My Housemate Is A Grinch

I love Christmas. Like, really love Christmas.

Unfortunately not everyone in my life feels this way about the best holiday of the year. My housemate, for example, is passively negative about Christmas and refuses to get excited about any of my preparations.

We don't have a lot of room in our house, so our Christmas tree is a huge green tablecloth cut into a tree shape, stuck to the wall, and decorated with paper baubles. Not only did it take him two days to notice the, frankly massive, tree, his comment was "I hope that sellotape isn't going to pull paint off."

I asked if he wanted to do a house Christmas dinner before I left to visit my parents. His response? "Depends. What are you cooking?"

I made Christmas pudding truffles too, and he just didn't understand.
"Did you just put an entire pudding into the blender?"
"Yep - I'm making truffles!"
"Why don't you just eat the pudding?"
"Because I'm going to add chocolate, then roll them into little balls and ice them so they look like little tiny Christmas puddings!!"
"What's the point?"
"They are going to be so cute and Christmassy and festive!" (note the eternal optimism)
"....." *housemate walks away*

Other comments made in the Christmas spirit include:
"Why is there tinsel in the kitchen?"
"Oh God, are you listening to Christmas songs?"
"Carols by Candlelight? You are joking, aren't you?"
And my favourite...
"When are you leaving?"

No, Really, I Saw A Werewolf.

I definitely saw a werewolf yesterday.

I was walking to meet my brother for breakfast and he was walking up the street towards me. At first I thought it was a dark, hairy man, but as he got closer I realised it was a werewolf. He was quite tall and well dressed, and had excellent posture. I didn't want to be rude and stare, so I just acted like it was totally normal to walk past a werewolf on the streets of Wellington.

I texted my brother to tell him about it and his response was " I'm not coming to breakfast if you're stoned."

I was actually beginning to wonder if I had imagined it; then, when I was walking home a few hours later, I SAW HIM AGAIN!

He was walking down my street, with his sharp suit jacket still buttoned up neatly, despite the heat. This time, however, he stopped me, pulled a leaf from a nearby tree, and gave it to me.

I was quite pleased about this little gift, and rushed home to tell my housemates about my run-in with the gentleman werewolf and when they didn't believe me I showed them the leaf to prove it.

I sometimes think they regret asking me to move in.

Things That Make Me Irrationally Nervous

Being The Only Passenger On A Bus
Partly related to a book I read as a kid in which a school bus is hijacked by a man who pretends to be the driver and drops most of the kids off then kidnaps the last few, and partly because I feel awful that the driver is driving all that way just for me; I almost feel like if I wasn't there he could just bunk off and go home. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable.

Cockroaches
I don't know what it is about these disgusting little creatures, but they are the only harmless thing that can leave me huddled on the kitchen table paralysed with fear. And yes, that actually happened.

Really Girly Girls
I'll never be a real girl, and I've mostly come to terms with the fact that I always look like I've been dragged through a bush backward and have the maternal instincts of a cardboard box. But there is something disconcerting about girls who have perfect hair, flawless makeup and outfits that don't look like they were put together by the Salvation Army. How do they do it? How do they find time to drink beer and play Nintendo when they must spend so long just looking like that??
I had a friend in high school whose make up bag weighed more than my dog. Actually. And it scared me.

Being In Bars Alone
Nothing to do with personal safety, this is related to the fact that being alone in a bar is a sign of a 'woman of ill-repute' (my mom's words) and, were I to step foot in a bar alone, I might slowly sink into a pit of drinking alone, drugs, poor hygiene and inevitably death.

Disneyland
I went once and it was amazing. Best day of my life! It was just perfect and a part of me wants to go back, but another part of me realises that no matter how hard I try to recapture that perfect day there is no way it can live up to my expectations and I will be crushed by the weight of my own disappointment and the knowledge that the best of my life is over and nothing will ever be good again. It's a crippling fear.

Who Needs Men When You Have iPods To Provide Similar Dilemmas

My iPod nano died the other day. It was working fine on the way to work - I was on the bus singing away to country music merrily - then when I tried to drown out the sounds of my co-workers arguing about the merits of soap versus vinegar as a personal cleansing agent (no, really), it just wouldn't turn on.

I pressed all the buttons many times, and plugged it in, then unplugged it, then plugged it in again, then gave it to my workmate (the one not embroiled in a vicious soap vs. vinegar argument) to fix, then talked to it nicely, then just gave up and threw it against a wall. Fuckit.

I grieved; iPnod (a special nickname I had for him) and I had been friends for almost four years. With his jaunty little blue jacket he had accompanied me around the world and back again several times. He'd been there when I needed to listen to The Used at high volume and sob without waking housemates. He had entertained me while I worked as a filing wench and while I sat on the tube for hours at a time. He'd cheered me up while I walked in the rain, and added an extra sparkle to the sun. He'd put up with my terrible taste in music, and my experimental phases. He'd even played solitaire with me. And now he was gone.

I wondered how I was ever going to move on from this terrib - oh wow look they just released iPod Touch 4!!

Okay, what can I say - I'm easily distracted and my grieving heart healed quickly. I did the math and decided that I could definitely not afford a new iPod Touch. So I went and bought one.

It's amazing! It does everything! I can Facebook, Skype and Tweet! I have a calendar and a notebook and TWO cameras! I have stocks, Youtube and Maps! I can watch videos, surf the internet and read books! Oh, and it's an mP3 player as well. Which is cool. (And no, apple did not sponsor this post)

Anyway, about a week after I'd bought it, I started hearing this weird noise in my room. Like, a beeping noise. Maybe what a lost electronic sheep would sound like. I went hunting, and found my iPod nano, in the drawer I'd tossed it in, blinking intermittently as if to say 'look! I'm alive! Let's be friends again!'

I was torn. My iPnod and I had had such good times together. But he'd left me broken hearted. And now that I had my new friend the iPod touch, all of a sudden he was back in my life? I felt like he didn't really want to be with me, but he definitely didn't want another iPod in my life. And my new iPod is amazing (as mentioned above), but the iPnod is just so...familiar. Our relationship is comfortable and full of good memories.

In the end I decided to stick with my new iPod. I just feel like he offers a lot more possibilities for the future, you know? But I still have iPnod sitting on my bedside table. I couldn't bear to actually get rid of him just yet. It's nice to have a backup.

On a side note, this EXACT same thing happened to my housemate, except the iPods were men.

The Game of Life. Actually.

The Game of Life should probably not be played by recent graduates.

I played it tonight with a couple of friends, and I have to say, I got pretty upset about life after university. First of all, I became an accountant. And while there's nothing wrong with accountants, it's definitely not the way I saw my life going. Then, despite allegedly earning a $70,000 salary, it took me ages to start earning any money. Probably because I kept buying Molly's artwork.

Things didn't really get much better after that. I stopped gaining life experience after about 15 minutes, I became obsessed with earning money, I was in what seemed to be a loveless marriage (my plastic figurine didn't seem to have an emotional connection with my husband-character plastic figurine), I never had any children while everyone else managed at least two and the only property I owned was a log cabin near Lake Ketchafishee.

Not only that but Carlo kidnapped one of Molly's grandchildren, Laura developed severe depression as a result of a stagnant career and poverty, and Molly tried to blow up a bridge.

I was getting very upset about the way this game was showing my life turning out.

We stuck with it though - through the poverty, career uncertainty, family troubles and periods of hopelessness we kept spinning the wheel, hoping it would get better.

And when I turned my LIFE cards over at the end I discovered I'd done great things. I'd found a new energy source, written the great American novel, created a new teaching method, had a huge success with a toy invention, been given a humanitarian award, started a health food chain, won a Pulitzer prize, invented a new ice cream flavour, won a lifetime achievement award and, best of all, I'd become the president. And I know it's just a game, but I felt some little flutterings of pride.

I like to think that I can learn something from this - maybe about the value of perseverance, the power of a little faith, or how to accept that the game of life is just going to go the way it's going to go.

Or maybe I just learnt that recent graduates shouldn't play the game. We clearly read too much into it.

What You Can Do With a Bachelor of Arts

So after three years of hard work (ha!), long nights (of drinking) and personal growth (thanks to said drinking) I have finished my degree.

I knew this day was coming, but in the end it sort of snuck up on me. One minute I was writing "Portable Music and the Urban Experience", and the next I was clutching a glass of wine on my couch giggling slightly hysterically.

My housemate came home to find me like this, and was amused, but also slightly concerned and he asked me why I was freaking out.

"I have this really big essay due in tomorrow."

"Shouldn't you be finishing it, instead of drinking?"

"Ah, that's the problem. It IS finished." Cue hysterical giggling.

He clearly didn't understand how this was a problem so I cleared things up for him.

I'vefinishedmydegreeandnowIdon'tknowwhatI'mgoingtodowiththerestofmylifemaybeI'llgobacktoschoolanddoanotherdegreeormaybeI'llmovetoIndiawhatifnoonehiresmeandIspendtherestofmylifelookingforajobanditsucksmaybeI'llbecomeastrippernoIknowI'mgoingtomovetoAfghanistanI'vealwayswantedtogototheMiddleEastmaybeI'lldohonoursandjuststayatschoolforev... (The hysteria was rising.)

He sat down beside me and patted my arm. I was touched, and surprised as he's not normally a comforting person.

"Hannah, listen to me. Don't worry about anything. You have a Bachelor of Arts. You'll have no trouble getting a job - they're opening a new McDonald's in town!"

It was my little sister's 18th birthday party last night. Lots of her friends came and apparently a good time was had by all. I confess, I don't entirely understand my sister's friends - I find them loud, self-assured and utterly terrifying, so it was a very interesting exercise.

I spent a lot of time hiding in the kitchen, which gave me a lot of time to make some interesting observations about the way that 18 year old's birthday parties work. Based on these observations, I have formed the following conclusions about what is essential for a good party:

1. A robot cake. I'm sure that when I was 18, a cake in the shape of a blue robot would have been slightly nerdy. But apparently, these days robot cakes are in vogue. They also serve the additional function of food for drunk girls.
2. Pashing in the toilets. This definitely sounds more similar to my party-going experiences. A bit of gossip really fires up a party.
3. Sausages on the barbeque. Serve the dual function of feeding drunk people and providing a man standing over the barbeque for girls to fawn over. In this case, my poor brother.
4. A theme. My sister's was "classy". I'm not entirely sure how this translated to a boy dressed like a dominatrix or a girl in ripped pink fishnets and skyscraper stilettos.
5. Candles. Fire provides a) excitement when someone sets their sleeve on fire and b) romantic mood lighting for pashing in the toilet (see no. 2).
6. Alcohol. Obviously.
7. A crying girl. It's not a real party unless one girl starts to cry and several others try to console her while simultaneously shouting at everyone else: "Go AWAY! She just needs some SPACE!"
8. A vomiting girl. Ideally she will do it outside in the bushes so there can later be debate about whether or not she actually threw up.
9. A noise complaint. You're not playing Katy Perry loud enough if you don't get a visit from noise control at 11.38pm.

Based on these requirements, and the number of teenagers trundling (or staggering) merrily out the door at 2am, I would say my sister's party was a success.

But I guess we should wait until the photos hit Facebook for proof.

Life without iPod

Being without my iPod is not a great idea, I lent mine to a friend for a week and I really can't wait to get it back.

My problem is that I need to have a soundtrack to my life, and when I've got my iPod it's really easy; I just press play and off I go. And yes, there is a bit of head bobbing, and the occasional groovy walk, but I'm generally pretty subtle.

Without my iPod, however, I'm forced to create my own soundtrack. Without the Dixie Chicks at the press of a button, I find myself warbling away as I walk down the street. Without my 'showtunes' playlist I have to be the broadway star, complete with jazz hands. And without Concord Dawn blaring through my earpieces, I... well, lets just say there are few things as embarrassing as being caught trying to sing drum and base in public.

I haven't left the house in a few days. I don't think my reputation can handle it.

Absolutely Positively Wellington!

I love Wellington. I really do. I just don't feel that our catchphrase "Absolutely Positively Wellington" really captures the essence of this fine city. So I sat down and thought about the things that make Wellington what it is, and came up with a few catchphrases of my own.

Wellington: Where shit goes mouldy real fast!

Wellington: Hope you like wind!

Wellington: Our icon is a hobo!

Wellington: For when you don't want to live in Auckland!

Wellington: Because insulation is for wimps!

Wellington: Keep your Skytower, we have a bucket fountain!

Wellington: It's in the middle!

And for those landing in Wellington Airport...

Wellington: Feeling naseous?

Home Sweet Home Part Two

My hunt for a new house having been entirely unsuccessful, I was ready to give up. I had one more viewing appointment on my list and to be honest, I didn't want to go. I was so sick of being shown mouldy bathrooms, dirty kitchens and purely decorative dishwashers. I hadn't seen anything worth seeing and I had zero hope that this one would be any different. There is no way anything that cheap that close to uni could be even close to habitable.

I went along though, if nothing else just to reassure myself that staying in my current room was better than the alternatives.

Having already decided that I was going to hate the house, dislike the people and only take a cursory look at their sure-to-be scummy bathroom, I was very upset when I quite liked the place. Worse, I liked the housemates. And the bathroom wasn't scummy at all.

The problem was, how did I get them to like me? I went for the 'I'm really normal and you won't regret asking me to move in at all' approach. Which, for me, is very difficult, but I managed 45 minutes without mentioning my love of showtunes and dancing in my underwear, my feelings on cats and children (both should be banned) and my addiction to one liners and puns.

I guess it must have worked because one anxious hour later I had a call from Chris, the housemate, offering me the room on two conditions: that I didn't interfere with his morning shower, and that I didn't put poo in the washing machine.

And really, who can argue with that?

Home Sweet Home

Due to a minor personality clash with certain housemates, I decided recently that life would probably be better for everyone involved if I looked for somewhere else to live. It was a hard decision to make, as my current pad is inexpensive and very convenient, but it's probably better for me to leave this way than in a body bag, and that was definitely the way things were going.

I turned to my old friend TradeMe to see what was on offer in this wonderful city in the way of rooms in flats and was excited to see that there are a lots of people looking for new flatmates. I decided I was going to be picky since I didn't want to jump from a frying pan into a fire, so I made a little list of things I needed in a house.

• I'm an inner city girl, so I immediately crossed off any house that wasn't in Kelburn, Te Aro, Central, CBD or Aro Valley (at a pinch)
• I really didn't want to pay more than $150 a week (maybe a little bit more if it was really nice)
• I wanted to live somewhere that wasn't mouldy and falling apart (harder than you might think in Wellington)
• I wanted to live with people who are social, but not partiers, fun but not crazy, and clean, but not obsessive
• I didn't want to live with more than four other people but preferably more than one other person
• I wanted to be able to walk to town and uni, but be near a bus in case I didn't want to walk
• I liked the idea of having a garden for the summer
• I quite fancied a room that was big enough to fit a big bed in - but hey, I'm not fussy!

So I trawled TradeMe armed with my list and found quite a few that seemed to fit the bill. Words like social, responsible, friendly, clean, quiet, inner-city, roomy, light, warm and airy were thrown about like candy, and photos showed huge rooms, gardens, modern kitchens, clean bathrooms and beautifully made beds.

'This,' I thought to myself, 'is going to be easy.'

Turns out, not so much. The internet can be very deceiving. One place I looked at I was stood outside for ten minutes because the girl forgot I was coming. One place I never even got into because no one heard me knocking. One guy assured me that yes, he was social, but the other housemate never left his room. One girl promised me that there weren't normally alcohol bottles strewn across the living room. One person said the landlord had been promising to fix that hole in the bathroom wall for a while now. One place I was greeted by my ex-boyfriend's date to our university ball - the year we were dating.

Bedrooms that had appeared in photos to be huge turned out to be tiny. Large, airy living rooms were tiny and dark. Modern kitchens became cess pits of mould and renovated bathrooms revealed suspect grey spots on the floor by the cruel light of reality. Friendly housemates turned out to be inarticulate and awkward. Ten minutes from town was only if you were running and bus stops right outside weren't serviced on weekends.

I was beginning to think I might have to stay in my current room and just accept that I was unpopular with other housemates, but there was one more house on my list...

To be continued!

Dog's Best Friend

Bernard has a squeaky toy.

For those of you who don't know, Bernard is the seven month old lowchen with whom I'm currently co-habiting. He is my housemate Lucy's adored dog, and he is very cute and very dopey.

Anyway, this toy - I think it's a dog, or a cat or something - is the bane of my existence, and I'm not the only one. Mike (Lucy's live-in boyfriend) has been known to hide it, just to make the infernal squeaking stop, but it's Bernard's favourite toy and to get rid of it would be to incite Lucy's wrath. So most of the time we just put up with the 'squeeeeea-eeeeak' squeak squeak squeak' from Squeaky (as he was so imaginatively named).

Unfortunately he has taken recently to chewing on Squeaky as a pre-sleep form of entertainment, which means that as the rest of the house settles into bed, Bernard and Squeaky are playing. From my room at the other end of the hallway, I can hear it;

'squeeeeea-eeeeak' squeak squeak squeak'.

This will go on for varying lengths of time, and ends when Mike employs some colourful language, grabs Squeaky and tosses him somewhere high up where Bernard can't reach.

One particular night, earlier this week, I was lying in bed listening to this nighttime play when the sound of the squeak changed.

"Squeee----------eak? Squ-----Squ-----Squ-----eak? Squark."

Then no more.

Bernard had finally killed Squeaky. Mike and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief as Squeaky became just another harmless, if slightly grotty, chew toy.

So you can imagine my concern when I got home after work the next day and heard;

"Squack. Squaaaack. Squack squack squack."

When I walked into the room, Bernard looked up at me with an expression of pure happiness. Between his front paws lay a big, yellow duck. A big, yellow, squacking duck.

Lucy had the grace to look slightly abashed. "He was just so sad about Squeaky that I had to replace him. This is Bernard's new favourite toy!"

So the squeaking was gone. But the squacking continues.

Things to do

I love lists.

Especially when life is getting a little hectic and crazy, like now. I find them very soothing and reassuring, but not particularly helpful, mostly due to my habit of writing them on whatever scraps of paper come to hand. This results in a series of half finished lists graffitied with little drawings of kittens and sailboats, with little crumbs on them from the stress-relieving chocolate. Not helpful.

However, I have discovered that they are useful for charting my mood and stress levels over time. For example, I found one list written a few days ago which suggests that I should perhaps have been seeking counselling rather than just writing lists.

• Eat something. Not tea.
  
• Breathe more.
• Get haircut. No time. Cut own fringe.
• Thursday. (Note: I still don't know what was happening on Thursday.)
• MDIA305 Assignment.
• MDIA306 Assignment.
• MDIA310 Assignment.
• WRIT202 Assignment.
• Move house.
• Or get on better with housemates.
• Visit Careers office - find career.
• Go for a run. (This appears on most 'to do' lists.)
• Call Mum, avoid lecture about lifestyle.
  

The list itself wasn't entirely unusual. It was the fact that I found it in my fridge, with a sock, that suggested that maybe I should just calm the hell down.

So I made another 'to do' list.

• Go back to bed.
• Watch Glee for three hours in a row.
  

Best 'to do' list ever.

The Consequences of Drinking

I went out for a drink with a friend the other day. One drink turned, as it so often does, into two drinks. And two drinks turned into us sitting in Betty's with a jug between us arguing about whether or not the waiter was a hottie. (In case you were wondering: he wasn't)

Anyway, when I realised the time I made a tipsy run for the last bus and was terribly pleased when I made it. A few stops later some drunk teenagers jumped on and I sighed in a hypercritical way. Drunk people...

They were making lots of noise and using language a sailor would have been proud of, and eventually the bus driver, a tiny little Asian man, stopped the bus and went down the back to have words with them.

Things escalated very quickly, and no one looked more surprised than the driver himself when he found himself with an agressive drunk girl on her knees in an armlock. It was all game on at that point: the girl next to me called the police, the drunk girl's friend stole the cash box and ran off down the street, and a little tiny old woman shuffled up and down the bus reporting on the mayhem. And while it was all very exciting, with the flashing red and blue lights, attractive policemen and the yelling of the drunk girl (now in handcuffs), there was only one thought running through my head:

I have to pee.

Great. The most exciting thing that's happened to me in weeks and all I can think about is waterfalls and running taps. Even the hot policemen couldn't distract me, which was such a wasted opportunity.

I got the foot tap and the jiggling leg going, and I must have looked very anxious, because the little shuffling woman came and patted my hand reassuringly. Which was sweet of her, but didn't help me in the slightest. I couldn't even get off and run for a toilet, because the police wanted to question people.

So I made small talk with the girl next to me about dry things like biscuits and sand and my sense of humour, and eventually everyone who ought to be arrested was arrested, the hot policemen drove off into the night, and the little shuffling woman stopped shuffling and was escorted back to her seat by the driver.

It was quite an exciting adventure, which made for several retellings the next day, each one more exaggerated than the last.

And in case you were wondering, I made it home in time.

All together now...

I was standing in the middle of a crowd on Lambton Quay today, all of us staring up at the top of a tall office building with a mixture of horror, confusion and morbid curiosity. The street had been police taped up, fire engines and police were in attendance and we, the people, just stood and watched.

More and more passersby joined the crowd staring up at the glass fronted building. We were enthralled. One man joined the crowd at my side.

"What's going on? What are we looking at?" he asked in concern.

I looked at him and shook my head. "I have no idea. But everyone else was looking so I joined in."

He nodded understandingly, and we both turned our attention back to the building.

I don't think New Zealand's sheep population is entirely ovine.

You know you're old when...

I suspect I might be getting old. There was no specific moment that told me the worst had happened; it's been a series of small but significant signs. Here is my personal 'you know you're old when...' list:

1. You find yourself saying 'no, thanks, I have work in the morning.'
2. You meet a friend for a drink and order a peppermint tea.
3. You start thinking about going to bed at seven... pm.
4. The sex you see on TV is on the discovery channel.
   
5. The words 'mortgage', 'Avon' and 'inappropriate' enter your vocabulary.
6. Getting a job is more about financial security than the 'sweet freebies' you can score.
7. Your student loan stops being drinking money and starts being a debt.
8. A bottle of wine a night starts seeming excessive, rather than normal.

I'm sure there's nothing wrong with getting old, it just seems to have happened without me really noticing it. I suppose at this point there's not really much I can do about it, is there?


Is there??

Quiet in the library

Call me old, but I like to be able to go for a drink in a bar where I can hear myself think. Library was ideal for a quiet drink on a Friday with a friend.
The pretentiousness levels were sky high, with silly hairstyles on the ladies, wide rimmed glasses on the waiters, and cardigans on the male patrons, but it was refreshing to sit in a comfortable bar with a nice glass of wine (not too bad at $8 for the house wine) and have a conversation at normal talking level.

I loved the library decor, and the fact that the bouncer (a rather good looking gentleman) was only letting in enough people to comfortably fill the space. No fighting to get served at the library!

Since then I have heard that the cocktails there are actually rather fabulous (if pricy) and it's worth heading there for the two for one night on Wednesdays. They also do food, specialising in sweets, and I look forward to saving up enough to give them a go!

Library: Level 1, 53 Courtenay Place, Wellington

A nap a day...

My housemate is a bit of a fan of yoga. I discovered this after convincing her to join the gym with me so she could motivate me to keep going. Instead of fight-do and megadanz classes (yes, that's really what they're called) like I'd envisioned, this morning I found myself, bum in the air, listening to wind chimes and the sound of waves at a yoga class.

I don't mind yoga. I find it gives me a sense of smugness and an urge to eat lentils and do art. But the woman taking this class robbed me of all the smugness I'd hoped for by being a baggy panted contortionist. I'm not kidding, she offered up instructions like 'hook your shoulders under your knees, then place your hands backwards on the floor and balance on your fingertips.' My other favourite was given while we were balanced, upside down, on our shoulders: 'defy gravity! Feel your organs rearranging...'

Now, I don't mind a bit of a challenge, but as I was desperately groping to find the fingers of my left hand, which was twisted somewhere behind my back, I looked to my housemate for a bit of moral support. It was very disheartening to find her casually twisted around one knee, with her hands pressed in the prayer position behind her back, eyes closed, and the smile of the lentil eating art doer on her face.

The part of this class that I was best at was the bit at the end when we got to sit cross legged in silence to find inner peace. In fact, I was so good at it that I fell asleep.

So that's the basis of my new exercise regime. Forget fight-do and megadanz, I'm just going to take naps.

Welcome back to the eighties!

Stop the press. I have some big news.

The eighties are back. Have you heard?

No, seriously. I joined a gym yesterday. Yes, really. But for some reason I didn't lose five pounds automatically like I thought I would, so I actually had to go to one of the group classes.

The only one at a reasonable time today was 'step', which sounded easy. I take like, ten thousand steps a day anyway, so how hard could it be?

Famous last words.

By the end I was sweaty, tired and confused. How did everyone else in the room know how to do these ridiculous, complicated routines? Why had I decided that this was a good idea? Exercise is hard! The only thing that saved it was the flashback experience.

The eighties style dance music was a good start, the shorty shorts helped but it was the overenergetic step routine that was vaguely reminiscent of a Madonna video which was the final wave goodbye to 2010.

I enjoyed it, to be honest. I'm a big fan of the eighties, and now I've found a way to revisit the best decade on a weekly basis.

But it was a LOT easier the first time round.

Never shake a baby

I was at the cinema the other night and among the usual pre-feature advertisements came a public service announcement reminding us to never shake a baby. What kind of society is it that we live in when we have to be told not to shake babies?

It's bad enough that we can't be trusted to smack our children as punishment, because some people don't know how much is too much. But the fact that we seem to need reminding not to shake babies suggests that there is something seriously wrong with our society. It boggles the mind.

We already know that New Zealand has some of the worst domestic abuse records in the world. I heard someone on television the other night say that the most dangerous place in New Zealand is inside our own homes. And our children have it the worst! You don't have to look too far to find examples of this - the Kahui twins are the ones that spring to mind - but there are many others, and I think any efforts taken to counteract this are a positive thing. I just found it interesting that this ad showed before the screening of Boy (a film about a dysfunctional Maori family) and featured mostly Maori males. It seems that we've established where the worst of this problem lies - now how do we go about fixing it?

Because this isn't a Maori problem, as these ads seem to want you to believe. This is a problem that affects the whole of New Zealand society; a society which seems to need really basic instructions in order to function, something we currently don't seem to be doing very well.

Never shake a baby.

Altar

So, I had a friend read my blog the other day to give me a bit of feedback, and he recommended I make my blogs more 'scannable'. I must have looked a bit blank because he sent me this link to illustrate his point. I had a read of it and decided to try to implement some of the suggestions in my next review, so bear with me.

Firstly, the author suggested using pictures, so I threw this logo in there. Nice, right?

Secondly they recommended headings and sub headings, so we'll try this one:

First Impressions
(Notice how it was bolded so as to grab attention? That was another tip.)

Altar on Mount Eden Road is in a large converted villa, very elegant and welcoming. There's not a lot of on site parking, but if you time it right you should be able to snag a spot on the street nearby. It was nearly empty when we walked in for a late lunch, and very spacious and airy. We were instantly greeted by a waiter who gave us a little table in a corner next to some wide open french doors leading to a courtyard and left us with menus and lemon water.

We had arrived just as the kitchens were closing, but they very graciously offered to keep them open long enough for us to order from the brunch menu before they closed to get ready for the dinner service.

Food
(Look, another sub heading.)

The article on 'scannable blogs' also suggested using lists to make key points clear, so here's a quick list of some things on the menu that caught my eye.

• eggs benedict - I'm a huge fan and this one sounded delicious, with the option of spinach, salmon or bacon as an accompaniment.
  
• homestyle hash - potato, salmon, salad, poached egg, hollandaise... what else could you need?
• lemon chicken sandwich - self explainatory.

Good list? My mom and I both ordered the hash, and it was absolutely stunning. A huge bowl of delicious baked potato cubes and salmon with a poached egg covered in hollandaise and surrounded by salad leaves. (I bolded that to emphasis its importance.) It was exactly what one wants for a late lunch, and despite it's being a generous serving, I managed to finish it. My brother ordered the lemon chicken sandwich and I didn't try any but I'm guessing the totally clean plate was an indication that it was a success.

Service

The service was great - very efficient and friendly - and the waiter was dead cute. Which may not be relevant to the level of service, but it certainly helped my enjoyment of the meal.

Now, I'm going to put a paragraph break in here because I'm meant to be using short paragraphs so as not to lose my reader in my big blocks of text.

It was a bit expensive, so this might be a bit of a special occasion spot, but the food was excellent, so I don't hesitate to recommend it, even if just for a coffee, to enjoy the service and the location. They also do tapas in the evening, which I'm very keen to try.

I'm also supposed to be doing block quotes, so here's one from my brother to finish off:

That was delicious! I'm so full! I'll just have a little bit of your potato...

Sushi Moto!

As much fun as it is to write negative reviews, I only have nice things to say about Moto Sushi Bar on Parnell Road. After my last Japanese food experience, I was on the hunt for something better, and I'd heard that this place was a win. A friend took me along for a late dinner on Saturday night and we had no trouble getting a booking for 8.45 (even though I'd called from the car on the way over). We were seated immediately and given hefty leather menus to peruse. The decor was fantastic, a mish mash of different pieces of Japanese art, some big red paper lamps and little stone condiment bottles. We both ordered the Chicken Box, which was very reasonable at $16.50, and water. The miso soup arrived very promptly, steaming and delicious, and no sooner were we done than the boxes arrived. I was in love at first sight; little seperate compartments held all the different components of our meal. There was chicken teriyaki, still sizzling slightly, a salad with a delicious sweet dressing on it, several pieces of vegetable tempura and three pieces of sushi, as well as a little bowl of rice on the side. I loved the pick and mix format, and had a lot of fun eating salad with chopsticks, but the sushi was my favourite, with a selection of chicken and fish pieces that I saved until last.
They were very insistent that they closed at ten, and I suspect that if we'd wanted to linger over our meal they would have had something to say about that, but otherwise I found the service very good. The meal was very well priced for the wonderful selection that we got, and I thought they were the perfect size. There's nothing lavish about this place, but it's cute and delicious for a quick meal next time you're in Parnell.

305 Parnell Road, Parnell (09) 358 1610
Open Mon-Sat 11am-3pm, 5:30pm-10pm

Taxpayer Funded Pornography

I have no problem with porn. I have no problem with people watching porn. What I do have a problem with is Ministers watching porn and charging it to the taxpayer. Shane Jones was recently exposed as having charged more than 50 pornographic film rentals to his ministerial credit card while staying in hotels. Among a series of other ministerial spending indiscretions, all of which, I admit, annoy me, this particular abuse of taxpayers' money I find unbelievably stupid. Bad enough that Chris Carter was caught buying films and flowers for his partner, or that Mita Ririui was busted treating himself to a set of golf clubs, but for Jones to use taxpayers' funds to buy something as contentious and inappropriate as pornography seems incredibly stupid and shortsighted. Surely he must have known that a) it was a totally unacceptable use of his card; and b) eventually it would come to light. He was quoted in the Herald as saying "I'm not a sex fiend or a sex addict but the reality is that I watched blue movies ... " That is not the problem. I would guess that the majority of the New Zealand public don't care in the slightest whether he gets his rocks off on porn or not, the issue here is that he thought it was OK to use our money, the money he was trusted to use in appropriate situations relating to his job as a Member of Parliament and Building and Construction Minister, to pay for it.
I think the recent revelations of Ministers' abuse of our taxes calls for a new ministerial spending system. Instead of handing them credit cards and asking them to behave like the trustworthy adults they claim to be, we should let them foot their own bills then ask to be reimbursed for costs they can legitimately claim are a result of their ministerial duties. If us regular New Zealand citizens can't be trusted with a credit card until we have proven our sense of responsibility, why should Ministers be different?
I, for one, do not want to be footing someone else's porn bill.

Tape - Redmond Barry Theatre Company

Tape, written by Stephen Belber, is apparently a film, directed by Richard Linklater in 2001. Having never seen it, I took my seat in the back room of the Wine Cellar with no idea what I was in for, but I had a good feeling. The Wine Cellar is one of my favourite bars and venues in Auckland, with a really cosy, slightly haphazard, living room atmosphere. The small audience, around thirty of us, were packed onto couches and cushions watching Vince (Paul MacDiarmind) prowl around his motel room full of empty beer cans and drugs, waiting for old high school friend Jon (Devlin Bishop) to show up. When he does, the reunion quickly goes from matey to aggressive as Vince confronts Jon about his encounter with Amy (Romy Hooper) back in high school, ten years ago. He claims Jon raped her, and manages to elicit a confession from him, before announcing that Amy will be joining them for dinner. The three of them discuss what happened, resulting in confusion, anger and, we hope, closure.
Produced by new Redmond Barry Theatre Company, and directed by Hooper herself, this short production was a wild success. The three actors managed to convey very real human emotion, creating palpable fear, anger and intense awkwardness in the audience, helped along by the well chosen intimate set up. The space, of which there wasn't a lot, was used beautifully as the actors stormed in and out, paced, shouted and grappled on and around the sagging bed in the middle of the stage. The play was saved from being too heavy handed by the thread of dark humour running through it, particularly courtesy of MacDiarmind who maintained a wicked grin throughout.
Reaction from the audience was very positive, I heard only commendation around the bar, with many audience members staying to have a drink with actors and producers after the show.
I definitely recommend seeing this while it's on, every night at 8.30 until Saturday when there's an extra showing at midnight. The Wine Cellar, St Kevin's Arcade, K' Road. Visit their Facebook page and tag yourself in one of the pictures to get a ticket for only $10.

Masaka: two thumbs down.

At first glance, Masaka on K Road is fantastic. It's cosy and welcoming, and they were more than happy to move tables around to seat our group of seven. Our orders from a simple but appetising menu were taken quickly, despite a few communication issues, but it was all downhill from there. The order of chicken teriyaki only took fifteen minutes, which was good, but fifteen minutes later when the other dishes had still failed to appear, my friend had to start eating before it went cold. The other dishes appeared sporadically over the next twenty minutes, the eel arriving half an hour after the chicken teriyaki, by which point most of us had finished. The rice we'd ordered to go with the teriyaki dishes came midway through the meal, and some (not all) of the miso soups showed up near the end. The water we'd ordered for the table had to be requested twice, and didn't actually appear until most of us had finished eating. My meal, teriyaki tofu, was bland and overpriced - $12 for three slices of soggy tofu with a sticky teriyaki sauce, and it didn't even come with rice or vegetables. I heard good things about the vegetable tempura, which looked like deep fried carrot to me, but there was a general consensus that it wasn't enough to salvage the experience.
In future if I'm after a cheap and easy Japanese experience, I'll probably be more tempted to grab some boxed sushi from the nearest St Pierre's. Epic fail.

Paeroa: Place or Product?

This consumer commentary will explore locations which, by being linked to products, become advertisements and are consumed as commodities. These locations act as the product and the promotion

For this consumer commentary we will be taking a trip to small town New Zealand, a little place called Paeroa. This town is, in most ways, identical to every other small, hopeless town in New Zealand. Except for one thing; this town is the home of Lemon & Paeroa or L&P - a pop which is, as the label boasts, ‘world famous in New Zealand.’ Although this drink is now made by Coca Cola, it was traditionally made by mixing the mineral spring water found in the town with lemon juice and carbonating it. By naming the product L&P they automatically linked the town to the product, but to take it further they built not one but two giant L&P bottles in the town centre which serve as the main tourist attraction in this otherwise unremarkable town. Paeroa the place is consumed in conjunction with Lemon and Paeroa the product. Around New Zealand Paeroa is known primarily in its relationship to the soft drink – it functions as a constant, self sustaining advertisement. This raises questions; where does the town end and the advertisement begin? Without the consumer culture behind L&P, what would become of the town? Does the town serve as a platform for the advertisement, or is it the other way around?

On a grander scale this idea of consumer culture integrated into a real location can be applied to New Zealand as a whole in its global position as ‘Middle Earth’. Since its use as the location of the Lord of the Rings films, New Zealand is commodified and sold as Middle Earth to the rest of the world. This serves two purposes; firstly it increases tourism in New Zealand and secondly it creates a platform for the consumption of The Lord of the Rings. However, as much as the Middle Earth reputation increases New Zealand’s international recognition, it means that at the same time it is consumed as a single dimensional commodity. New Zealand becomes Middle Earth. It is consumed as Middle Earth. In fact, another small town in the North Island, Matamata, was officially renamed Hobbiton in conjunction with the release of the Lord of the Rings films.

It is important to note that this location advertisement is a two way interaction – Paeroa advertises L&P with its huge iconic pop bottles in the town square, but at the same time, L&P advertises Paeroa by using its name and by giving the town an icon. New Zealand acts as a perennial set tour for Lord of the Rings, and the films were like a nine hour promotional video for New Zealand.

It could be argued that all places and locations are consumed through tourism but I would counter that in these examples the places are actually constructed into consumer goods and sold as such. They become something to be promoted, bought and sold.

Paeroa and New Zealand are two locations which are consumed as commodities. Without their assiociated products, pop and films, they revert simply to locations, they are just places. By being linked to a product they not only become advertisements for themselves and the product, but they become a consumable commodity.

Milo Around the World

One advertising campaign that I have always found very impressive is that of Milo – a Nestle brand milk beverage with chocolate and malt named after the Greek athlete Milo of Crotona, famous for his strength and power. The most important part of their campaign is the way they make their product seem like an inherent part of the lifestyle of their different markets.

Milo is manufactured and consumed in New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, Malaysia, China, Thailand, Indonesia, the Philippines, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Japan, Jamaica, Guyana, Trinidad and Tobago, Chile, Colombia, Peru, Nigeria, Kenya, Ghana, Papua New Guinea, South Africa, sri Lanka, Syria, Taiwan and the UK. This essay will cover the similarities and differences in the promotion in Australia, New Zealand and Malaysia to highlight the way the marketing campaign works in different regions. In all three of these countries, citizens feel that Milo is intrinsic to them and that they are being true citizens by consuming it. The question is how exactly Milo accomplishes this in their advertising.

In New Zealand, Milo is seen as an essential part of childhood – it is a staple for every school camp, every sport event, every family camping holiday and it is a popular breakfast drink as well as a bed time snack. New Zealanders grow up with Milo in all shapes and forms – as well as the standard hot or cold Milo with milk, there are also Milo milkshakes, Milo on toast, Milo on ice cream and Milo straight from the tin on a spoon. In New Zealand, Nestle has strongly associated Milo with local, regional and international level cricket teams and local rugby and netball teams through sponsorship and promotion. These sports are very ‘Kiwi’ and are played by a large proportion of New Zealand’s young people. This fits with the overall image that they maintain which puts them as a vital part of an active, outdoors lifestyle. Their advertisements follow this by showing ‘Kiwi kids’ out and about, and refueling on Milo. Aside from the very obvious element of cricket – a popular sport in New Zealand – it also bears a little silver fern, a New Zealand icon, in the bottom left corner. Television advertisements follow the same vein with active young people living the stereotypical New Zealand lifestyle, narrated by a very strong New Zealand accent. For New Zealanders, Milo is an icon of New Zealandness.

This is where Nestle gets tricky. Australians grow up believing the exact same thing about Milo in their country. A current competition campaign asks ‘When do you Milo?’ This assumption of nationwide consumption gives Milo the status of a national icon. Australia has the advantage of actually being the original home of Milo, but they believe that Milo is a product particular to Australia. Milo is affiliated with cricket and netball at a local and regional level through sponsorship, and it supports an active lifestyle in young people. They subtly tie Milo to Australian pride in their commercials by using a lot of green and gold (Australia’s national colours) and using Australian narrators. They provide a video on their website of Vox Pops asking ‘When do Aussies drink Milo?’ and the interviewees wear green and gold, drape the Australian flag around themselves, have Australian flag transfers on their faces, speak in strong accents and are outside, being active and enjoying the sweet Australian sunshine. And all these fiercely proud and stereotypical Australians love Milo.

To contrast with Australia and New Zealand’s use of Milo, I looked at Malaysia, the country with the highest Milo consumption in the world. They, too, focus on the idea of an active lifestyle, but the sports they promote are popular Malaysian sports – football, fencing and hidup bola. There is also heavy emphasis on traditionally desirable characteristics in Asians and how sport and Milo can help develop these in children. There is a definite feeling of national pride in Milo consumption, and the website even claims that ‘it was MILO® that coined the nation’s battle cry "Malaysia Boleh!" and kindled the national spirit of achieving the impossible.’ A television commercial for Milo in Malaysia features young people engaging in sports like diving, bowling, badminton and gymnastics – all sports for which Malaysia is known - and more importantly, there is a large group of children unfurling a huge Malaysian flag. Milo did not even reach Malaysia until 1950, but they have adopted it as a drink of national pride in the same way as New Zealand and Australia.

The websites for the three countries are very similar – they all bear the signature green colour and the Milo logo, and show children being active. The similarities make it a recognisable brand, no matter where you are in the world, but it is the differences that make it such a success in the countries in which it is available. By actively supporting sports that are important to the different nations, they are integrating themselves at a grassroots level, and this integration filters upwards into higher levels of sports, and outwards into other aspects of life. They constantly reference icons and ideas of nationality in their advertisements which makes them seem like an integral part of national pride. They implement small but key details, for example, on the Australian website a recipe calls for ‘reduced fat milk’, but the New Zealand equivalent requires ‘trim milk’. This attention to detail and representations of national pride gives Milo its status as the drink of choice for New Zealand, Australia and Malaysia, as well as several other countries around the world.

Nestlé’s Milo campaign is incredibly successful because it integrates itself at a basic level of society and works with communities in its target market. By making itself synonymous with sports and active leisure it becomes a natural choice for people who want to be a part of that lifestyle and is the first thing people reach for – for themselves or their children. It also becomes an icon of home, and something that is, to the consumer, inherently ‘Kiwi’, ‘Aussie’ or ‘Malay’.

Cinema and Auckland: Dominance and Resistance in Media

Auckland is a small city by global standards, but New Zealand’s biggest, and its huge diversity means it is where most of New Zealand’s identity struggles take place. Auckland is mostly white, with large Maori and Pasifika populations, and a growing Asian immigrant population, as well as residents from the rest of the world. The most common language is English, but Maori is the second official language and Asian and Pacific languages are commonly heard. Auckland is divided into four major administrative departments – Auckland, North Shore, Waitakere, and Manukau; but to city residents, it becomes The Shore, East, ‘Souf’ Auckland and West Auckland. When an outsider thinks of Auckland City, the dominant images that arise are central Auckland. But Auckland is a large, diverse city. It has wild and beautiful coastline, and pastoral hills. To the west there are rugged beaches and mountain ranges, and to the east there is a harbour scattered with volcanoes. It has city, suburbs and farmland, as well as tiny islands a short boat ride away, and every area has its own unique character. This whole area is referred to as Auckland Region, so this essay will focus on urban areas, specifically those areas known as Central Auckland and South Auckland, and how different minority groups in these areas use the media as a platform for their battles of domination and resistance.

The struggle for recognition in Auckland is, as everywhere, fought throughout the media – from film, television and radio to graffiti, music and street fronts. Each of the areas that this essay will discuss has its own channels of representation such as musical styles, recognisable pieces of art and movies which find their home in the suburbs of Auckland. There is, of course, a recognisably dominant visual culture which maintains its hegemony in Auckland, and this essay will examine the ways in which minority groups use visual culture to fight for recognition and acceptance.

It seems important, in writing an essay about Auckland, to first explain the relationship Auckland has with the rest of New Zealand, and perhaps the best way to do that is to explain Jafas. A Jafa is a slang term (usually offensive) for one who lives in Auckland, meaning ‘Just Another Fucking Aucklander’. Everyone inside Auckland attributes its use to a jealousy about their resources, wealth and power, but those outside of Auckland uses this term out of a dislike of Auckland’s overrepresentation in politics, distribution of national funds and recognition overseas, and the belief that Aucklanders are generally rude and stuck up. They see Auckland as having deliberately geographically separated themselves from the rest of the country with the Bombay Hills; being full of arrogant people and unnecessarily large cars; and being generally ignorant about the rest of New Zealand. One of the key problems the rest of New Zealand has with Auckland is its huge immigrant population; because the main international airport is Jean Batten in Auckland, many immigrants simply stop in Auckland and many New Zealanders in other parts of the country feel that this makes Auckland a poor representative of New Zealand. Luckily, Aucklanders are pretty thick skinned and have now appropriated the term jafa and use it ironically, or with new meanings such as ‘Just Another Friendly Aucklander’ or ‘Jesus Always Favours Aucklanders’. All this means that Auckland as a city is relatively isolated from the rest of New Zealand.

Central Auckland seems an appropriate place to begin discussion of domination and resistance of groups in the area. Auckland Central is mostly white, mostly affluent and either working in the city, or attending school nearby. This area of Auckland comprises two large universities, a huge central library, upmarket bars and restaurants along the Viaduct, several different shopping centres including designer boutiques, vintage hipster stores and chain stores, many souvenir shops, apartment buildings, sky scrapers, heavy traffic and the beginnings of the more well-off suburbs. It is this Auckland which is portrayed in the long running soap opera ‘Shortland Street’ about Shortland Street Hospital . This program, which began in 1992, is the longest running New Zealand made television show, and is easily the most widely seen, therefore arguably the most dominant, visual representation of Auckland Central. This representation would have us believe that Auckland City is largely made up of educated white people with high paying medical jobs and under educated ethnic minorities, especially Maori and Pacific Islanders, who need their services. It would also have us believe that car explosions and thwarted weddings are a regular occurrence, and this is a key sign that we must look further for authentic representation of minorities in Auckland City. Another source of hegemonic media in Auckland City is Metro Magazine – a glossy upper class monthly lifestyle magazine which features articles such as ‘Best Schools’ (it could be called ‘The Three Most Expensive Private Schools in Auckland’), ‘Detox Confidential’ and ‘Winter Fashion, Winter Getaways and the Best of the Film Fest’ . The cover stars are more often than not white and wealthy looking, and with a cover price of $9.50, it is clear that it is targeting a certain demographic.

As far as resistance of minorities through visual culture goes, the Asian population of Central Auckland has appropriated a huge amount of ‘eyeball time’ through restaurants and shop fronts with Asian writing and images, festivals and simply by looking ethnically different on the street. Asian immigrants are officially welcomed because of a perception of good work ethic and business knowledge, and this is very noticeable in downtown Auckland. Many Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Thai restaurants, with their recognisably different language have sprung up; several 123 Dollar stores owned and heavily influenced by Asians exist downtown; and most of the souvenir stores are Asian owned and run. Unfortunately, because of the very alien visual culture of Asia and the high density of immigrants in downtown Auckland, they are portrayed in the dominant media as ‘taking over’, for example, prominent politician Winston Peters released a pamphlet titled ‘Whose Country is it Anyway?’ which incorrectly claimed that hundreds of thousands of Asians are immigrating to Auckland and causing problems such as traffic in Auckland. According to this pamphlet these immigrants are both poor enough to prey on the welfare system, and wealthy enough to drive up the cost of housing . Another example of negative representation of Asian immigrants in central Auckland was an article by Deborah Coddington entitled ‘Asian Angst: is it time to send some back?’ published in the upmarket Auckland based magazine ‘North and South’ in November 2006. This article suggested that with the influx of Asian immigrants comes a wave of crime, ‘from a few uppity, wealthy boy racers to highly organised and ruthless criminals seemingly prepared to do anything for big profit. It's capitalism at play, crime following market forces, and currently the market is bullish in class-A drugs, poached paua, fraud, prostitution and, to a lesser extent, extortion’ and with that wave of crime, a huge cost to the New Zealand taxpayer. Obviously, this article caused a huge outrage, and North and South printed an apology in a later edition, but the words were already out there. Anti-Asian sentiments like this leave Asian immigrants in Central Auckland in the position of a weaker minority and force them into a resistant position. Not a lot of Asian media makes it anywhere near mainstream or prime time, so Asians must use the visual culture of the street to resist the negative representation of their culture. A fantastic example of positive use of the visual culture of Asia is the lantern festival in downtown Auckland every year. This year, 2010, 240,000 Aucklanders enjoyed ‘a leading Shanghai music ensemble, Mongolian throat singers, rolling lantern folk dancers from South China as well as Lantern making masters and other artists’ . This use of the street as a location for visual resistance to the dominant media is important to the Asian community of Auckland because it means that instead of the usual isolation of their distinct visual culture, they use this festival to include all the citizens of Auckland – Young Leader Elizabeth Chan commented that
‘Princes Street was ablaze with activity as people jostled with one another, trying to get into lines to taste laksa noodles, fried dumplings, spring rolls, kebabs and all the other tempting Asian delicacies on offer... Hon Phillip Burdon made the opening speech, celebrating Asia:NZ’s efforts in making the lantern festival possible and encouraging us to continue promoting New Zealanders’ knowledge of Asian culture’
By making vibrant and beautiful aspects of their culture accessible and welcoming to all citizens of Auckland City, the Asian community is combating the negative views the city holds about them.

A second area of Auckland this essay will discuss is South Auckland, an area stereotyped as low income and high crime. It is also, however, multicultural, vibrant and colourful, and most people who live there love calling it home. A study of young Maori people showed that although they were
‘clear in their awareness that most outsiders saw South Auckland in a negative light and...expressed the view that South Auckland was seen as a ‘tough’ place where violence, crime and poverty were part of the profile’ they ‘had very positive feelings about living in south Auckland and...tended to focus on connections to two general domains, the physical environment and the people in South Auckland. Underpinning such talk was the notion that South Auckland was home and they had a strong sense of belonging to and familiarity with the area’ .
South Auckland has the largest youth population in New Zealand, and proportionally an even higher population of Maori and Pacific youth, and with this young ethnic minority demographic based in an underprivileged area comes the obvious and observable problems of youth gangs, violent crime, larceny, street fighting and vandalism, and more subtly, the issue of the perpetual negative representation of brown youth in the media. Especially in the news media, this group of ‘brown youth’ is represented over and over again as inherently dangerous and criminal, and because the news is ideologically powerful, this representation becomes innate and eternal, and impossible to rewrite. Bomber, a respected Auckland media figure, commented that ‘the mainstream media make money from crime stories especially when those crime stories confirm the stereotypes we have of other races. Young brown youth beating the shit out of one another rates because it confirms the suspicions white NZ seem to have about brown NZ’ . One only has to look at the South Auckland based stories of ‘The New Zealand Herald’ with headlines such as Teen jailed for mother of three's manslaughter , Youth target in knife-crime review , and Eight youths charged over Tuakau police assault dominating the news to see how South Auckland youth are portrayed. As difficult as it already is for anyone to resist the hegemony of the news industry, South Auckland youth have the additional problem of being materially disadvantaged, being an ethnic minority and being young and therefore patronised and disrespected by the adults in their community and around Auckland – those who hold the power. How, then, are the youth of South Auckland meant to resist the dominant media image of themselves? The Black Friars are a music and comedy group made up of South Auckland youth who speak up about growing up in South Auckland and what it meant to them to be young and brown in a disadvantaged area.
For a long time, Vau [a member] says, the key South Auckland issues have been the same: violence and gang violence. "But to only focus on these things in both private and public spheres is to disregard all of the beauty, passion and talent that come out of South Auckland. People are too quick to judge and to stereotype."When the media focuses only on the negative, they miss the whole point, and they misrepresent what we, as a community, are all about. Sure, there might be gangs...but there is a huge and prevailing sense of community and family that exists in South Auckland that you will not find anywhere else. The media are more and more interested in the negative side of everything - they would rather shock their readers than give them a true picture of the world we live in.”

The group uses their music and comedy to speak out about their love for South Auckland, and the community they grew up in, and they use the respect garnered by their performances to help young people growing up in South Auckland. Not only are they a positive role model for youth in their community, they are also a positive new face for South Auckland focused media. Another alternate media voice that South Auckland’s brown youth have acquired is ‘bro’Town’, a primetime cartoon set in the fictional suburb of Morningside which follows the adventures of The Boys – Jeff da Maori, Valea and Vale (brothers), Mack and Sione. Created by a group of South Auckland based actors, entertainers and producers called the Naked Samoans, this program takes all the stereotypes about South Auckland and puts them all together in one place to make them laughable. Not only does it claim (through the character of God, who is Polynesian here) that Morningside is ‘a town where the children of the world frolic freely together, because no matter what ethnic group you’re from, young people are the same all over the world’ (thereby re-humanising brown youth) but it also helps to lay responsibility for South Auckland at the feet of the adults by portraying characters like Dad, Valea and Vale’s father, whose catchphrase is ‘I’m going to the pub... I may be some time’ and Constable Bababiba who can only communicate with The Boys through the use of his ‘smack smack stick’ . There is debate about whether ‘bro’Town’ merely reinforces South Auckland’s stereotypes by representing characters through the eyes of the dominant media but it can also be argued that the positive representation of South Auckland and its brown youth (especially in contrast to other areas of Auckland such as the racist ‘White Boys Grammar School’) is a resistance to the dominant news culture and its negative portrayal of South Auckland.

In Central and South Auckland, minority and excluded groups such as Asian immigrants and Maori/ Polynesian youth are portrayed negatively in the media, especially news media. Because of their lack of voice in the mainstream and traditional media, they are forced to revert to more ‘street’ mediums to challenge the dominant views about them. While the Asian population uses festivals to educate and include others in aspects of their culture, brown youth turn to music and comedy to give themselves a way to tell their story in their own words.




Works Cited
Asia:NZ Online. Chinese Lantern Festival. 2010. 9 April 2010

Bannister, Mathew. “Where's Morningside? Locating bro'Town in the ethnic genealogy of
New Zealand/ Aotearoa.” New Zealand Journal of Media Studies 11.1 (2008):1-15.

Black Friars. 10 April 2010

Bomber. TUMEKE. 2010. 9 April 2010 <>

Borell, Belinda. “Livin’ in the City Ain’t So Bad: Cultural Diversity of South Auckland
Rangatahi.” Diss. Massey University, 2005.

bro’Town. 9 April 2010

Chan, Elizabeth. A Roaring Start to the Year. 2010. 10 April 2010

Cheng, Derek. “Youth target in knife crime review.” New Zealand Herald 12 March 2010.

Coddington, Deborah. “Asian Angst: is it time to send some back?” North and South Magazine November 2006.

Eriksen, Alanah May and Edward Gay. “Eight youths charged over Tuakau police assault.” New Zealand Herald 23 February 2010.

“Go Home Stay Home.” Bro’Town. TV3. October 27, 2004.

Koubaridis, Andrew. “Teen jailed for mother of three’s manslaughter.” New Zealand Herald 18 March 2010.

Metro Live. 10 April 2010.

Ministry of Social Development. Nesian Pride. 8 April 2010

Pritchard, Ashley. “The Folly of Looking Only in the Mirror.” Diss. Lehigh University, 2008.

“Season One Trailer.” Bro’Town. TV3. 2004.

TVNZ. Shortland Street. 2010. 10 April 2010

Violence versus choice: representations of power in The City of God

The film City of God engages the critical problem of the representation of power through violence and how it is contrasted with the representation of power through choice, that is, empowering oneself by making the difficult but ‘better’ or ‘right’ choices. This essay will argue that the scene directly before the final battle between the gangs juxtaposes the two different kinds of power, and will show, through close textual analysis of mis en scene, sounds and cinematography, that it forces embodiments of different kinds of power to face each other.

City of God (Cidade de Deus) is a Portuguese film made in 2002 about a housing estate in Rio de Janeiro of the same name. The City of God is where the Brazilian government sends the poor and the homeless to avoid dealing with their problems and preserve the picture postcard image of Rio de Janeiro, and it is one of the most dangerous places in the country. This film tells the stories of some of these characters through the eyes of a single narrator, the young Rocket, a poor fisherman’s son. Rocket claims he is too scared to join the gangs that plague the city, and instead discovers a talent for photography which offers him an escape, and offers us a way to see his world. Across three decades, violence reigns, and the struggle for power controls the city.

The key problem which is explored is the issue of power and how it is acquired, and represented on screen. Gerbner et al. argue that on screen ‘violence is the key to the rule of power. It is the cheapest and quickest dramatic demonstration of who can and who cannot get away with what against whom.’[1] Goffman states that ‘society is organized on the principle that any individual who possesses certain social characteristics has a moral right to expect that others will value and treat him in an appropriate way.’[2] We can apply this to film where characters who act in a particular way (here, violence) ‘expect to and likely will be treated with respect and a degree of deference to the ‘power’ implicit in their behaviour’.[3] The most obvious way that characters wield power in City of God is through aggression and violence; the most feared gangster, Lil Ze, holds court in an atmosphere of fear and brutality, and criminality runs rampant in this city because ‘crime is associated with power’.[4] The problem of this representation of power is that, without analysis, it seems to be the overriding force; it seems to be the only way to fight and win in the City of God. Michel Foucault speaks of power as being defined by forms of resistance to it[5], and in this situation we could argue that the two representations of power in City of God stand as opposition to each other. Each of the opposing groups must actively take up one form of power; they are ‘subjects who are faced with a field of possibilities in which several ways of behaving... may be realised’.[6] We must acknowledge that it is a choice in itself to assert power through violence, but in this film it is viewed as a passive choice, while the decision to take a different path is an active one.

This pursuit of power through violence is juxtaposed, albeit subtly, with power through choice. Rocket, who actively chooses not to join the gangs, to focus instead on his photography and look for a way out of the City, is seen at the end as the one character that is empowered by his actions. His choices are often not the easy ones, he chooses a path quite different from all the other characters in the film, but because he makes the choice and takes action against his environment, he finds true power. Although this is not proved in the scene analysed, directly afterwards we see that by the grace of his choice not to be involved in the gangs, Rocket is one of the few who escapes the battle with his life.

The scene just before the final battle between the gangs is very interesting in terms of this issue of power. It comes at the climax of the film – the gang war has reached epic proportions and we have just seen Ze handing out guns to little kids, arming them to fight on his side. In the scene just before this, a huge feast is being prepared and the chicken, guessing its fate, escapes and runs away. The gang is chasing it when they run into Rocket. This scene encompasses the ideas of power through violence versus power through choice in the mis en scene, cinematography and sound.

This scene begins with a shot of a chicken running to escape being crushed by a truck, then cuts to Rocket and his friend walking and talking about Lil Ze. This is immediately followed by Lil Ze’s gang appearing on the street in pursuit of the chicken. The first key shot is a close up on Lil Ze holding up a gun - the shot becomes slow motion and sound all mutes out. These elements, the close up, the slow motion and the silence all combine to give this character significance, and more importantly, power. This shot is followed with a similar one of Rocket – an extreme close up with muted sound – but his facial expression of concern makes him a less powerful character. The camera cuts back to a wide angle shot of the gang who are all armed and taking up the whole street and almost the whole frame. Their guns, confident swagger and sheer numbers give them a sense of power. A few seconds later, the police show up, and the scene turns into a standoff between the gang and the police. Rocket is shown as being caught between the two figures of power by physically being placed between them on the street. These shots could be read in two ways. Since both the police and the gang are armed, we could say that Rocket was caught between two representations of violent power; or we could say that Rocket was caught between the criminality and violent power of his birthright and the power of choosing to escape and live a better life as represented by the police.

The longest shot in this scene is arguably also the most important, because it clearly articulates the problem in the film by drawing attention to the difference between the symbols for violent power and for the power of choice. The shot starts at a mid shot of Rocket, tracking around him to rest on the gang, blurring in and out of focus, then back to Rocket and around him to the police. It tracks back around to Rocket and focuses on his camera, with the gang out of focus in the background. Not only does this clearly place Rocket in a position of opposition to the gang (and arguably the police) but the focus on his camera is important because it is lending weight to the idea of his asserting power by choosing a different life. The shots following this alternate between the gang posing with their weapons and close ups of Rocket setting up his camera to take a picture. The way these shots are set up place huge emphasis on Rocket and his camera, the focus on his camera almost representing him making a choice as we see him look at the gang, then at his camera, then at the gang through the camera. This could be seen as Rocket weighing his choices, then, choosing the camera, taking a last look back at his old life from the perspective of his new life. Most of the sound in these scenes is muted, making the visuals of huge importance, and the shot tracks the camera as Rocket lifts it to his face. In these shots, Rocket has all the power; all we see is him, all we hear is the clicking of his camera as he adjusts it. The gang poses for the photo, Rocket presses the shutter... This shot, and the one following it are of vital importance because as soon as we hear the click of the camera, it cuts to a shot of the gang and there is a moment of confusion as we see a boy stumble backwards, hurt, before we realise that the crack we heard came from a gun. It is in this moment that the symbols of the two different types of power are inextricably linked – the click of a camera shutter is almost imperceptible from the gunshot – and this seems momentarily to give Rocket’s camera the same power as a gun.

This scene is an illustrative commentary on the problem of representations of power through violence and representations of power through choice. To the casual observer, the only representation of power in this scene is through violence – the gang of aggressive kids with guns seem to be in control of the scene. However, in the context of the whole film, and with close textual analysis, this scene takes on a second representation of power – the power of choice. The mis en scene is clever in the way it sets the characters up, showing their position in the issue, and the props it arms the characters with provide symbols for their type of power (camera versus guns). This scene encourages the ideology that power lies in force and brutality in the way that the gang is shown as stronger, louder and better armed, until the end when it is the boy with the camera that presses the button and the boy with the gun who is shot.

This dichotomy of power is not an unfamiliar one, by any means. It is an ideological battle which is waged across all genres and nationalities of films. Another example of a film which deals with the representation of power both through violence and through choice is New Zealand’s Once Were Warriors. This dark and brutal film focuses on the Heke family and the power struggle between Jake ‘The Muss’ Heke, a drunkard who controls his family through violence and fear, and his wife Beth who stays with her husband despite the abuse. Jake is feared by all, respected by some and loved by none as the only way he understands power is through brutality. In the end Beth finally makes the choice to leave Jake and takes back the power that she lost through years of abuse. ‘One of the film’s principle themes is Beth’s desire to break free of her predicament. Jake remains a slave to his self destructive behaviours, but his wife finds a way out.’[7] Once again we see the conflict between power through violence and power through choice – although the violent power is more clearly expressed, it is the power of choice which yields the greatest results.

The problem of representation of power in film is an important one, because without careful analysis, we only see the obvious assertion of power through violence – we must look closer to see that true empowerment comes through the power of choice. City of God with its constant struggle for dominance is a perfect example of this since violence seems to rule until the end when it is the character that makes the active choice to walk away from that option who survives.

Bibliography

Bordwell, David, and Kristin Thompson, Film Art. New York: McGraw Hill, 2008.

Eschholz, Sarah and Jana Bufkin, “Crime in the Movies: Investigating the Efficacy of Measures of Both Sex and Gender for Predicting Victimization and Offending in Film,” Sociological Forum 16, no. 4 (2001): 655-676

City of God. DVD. Directed by Fernando Meirelles. 2002; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Miramax, 2003.

Foucault, Michel. Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. Edited by Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983.

Gerbner, G., L. Gross, N. Signorielli, and M. Morgan, "Television violence, victimization, and power," American Behavioral Scientist 23, no. 5 (1980): 705-716.

Goffman, E. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Anchor Books, 1959.

Gump, James O. “Review of: Once Were Warriors,” The American Historical Review 100, no. 4 (1995): 1217-1219

Messerschmidt, J. Capitalism, Patriarchy and Crime. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1986.

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[1]G. Gerbner, L. Gross, N. Signorielli, and M. Morgan, "Television violence, victimization, and power," American Behavioral Scientist 23, no. 5 (1980): 708.

[2] E. Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. (New York: Anchor Books, 1959), 13.

[3] Sarah Eschholz and Jana Bufkin, “Crime in the Movies: Investigating the Efficacy of Measures of Both Sex and Gender for Predicting Victimization and Offending in Film,” Sociological Forum 16, no. 4 (2001): 658

[4] J. Messerschmidt, Capitalism, Patriarchy and Crime (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1986), 44.

[5] Michel Foucault, Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, ed. Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), 211

[6] ibid., 221

[7] James O. Gump “Review of: Once Were Warriors,” The American Historical Review 100, no. 4 (1995): 1218