This is my 100th post; so indulge me for a moment, as if you don't already.
The Age has a story about a deaf lesbian in South Dakota who is on trial for murdering another woman and dismembering her with a chainsaw. For some reason, the headline Chainsaw lesbian faces trial, reminds me of the greatest music video ever made:
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Some news
In Melbourne, Pentelcostalism is cool. In Bennelong, the Exclusive Brethren consider their options, while in Christchurch, blogger Dumamark experiences a night out for the ex-Exclusive Brethren. In Rome the media are criticised for talking about sex rather than charity. In Poland, the word on the street is lustration. In Sweden, a Princess is stalked by the Phelps family. Meanwhile, in Wellington, they are destroying sculptures.
With thanks to Craig
With thanks to Craig
Sunday, April 08, 2007
After browsing at Borders
Having nothing to do on this God-forsaken day, I wandered into Borders. It is not a bookstore of which I approve. It is not really a bookstore at all; it is more of a vast reading library which keeps really long hours and gives you the option of buying books and magazines if you want to take them home. Of course, it should not be open today, because we should be in Church, but Borders has no borders.
Anyway, it was an opportunity to make observations about the state of the publishing industry. I thought these things might be clues:
1. Books have been published from contributions to Postsecret and Engrish. What is the point? These books cost money and, although it does not say so on their covers, are not updated regularly. Who are they for - people who do not use Internet for recreational purposes at work; people who have never found any interesting sites and use Internet just for banking and bus timetables; people who don't like computers? At least these books give those of us who have been visiting these sites for years the satisfaction of knowing that we were ahead of the curve.
2. The Second World War will never end, although it is now being fought by historians and veterans.
3. You can judge a book by its cover. Books with embossed lettering on their covers are very bad books. This is helpful for blind customers buying books for their sighted friends. Novels with pink covers are written for women. Men don't read.
4. About sixty per cent of new books are set in Tuscany. They are either: anecdotes of over-stressed advertising executives who gave it all up for the simple life among comical and colourful peasants; or: novels written by the same over-stressed advertising executives about their thinly-veiled autobiographical selves.
5. It is a shame that so many people have a novel inside them. It is usually a very bad novel.
6. The political is the personal. Every politician of note has to write a book; it always explains the politician's politics in terms of his or her "personal journey."
7. John Grisham wants to be Harper Lee, over and over again.
I could go on. Instead here is a song about 19th Century English literature by the Jefferson Airplane, which I post here to remind us all how unutterably gorgeous Grace Slick once was.
Anyway, it was an opportunity to make observations about the state of the publishing industry. I thought these things might be clues:
1. Books have been published from contributions to Postsecret and Engrish. What is the point? These books cost money and, although it does not say so on their covers, are not updated regularly. Who are they for - people who do not use Internet for recreational purposes at work; people who have never found any interesting sites and use Internet just for banking and bus timetables; people who don't like computers? At least these books give those of us who have been visiting these sites for years the satisfaction of knowing that we were ahead of the curve.
2. The Second World War will never end, although it is now being fought by historians and veterans.
3. You can judge a book by its cover. Books with embossed lettering on their covers are very bad books. This is helpful for blind customers buying books for their sighted friends. Novels with pink covers are written for women. Men don't read.
4. About sixty per cent of new books are set in Tuscany. They are either: anecdotes of over-stressed advertising executives who gave it all up for the simple life among comical and colourful peasants; or: novels written by the same over-stressed advertising executives about their thinly-veiled autobiographical selves.
5. It is a shame that so many people have a novel inside them. It is usually a very bad novel.
6. The political is the personal. Every politician of note has to write a book; it always explains the politician's politics in terms of his or her "personal journey."
7. John Grisham wants to be Harper Lee, over and over again.
I could go on. Instead here is a song about 19th Century English literature by the Jefferson Airplane, which I post here to remind us all how unutterably gorgeous Grace Slick once was.
An anecdote of a jar (or two)
You might have noticed that Harvest Bird and I have been indulging in a Wallace Stevens poetry jam, lobbing back and forth lines and poems written by the Vice President of the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company. The most recent contribution by Harvest Bird was Six Significant Landscapes, which ends:
Said Rationalist was Mr Malcolm English, Barrister, Solicitor and member of the NZARH Council. He was wearing a sombrero because he was (a) at a Mexican-themed party and (b) pissed out of his brain. I was also at the party, which was held at a large house in Brighton Road, Auckland. Mr English and I exchanged some words. His were "fuck off" and mine were a little more considered. This, you see, was my first meeting with Mr English or any other member of the Council since the Council had expelled me from the NZARH at the Annual General Meeting in June of last year. We had our differences.
At this point, I am sure you want to know why I was expelled from the NZARH. I will explain that in later posts, for reasons of brevity. I am afraid this narrative must proceed backwards over several episodes. I am sure we are all sufficiently post-modernist round here to deal with that.
I didn't waste much time talking to Mr English, because I preferred to talk to a very nice Goth girl about 19th Century English novels (a classical education sometimes has its benefits). However, two of my friends took over the onerous task and gave him rather a hard time about the Council's actions towards me. I last saw him staring into nothingness, wearing an inane grin and the sombrero.
I thought nothing more of the matter. However, it seems Mr English did, as you shall read. I was surprised he remembered it at all. He and I used to be best buddies and go out drinking most weekends. He invariably got very drunk and forgot most of what happened. On one memorable occasion (for me, at least) he phoned me from a hospital to ask me whether I had been out with him the night before; I hadn't but he been drinking socially and had sustained an injury while under the influence, waking up the next morning in a hospital bed with no memory of the night's events. On another night, I was making the acquaintance of a new friend at Murphy's Irish Bar, when a barman asked me to remove Mr English, who was slumped in a corner and vomiting over himself. After the Brighton Road party, Mr English at least remembered he had met me.
Some time after the party, Princes Street Labour booked the Rationalist House meeting room (which is rectangular but has a floor and ceiling to look at) for a fund-raising evening to support the locked-out workers of Progressive Enterprises, on 16th September. I am a member of Princes Street Labour, as the NZARH Council know. In fact, one of the organisers was asked by Judith de Leeuwe, the NZARH Office Manager, whether I would be attending.
The day before the event, I received a phone call from Ms de Leeuwe. She told me that the NZARH Council would be obtaining a Trespass Order to prevent me entering Rationalist House. The reason for this was that Mr English had told the Council that I had threatened to cause damage to Rationalist House when I met him at the Brighton Road party. This is untrue; I said no such thing. Mr English either imagined my supposed remarks or invented them.
As it happened, I received no trespass order. The event proceeded and raised over $200 for the workers. Rationalist House stands to this day.
On the Tuesday after the event, I was relaxing at home in Absurdist House when I was interrupted by a knock on the door. There, skulking in the shadows was Mr David Ross, then NZARH Treasurer (whom I once named Igor, for his tireless efforts doing Dr Bill Cooke's dirty work). He handed me a Trespass Order, which prevents me from entering Rationalist House for two years, on pain of a fine not exceeding $1000 or imprisonment for a term not exceeding three months. I was a little alarmed that they had managed to find me, since I had not told them my new address and had no wish to have the Council know where I live.
The trouble with a Trespass Order is that there is no appeal against it: although the Council did not think it an urgent matter and although my two friends witnessed the conversation in which I did not make the threat against the building that formed the grounds for the Order, there is nothing I can do about it.
The Trespass Order was dated the previous Thursday, but obviously the NZARH Council did not think that Rationalist House was in such peril that it had to be served before the event. Nor had any member of the Council thought it necessary to go to Rationalist House during the event to ensure that I was not damaging the property. Obviously they did not think I posed any clear and present danger to Rationalist House, so why did they go to the trouble of serving me this order?
The NZARH Council moves in mysterious ways, their wonders to perform, but let me tell you why I think they did it. The NZARH Constitution says that any member who is expelled from the Association has the right to appeal to the next General Meeting of the Association and will be re-admitted to the NZARH if two-thirds of the members at the meeting agree. The Council carefully timed my expulsion to occur at the Annual General Meeting on Sunday 25th June 2006. This meant that I could not appeal to that AGM and would have to wait until the next one, in June this year. The Trespass Order means that, if I go to the AGM this year or next, the Council could have me removed from the building by the Police and I would face a hefty fine or a prison sentence.
And why, you might ask, are the NZARH Council so determined to stop me appealing to the membership? Because I have a few things to tell the membership that the Council do not want them to hear. Since I cannot tell the membership, I will tell you.
Watch this space.
Rationalists, wearing square hats,Strangely enough, the story I promised to tell you in my last but one post - about how the New Zealand Association of Rationalists and Humanists (Inc) served me a Trespass Order - begins with a Rationalist in a sombrero.
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses --
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon --
Rationalists would wear sombreros.
Said Rationalist was Mr Malcolm English, Barrister, Solicitor and member of the NZARH Council. He was wearing a sombrero because he was (a) at a Mexican-themed party and (b) pissed out of his brain. I was also at the party, which was held at a large house in Brighton Road, Auckland. Mr English and I exchanged some words. His were "fuck off" and mine were a little more considered. This, you see, was my first meeting with Mr English or any other member of the Council since the Council had expelled me from the NZARH at the Annual General Meeting in June of last year. We had our differences.
At this point, I am sure you want to know why I was expelled from the NZARH. I will explain that in later posts, for reasons of brevity. I am afraid this narrative must proceed backwards over several episodes. I am sure we are all sufficiently post-modernist round here to deal with that.
I didn't waste much time talking to Mr English, because I preferred to talk to a very nice Goth girl about 19th Century English novels (a classical education sometimes has its benefits). However, two of my friends took over the onerous task and gave him rather a hard time about the Council's actions towards me. I last saw him staring into nothingness, wearing an inane grin and the sombrero.
I thought nothing more of the matter. However, it seems Mr English did, as you shall read. I was surprised he remembered it at all. He and I used to be best buddies and go out drinking most weekends. He invariably got very drunk and forgot most of what happened. On one memorable occasion (for me, at least) he phoned me from a hospital to ask me whether I had been out with him the night before; I hadn't but he been drinking socially and had sustained an injury while under the influence, waking up the next morning in a hospital bed with no memory of the night's events. On another night, I was making the acquaintance of a new friend at Murphy's Irish Bar, when a barman asked me to remove Mr English, who was slumped in a corner and vomiting over himself. After the Brighton Road party, Mr English at least remembered he had met me.
Some time after the party, Princes Street Labour booked the Rationalist House meeting room (which is rectangular but has a floor and ceiling to look at) for a fund-raising evening to support the locked-out workers of Progressive Enterprises, on 16th September. I am a member of Princes Street Labour, as the NZARH Council know. In fact, one of the organisers was asked by Judith de Leeuwe, the NZARH Office Manager, whether I would be attending.
The day before the event, I received a phone call from Ms de Leeuwe. She told me that the NZARH Council would be obtaining a Trespass Order to prevent me entering Rationalist House. The reason for this was that Mr English had told the Council that I had threatened to cause damage to Rationalist House when I met him at the Brighton Road party. This is untrue; I said no such thing. Mr English either imagined my supposed remarks or invented them.
As it happened, I received no trespass order. The event proceeded and raised over $200 for the workers. Rationalist House stands to this day.
On the Tuesday after the event, I was relaxing at home in Absurdist House when I was interrupted by a knock on the door. There, skulking in the shadows was Mr David Ross, then NZARH Treasurer (whom I once named Igor, for his tireless efforts doing Dr Bill Cooke's dirty work). He handed me a Trespass Order, which prevents me from entering Rationalist House for two years, on pain of a fine not exceeding $1000 or imprisonment for a term not exceeding three months. I was a little alarmed that they had managed to find me, since I had not told them my new address and had no wish to have the Council know where I live.
The trouble with a Trespass Order is that there is no appeal against it: although the Council did not think it an urgent matter and although my two friends witnessed the conversation in which I did not make the threat against the building that formed the grounds for the Order, there is nothing I can do about it.
The Trespass Order was dated the previous Thursday, but obviously the NZARH Council did not think that Rationalist House was in such peril that it had to be served before the event. Nor had any member of the Council thought it necessary to go to Rationalist House during the event to ensure that I was not damaging the property. Obviously they did not think I posed any clear and present danger to Rationalist House, so why did they go to the trouble of serving me this order?
The NZARH Council moves in mysterious ways, their wonders to perform, but let me tell you why I think they did it. The NZARH Constitution says that any member who is expelled from the Association has the right to appeal to the next General Meeting of the Association and will be re-admitted to the NZARH if two-thirds of the members at the meeting agree. The Council carefully timed my expulsion to occur at the Annual General Meeting on Sunday 25th June 2006. This meant that I could not appeal to that AGM and would have to wait until the next one, in June this year. The Trespass Order means that, if I go to the AGM this year or next, the Council could have me removed from the building by the Police and I would face a hefty fine or a prison sentence.
And why, you might ask, are the NZARH Council so determined to stop me appealing to the membership? Because I have a few things to tell the membership that the Council do not want them to hear. Since I cannot tell the membership, I will tell you.
Watch this space.
Push, push, struggle
Tonight on K Road somebody was holding a Kurt Cobain tribute event.
I hate Nirvana.
Nirvana had one good riff, on Come as You Are.
They stole it from Killing Joke.
I hate Nirvana.
Nirvana had one good riff, on Come as You Are.
They stole it from Killing Joke.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Crazy: yes. Dumb: no.
Since I had nothing to do last night (see previous post) I tuned in for Close Up at Seven on TV One, because it had an Easter special examining whether we are a Christian country. And who did I find on the multi-faith panel of pundits postulating on this question? None other than Dr Bill Cooke of the New Zealand Association of Rationalists and Humanists (Inc), that's who, preaching the gospel of Humanism. Which reminds me, I must tell you the story of how I was trespassed from Rationalist House. Soon.
In the meantime, I have been looking at the poll which TVNZ commissioned for the Easter special and wondering why they wasted our money on this crap. The main question asked was "Do you think New Zealand is still predominantly a Christian society?" 51.3% agreed; 45.6% disagreed. Fair enough, but that doesn't mean much. During the later years of the Cold War, polls found that a majority of young people thought they would die in a nuclear holocaust. Although some commentators at the time took this to mean that said holocaust was inevitable, polls are not lethal.
What the poll failed to discover was anything about how much religious observance was conducted by those polled or what were their attitudes to their religions. Previous research has shown that about ten to twenty percent of the population regularly attend religious services. Unfortunately, these pollsters did not think that a question worth asking. Which is a shame because that answer and the proportion of the non-observant who shape their lives according to their religious beliefs would give a much more clear indication of how religious is our society.
One question the survey did ask was "if we are not a Christian society, what are we?" The pollsters' interpretation of the results says a lot about the poll, none of it good. Here are some excerpts:
It is even worse for the agnostics:
Meanwhile Iain Middleton of the Humanist Society of New Zealand (yes, in this little country of ours we have a Humanist Society of New Zealand and a New Zealand Association of Rationalists and Humanists) talks about the big questions to Salient .
And here, making much more sense than any of the above, is The Mint Chicks:
In the meantime, I have been looking at the poll which TVNZ commissioned for the Easter special and wondering why they wasted our money on this crap. The main question asked was "Do you think New Zealand is still predominantly a Christian society?" 51.3% agreed; 45.6% disagreed. Fair enough, but that doesn't mean much. During the later years of the Cold War, polls found that a majority of young people thought they would die in a nuclear holocaust. Although some commentators at the time took this to mean that said holocaust was inevitable, polls are not lethal.
What the poll failed to discover was anything about how much religious observance was conducted by those polled or what were their attitudes to their religions. Previous research has shown that about ten to twenty percent of the population regularly attend religious services. Unfortunately, these pollsters did not think that a question worth asking. Which is a shame because that answer and the proportion of the non-observant who shape their lives according to their religious beliefs would give a much more clear indication of how religious is our society.
One question the survey did ask was "if we are not a Christian society, what are we?" The pollsters' interpretation of the results says a lot about the poll, none of it good. Here are some excerpts:
AtheistHas science made you think more deeply about the Great Explosion? Are you concerned about the standards of thinking and grammar in polling firms? Does this make any sense whatsoever?
* Atheist and undecided. Many people who call themselves Christians call themselves that because it's easier than saying that they don't believe in, and because that's how they were brought up - not because it accurately reflects the beliefs that they act on a day to day basis
* If we aren't atheists for certain, we are on the brink of being non-believers in God. Science has made us think more deeply about 'the great explosion' and why would a God allow such a belligerent society continue to exist. Why the religious wars throughout the ages if we believe in the same God? What is the difference between a Roman Catholic God and a Christian one. Why are Iraqui people so divided when basically they are members of the same religion?
It is even worse for the agnostics:
AgnosticAs TH Huxley once said, we are all consumers now.
* Mainly agnostic and uninterested and use the excuse we are too busy
* Agnostic, consumer driven society following generally the values espoused by the major religions (e.g. respect, family based etc)
Meanwhile Iain Middleton of the Humanist Society of New Zealand (yes, in this little country of ours we have a Humanist Society of New Zealand and a New Zealand Association of Rationalists and Humanists) talks about the big questions to Salient .
And here, making much more sense than any of the above, is The Mint Chicks:
Friday, April 06, 2007
Friday on my mind
To Morningside, for life. I went to the Craccum party last night; I'm in with the in crowd. We swayed to the gentle sounds of the Body Corporate and the Dilettantes, playing live in Simon's sitting room. We talked (Derrida, the Pre-Socratics, robots, that sort of thing), we danced, we drank. And then we ran out of drink. And then came the dread realisation that it was past midnight and today was Good Friday, the day on which everything closes. There was no drink to be had.
Why does this happen? Yes I know, it's because Jesus died, for our Sins. Then he took a weekend off from being alive. Then he stopped being dead on Monday. Then he went away again, to be with his Father and his Ghost, or something like that. For this we get two holidays; but we are not allowed to do anything that involves buying things. Thanks Jesus.
Any anyway, this is not necessarily the day he died, because Easter is a Moveable Feast and it does a lot of moving. The Book of Common Prayer includes a useful guide to calculating when it will happen each year. A minority of us will be going to church to mourn the death of Jesus, knowing all the time that he came back later; so, although he really died, he didn't really, really die.
For this, the majority of us are condemned to the slowest day of the year. We can go to dairies and petrol stations and buy some of the stuff we would normally buy in a supermarket, but at inflated prices. Apart from that, we can buy souvenirs and not much else. If you own a shop, you can open it, if it is in Parnell, but not up the road in Newmarket. If you are a retail magnate, you can open your shops in Queenstown and Taupo but not those in Rotorua, Mt Maunganui and Wanaka. If you are a Labour Department inspector, you will be prowling the streets looking for transgressors.
Oh well, at least I got a chocolate egg.
Why does this happen? Yes I know, it's because Jesus died, for our Sins. Then he took a weekend off from being alive. Then he stopped being dead on Monday. Then he went away again, to be with his Father and his Ghost, or something like that. For this we get two holidays; but we are not allowed to do anything that involves buying things. Thanks Jesus.
Any anyway, this is not necessarily the day he died, because Easter is a Moveable Feast and it does a lot of moving. The Book of Common Prayer includes a useful guide to calculating when it will happen each year. A minority of us will be going to church to mourn the death of Jesus, knowing all the time that he came back later; so, although he really died, he didn't really, really die.
For this, the majority of us are condemned to the slowest day of the year. We can go to dairies and petrol stations and buy some of the stuff we would normally buy in a supermarket, but at inflated prices. Apart from that, we can buy souvenirs and not much else. If you own a shop, you can open it, if it is in Parnell, but not up the road in Newmarket. If you are a retail magnate, you can open your shops in Queenstown and Taupo but not those in Rotorua, Mt Maunganui and Wanaka. If you are a Labour Department inspector, you will be prowling the streets looking for transgressors.
Oh well, at least I got a chocolate egg.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
News from God
This news came as a surprise to me, considering the number of God's advocates who seem to be quite obsessed with gays and what they get up to.
The news offended one A Miller, who complained to the Advertising Standards Authority on the grounds that the advertisement "was likely to cause serious and widespread offence in the light of generally prevailing community standards." The ASA disagreed
What I want to know is whether it is gays or God to whom A Miller objects. Which community standards does A Miller have in mind?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Kierkegaard, Krazy Kat, and some other Existentialists
As well as Jedi, the Flying Spaghetti Monster and the Discordians in this sermon from one of those wacky Unitarian Universalists. My fellow Absurdists, our time has come.
Monday, April 02, 2007
The tyranny of lentils
In case you are thinking of inviting me to dinner (and I am sure you will) I think you should know that I have specialist dietary requirements. I am a freegetarian. That is, I do not buy dead animal (apart from pies, which have a strange hold on me), but I will eat it when it is offered to me. Given the choice, I prefer dead animals which have been farmed rather than harvested: I am not that keen on eating fish, because we are running out of the stuff very fast; although part of me says I can do nothing and I may as well enjoy fishes whilst I can.
I do have vegetarian sympathies and have been a genuine vegetarian at several times in my life. Sometimes I wish I had the moral character and the metabolism to be a vegan. So I become rather irked when I read an article about vegetarians which makes this sort of sweeping statement:
Meanwhile, PETA would like you to vote for the cutest vegetarian alive
I do have vegetarian sympathies and have been a genuine vegetarian at several times in my life. Sometimes I wish I had the moral character and the metabolism to be a vegan. So I become rather irked when I read an article about vegetarians which makes this sort of sweeping statement:
This is vegetarianism’s lure and vegetarianism’s trap. Along with its heightened awareness of the value of life, it brings a heightened desire to bring a new world into existence. And the greater the ambition, the higher the cost; the greater the purity, the stronger the purge.So, there you have it: vegetarians are just fascists in flowery dresses. In these politically correct times, it is inconvenient to voice one's prejudices against anyone, but people who don't eat meat are fair game. Professional cooks, on television and radio, seem to make a point of sneering at vegetarians at every opportunity. Sometimes I wonder why the choice of what one eats should matter so much to some other people. But then I remember that dietary restrictions are fundamental to most religions. Perhaps we get it from there.
Meanwhile, PETA would like you to vote for the cutest vegetarian alive
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