Some readers will know that I have been accepted by the Art History Department at the University of Auckland as a PhD candidate. My subject is the influence of architectural historians on architectural culture in New Zealand. I think it is what those PoMo chaps call a meta-narrative.
There are some who have misgivings about the value of meta-narratives or, for that matter any kind of narrative, such as Mark Miller Graham:
Closure denotes a satisfying end, a coming to terms, in which highly suspect and subjective stylistic and iconographic sequences form a causal chain as if they were dominoes of the gods. Thus, they play upon existential desires for resolution. One way of accounting for art history's unnatural attachment to narrative closure is to turn to the psychoanalytical notion of cathexis, as the libidinal investment made in the narrative. The history of art is propelled forward by this energy invested in narrative. Together, chronology and closure are a kind of machinery that can be likened to, or are actual expressions of, the quest for (male) sexual release.
That would explain it, then: Art History is a load of wank.
There is nothing like a list of rankings to make bloggers needy and nerdy at the same time, so it is good to see that Tim Selwyn has done sums and produced the NZ Blogosphere rankings. As expected, some bloggers are doubting the results and questioning the methodology. The Fundy Post will not be among them: this blog's standing at number 30 is quite agreeable, particularly as little was posted here for much of the survey period.
That said, I cannot resist the opportunity to examine The State of the New Zealand Blogosphere. After all, we are a nation given over to introspection, doubt and self-examination. We love this sort of thing. So, Hey ho, let's go.
For a start, there seem to be an awful lot of libertarians in Blogzealand but one hardly ever meets them IRL; is blogging a condition of membership of the ACT Party? There are a fair number of lefties as well, although I note that my own commitment to the Left is questioned by Mr Selwyn. Was it something I said?
It is also a very male list. I count ten blogs of the one hundred which are written by a woman or by a group in which a woman is prominent; only one, Red Confectionery, is a wholly female group blog. I am not sure what to think of that, especially since most of the blogs on this list are political in content. Where are the women? Are so few blogging about politics? Is it because of the troll problem?
And what of the blogs written by women which are not about politics; why are they not on this list? Where are Harvest Bird, Robyn and Make Tea Not War? Where is Wanda Harland when we need her? And why all these questions?
The answer is in the small print. This is a ranking of political blogs. It is all about "public discourse," a phrase which presumably means No Cats. There are exceptions, but then you couldn't have a blog party without inviting Brain Stab, could you? But then you can't have a party without any girls; if you don't have girls, the men stand around talking about politics.
In my less than humble opinion, the problem with blogs is that the political chaps want to have their say, so they set up blogs and link to all the other political chaps. Blogging is serious business, for serious people. The real political blogs are joined by fake ones – politicians pretending to be bloggers. The non-political blogs, often written by people with specialist interests who know what they are talking about, don't get a look in. Writing skills count less than political allegiances. And the result is a list like this, where many of the entries, whether left or right, are unreadable.
Not that Mr Selwyn is at fault in compiling this list. The dominance of political blogs seems to be a natural feature of the blogging ecosystem and is self-perpetuating. Among those political blogs are writers who are informed about the issues and can present the arguments. It is just a shame about the rest. I, for one, would rather see a good blog about cats in the list, rather than a bad blog about the Resource Management Act.
Let's look on the bright side: Mr Selwyn's list may help to bring about change. By making a list and updating it, he may bring to public attention blogs which otherwise would be overlooked. People might discover Ethical Martini, stanselen, Channel Chanel or the new blog of the legendary Liz Shaw: political, written by a woman and filled with observations such as "It's great to go outside and get some fresh air while having a cigarette."
Having read this far, you may be asking, "how do I get into this blogging craze which is sweeping the nation? Is there a dress code? Do I need special equipment?" You could start by reading the articles posted here , which includes one that tells you not to use "here" as a link term. In fact, it turns out I am doing everything wrong. For blogging success, I should be including tags (Blogger helpfully gives as examples "scooters, vacation, fall" which makes me think of Mark E Smith on a Vespa, somewhere in Italy) but I can't be arsed. I should also be using titles that are relevant to the topics, but that would be no fun.
These pages also include this helpful advice:
"To me, the most difficult thing about blogging is finding a good topic. Not all days: some days I have so many ideas that I couldn't possibly blog about them all. That's why it's handy to keep a blogging notebook or a blogging calendar. I use those 10 cent little spiral notebooks. Others I know use those calendars that the dentist, vet, and bank give away during December. There's no right answer; use whatever works for you.
I use a computer. It's a Macintosh; that works for me. I find the best thing to do with those calenders is to put them in the bin.
Here's my blogging pro-tip: nothing is predictable. Here is an example. Of all the images I have posted, the one which has brought in the most traffic is the furry girl. Yes, furries are coming to this blog. At least they don't know where I live. Yiff.
Here is The Fall, a band which has had so many members that they cannot remember the name of their first drummer:
Comments on my previous post show that readers of left and right are united in condemnation of John Key's aesthetic preferences. It is time to put our political differences aside and stand together, as we face of one of the greatest threats to this nation's well-being: bad architecture. As we enter a New Year, this blog is determined to seek out and mock tacky buildings wherever they can be found.
In the meantime, since this blog has at least one rightish reader, here are some links which reflect the Fundy Post's commitment to diversity. Staying with architecture, how about this for a laugh? A radical, a liberal, a traditionalist, and a conservative are in a car talking about palladium windows, which would be hard to see through and expensive to replace. Moving on, in the free part of Salon Camille Paglia argues for the North American intellectual tradition; it's all about the weather, apparently. In the New Criterion, Theodore Dalrymple (not his real name) discovers he likes a work of conceptual art. And here's something which will really confuse the conservatives: gay Muslims.
Meanwhile and back home, Larry Baldock claims his anti-anti-spanking petition has 250,000 signatures. This blogeur recalls Mr Baldock's previous petition which was anti-prostitution reform and which was just a few signatures away from victory before it collapsed. In Britain, MPs challenge the Bishops.
The NY Times has found a blog which lists bloggers' favourite posts of 2007, which just goes to show how easy it is these days to do print journalism. One that might interest readers is about the new Atheism. Readers might also be interested in the opportunity to date Jesus. Back home again, Horansome has learned that God is a conspiracy theory.
Whilst on the subject of myths, this blogeur (who is of Scottish ancestry and who has considerably more claim to the name of Dalrymple than does Theodore) is somewhat miffed that the story of the Water Horse has been made into a cutesy movie, particularly when the gruesome facts about the Each Uisge are so much more entertaining. On the other hand, this blogeur (who was raised in Kent) is pleased that hodening is making a come-back. And, if you are wondering about the the future of the English language, it is totally in the hands of teenage girls; random.
And finally, back to that story about the homes of the rich and famous in the Herald on Sunday; did it seem to you to be, like, so last year? Did you get a feeling (in the words of my favourite Herald headline) of deja vu all over again? Well, like, DUH: the Herald ran virtually the same story the Christmas before last.
This is a time of year when bloggers should put aside the petty concerns of politics and consider instead matters of the Arts. So, following the example set by Mr Peter Cresswell, I shall indulge myself in a little architectural criticism.
The house pictured is the holiday home of one John Key, who is shown in the photograph. The house is one of several featured in an item from yesterday's Herald on Sunday, entitled, "Revealed: the holiday hideout of rich and famous." Mr Key, a retired foreign exchange dealer, is described by the paper as a "Prime-Minister-in-waiting."
Whilst he is waiting, Mr Key really should think about doing some gardening. I may be mistaken; perhaps the appearance of abandonment is newly fashionable among people of money; possibly Mr Key wishes to give the impression that he is too busy to spend time on personal concerns. Maybe he holds to Green principles and wishes to let his plot of land grow naturally, without human intervention. Or perhaps he has simple tastes and prefers weeds to flowers. But I think not. He should find a landscape gardener immediately, before people think he is the sort of man who would leave a car on his front lawn.
His gardener, if she has taste, will suggest tactfully that the garden be adorned with fast-growing trees, perhaps Leylandii or even Pinus Radiata. It is imperative that the house be concealed from public gaze as soon as possible. For there is only one word that can adequately describe this immodest abode and that is "vulgar."
It is difficult to know where to begin. Here is a house (described somewhat disingenuously by the Herald as a "bach") which has the appearance of a miniature office building. Rather than its present location at Omaha Beach, its design suits it to a business park on the outskirts of the city, conveniently near major transport hubs. The reader should note the extravagant and charmless cornice, apparently supported by massive piers, as well as the floor-to-ceiling windows in tinted glass. The reader should note these and resolve never to have a home with these features; unless, that is, he should wish to have regular visits from photocopier salesmen, for surely they will flock to his door.
Should one be visiting Mr Key in his holiday home, whether to attempt to sell office products or for social reasons, it would be very bad form to tap one of those seemingly weighty piers. It would chime like a bell. The piers must be hollow, since the wooden deck which apparently supports and surrounds them could not bear the weight of so much masonry. Wits might observe that this is a hollow house for a hollow man.
Fortunately, one can see little of the interior through the tinted glass. One suspects that it would contain a white leather lounge suite, on which Mr Key would relax with half a glass of Chablis while listening to Air Supply's Greatest Hits on the Bang and Olufson. One imagines the bookshelves, if there are any, would contain works by John Grisham and Dean Koontz. Doubtless, the walls are adorned with paintings of sailing boats, done in a pseudo-impressionist style.
If only, for the sake of this nation's reputation abroad, one could say that Mr Key had inherited this unfortunate state of affairs. But, as he never ceases to tell us, Mr Key was brought up in a State house, one which probably was a much better work of architecture than this. All this, apparently, is Mr Key's work. He bought the empty plot seventeen years past for a mere $147,000; with the house, it is worth $2.95 Million. The choice of design was his own, as is the location: Success Court.
I would continue, but readers of this blog are men and women of delicate aesthetic sensibilities. Instead, I shall wish you all a happy New Year.
It's that time of year again. Yesterday's lead story in both the Herald and the Dom was that a New Zealander had been bitten by a snake, in Australia. Woop de woop, as the young folks say. In an effort to provide readers with something to read, here are some links to some items of interest.
In the New York Review of Books, Malise Ruthven reviews some books concerning the religion of peace. In the TLS, John Habgood grumbles about the New Atheism, "which has a sharper tongue, is gleefully aggressive rather than solemnly regretful, and makes much use of ridicule." Oh yes, indeed. In the Guardian, Timothy Garton Ash talks about faith, reason and Mitt Romney. Robert Bellah longs for a global civil religion.
Turning towards a more important matter, n+1 discusses dating. John Lanchester tells us all about derivatives. Frederick C Crews talks about drugs.
There, I bet that cheered you up. Today's illustration was provided by the excellent Mr Samuel Finnemore, who has spent most of this year commenting for great justice on Mr Wishart's blog.
One of my favourite traditions at this time of year is the War Against Christmas. Like many traditions, it is not that old: the religious right in the USofA discovered that Christmas was under attack from secularists only a couple of yuletides ago. However, hostilities have broken out all over the place, including the Old Country. A Member of Parliament called Pritchard, who represents the Conservative interest in the Wrekin, has taken up the call to arms. Apparently, "many shoppers find it increasingly difficult to buy greeting cards with references to Christ." It is obvious why: the fascists have bought them all. Mr Pritchard says the British National Party in Staffordshire has sent out cards showing the holy family and bearing the words 'heritage, tradition and culture.' I am so glad I am not on their list, or any of their lists.
Things are so different in the Levant. Mr Pritchard told his audience, "yesterday I received an e-mail from a Jewish gentleman in Beirut, who told me of nativity plays performed in schools there. If it is good enough for Lebanon, it is good enough for London." I should think so, too. London should have an endless war between Christians and Muslims, with help from Syria and Israel. That would give the youth of today some moral fibre. Instead, they have Amy Winehouse, who is Jewish but no gentleman (incidentally, on Waiheke Island recently, I saw a teenage girl who looked like Ms Winehouse and who had styled her hair accordingly; I bet she is a worry to her parents).
The full text of Mr Pritchard's speech can be found here. It is a masterpiece of imagery. He exalts his fellow members to "slay the dragon of political correctness" and provides what must be the simile of the year: "taking Christ out of Christmas is like serving the Christmas turkey without the stuffing."
Mr Pritchard also has stern words for us heathens: "turning to secularists, it is wrong of the anti-Christian lobby, whether atheistic, humanist or secularist, not to afford the level of tolerance to the Christian faith that they rightly demand for their own world view and beliefs or lack of belief." I must say, it is very nice of him to be so politically correct as to distinguish between the different kinds of non-believer. But I don't think atheists can be blamed for the rarity of advent calendars.
Whilst we are at it, and thinking of war, why did none of these crusaders ever complain about the war films shown on television at Christmas? When I was growing up in England, on Christmas Day the BBC would always show Von Ryan's Express or The Guns of Navarone. It is no wonder that the only people left who care about the reason for the season are the Staffordshire fascists: the holy family keeps folks' minds off killing Nazis.
Dispatches from the war against Christmas in the USofA can be found here, while Flumadiddle brings us the true tat of Christmas. And, in case you didn't know already, it was all invented by Charles Dickens.
Finally, and thinking of the Wrekin, here is a unrelated song from Wreckless Eric
One more thing: here is my Christmas card to you. I hope you will find it tolerant and secular.
It is, as all those 80s pop stars remind us, Christmas-time, and so the Baptists of the Tabernacle on Auckland's Queen Street have done what they always do at this time of year: they have brought out their alarmingly life-size Christmas Crib. It gives me the shudders everytime I see it. Nativity scenes, traditionally, are on a miniaturised scale and so they should be. But the Baptists proclaim that a child is born with huge and scary figures.
Among the Corinthian columns Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus and two kings of orient are. The whereabouts of the third king are unknown. They are an odd looking bunch. Mary must be the oldest virgin in town, while Joseph seems quite shocked at the prospect of surrogate fatherhood, as well he might. The two kings appear to be advancing on the less than happy family as zombies do on teenagers. There are no certain shepherds, no sheep and no asses; which is fortunate, because there would be no room at the Tabernacle otherwise.
But what of that third king? Perhaps he was taken in the night by drunken revellers. That may be the reason why the holy mannequins are returned to the recesses of the Tabernacle every evening and regrouped the next day. Or perhaps the king's disappearance is a sign of something more sinister.
Perhaps the royal absence is "part of a larger war that the secular Left is waging on all things Christian," In the USofA, manger attacks are breaking out all over. In one such incident, a public school coach and some of his students "damaged a number of Christmas displays, let the air out of inflatable figures and rearranged plastic reindeer into X-rated sexual positions." Flumadiddle is monitoring the lordnappings and, at the last count, reports thirty-two baby Jesuses taken.
Whether this disturbing trend has come to New Zealand remains unreported. Family First really ought to be monitoring this sort of thing.
Blimey. Just when it looked as if nothing much was going on around here, the Fundy Post has had greatness thrust upon it. A company called Socialrank, which makes clever little algorithms to assess blogs, has compiled a list of the top one hundred Atheist sites in the blogworld. There, among such luminaries as The Flying Spaghetti Monster, Pharyngula and Flumadiddle, is the Fundy Post. And what's more, the selection process was done by twenty key bloggers in the Atheist niche; I have been peer-reviewed. They have even given me a virtual plaque, which I have hung at the at the top right.
Quite how this all came about is beyond my ken. I have never thought of this as an atheist blog; rather as an autobiographical narrative written by an author who does not much care to talk about himself and who, for that matter, does not much care for stories. The fact of my atheism and of my fascination with religious politics is just something that is part of the mix, along with art, literature and Sophie Ellis Bextor. However, my peers apparently think otherwise, so I shall not turn down this accolade. Besides, it will really piss off Bill Cooke, which is reason enough.
You never know, it might also prompt somebody to offer me a writing job. Perhaps I might also be the subject of one of those profiles in North and South which feature New Zealanders playing on the world stage and show how New Zealand punches above its weight. Metro, as well, might like to think about a feature, or at least lunch.
Anyway, enough about me. This blog's ranking is now in the hands of the algorithm, which weighs the Fundy Post in the balance daily. The score, which has risen a healthy four points this week, is determined in large part by the amount of activity and linkage the blog receives. So I have you, gentle readers, to thank. It is the lurking and linking and commenting which makes the points. And points mean prizes, or at least kudos.
I was going to entitle this post "don't cha wish your boyfriend was hot like me" but I thought that would be a little immodest.
To Smith and Caughey, for seasonal lulz; there is nothing like a department store to bring out the camp in Christmas. I am sure Fundy Post readers will want to know how the rich (or, to the use the politically correct term, people of money) will be spending their riches this Christmas. So I patrolled the decked aisles of Smith and Caughey's Christmas department and I can reveal, exclusively to you, that this year's hot item is...
...a paper bag. You read me right. A paper bag. Not just any old paper bag, of course; that would be silly. This paper bag in fact is an "old-fashioned paper bag lantern." For a mere fourteen dollars you can purchase a plastic bag filled with "six reusable, flame retardant, grocery-style bags." You will also have to make an additional investment of some night lights to put in the bags, so as to transform them into lanterns. A serving suggestion on the plastic bag which contains the paper bags shows the completed bag and night light combinations deployed to line a driveway. Given the length of driveways in Rem, the purchaser will need quite a few bags. But a bag is not just for Christmas: the instructions on the plastic bag also suggest using the paper bags to light your dinner party table.
It is a different world, that of the people of money. I am ignorant of the history of the old-fashioned paper bag lantern, if it has one. I would imagine that at some time and place in the quaint past, people without money put candles in paper bags to make lanterns, because they could not afford anything more elaborate. Now people of money can imitate the simple pleasures of the poor, without even having to go to the trouble of hoarding their grocery bags, and safe in the knowledge that these bags are flame retardant.
Perhaps I should not mock the people of money any further. This Christmas will not be easy for them. On the very day that I visited Smith and Caughey, the Herald used the last of its red ink to announce the passing of the Electoral Finance Bill into law, solemnly noting that Parliament's decision has "changed the way New Zealanders can participate in elections." I expect this is true for the New Zealanders who buy paper bag lanterns. It probably will make little difference for those who use bags solely for shopping purposes. If you are in Pak'n'Save filling your own bags with groceries, you probably are not grieving that the Government no longer allows you to spend a million dollars running a covert election campaign. You are probably more concerned with packing and saving.
