two weeks without rain in summer) but overall find the pine-dominated hills around much of the city rather monotonous. And as I pointed out in my previous post, there are large areas of nothing but grass and scrub which could be hugely improved by regenerating some of the original vegetation.
Others, of course, will disagree, and some will want to retain every last iconic bush of gorse and broom against intruders such as flowering southern rata. Given the necessarily drawn out processes involved in vegetation management, they will have every opportunity to make their views known. Sadly, though, they will required to argue rationally, on a case-by-case basis. Which is a whole lot less fun than getting worked up, shouting about nazis, and pretending you're a freedom fighter.
Categories: New Zealand, Wellington, Mt Victoria, Tinakori Hill, trees
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Just Some Links
This week I've been fortunate enough to come across a couple of nuggets of brilliance (both thanks to the people on Public Address), and feel compelled to link to them.
Firstly, the Holy Tango, an anthology by Francis Heaney of what poets and playwrights would have written had they produced works that were anagrams of their names (in case you hadn't spotted it, "holy tango" is itself an an anagram of anthology).
It's all brilliant, but the ones I enjoyed most on first reading were Robert Burns "Robber Runts", a tale told in Scots brogue of pint-sized thieves; Oscar Wilde's "IRS Law Code", a brittle comedy of manners about a visit by the tax man; and Allen Ginsberg's "Bangles Linger" - "Howl" turned into a lament about cheesy 80s pop music. You don't even need to have read the artist in question - despite being totally ignorant of Greek drama, I loved Euripides "I Reuse Dip", which is based on a well-known Seinfeld episode. Rare genius.
An even rarer and funnier gem is this document from 1674, apparently printed in the January edition of Harpers, the Women's Petition Against Coffee. It's almost too good to be true, but definitely seems to be genuine. If you thought that Candace Bushnell invented chick sex-crit, think again. Also note that these women had a superior sense of humour and command of the language. Whew, that Restoration era must have been a fun time, if you could have lived with the plumbing.
Firstly, the Holy Tango, an anthology by Francis Heaney of what poets and playwrights would have written had they produced works that were anagrams of their names (in case you hadn't spotted it, "holy tango" is itself an an anagram of anthology).
It's all brilliant, but the ones I enjoyed most on first reading were Robert Burns "Robber Runts", a tale told in Scots brogue of pint-sized thieves; Oscar Wilde's "IRS Law Code", a brittle comedy of manners about a visit by the tax man; and Allen Ginsberg's "Bangles Linger" - "Howl" turned into a lament about cheesy 80s pop music. You don't even need to have read the artist in question - despite being totally ignorant of Greek drama, I loved Euripides "I Reuse Dip", which is based on a well-known Seinfeld episode. Rare genius.
An even rarer and funnier gem is this document from 1674, apparently printed in the January edition of Harpers, the Women's Petition Against Coffee. It's almost too good to be true, but definitely seems to be genuine. If you thought that Candace Bushnell invented chick sex-crit, think again. Also note that these women had a superior sense of humour and command of the language. Whew, that Restoration era must have been a fun time, if you could have lived with the plumbing.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go Back on the Train
I don't know if anyone waded all the way through my extremely long, unwieldy reflections on the "political correctness" debate last year. Near the end of the post, I said that "the lashing out at PC-ness... seems like a desire to head back to a different kind of conformity" citing "the strong distrust of difference which has long lurked darkly beneath New Zealand's celebrated egalitarianism".
To illustrate my point, I quoted an incident described in Michael King's history of New Zealand:
"...[he recounts] an incident that occurred on a Wellington tram in the 1950s. Standing in the aisle, a young Hungarian New Zealander was carrying on a conversation with his father, in Hungarian. Suddenly, a man leapt up from one of the seats, punched him to the ground, and shouted 'speak English, damn you!'. "
Amusing tale of an insularity long past, right? Now we really are an open-minded, tolerant, cosmopolitan bunch; citizens of the world, gobling up cultural influences like fusion cuisine. We're certainly better than ignorant midwestern Americans or those redneck Aussies. Right?
OK, so read this.
It's hard to know whether to laugh or cry.
Categories: New Zealand, New Zealand culture
To illustrate my point, I quoted an incident described in Michael King's history of New Zealand:
"...[he recounts] an incident that occurred on a Wellington tram in the 1950s. Standing in the aisle, a young Hungarian New Zealander was carrying on a conversation with his father, in Hungarian. Suddenly, a man leapt up from one of the seats, punched him to the ground, and shouted 'speak English, damn you!'. "
Amusing tale of an insularity long past, right? Now we really are an open-minded, tolerant, cosmopolitan bunch; citizens of the world, gobling up cultural influences like fusion cuisine. We're certainly better than ignorant midwestern Americans or those redneck Aussies. Right?
OK, so read this.
It's hard to know whether to laugh or cry.
Categories: New Zealand, New Zealand culture
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Ask Not for Why the Bell Tolls
On Sunday mornings, before the clock has struck nine, the Anglican church a block and a half away from my flat begins its bellringing session. For up to an hour, intricate glissandos toll out in complex, repeated combinations, which I understand demonstrate the bellringers' ancient arts. If you're strolling along the street at that time, it probably gives the neighborhood a quaint, olde English flavour. For someone trying to sleep off a hangover, it's an absolute nightmare.
Listening to the morning pealing in one such state recently set me to thinking. Actually, at the time they were ringing, I wished fervently for a rocket-propelled grenade to fire at the church. It was later on, when my head was in a somewhat less painful state, that my mood turned to somewhat more structured indignation.
While noise is increasingly a political issue in our hypersensitive society, as people extend their fragile personal bubbles out further and further, a double standard persists. As I wrote way back in December 2003, light jazz music played outdoors at 9:00 pm in an inner-city suburb can bring a visit from noise control, even when all the neighbours have been politely informed of your plans. But the same neighbours starting a howling buzzsaw outside your bedroom window at 8:00 am on a Saturday is considered perfectly acceptable.
We've seen plenty of polemic being exchanged regarding noise in residential areas, the issue of Auckland's Western Springs speedway being just one notable example. But all the debate is about how much noise is made after a certain time. I have never yet heard of a successful complaint made about noise in the morning.
This is of course a conspiracy against late-to-bed, late risers. There are just no defensible grounds for applying different standards to noise at 9:00 pm versus 9:00 am.
It might be said that bellringing is not just noise; it's a skilled craft. But so is jazz music; in fact, though my knowledge of bellringing is limited, I suspect that trumpet and bass guitar may be instruments requiring subtler skills. And while people feel justified in calling the enforcers when bothered by the distant thud of a bass drum or the murmuring hubbub of a neighbourhood party, I can assure you that this is on a different level: these bells sound like there's somone ringing them right outside my room.
Sunday morning bellringing is a long community tradition, you might argue. Sure, but you want to know how old the custom is of staying up all night, drinking too much and being raucous? Org was staggering around outside his cave, trashed on berry wine, and loudly singing off key when we hadn't even discovered how to smelt metals.
Utilitarian considerations of enjoyment for a greater number of people won't fly either. These aren't even guaranteed to win anyway, as seen by the struggles of the Auckland speedway and the increasing restrictions placed on bars as middle-aged people move into inner-city apartments (they have to be fresh for their morning drive over to Martinborough, you see).
But in any case, this is not a question of the greater good. The bellringing has nothing to do with the morning church service. I wouldn't be bothered by one, two, ten rings of the bells to welcome the congregation. But this goes on for over an hour. It's just a few guys pulling on ropes for their own enjoyment -- and there's no reason why they couldn't do it at 2 in the afternoon.
And you can't claim that the neighbourhood is a welcoming and attentive audience. I'm pretty sure no one has ever been asked, but the opening hours of the corner coffee bar -- from 11am on weekends -- tells us what we need to know about the preferences of the local market. If people aren't even dragging themselves out for their caffeine fix until 11, you can be sure they're not strolling around the neighbourhood at 8:30 watching the sparrows flit and listening to the charming olde bells.
No, the only reason you can no longer have a party in an inhabited area, but still have to suffer your sleep being torn asunder shortly after sunrise, is a deeply ingrained, lingering puritanism. The unspoken assumption is that people ought to be up early in the morning; if they're not, they must be malingerers. Crashing hammers and bells at the crack of dawn are our culture's equivalent of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer.
I just thank the lord that, surrounded by apartments and townhouses, I no longer live in DIY-ville.
Categories: New Zealand, New Zealand culture
Listening to the morning pealing in one such state recently set me to thinking. Actually, at the time they were ringing, I wished fervently for a rocket-propelled grenade to fire at the church. It was later on, when my head was in a somewhat less painful state, that my mood turned to somewhat more structured indignation.
While noise is increasingly a political issue in our hypersensitive society, as people extend their fragile personal bubbles out further and further, a double standard persists. As I wrote way back in December 2003, light jazz music played outdoors at 9:00 pm in an inner-city suburb can bring a visit from noise control, even when all the neighbours have been politely informed of your plans. But the same neighbours starting a howling buzzsaw outside your bedroom window at 8:00 am on a Saturday is considered perfectly acceptable.
We've seen plenty of polemic being exchanged regarding noise in residential areas, the issue of Auckland's Western Springs speedway being just one notable example. But all the debate is about how much noise is made after a certain time. I have never yet heard of a successful complaint made about noise in the morning.
This is of course a conspiracy against late-to-bed, late risers. There are just no defensible grounds for applying different standards to noise at 9:00 pm versus 9:00 am.
It might be said that bellringing is not just noise; it's a skilled craft. But so is jazz music; in fact, though my knowledge of bellringing is limited, I suspect that trumpet and bass guitar may be instruments requiring subtler skills. And while people feel justified in calling the enforcers when bothered by the distant thud of a bass drum or the murmuring hubbub of a neighbourhood party, I can assure you that this is on a different level: these bells sound like there's somone ringing them right outside my room.
Sunday morning bellringing is a long community tradition, you might argue. Sure, but you want to know how old the custom is of staying up all night, drinking too much and being raucous? Org was staggering around outside his cave, trashed on berry wine, and loudly singing off key when we hadn't even discovered how to smelt metals.
Utilitarian considerations of enjoyment for a greater number of people won't fly either. These aren't even guaranteed to win anyway, as seen by the struggles of the Auckland speedway and the increasing restrictions placed on bars as middle-aged people move into inner-city apartments (they have to be fresh for their morning drive over to Martinborough, you see).
But in any case, this is not a question of the greater good. The bellringing has nothing to do with the morning church service. I wouldn't be bothered by one, two, ten rings of the bells to welcome the congregation. But this goes on for over an hour. It's just a few guys pulling on ropes for their own enjoyment -- and there's no reason why they couldn't do it at 2 in the afternoon.
And you can't claim that the neighbourhood is a welcoming and attentive audience. I'm pretty sure no one has ever been asked, but the opening hours of the corner coffee bar -- from 11am on weekends -- tells us what we need to know about the preferences of the local market. If people aren't even dragging themselves out for their caffeine fix until 11, you can be sure they're not strolling around the neighbourhood at 8:30 watching the sparrows flit and listening to the charming olde bells.
No, the only reason you can no longer have a party in an inhabited area, but still have to suffer your sleep being torn asunder shortly after sunrise, is a deeply ingrained, lingering puritanism. The unspoken assumption is that people ought to be up early in the morning; if they're not, they must be malingerers. Crashing hammers and bells at the crack of dawn are our culture's equivalent of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer.
I just thank the lord that, surrounded by apartments and townhouses, I no longer live in DIY-ville.
Categories: New Zealand, New Zealand culture
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
I'll Be Back
To regular and occasional readers of this blog: if you've noticed that there hasn't beeen a post for a while, don't worry: the reason is the pre-Christmas madness combined with post-Christmas lethargy, plus just a touch of summer holiday relaxation.
Several more posts will soon be forthcoming, plus replies to recent comments.
Feliz año nuevo.
Several more posts will soon be forthcoming, plus replies to recent comments.
Feliz año nuevo.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Why Billy Joel Is So Bad
A week or so ago I spotted an amusing and insightful article by Jay Rosen on why Billy Joel is so bad. This is not kneejerk rock-snobbism; the writer is a sympathiser and a former fan. As he points out, Joel doesn't lack for ability -- he's a strong singer, excellent pianist, and a talented songwriter in the Bacharach mould.
His downfall is a desperate need to be taken seriously. Rosen writes:
"The truth is that Joel was born at the wrong time. Were he a decade older, he might have wound up in the Brill Building crafting perfect little pop songs and gone down in history with Burt Bacharach, Carole King, and company. But Joel came of age in the post-Beatles era, when songwriters grew self-conscious about rock's aesthetic and social significance, and felt compelled to make statements "
Some of the results have been dire. I still remember watching on TV a concert Joel gave in Moscow around about 1988 or 1989, when Western rock stars were still a novelty behind the Iron Curtain. One of the songs he played was "Allentown", an attempt at a Springsteen-style, New Jersey working class ballad. Joel introduced it by saying: "this song is about......the workers!" (you know, because it was the Soviet Union and all) .
The crowd cheered wildly, mostly because they didn't understand a word and were cheering wildly at everything. I was only fifteen or so at the time - but not too young to cringe with embarassment.
"Piano Man", the song Rosen describes as Joel's attempt to be a "Dylan-style poet-troubadour", also has its clunky moments. It's a catchy melody, but the lyrics are made of concrete. As the song crescendos, Joel puffs out hs chest and hollers:
Now the piano it sounds like a carnival (an ok line)
and the microphone smells like a beer (now that is just an unpleasant image)
and they sit at the bar and put bread in my jaw (again, an unintentionally comic image)
and say "man, what are you doing here"
He then goes off into some la-de-das, to remind us that it's, you know, a folk song. The real problem is that it's not clear what the point is. Is the song about how tough it is to earn your living as a house musician? Not really. A story about one or more of the characters in the bar? The hopes and dreams of the singer? No, none of the above. The only candidate for a theme comes in the line:
They're sharing a drink they call loneliness - but it's better than drinking alone.
Which just makes it sound like the theme song from Cheers.
But the real nadir has to be "We Didn't Start the Fire", in my book a candidate for the worst song ever written. The verses have Joel reeling off a list of twentieth-century events, icons and individuals. Quite apart from blatantly stealing the idea ("a list of persons and things, sung rapidly") from REM's "It's the End of the World As We Know It", this has no apparent point.
Maybe we find enlightenment in the chorus?
We didn't start the fire; it was always burning, since the world's been turning
This still leaves us a bit confused. Who are "we"? And what is "the fire"? Perhaps we could paraphrase it thus: "History has always seen instances of conflict, oustanding individuals and groundbreaking events". In other words, shit happens.
What makes this so unutterably bad? I think it's something to do with the telegraphed, hamfisted attempt to be deep and meaningful, while actually being completely fatuous. One of the verses reaches its pre-chorus climax with Joel spiritedly declaiming: "Belgians in the Congo!". I rest my case.
His downfall is a desperate need to be taken seriously. Rosen writes:
"The truth is that Joel was born at the wrong time. Were he a decade older, he might have wound up in the Brill Building crafting perfect little pop songs and gone down in history with Burt Bacharach, Carole King, and company. But Joel came of age in the post-Beatles era, when songwriters grew self-conscious about rock's aesthetic and social significance, and felt compelled to make statements "
Some of the results have been dire. I still remember watching on TV a concert Joel gave in Moscow around about 1988 or 1989, when Western rock stars were still a novelty behind the Iron Curtain. One of the songs he played was "Allentown", an attempt at a Springsteen-style, New Jersey working class ballad. Joel introduced it by saying: "this song is about......the workers!" (you know, because it was the Soviet Union and all) .
The crowd cheered wildly, mostly because they didn't understand a word and were cheering wildly at everything. I was only fifteen or so at the time - but not too young to cringe with embarassment.
"Piano Man", the song Rosen describes as Joel's attempt to be a "Dylan-style poet-troubadour", also has its clunky moments. It's a catchy melody, but the lyrics are made of concrete. As the song crescendos, Joel puffs out hs chest and hollers:
Now the piano it sounds like a carnival (an ok line)
and the microphone smells like a beer (now that is just an unpleasant image)
and they sit at the bar and put bread in my jaw (again, an unintentionally comic image)
and say "man, what are you doing here"
He then goes off into some la-de-das, to remind us that it's, you know, a folk song. The real problem is that it's not clear what the point is. Is the song about how tough it is to earn your living as a house musician? Not really. A story about one or more of the characters in the bar? The hopes and dreams of the singer? No, none of the above. The only candidate for a theme comes in the line:
They're sharing a drink they call loneliness - but it's better than drinking alone.
Which just makes it sound like the theme song from Cheers.
But the real nadir has to be "We Didn't Start the Fire", in my book a candidate for the worst song ever written. The verses have Joel reeling off a list of twentieth-century events, icons and individuals. Quite apart from blatantly stealing the idea ("a list of persons and things, sung rapidly") from REM's "It's the End of the World As We Know It", this has no apparent point.
Maybe we find enlightenment in the chorus?
We didn't start the fire; it was always burning, since the world's been turning
This still leaves us a bit confused. Who are "we"? And what is "the fire"? Perhaps we could paraphrase it thus: "History has always seen instances of conflict, oustanding individuals and groundbreaking events". In other words, shit happens.
What makes this so unutterably bad? I think it's something to do with the telegraphed, hamfisted attempt to be deep and meaningful, while actually being completely fatuous. One of the verses reaches its pre-chorus climax with Joel spiritedly declaiming: "Belgians in the Congo!". I rest my case.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Coffee Cultures
I'm officially famous! Over the last few days, Russell Brown has been collating comments from resident and expat NZ coffee-drinkers. After an initial post where he observed that you don't seem to be able to get a NZ-standard espresso in London (or most places), he was flooded with feedback saying yes, wasn't it terrible, no one (apart from the Italians) knows how to make espresso properly.
Several people pointed out that this was a case of typical now-we-are-so-sophisticated NZ "zealotry" and a "reverse cultural cringe". I agree to an extent that the boasting about our coffee has elements of that "our rugby team is bigger than your rugby team" attitude which you increasingly see from NZers, and is indicative of deep insecurity and ingrained provincialism (i.e. it'd be laughable if it weren't so embarassing).
However, it is based on a large kernel of truth. That was the one thing I really missed about NZ while in South America. Every now and again I'd have a fleeting, nostalgic vision of Aro St cafe with a good English breakfast and a super-strong flat white.
By the time I read the posts Russell Brown had already printed two rounds of comments. I figured I'd missed out, but would send him my tuppence worth anyway. And lo, then he said that he'd got even more comments, they were "improving in quality", and he'd print a third round.
So today he's done a final summation of people's views on coffee. I'm in there, about the third person quoted.
If you don't feel like following the link, here's what I wrote:
"I agree that across most of Europe and N.America the coffee is not up to the standard set in NZ, particularly in the main NZ centres. I've also spent quite a bit of time in S.America and, despite being a major coffee-exporting zone, things aren't much good there either.
In Peru and Chile you only find espresso in a few places in the bigger cities, and it's often sans crema. In even moderately expensive restaurants, "coffee" means a cup of hot water served with a tube-like packet of nescafe. Or it's a strong liquid concentrate in a little jug, which you pour into the water.
Colombia is better--brewed coffee there is called "tinto" and is de rigeur with most meals. As in (fellow coffee-producing nation) Guatemala, it's also quite fresh tasting. Most small bars have espresso.
Again, though, you just want to order the basic espresso--no one really knows how to make coffee with milk.
Only in Italy or places with direct Italian influence do you find the full range of espresso styles. In Italy itself, while coffee is the fuel of life, there's somewhat less preciousness about it than there is in NZ.
Cappucinos are normally made with lukewarm milk because people don't piss about drinking them--they go into a stand-up breakfast bar and toss one down on the way to work. Also, they understand even better than NZers not to add too much water to an espresso--in your standard short black there's usually not much more than a tablespoon of liquid.
There's one coffee experience, however, you won't find in Italy or NZ. This is "cafe cubano", which I discovered in Sth Florida a few years ago.
Cuban-stye coffee is made by expressing a quadruple-shot coffee directly into a cup containing several spoonfuls of raw sugar. It's served in a "colada", a (usually polystyrene) cup about the size of a small takeaway coffee cup, and you also get several thimble-sized little cups. You then drink it in "shots', sharing with two or three people.
They call cafe cubano "liquid cocaine", and if you try it you will see why. Next time you're in Miami, find a little neigbourhood Cuban place, order yourself a colada, and prepare to have your socks knocked directly off.
WRT to Starbucks [there'd been quite a bit of comment about Starbucks amongst the previous posts]: When In Peru, I lived in Arequipa, and on a trip to Lima my Arequipan girlfriend insisted on going to Starbucks, as she was nostalgic for when she spent time in the US. Not only was the milky coffee I ordered the most execrable, burnt, soapy thing I have ever tasted, but it cost more than it would have in NZ (in Peru, most consumables are two or even three times cheaper). My girlfriend didn't care--for her simply being in Starbucks was fulfilling her aspirations. "
Categories: coffee
Several people pointed out that this was a case of typical now-we-are-so-sophisticated NZ "zealotry" and a "reverse cultural cringe". I agree to an extent that the boasting about our coffee has elements of that "our rugby team is bigger than your rugby team" attitude which you increasingly see from NZers, and is indicative of deep insecurity and ingrained provincialism (i.e. it'd be laughable if it weren't so embarassing).
However, it is based on a large kernel of truth. That was the one thing I really missed about NZ while in South America. Every now and again I'd have a fleeting, nostalgic vision of Aro St cafe with a good English breakfast and a super-strong flat white.
By the time I read the posts Russell Brown had already printed two rounds of comments. I figured I'd missed out, but would send him my tuppence worth anyway. And lo, then he said that he'd got even more comments, they were "improving in quality", and he'd print a third round.
So today he's done a final summation of people's views on coffee. I'm in there, about the third person quoted.
If you don't feel like following the link, here's what I wrote:
"I agree that across most of Europe and N.America the coffee is not up to the standard set in NZ, particularly in the main NZ centres. I've also spent quite a bit of time in S.America and, despite being a major coffee-exporting zone, things aren't much good there either.
In Peru and Chile you only find espresso in a few places in the bigger cities, and it's often sans crema. In even moderately expensive restaurants, "coffee" means a cup of hot water served with a tube-like packet of nescafe. Or it's a strong liquid concentrate in a little jug, which you pour into the water.
Colombia is better--brewed coffee there is called "tinto" and is de rigeur with most meals. As in (fellow coffee-producing nation) Guatemala, it's also quite fresh tasting. Most small bars have espresso.
Again, though, you just want to order the basic espresso--no one really knows how to make coffee with milk.
Only in Italy or places with direct Italian influence do you find the full range of espresso styles. In Italy itself, while coffee is the fuel of life, there's somewhat less preciousness about it than there is in NZ.
Cappucinos are normally made with lukewarm milk because people don't piss about drinking them--they go into a stand-up breakfast bar and toss one down on the way to work. Also, they understand even better than NZers not to add too much water to an espresso--in your standard short black there's usually not much more than a tablespoon of liquid.
There's one coffee experience, however, you won't find in Italy or NZ. This is "cafe cubano", which I discovered in Sth Florida a few years ago.
Cuban-stye coffee is made by expressing a quadruple-shot coffee directly into a cup containing several spoonfuls of raw sugar. It's served in a "colada", a (usually polystyrene) cup about the size of a small takeaway coffee cup, and you also get several thimble-sized little cups. You then drink it in "shots', sharing with two or three people.
They call cafe cubano "liquid cocaine", and if you try it you will see why. Next time you're in Miami, find a little neigbourhood Cuban place, order yourself a colada, and prepare to have your socks knocked directly off.
WRT to Starbucks [there'd been quite a bit of comment about Starbucks amongst the previous posts]: When In Peru, I lived in Arequipa, and on a trip to Lima my Arequipan girlfriend insisted on going to Starbucks, as she was nostalgic for when she spent time in the US. Not only was the milky coffee I ordered the most execrable, burnt, soapy thing I have ever tasted, but it cost more than it would have in NZ (in Peru, most consumables are two or even three times cheaper). My girlfriend didn't care--for her simply being in Starbucks was fulfilling her aspirations. "
Categories: coffee
Monday, December 05, 2005
No sugar thanks, and hold the "sir"
Dear supermarket checkout attendants, cafe workers, and shop assistants. Please stop calling me "sir". You have no reason to do this, and it's irritating the hell out of me. In no other context would you conceivably consider addressing me in this way. You are maybe five or six years younger than me; in the worst cases ten to twelve.
Come on, I'm clearly youngish, informal, mostly pretty scruffy looking. Do you really think that's how I want to be talked to?
So maybe it says you're supposed to do this in your training manual. Or your manager told you to do it. As part of your commitment to service, always address the customer as "sir"; this conveys the appropriate degree of respect.
It doesn't. At best, it makes me feel old. At worst, it comes across as patronising and condescending. Especially when you, the carefully-groomed, attractive woman in your early twenties, keep using it, in between chatting to your fellow "baristas" while you make my coffee. "Sugar with that, sir?". "So, yeah, dunno, I was thinking of going to the Matterhorn". "Will that be all, sir?".
Because, if once is too much, four or five times makes me want to slap you. And I'm particularly addressing this to you, smarmy supermarket junior manager type with the slightly different tie from your fellow employees, and your I'm-showing-the-trainee-checkout-worker-how-to-serve-customers manner. You think you're impressing your poor protege with your knowledge of the customer service handbook by firing off five or six "sirs" as you zap my groceries? This customer just thinks you're a wanker.
People, your handbook was written in the United States, where there are different standards of formality. And even there, "sir" is far from de rigeur in most settings. The place I've spent the most time in is Miami; there, in mid-range department stores, the woman calls you "baby" (and only if you're really white--anybody vaguely Hispanic looking is "mi amor"). As a customer and a person, I prefer that.
You want to know how to provide "good customer service"? Very simple - be polite and efficient. Don't piss about. And I have to say, you in the supermarket are mostly doing a brilliant job in this respect. Yes, you're mostly first-generation immigrants, and you mostly refrain from the "sir" bullshit; it's the homegrown, facetious, wannabe manager boys who pull that out.
While, we're on the topic, cut the small talk. Do you really want to know how my day is? You care if they're keeping me busy? Didn't think so. And, let's just say you were unaccountably fascinated by what I might have been doing this morning, do you think the next person in line is going to wait around while I describe it to you? So let's just lose the pretence and move swiftly on, ok?
To you in the clothes store, I must make a special appeal. Yes, you do have to be approachable. But don't overdo it. Remember, I'm male--I'm confused and intimidated by being in a clothes store. I need to browse the racks from a safe distance, like my ancestors on the savannah making sure there weren't any sabre-toothed tigers lurking before they went after the mammoth.
You can flag your availability, but be discreet. Something like: "You're ok there, right? Just let me know if you need any help" is fine. It'll still freak me out a little, but as long as I can get away with a "sure" in reply, I won't actually need to run out of the shop.
You don't care if my weekend's been busy either--so don't ask. And yes, you guessed right. I'm a guy, and I did see the game. I could even discuss in depth whether the third sin-binning was justified, or why the lineouts went awry in the second half. But that's not why we're here, so why bother?
You really want to be helpful and sociable? Tell me something about the item I'm looking at. Is it down from $89.99 to $69.99? Manufactured somewhere other than China? Made with fully unionised labor? Its material particularly warm in winter/cool in summer? The cut flattering to the shorter man? All of these things are important to me; they're useful information, what I'm looking for when I'm poking around trying to find the labels.
So, if you tell me these things, that will be of assistance; I'll know whether to go chasing after the mammoth. You might even have a sale on your hands. Just don't pretend to be my friend. And whatever you do, don't call me "sir".
OK, so right about know you're all thinking that I'm some oversensitive middle-class twat. You're doing your best, service jobs are low paid and menial, how are you supposed to know what different people prefer? Well, I believe I have done my time, and do have some insight. Three years working in a gas station, where I had to suffer gits in their BMWs pulling up and telling me to "fill 'er up, mate" ("I'm studying philosophy!", I wanted to say).
I've worked in cafes, bars, youth hostels, all kinds of service jobs. And, you think you don't get no respect as a checkout worker--try working in the carnival industry in the USA and Canada. There, not only does the populace despise you as a dirty carnie, they feel justitifed, in fact honour-bound, in trying to cheat and steal from you.
Consequently, I have a lot of sympathy for the service worker. I much prefer the system in restaurants or bars in the US, and even anal old Canada, where a tip is expected for the person who serves you. This allows you to give a portion of your money directly to that person--and the harder and better they work, the more they get.
I just have no time for the needless--and phony--self debasement that is promoted in the pages of the corporate training manuals. This does nothing for the customer, and is only truly embraced by the smart-assed types on the way up the management ladder. I would be happy to see a tip or commission component in all service jobs, so the employee is able to not only be rewarded for working harder, but also learn what customers really respond to (mostly, being treated as a human being).
So, please, act normal. Use your common sense and stop believing the guff they tell you. And, unless you're really trying to piss me off, stop calling me "sir".
Categories: rants, customer service, New Zealand
Come on, I'm clearly youngish, informal, mostly pretty scruffy looking. Do you really think that's how I want to be talked to?
So maybe it says you're supposed to do this in your training manual. Or your manager told you to do it. As part of your commitment to service, always address the customer as "sir"; this conveys the appropriate degree of respect.
It doesn't. At best, it makes me feel old. At worst, it comes across as patronising and condescending. Especially when you, the carefully-groomed, attractive woman in your early twenties, keep using it, in between chatting to your fellow "baristas" while you make my coffee. "Sugar with that, sir?". "So, yeah, dunno, I was thinking of going to the Matterhorn". "Will that be all, sir?".
Because, if once is too much, four or five times makes me want to slap you. And I'm particularly addressing this to you, smarmy supermarket junior manager type with the slightly different tie from your fellow employees, and your I'm-showing-the-trainee-checkout-worker-how-to-serve-customers manner. You think you're impressing your poor protege with your knowledge of the customer service handbook by firing off five or six "sirs" as you zap my groceries? This customer just thinks you're a wanker.
People, your handbook was written in the United States, where there are different standards of formality. And even there, "sir" is far from de rigeur in most settings. The place I've spent the most time in is Miami; there, in mid-range department stores, the woman calls you "baby" (and only if you're really white--anybody vaguely Hispanic looking is "mi amor"). As a customer and a person, I prefer that.
You want to know how to provide "good customer service"? Very simple - be polite and efficient. Don't piss about. And I have to say, you in the supermarket are mostly doing a brilliant job in this respect. Yes, you're mostly first-generation immigrants, and you mostly refrain from the "sir" bullshit; it's the homegrown, facetious, wannabe manager boys who pull that out.
While, we're on the topic, cut the small talk. Do you really want to know how my day is? You care if they're keeping me busy? Didn't think so. And, let's just say you were unaccountably fascinated by what I might have been doing this morning, do you think the next person in line is going to wait around while I describe it to you? So let's just lose the pretence and move swiftly on, ok?
To you in the clothes store, I must make a special appeal. Yes, you do have to be approachable. But don't overdo it. Remember, I'm male--I'm confused and intimidated by being in a clothes store. I need to browse the racks from a safe distance, like my ancestors on the savannah making sure there weren't any sabre-toothed tigers lurking before they went after the mammoth.
You can flag your availability, but be discreet. Something like: "You're ok there, right? Just let me know if you need any help" is fine. It'll still freak me out a little, but as long as I can get away with a "sure" in reply, I won't actually need to run out of the shop.
You don't care if my weekend's been busy either--so don't ask. And yes, you guessed right. I'm a guy, and I did see the game. I could even discuss in depth whether the third sin-binning was justified, or why the lineouts went awry in the second half. But that's not why we're here, so why bother?
You really want to be helpful and sociable? Tell me something about the item I'm looking at. Is it down from $89.99 to $69.99? Manufactured somewhere other than China? Made with fully unionised labor? Its material particularly warm in winter/cool in summer? The cut flattering to the shorter man? All of these things are important to me; they're useful information, what I'm looking for when I'm poking around trying to find the labels.
So, if you tell me these things, that will be of assistance; I'll know whether to go chasing after the mammoth. You might even have a sale on your hands. Just don't pretend to be my friend. And whatever you do, don't call me "sir".
OK, so right about know you're all thinking that I'm some oversensitive middle-class twat. You're doing your best, service jobs are low paid and menial, how are you supposed to know what different people prefer? Well, I believe I have done my time, and do have some insight. Three years working in a gas station, where I had to suffer gits in their BMWs pulling up and telling me to "fill 'er up, mate" ("I'm studying philosophy!", I wanted to say).
I've worked in cafes, bars, youth hostels, all kinds of service jobs. And, you think you don't get no respect as a checkout worker--try working in the carnival industry in the USA and Canada. There, not only does the populace despise you as a dirty carnie, they feel justitifed, in fact honour-bound, in trying to cheat and steal from you.
Consequently, I have a lot of sympathy for the service worker. I much prefer the system in restaurants or bars in the US, and even anal old Canada, where a tip is expected for the person who serves you. This allows you to give a portion of your money directly to that person--and the harder and better they work, the more they get.
I just have no time for the needless--and phony--self debasement that is promoted in the pages of the corporate training manuals. This does nothing for the customer, and is only truly embraced by the smart-assed types on the way up the management ladder. I would be happy to see a tip or commission component in all service jobs, so the employee is able to not only be rewarded for working harder, but also learn what customers really respond to (mostly, being treated as a human being).
So, please, act normal. Use your common sense and stop believing the guff they tell you. And, unless you're really trying to piss me off, stop calling me "sir".
Categories: rants, customer service, New Zealand
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