Retrospective rave: And the winner is... me: A note to INXS

People get engaged in all kinds of situations; many of them go away somewhere, some have a nice dinner, some get their engagement ring with another gift (famously, my uncle was too shy to actually ask my aunt, so he gave her a tiger soft toy with a ring on his tail).

Not me. I got engaged at a rock concert, which though it might sound a little unusual, was absolutely perfect. INXS were the background music to my proposal (with Afterglow), and they will be the background music to the signing of the register (which is of course, the legal part of getting married).

My fiance is my partner in crime, the person who makes me laugh the most, my best friend, the stability in my life and (as you can see below) my cat's favourite person in the world. He knows me so well he chose the time I had mentally picked out to propose to me, and we have been together through illness, surgery, financial difficulty, buying a house and an international move, and nonetheless we want each other more than anything else in the world (except maybe the cat). I am truly a winner, and without the history of INXS in our relationship, that winning would not be quite so sweet.

Rave: Why my Blogathon is all about Satchmo

Satchmo is my domestic employer, because as anyone who has a cat will know, cats have staff, not owners. Satchmo came to me after two previous owners in a house I lived in back in NZ, and I didn't know him as a kitten. I do know, though, from his previous owner (who ironically also now lives in Australia, though there was no way she could have taken Satchmo with her to the states) that he did a brief stint in the SPCA when he was a baby, and then was adopted into a good home, neutered and health checked.

Without the SPCA, my former flatmates would have had nowhere to take Satchmo that he even had a chance at life, and many other animals would have worse lives and deaths; they are a good organisation.

I'm blogging for the SPCA for selfish reasons, though -- without them I probably would not have Satchmo in my life, and he is a blessing. I'm not really his favourite, even though I do none of the fleaing and worming; and give most of the cuddles, Satchmo is all about my partner:

Nonetheless, he is very much a part of my life. He talks to me, and walks on my chest in the morning to wake me up, he sits with me when I am sad, he entertains my guests (which is a damn good thing, because he is a better host than I am). Hell, he entertains me a lot of the time, which is also a good thing because otherwise I might have gone mad living in the city where I lived in NZ for the past 10 years. And I wouldn't have him if it weren't for the SPCA, most likely. For all the good things Satchmo has brought to my life, the next 24 hours are the least I can give up to help other animals like him, so (despite the fact he would prefer to be thanked with tuna, and lots of it) I am dedicating my blogathon to Satchmo.

Heads up: I'm doing the blogathon

In the next 24 hours I am going to make 48 posts to this blog, because I am doing the blogathon to raise money for the Australian SPCA. I am going to try to keep to the usual topical, mostly grammatical though typo-laden writing I normally provide you (my non-existent reader) with, but some rants/raves/reflections will be spread over multiple posts (because most of the posts on here take about 90 minutes to write, and I have to post every 30), and some of it is likely to be gibberish, because I am going to be up for 36-odd hours straight, with no exercise and too much caffeine.

Oh, just thought I better say hi to my monitor, too. She's going to be hanging out here intermittently for the next 24 hours. Hi CJ! Thanks for helping me raise this money!

Bear with me. This is for a good cause, and I will tidy up the blog afterwards (merging posts on a single topic, getting rid of gibberish, that sort of thing).

Rant: Sony are sickos who have lost my custom

In an earlier post I commended Sony (against my better judgement) for creating video games that girls might like to play. I take it all back. Sony have done a bunch of things that have really pissed me off, including rootkits, non-redbook CDs that actually broke some Apple computers, and supporting the notoriously misogynist Grand Theft Auto by releasing it on the Playstation platform. I am also of the firm opinion (and experience) that most of their hardware, far from being the reliable gear it used to be, is crap, these days.

None of that, though, was enough to make me boycott their stuff. You would think it would be, but no, my love of their Singstar and Buzz series has outweighed my disgust with their general business practices, until now. After using a dead goat as a prop at a party (and making it look like the goat had been recently slaughtered), and then, for fuck's sake, publishing the pictures in their magazine, Sony has lost my business.

Now, Sony are claiming that the goat was already slaughtered by a butcher, and that the "still warm intestines" they invited guests to eat were actually offal. I, frankly, don't think either thing makes their behaviour okay; they glorified the torture of an animal (even though it may not really have been tortured) not just at the party, but to their magazine subscribers worldwide, and for what? To sell a few computer games? Some commenters suggest that if one eats meat, one has no right to complain about this use of the goat; I disagree. Consumption, as a use of a dead animal is wildly different from a Japanese corporation (though run by a Welsh man) using a dead goat as a sales prop -- meat does not glorify cruelty, and is, for some, a necessity of life.

The goat is the really horrific point in this story, but I also feel the need to point out that Sony also had topless women at this party, serving drinks, presumably to increase the "orgiastic" atmosphere. While I am no prude, this seems a particularly exploitative use of women's bodies; selling computer games. I also find it bizarre that the newspaper that broke the story pixelled out the head of the goat, but left a young lady's bare breasts and face on display; the goat was dead and could suffer no further indignity (and the full horror of what Sony did should really be made clear), but the young lady is alive and still subject to exploitation.

While no doubt this revolting stunt by Sony has created a wave of publicity that may even sell more games, they have also overstepped this time. I will be boycotting them, I will be encouraging my friends and workmates to boycott them, and comment on the web suggests many others will boycott them too. If I were in Sony's shoes, I would be making a very hefty donation to humane societies and women's shelters about now, and I would watch my commercial step for many years to come.

Rave: I love Melbourne

As some of you might know (hah, like anyone is reading this anyway) I recently moved to Melbourne. Now, I was kind of worried, because everyone I talked to (apart from Martin, who is living here and can't have the kind of life he can have at home) told me I was going to love Melbourne, and always exactly like that, with the emphasis on the word love. Normally when something is talked up up to me like that, I find whatever it is a disappointment.

Well, today I realised how much I really, truly love this adopted city of mine. I walked out the door, and it was foggy, and I thought "oh hey, it's foggy. Cool!". Those of you who lived with me before, or indeed know anything about my previous home city will know that it is notorious for fog. Anyone who lived there with me will know that my reaction to the fog was anything but "Cool!". It's true. I love Melbourne so much, I even love the fog.

Loving Melbourne as much as I do has made me realise that I never really settled in to my previous home. I loved the people there, and I was in many ways loath to leave, but I was always disenchanted with the city itself. It was muddy in the winter, and humid in the summer. The winter fog often did not lift. The terminal rain in winter really slayed me. I lived in that town for ten years, and it was never really home -- there was no loyalty, and no love lost.

I've been in Melbourne six months. It really shouldn't be that different to where I was before. In some ways, relying on public transport, and living in rented accommodation, and having fewer friends, I should find it more difficult here. There are no mountains here. And yet... I love Melbourne, even on foggy days. Here there are concerts, and art galleries showing things that interest me, and local artist markets and loads of good cafes within walking distance of where I work and live and there is public transport, and it doesn't rain for days on end. Here I saw a band that I thought were cool back when I first heard their song while I was living at home, and who I never thought I would see (Eskimo Joe), and they were awesome. Here I saw a band I fell in love with on TV (INXS), again, and they were awesome, again, and I will never forget the concert (but that is a whole other story). Here I saw the guy from Black Books -- and if it weren't for my workmate I wouldn't even have known he was coming. Here, if I had a radio, I would hear Placebo played (and with a station like Triple J, we must do something about a radio). I will always associate Livin' by the Day by Dilana with getting used to here, and it is one of my favourite songs.

None of that would make a difference, though when my many of my friends and none of my family are here, if it weren't for one thing: Melbourne was a choice -- and a good one at that.

Rant: David Bain: A life (needlessly) lost

Unlike the rest of New Zealand, and maybe because I am not there, I don't believe I know for sure that David Bain did or did not murder some or all of his family on June 22 1994. I have heard all sorts of theories, from "he did the lot, and might just off Joe Karam while he's at it" through "his Dad shot the family, but he shot his Dad" right up to "he is inncoent and his Dad did it" and the conspiracy theory "they burned the house down, and someone important did it and wants this to go away". I'm pretty certain the guy is innocent (in no small part because you would have to be one scary, talented individual to protest your innocence for 13 years if you did it), but only he (and depending on what you believe, his dead family and God, oh, and maybe the conspiracy theorist's murderer and police) really know.

The justice of the matter is, though (since the truth, for once, is irrelevant) it that it really, truly does not matter whether he did it or not. There is no way that based on the evidence he should have been convicted of all five murders (or even one of them), and thus he has spent nearly thirteen years in jail unjustifiably (well, maybe fewer than thirteen, but at least since the first appellate court rejected his appeal). I, like the privy council, do not blame the judge or the jury at the trial, they had a shit of a job, and I am sure under the circumstances they did the best they could. The same cannot be said for the police, I don't think, and it certainly cannot be said for the court of appeals, who appear to have taken the path of least resistance at every possible opportunity. Woe for NZ that we no longer have any international courts above our own internecine, incestuous little judicial affairs.

Now there is all the scrap about whether he should be re-tried (the privy council said yes, but that it was up to the local courts to decide what would be in the best interests of the public), or indeed whether he can have a fair trial (a decision on this is expected to be made later this month). There is also the question of compensation, for which apparently present laws state he would have to prove his innocence.

In all the hue and cry, however, we seem to have forgotten that it is not just David's family who wrongfully had their lives cut short, it is David as well. This is a man who spent 13 years, from his early 20s to his mid 30s, in jail (not known for it's pleasant environment) in jail for a crime he should never have been convicted of. He's never held a job, owned a cellphone, had a long term relationship, had the chance to have a family, surfed the web because he felt like it, had the chance to vote on a reality TV show--the list goes on. He has been locked up not just through his own early adulthood, but also through a time of great change in the world. While he was in jail, he went from an adolescent looking young man, to a man who is suddenly middle aged.

To be fair to David, he learned a marketable trade in jail, and seems to remarkably well adjusted. He has job offers (which is a good thing, given he hasn't a cent to his name, being wrongfully convicted of this has even taken his inheritance), and he is learning to cook. He has a supporter in Joe Karam, and many others as well.

Just because he is taking it well, though, does not excuse us from knowing our criminal justice system has made him into a not-guilty 34 year old man who feels "It is nice to have different drinks and hamburgers and things to choose from". Our justice system, with no right, not only took this man's life, but kept it long after the court of appeals had seen evidence that should have released him.

Should he be retried? Probably not. Should he be compensated? Absolutely. Even if he did do it, he should not have been in jail for a good chunk of the time he has. The government, the justice system, and we as electors and jurors owe him more than we can ever repay for those years. What is the most scary thing about this case? That it is likely not the only one, and jail does Bad Things to people, often. Something is very wrong, here, and I don;t know how to fix it.

David, you have my apologies for not finding out how to support you. You have my apologies that our justice system was prepared to leave you in jail to cover it's own ass. Most of all, though, you have my apologies that you needlessly lost not just your family, but your own life.

Update, 21 June 2007: Apparently the NZ judicial system has not had a big enough piece of David Bain yet. The decision to retry him was reached today, and so we are going to waste yet more of his life (though how they are going to get a jury that will even consider convicting, I would love to know).

Reflections: Social misfits and the golden rule

You know the golden rule -- treat others as you would have them treat you. Well, you know, I abide by it, but it doesn't work, because I am a social misfit. So the rule should really be "treat others as you would have them treat you, until they ask you otherwise".

I learned recently that because of my social misfitship, I have been pissing a friend of mine off unwittingly. Said friend sent me an email saying that my behaviour was insensitive to them, inconsiderate to their significant other, and left a sour taste. Moreover he pointed out (which of course, being a social misfit, I didn't recognise) that my behaviour was also unusual. Of course, being a social misfit, but not unkind, I was upset and horrified to have been upsetting said friend. I was glad the issue was addressed in email, because it gave me time to react without the reaction being witnessed; I don't deal well when my emotions are on display. I wrote back saying I had not realised my behaviour was upsetting, and I would, of course, cease and desist. There was another brief email exchange where the friend said thanks, and I explained that my intent had not been malicious, and that had things been the other way around the behaviour would not have bothered me, because my view of things was different (and that I hadn't realised how unusual it was until it was pointed out to me). At that point said friend responded that I was not a social misfit, just different.

See, the thing is, it's too late. I have been reminded once again that I am a social misfit, in an angry tone, and in words that made me out to be the whole problem (as opposed to perhaps "I am uncomfortable when" instead of "you are insensitive and inconsiderate"). I'm feeling bad about all the incidences of the behaviour that have gone before. I don't want to see the friend anymore because I am scared I will slip. And I am hurt, because it was made all about how bad my behaviour was. And I am upset, because often, when I ask to be treated differently, my requests are regarded as unreasonable.

The upshot of all this? I'm hurting, the friend has everything they could hope for out of the situation, and I am probably an idiot for rolling again. And the golden rule, it only works when your friends are very like you. If you have friends who are social misfits, be kind to them when you ask that they change their behaviour. After all, they are your friends, and they are, like me, probably not being deliberately malicious.

Rave: Because I Want You (iTunes exclusive)

Somehow this blog has become a music review with interspersed fits of pique about other things; but that's okay, I've always said I could live without my vision, but not without my hearing because I can't bear the thought of a life with no more music.

And you know, sometimes a piece of music comes along that makes you want to gasp, and cry and hug the person you love, and laugh for the sheer beauty of it all at the same time. It's not very often that this happens, and I am sure that with the abundance of music these days I miss some of the best moments. Just about every artist I have loved has had flashes of this, but right now I am captivated by an example I can't let go of.

That example comes on a particularly tasty iTunes exclusive session that I am particularly glad Placebo took the time to record. It is four songs, and the low point is a cover of Sinead O'Connor's Jackie, which is one of the few songs I do like by Sinead, and one of the few songs I don't like by Placebo. There's an excellent piano version of Meds, that is even darker and sweeter and sadder than the album version, and there is a light guitar version of Song to Say Goodbye that makes the insults sound lighthearted.

The true high point, though, the song that has it's teeth in me and won't let go, is Because I Want You. This song sounds less like rage and more like ironic self-blame than either the album version or the Live at la Cigale version. For all the irony, though, there is real sadness and honesty here, real reflection on the things done wrong in the name of love. This song changes the ambiguous to(o) in the line "Because I want you too" from "to" to "too". All of a sudden the message has gone from being about the first person to being about the second person; from an accusation to an apology the singer believes might be too late, but hopes will give him the one last chance that he needs to make it work (and this time, he will).

This is an emotional maturity that can only come from someone who has "stared into the void, and found it tempting", though it is surprising maturity from someone who once claimed to have left "a trail of blood and spunk across Europe" (hell, with that lifestyle, it's amazing Brian lived this long. Thanks, Levi).

Placebo have been with me through my masters (a.k.a. the masters fiasco), illness, depression, rage, surgery, getting well, and falling in love, and they always had a song for me. This song, though, is a song for all of that and more. It's the sadness of realising you've screwed up and might not be able to fix it, but the happiness of knowing you love someone more than your addictions. It's the depression of having done it all again, but without the rage you would expect, and while it is honest, it is not raw... Brian is far from angelic, and his voice is challenging most of the time, yet this piece is carried on his vocal, and he sounds like a crying angel.

An open letter to Dilana

Dear Dilana,

You'll likely never find this or read it, but it all still needs to be said. I want to thank you for auditioning for cockrock supernova, because had you not done so, likely I would never had heard your work. You, Toby, and Magni must be the reason the second series of Rockstar existed, nothing else makes sense.

I loved you right from the first moment you stepped on the stage scary, hard as nails, and exciting, not to mention a little bit hot. And your voice... like the diamond part of gravel. Week after week, your bubbly, geniune, raw personality, your wicked sense of humour, and above all, your excellent performances were the best thing about the show. In the end, it is all about the music, and while Toby and Magni rocked it, you were the standout act. You made me love songs I hadn't previously liked, and songs I had previously liked went to a whole new level in your hands and your voice... especially Mother Mother. Yeah, I saw how you got dragged through the mud so Tommy Lee had a reason not to pick you when you were the standout, but instead of being angry at you the way so many were, my heart ached for you; my honesty has gotten me in trouble more than once, and in a situation like that, I would have been dead in the water. All the talk of moving on, and then the persistent refusal to do so in my mind just added insult to the injury that was singling you out for punishment so Tommy Lee would have an excuse to go with his choice from the start, "his boy" Lukas.

I was relieved to read that you were happy to come second, and selfishly I was glad of it too; I so look forward to hearing an album from you along the lines of 'Supersoul', with all you learned on the show. I know it has to be good, because I bought a copy of Wonderfool for the man in my life for Christmas. Sadly it arrived two days after Christmas, but that was well and truly in time for me to fall in love with it while I was living in a new country, temporarily without my partner in crime.

I adore the track 'PMS' where you sound androgynously like Brian Molko (a personal muse) not just for that, but for the clever lyrics (always a way to my heart). 'Solo' is clever, environmental, and makes me want to sing along. 'Do You Now' reminds me so much of myself... I wish I had had the sense to tell him to follow his dick, and I wish I had been able to be as funny about my hurt. 'Elvis Motor Inn' and 'Kissed a Butterfly' are breathtaking for their emotional honesty in times of happiness and sadness, and for being able to say things that women aren't "supposed" to say. The songs that really get me every last time, though, are 'Livin' by the Day', and 'Wonderfool'. Both of them appeal to my love of bittersweet stories, and cleverly written songs. Individually 'Livin' by the Day' could have been written about me, about past lovers, about so many people in my life. It feels like my own personal Postsecret. And 'Wonderfool' is what all people in love should be to each other, more honest than any just about any other love song I have ever heard.

Thank you for being who you are, and please, please write more music and release them where I can get them. Come to Australia, I would see you in a heartbeat. And in the words of Placebo (with whom I nearly filed you in iTunes, but somehow "Punk Pop" isn't really what you do) "don't foget to be the way you are", because it's real, it's awesome, and it rocks.

From a new fan who wishes she was an old fan.

Rave: And the winner is...JD Fotune

INXS rocked. JD was awesome. You know, when they said he won I was sure they had made a mistake. Not anymore. The guy is a consummate showman who can hold a crowd of 3000 people in small town New Zealand rapt for hours on end. And let's face it, with the older generation coming out in droves, and being very skeptical of this person who won a reality TV show, New Plymouth was a tough crowd.

JD, I apologise, I was wrong about you.

Rave: Meds

Meds is the album Placebo have been trying to write forever. Finally, all the creative juices are flowing in the same direction... and what an album it is. The worst song on the album is still far better than many of the things Placebo have written, and the best stuff is positively transcendental.

This is an album that has drumming on a bike, two guest appearances, and the full spectrum of emotion, from giddy love to spiteful hate. Meds itself, is lost, scary, scared, and in love... who else would remind you when you're losing it to take your pills? (it is also my personal anthem at the moment, but that is a whole other story). Song to Say Goodbye has some scathing words that can only be born out of hurt and abandonment set to music that that sounds like it was written for something else. Post Blue is strange, pretty, and exciting; Brian spits out the word "fuck" like it's a word he doesn't use, and somehow manages to make it sound like he's making love anyway. Follow the Cops Back Home is a bit of a political protest, a bit of a love song, and a bit of a lament. If it had been on an earlier album, I would have hated it, but somehow Placebo have managed to avoid whatever went wrong with My Sweet Prince and Narcoleptic. The two standout songs, though, are Infra-red, and Drag. Infra-red has a great hook, and bounces along apace, and yet it is an anthem to just how badly things can go wrong between two people. Drag, on the other hand is a more real love song than I do, I think. It's the kind of love that can't quite believe its own luck, and is self effacing because of it. It's the kind of love I would expect, somehow, of Placebo... These two songs, for me, really say it all about Placebo:

Contradictory, caught between love and hate, of others and of themselves; beautiful, even when enraged, and surprising, even though they are jaded.

Well done, team. Because, you know, despite the fact that without you I am not nothing, without you, my life would be less.

Rave: Brian Molko still has it (as do Steve and Stefan)

Recently, even though I am dirt-ass poor, I travelled 2000km, and $1000 NZD, and went to see Placebo live again. Yes, I am insane, and yes, I am that dedicated. It was kind of a special trip, some of my very close friends, and of course Mike (my best friend, my lover, the other half of my life) came along to see Placebo for the first time (there were some other good friends there too -- we had seen Placebo together before).

The music, was as always, blisteringly good, and I came out of the concert still with that wow feeling that Placebo are just an incredible live act, and much better in real life than they are on disc -- which is an impressive feat, for someone who has just put out my favourite album of all time. I was surprised however, that Brian was not as chatty as he usually is, and some discussion ensued after the gig. I felt Brian's closed mouth was so strange that I said it felt like he was protecting his voice; well, it turns out I was right -- less than a week later he spent two days in hospital with tonsilitis. Call Brian what you will, he is a consummate professional to sing for two hours with brewing tonsilitis.

Tonsilitis notwithstanding, and despite the fact that we were up for over 24 hours, when I asked Mike if he would do it all again, he replied "yes, just not tomorrow". Mike really must be my other half -- he's as mad as me.

The thing that makes me think Placebo still has it even more than that, though, is the vid for Meds, the new single. It's disturbing, interesting, occasionally beautiful, and still shocking without showing anything too graphic. And Brian, at 33, still looks good enough to run around in his undies.

In all seriousness, though, Meds is by far the best album Placebo have ever written, and I feel like there is more to come. I hope the passion never dies, for Placebo, and that literally in twenty years my kids are complaining about "that crap that mum listens to".

Rave: Books can be artworks and cultural icons, too

aka Review: The Cult of iPod by Leander Kahney -- Adapted from another piece of my writing

This book covers everything iPod, from how it nearly became a Sony product (thank god their execs are too silly to see the potential, or it would be a fall-apart piece of crap that is hard to use and ugly) through the design to the ways the public are all over it and influencing the next generations though.

This book is loaded with pictures, diagrams and is written in an inherently readable almost magazine-like format (books for the iPod generation, perhaps, where one doesn't have the concentration to hear a whole album nor read a whole book, but rather the units are songs and articles).

This book is beautiful. It has rounded corners like that of the iPod, and a screen on the front cover and iPod-like copyright markings on the back cover. Underneath each page number is a battery marker, indicating how much of the book remains to be read. The font is deisgned to be similar to the proprietary Apple font. All of this would not make this a good book, though. It would make it a beautiful book, but not a good one.

What makes this book good, and the closest possible approximation of an iPod in book form, is the content. It is eclectic, from a wide variety of sources (academic, commercial, fashion, anecdotal and possibly even apocryphal), and it is entertaining and informative all at once. And like an iPod on shuffle, the information seems somehow disjointed, and yet has an odd kind of flow. Sadly, though the sources are not well referenced, so finding out more is more of a journey.

Interesting ideas and people emerging from this book are:

• iPod Jacking, which is a new way to share music
  
• Markus Gielser, who was going to publish a book called iPod Therefore I am, telling people's own iPod Stories, but the title got stolen by that twat Dylan Thomas -- Markus Giesler is still around, though, and working on iPod Stories.
• Playlistism, the discrimination against (or for) someone in a college dorm because of what is in their playlist. I wonder how much study has been done on this?

Anyways, if you care about iPods, digital music, or anything to do with Apple's newfound success, The Cult of iPod is a great, beautiful, and easy to read way to begin your journey into the literature.

Rant: And we wonder why we have trouble getting chicks to do computer science?

I was talking to one of my supervisors a couple of days ago, and she was telling me how something as simple as a programming competition had turned a kid's life around. This kid is a teenager, very, very bright, and interested in computers. Here in good old kiwiland, tall poppies tend to get their heads cut off unless they are sportspeople or religious weirdos (or both), so this kid was having a pretty rugged time of it at school, especially because computers are his thing, because you know, computers are geeky. This kid was suicidal, until he did a programming competition and met other kids like himself -- coming out of the closet now means admitting you like computers, apparently. Nonetheless, this child is, in fact, a boy. Because more than 90% of the people who are interested in doing a degree in computing in New Zealand are boys, if our first year is anything to go by.

There are lots of reasons as to why this might be, including, but not limited to:

• The lack of games on the computer that appeal to girls (with 'The Sims' and some of the new PlayStation titles things are changing, slowly)
• Maths and computing teachers generally being male
• A lack of visible female role models -- we hear about Bill Gates and Steve Jobs, but only rarely about Helen Greiner and Grace Hopper
• The bad attitude of some male computing instructors and students toward their female students/colleagues.

I firmly believe, though, that advertising plays a role in all this. There are four companies in New Zealand who advertise internet provision on the television. One is run by a woman, but has lame ads with her looking dowdy and using a loaf of bread as an analogy (this service also has the least uptake, I might add). One uses no people at all, graphics only. These two advertise less than the other two, though, and are not as high profile.

The third company plays on a local cultural legend, where the North Island of New Zealand was fished up by a young man sitting in the canoe that is the South Island. In this advertisement, a young caucasian lad hauls New York, Paris and London from the sea on a length of rope, "harnessing technology". Would it have been so harmful to use an image of a young girl drawing her friends closer and tying the lines of communication? I guess so.

This ad is far from the most offensive to my geeky sensibilities, however. The local telecommunication giant advertises their ISP arm, "Xtra" with a team of stereotypical geeks called the xtra-ordinaries. These guys are a team of socially inept geeks that not only contribute to the suicidal tendencies of the young man mentioned above, but leave or role model or room for a young woman to see herself as part of the technology industry.


These guys are being promoted as the image of ocmputing by the major national carrier in the telecommunications industry. They magically appear in bedrooms at night, they drive around in a clapped out van, and they have nerdy names for each other. I'm fairly confident in my own person and in my choice of a career in computing, and these guys make me a little embarrassed to be associated with the profession. What hope do I have of doing the part of my job that is encouraging young women to take up a career in computing when this is the image they, their peers, and their parents see on TV every night?

As a partially publicly funded national carrier, I would hope that this doesn't last too long, and that Telecom is asked to at least make a hot-but-nerdy-girl xtra-ordinary too. We're short if IT professionals in this country, and having one girl xtra-ordinary could make life easier for everyone who might want to pursue a career in computing. No doubt, however, Telecom thinks that poking fun at geeks is inordinately clever, and the series of ads will continue for years.

Rant: This is a self-indulgent way to ruin a perfectly good book title

a.k.a. Review: 'iPod Therefore I Am', by Dylan Jones. Adapted from another piece of my writing.

Dylan Jones is the editor of GQ, a gentlemen's magazine in the UK. Apparently he was also a lonely teenager who went on to art school and found his way in life. He is also a dyed-in-the-wool musophile, though his tastes (apart from the odd surprisingly juvenile liking for Justin Timberlake or Kelis) are fairly mainstream and pedestrian for a man his age.

Dylan Jones has also fairly recently published a book called 'iPod Therefore I Am: A Personal Journey Through Music'. It's a shame that he got to the title first because there's a guy called Markus Giesler who wanted to use it for some real research -- and now can't because this British plonker got to it first and used it for a book that isn't even really about the iPod.

You know, I might not have had such a problem with this bok if it hadn't claimed to be about the iPod. I might even have found it mildly entertaining, except that Jones has extremely average taste in music which he thinks is progressive. I might even have been able to cope with it if it were a true personal journey through music. Sadly, it can't even be said that it is really about music.

What this book is really about, is Dylan Jones. How he had a stutter and was a bit of a sad case at school, and how he has spent every waking moment since then trying to prove to himself and the world that is it okay, he really is cool. Because, you know, he was one of the first 5% to equate fashion with music. And he nearly got beaten up by Sid Vicious once. And he saw some dodgy things in dodgy bars, and Bryan Ferry remembers him. And he is a big, successful man, and the editor of GQ, and he's met loads of famous people and he goes loads of exotic places for holidays.

Dylan Jones is in fact a self-absorbed bore. This book, though it is supposed to be personal, contains more detail about who was doing what to whom in various nightclubs than it does about his wife. His children appear slightly more often, but only as a showcase for what good musical taste he has instilled in them (and, I suspect, they in him). His parents feature slightly more as the evildoers who in fact drove him to music. And the rest of the book, though it may contain brief allusions to the iPod, is a litany of Jones' great war stories and favourite music (with war stories as to why it is his favourite). His favourites include Roxy Music, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, Coldplay, Blur, Norah Jones, and Justin Timberlake. All except for the Justin Timberlake, probably introduced to him by his small daughters, are fairly predictable for a bloke his age. In fact, not once while reading this book did I see any mention of any group that had done anything truly unusual in the past ten or even twenty years.

References to the iPod include:

• Hearing about Jones' own anal-retentiveness in filling the thing, including some quibbling over a miniscule amount of sound quality and file formats;
• Jones' arrogance in filling the iPods of others with his average, boring music;
• Jones subjecting friends of his to his playlists on vacation;
• Jones spending hours locked away from his family filling his iPod;
• Jones being too silly to use the internet to get his track names for him;
• Jones deciding his iPod was male;
• Jones berating people for buying smaller iPods than his;
• and war stories about when he saw the iPod and how he went to visit Apple and what wonderful people he knows who are hooked in to Apple.

In short, this book is Jones being an iPod bore the way he is a music bore. In fact, the only relevant points Jones makes about the iPod (and these points have already been made by real researchers) are:

• that you can get rid of songs you don't like off an album,
• you can make playlists,
• and the shuffle juxtaposes really music in an unusual way.

This book held so much potential and ended up being disappointing in much the same way as a Pink Floyd song usually is -- lots of sound effects, boring, emotionless droning in the background, and no real innovation or substance, despite the promise of it being there by reputation.

In summary:

• Jones is a pratt with boring taste in music
• Jones thinks he's great because he saw a lot of things and got stabbed once
• This is a waste of a good title
• This book is not about the iPod -- don't be fooled.

Rant-Rave-Whatever: Rockstar is back.

Oh, to quote Tommy Lee, "Hell Yeah". It's back. And I kind of wonder about it, you know. Here is an earlier commentary (not long after the show started) from a secret place online where I sometimes share things like this:

Other things: some of you may remember my obsession with Rockstar:INXS last year. Because I loved that show so much I have been following Rockstar:Supernova, and while I can't stop watching it, I am cming to a few conclusions:

• Tommy Lee is a dick
• The talent is not as good generally, but then it doesn't have to be: Supernova aren't going to be as musical as INXS are
• Supernova as a band are EXTREMELY likely to fail. Tommy Lee generally gives the women competitors comments on their attire rather than their ability ("baby, can I marry you?"); Gilby Clarke (of GnR fame) gave one of the women a hard time for "girnding" him when he was onstage, saying that "women in music use their sexuality too much and it was tired". This is just ONE example of the band not being "pointed in the same direction".
• Dave Navarro has toned it down a whole shitload to hang with those idiots.
• Many of the contestants are there to advertise their own music careers, rather than join Supernova
• I really, really, really want one of the ones who does appear to be there to win (Dilana) not to win. She's got talen oozing out of her, she gives me goosebumps everytime I see her perform, and she's too fucking good to waste her life on a career with Tommy Lee (though she wouldn't take any shit from him).

Anyways, suffice it to say I am not loving Supernova the way I loved INXS, but I can't tear my eyes away.

So, yeah, that was my view about three weeks ago. And then there was this view of the whole thing:

Yes, you have it right, that is Tommy Lee and Dave Navarro engaged in a little very, very public tongue-wrestling. And yes, Dave does look rather as though he is enjoying it. Tommy Lee just looks like he is doing exactly what I would expect -- posing for the camera to improve his own reputation, and garner some "rockstar" style publicity.

Anyways, we are now down to the last seven "rockers", and it would appear that Zayra, who was sent home this week has successfully (and fairly cynically, I would say) managed to sign a record deal already -- I would say to sing in Spanish. Because you see, that is one of the things I see as being a problem this time around -- as mentioned above, many of the people who are in this series are there purely to launch their own careers.

The other thing that happened this week is that we heard the first ever Supernova (well okay, they may still have to buy the name off a punk band) song. Cunning move, on their part, because for the world to buy in to Supernova, the world is going to want to know what Supernova sound like (particularly since Tommy Lee said in the first episode "we are not a metal band"). So, of course, there was the controversy of who would sing for them -- in their gregaroiusness, and to prove that a woman really can front Supernova, they (and the crowd) asked Dilana to sing during their inaugural performance -- foretelling things to come? Highly likely, I think. So yes, provided a woman is prepared to tolerate the presence of half naked dancing girls, she can front Supernova. And to be fair, the music was much better -- and more musical -- than I expected it would be.

So here is what really irks me about this season of Rockstar -- it isn't the mediocre level of talent accepted in some of the rockers, and it isn't even that stupid sexbot-barbie Storm Large -- it's the chauvinism.

• Gilby had a go at Jill Gioia for grinding him, but when Supernova first performed, they had half-naked dancing girls on stage. There are two messages here -- one is that if a woman wants to front Supernova, she better be prepared to deal with this crap (okay, we knew that anyway, but nothing like making it perfectly clear, eh?). Dilana did deal with it well, actually -- she is such a commanding presence the girls were a mere distraction. The second, and more disturbing message, however, is that it is not okay for a woman rocker to use her own sexuality to sell the message, but that it is quite okay for Tommy Lee to pay for the sexuality of women to sell his message.
• Dave Navarro, as much as I loved him in the first series, is spending too much time with Tommy Lee. That and his split from Carmen Electra seemto be spurring on some less than pleasant tendencies, including asking the crowd to "give it up for the string section, particularly the blonde, she's doing very well". Ummm, yeah. This is the same man who told MiG Ayesa that his beautiful rendition of 'Baby I Love Your Way' made him think "only about his wife".
• Gilby Clarke and Jason Newstead, who seem to be voices of reason, actually seemed appreciative of the dancing girls (particularly Jason).
• Storm Large is playing on her sexuality -- as of the first episode, when she said she will use it for all it is worth, and despite the fact she can't sing for ass; in fact she has done a version of 'Survive' by Gloria Gaynor that Tommy Lee referred to as "sauteed in wrong sauce"; she has not yet seen the bottom three (though Magni, who is excellent, and a real contender for the top spot, has). It would seem the fans are following Tommy's lead -- but god forbid she should use her own sexuality too much, hm? Gilby might have a go at her.
• Let us not forget that the whole outfit is being run by a man who pleaded no contest to beating his wife, and is a serial adulterer. Do we think he may have just a little problem with respect for women (though animals are another issue)?
  

It seems to me like they are trying to alienate any thinking female (and no small chunk of the thinking male) fans right from the outset. Unless something gives in a pretty huge way, Supernova are never going to be anything more than a guilty pleasure for me -- I sure won't buy anything related to them, because I can't support that. I know some of you will disagree with me and say that politics shouldn't have anything to do with art, but I am a hopeless idealist, and if I don't buy Eminem because he is a chauvinist little shit, I sure as hell am not going to buy anything that will make this lot any more money than they already have -- unless I think there is something to be gained for the lead singer, and even then I will feel squeamish. Probably I shouldn't even watch the TV show, but I actually cannot tear my eyes away.

So I guess the point is I'm sad. Something that was sweet and good an populated by pleasant, talented, genuine people the first time around has been populated in no small part by sleazeballs and cynical self-promoters the second. And it has rubbed off on Dave, who, while I know he is a bit of a loose unit, I could respect the first time around. But hey, I'm just a fan, and it isn't up to me. I hope Dilana does win, though, because she might just kick Tommy Lee in the balls and thereby mean that Supernova was actually about the music.

Rant: Religious intolerance.

You know, I think we might be headed back to the times of the crusades and the Spanish inquisition (to pick a couple of examples). Only these days, instead of torturing individuals to death, we now have vastly impersonal weapons of mass destruction. How stupid can we be, as a species, really? And, more importantly, is the stupidity of regimes of all kinds going to be the end of us?

A couple of months ago, there was an international furore over the publication of some cartoons that originated in Denmark, with entire countries boycotting other entire countries because private companies within those countries had made the decision to publish. One of the cartoons in particular was at issue, which showed Muhammad with a bomb in his turban.

Let's deal with both sides of this issue, starting with the publication of the cartoons. Yes, the publisher is a private company. Yes, the issue is topical, and therefore ripe for cartoon. Yes, they have every right to publish nearly anything they want (there are some issues with specific ideas here, holocaust denial and hate speech come to mind as things that one can't publish without fear of censure). But why on earth would any newspaper publish cartoons that weren't even very good when the obvious ptoential to offend Islam extremists and therefore cause death? By all means, be topical, witty and acerbic, but at least produce high-quality cartoons that aren't a license to kill anyone (and yes, I agree, there should be no-one killed over a cartoon, but more on that later)

It is my opinion that after the furore started then it was a fair call for other agencies to reprint the cartoons as an element of news. It is also my opnion that this reprinting does not reflect badly on the reprinting paper, nor does it show a lack of respect fort the Islamic community. In my opinion the only institution on whom any reprtinting of this material reflects badly is the Jyllands-Posten for publishing such low-quality, poor-taste cartoons to begin with (right up there in league with the Waikato Times, on that front). Not, however, in the opinion of the New Zealand government. Hiding behind their tragic bleeding heart liberalism, but in fact covering the financial ass of the agricultural sector (one of the largest in New Zealand), the New Zealand government criticised the one New Zealand newspaper that ran the cartoons, saying it could incite tensions, and that the newspapers needed to consider the impact of publishing such a thing before publishing. Sure, but the more important considerations are 1. Is it newsworthy, and 2. is it necessary to make a complete story? I can see the answer justifiably being yes in both cases.

The kiss-ass reaction of New Zealand brings me onto the Islamic response. Yes, the cartoons were offensive, but they should be no more offensive than other representations of Muhammad that already exist, if what is being claimed is true. Moreover if it is offensive to show Muhammad with a bomb because he was a peace loving man, then protest yourselves, and urge your religious fellows to respect his ways and protest peacefully. Much of the Islam response to these cartoons validated the content of the cartoons.

As to the governmental response to the cartoons, notably Iran implementing a nationwide boycott of Danish goods (and threatening to do the same to other countries), sure, that is the right of the Iranian government. However, I ask is it fair to punish an entire country for the actions of a private institution using its (misguided) right to freedom of speech? I don't think so. And to be honest, if I had the opportunity, I would like to ask the shah or whoever is in charge there now, could you really live without the goods of all the countries you threatened to boycott? I mean, I would be glad to see the end of halal butchering, which is provably cruel, in New Zealand. But more than that, I am not impressed at the bullyboy tactics of a theocracy trying to impose its will on a democracy (and I'm even less impressed that it worked).

The whole issue could have been avoided with a little concern for what the guy next to us thinks, but since it wasn't avoided, violence and governmental bullying are disgraceful responses. Clearly, the Catholic Church have grown some since the days of the crusades, because compared to the Islamic response to the cartoons, their response to the infamous 'Bloody Mary' episode of South Park was comparatively restrained. So, now let's talk about that.

South Park is generally offensive and disgusting, and this episode, I understand, is no exception. In my opinion, anything that shows anyone's menstrual blood for kicks is taking things a little too far. And unlike the Jyllands-Posten, South Park set out to offend the Catholic Church in particular, and women in general. This is nothing new, and a lot of people claim that no-one should be offended because the show goes after everyone. I can't possily comment on that, I find the show offensive, and so I don't watch it. I certainly have never heard of an episode where they went after white men, however. In the long run, this was a deliberately offensive, planned, and pretty revolting attempt to shock on the part of the South Park creators, and I consider it a low blow, and I think it is excellent that they have been challenged on something, because it forces them to evaluate their (in my opinion) sick and twisted motives.

Even given that the episode in particular and the show in general is disgusting, though, do the Catholic people have a right to have the episode destroyed? As much as we would like it, no, they do not, just as they do not have the right to prevent non-Catholic women from taking birth control, or non-Catholic children from blaspheming in the street. Do they have the right to use legal force to ban it from being aired? Maybe, in a theocracy, but here in New Zealand we are far from a theocracy, and they tried to have it censored.

Having said that, though, those are the only aspects of the Catholic response I can fault. The rest of the protest was at a level of conscience (personal boycotts) and peaceful prayer. I know that to many of you the Catholic church may seem antiquated, and goodness knows that I don't believe they are perfect, but here, when a private institution set out to deliberately offend them, they responded in peaceful ways. Kudos for that.

We could all learn a little from the peaceful response of the Catholic Church. Is it really any concern of ours what religion our neighbour practises, so long as he harms no human or animal? If our neighbour does something we disagree with because of our moral convictions, are we better to beat the shit out of him, to call the entire neighbourhood to stop speaking to him, or are we better to leave others to their own conscience and make our concerns known peacefully, if at all?

If we cannot answer this question peacefully, I think we're in deep trouble as a species. Thousands of years of evolution, and we can't do better than thinking with the alligator brain when it comes to religion? I hope that's not the case, for all our sakes.

Rant: Responsible research

I was home, visiting my folks recently, and as well as a much needed holiday, it meant I got to do a lot of the things I really like doing -- including watching the news, which I am always far too busy to do at home. Anyways, while I was there I heard about some very promising research into how to expand the human lifespan...something to do with worms, I believe.

Now, I'm sure to many of you this sounds like a grand idea, but to me even doing this research sounds plain irresponsible. Why, you might ask would I think a strange thing like that? Well, there are two reasons. The first reason is the gross overpopulation of the world already, and the second is the waste of resources that have gone into this work. Yes, it is highly commercialisable work, yes, the people who figure it out are going to make a fortune, but is it really responsible?

There are a few reasons, to my mind, why this work is irresponsible. There is the problem of the aging population. There is the disparity in life expectancies around the world. And then there is the quality of life issue. In the end, of course, these things all come down to the same thing -- the almighty dollar.

So, in more detail, the developed wold already has an aging population. This causes all sorts of social problems (and no, not just with the grannies on the mobility scooters who all seem to have a deathwish). In a nutshell, aging is an expensive business; when the elderly retire at 60 or 65, in many countries they may expect to receive a state funded pension. On top of that elderly people require and consume more medical care than other sectors of the population (no surprises there, right?) and potentially also consume more social services such as meals on wheels. In an aging population, ever more people are drawing on these services, and ever fewer are working to pay for them. Unless we accept a later retirement age and are healthier when we retire (unlikely, in an age where obesity is causing more problems at a younger age than ever before), having people live even longer than they already do can only exacerbate these problems.

Not only does the deleoped world world have an aging population, but there is a massive disparity between the life expectancies of people here, and people in third wolrd countries. In fact, as life expectancies in the west increase, they are falling in Africa. A child born this year in Norway may expect to to live to nearly 80, and a child born in Japan to over eighty. On the other hand a child born in India this year will live to approximately 64, a Vietnamese child will live to nearly 70, and a child from Bostwana will live only 40 years, a number which has fallen from nealy 65 fifteen years ago, and is set to fall further in the next ten years. There are any number of causes for this, AIDS being one of the more touted ones, but thereare other problems in the third world two (war, poverty and hunger, according to the ads I keep seeing on TV) which seem to me as though they must play a part. For the purposes of this rant, though, the causes do not matter, what does matter is the ethical side of the question, specifically is it ethical to be doing research to keep wealthy westerners alive longer when third world populations are dying in droves?

And now to the quality of life question, the one closest ot my own heart. If someone offered me a drug that would keep me alive twenty years longer in similar health to my present state, I would decline it -- even if it had no side effects and it was free. You might think I am too youg to know that I would do this for certain, and you might think I am just plain mad. I would say no, to both -- I have a chronic illness that for a long time I believed would kill me, and this gives me a different perspective on life. I do not want to live longer unless my (currently incurable) disease is cured -- not put into long-term remission by a drug with side effects, as it is now, but once-and-for-all cured. Now, as mentioned already, many elderly people become sick as they age -- and none of the sicknesses sound very pleasant. I would rather have a shorter, pleasanter life, than a longer, less pleasant one (and if the money wasted spent on this research is not to be spent or sorting out the third world's problems, it would be nice if was spent on debilitating lifelong illnesses, or things that affect kids, or whatever, rather than reversing a natural process).

The only responsible purpose I can see for this research is to help those with premature aging (not just a few lines earlier than they would like, but kids who get old and die by the time they're 18 like in that movie...you know, the one with Robin Williams). Otherwise it is just pandering to the western obsession with Peter Pan; we never want to grow old, and we sure don't want to die (for heavens sake, people are willing to undergo life-threatening surgery to look artifical -- and suppsoedly younger). I would ask that we all learn to age with dignity. And if you are a fellow researcher, I implore you to think about the wider implications of your research, and what costs it may have to society as a whole weighed against the benefits.

Rave: Pretty Vegas

As much as I would have liked to see Mig win Rockstar:INXS, and as much as I thought Marty would have been a better choice in some ways, I can see why INXS chose JD. I don't think he should have been able to claim it as an original song during the competition, but whatever, I wasn't the boss, and he was able to present to INXS the one, compelling, inalienable reason why they should choose him.

That reason is Pretty Vegas. It is half written by INXS, so it sounds like their music, but it is a thousand times more exciting than that revolting bit of drivel called Easy they had JD sing as their first song as a whole band (a whole new band? perhaps). I also like it more than Us, which JD butchered during the series because he couldn't be bothered learning it before he went into the studio -- like the Pretty Vegas gamble, that paid off for him.

Being as Pretty Vegas is a joint effort, written for the magic of television (yeah, I know, I am piushing it to call realtiy TV magic), it would have become legally problematic had INXS not chosen JD as their new lead singer. There is a certain element of voicework, too -- I think his voice is better suited than Marty's to INXS's work (though I am not sure I could say the same thing with regarrd to Mig's voice); and JD is more likely than either of them to draw one of the bigger groups of music consumers -- teenage girls. JD also seemed more likely to be willing to bend to the will of INXS than the other two. In the end, though, Pretty Vegas was a deal clinhcer.

And why not? Pretty Vegas is a cool song. It bounces along apace, but has enough of a darker side to it to differentiate it from the "happy rock" that mainstream radio stations here seem so enamoured of. The well rehearsed INXS riff contrasts quite appealingly with JD's fresh vcoice and lyrics. And the megaphone and the attitude just add that little extra something to thwe whole thing. If I was already a millionaire, I'd sell my future for a song like Pretty Vegas too.

Letter to Antonio

Antonio probably never knew how much of a difference he made -- hell, I never knew until he died -- but he made a huge difference to my life. He died suddenly and I never got the chance to say goodbye, and even though I only got to Scotts once a week at most, I still miss him.

Here is what I would say if he were here to hear it (and being Italian and therefore maybe Catholic, I can but hope he is reading this from somewhere):

Dear Antonio,

You probably didn't even know my name, you always addressed me as Bella (which, by the way, was very flattering), but I wanted to thank you for the difference you made in my life. By being unfailingly cheerful and polite, and most of all warm, you always cheered me up. You remembered Mike and I, and you always knew what we would order. You always made sure we were looked after. "Ciao Bella, what you want?" is not a call that will easily echo its last in my mind. It's going to take some time to feel completely at home at Scotts again, and not feel sad. We won't stop going though -- that would be a dishonour to your memory.

And it was not just our lives you touched -- I wish you could see Scotts since your death -- it is full of flowers, and your picture is on the door -- three times. Your special blend of professionalism and informality will not be easily forgotten (did you know Italian greetings are de rigueur at Scotts for all staff? I'm sure you did but I didn't until I read your obituary in the Waikato Times). People loved you, Antonio, and though we did not know you outside Scotts, we loved you. We cannot imagine how hard it must be for your nearest and dearest.

I wish I had known your funeral was to be a public affair -- I would have liked a chance to pay my last respects to you, to the Scotts team, and to your family. I would have liked the chance to cry for you -- I have come very close many times. Most of all I would have liked the chance to say goodbye. Unfortunately, I did not know I would have been welcome (knowing your nature I should have known), so I did not go along. So instead, I send this letter out into cyberspace, hoping you can read it whereever you are, and know that you made my life better, and that if I could I would give you another hug (like at Christmas time). You were an amazing, special man, Antonio, and I, a mere customer, feel your loss keenly.

With love, and rest in peace
Dana