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Farrar-length post | May 12, 2005 16:52
The best-kept secret of the Comedy festival is Jo Randerson's show. She has a great ear for dialogue, she's an accomplished actor, she has excellent comic timing, and the theatrical and cathedral influences have rubbed off on the stage-setting. She's only on for three more nights, and is absolutely worth a ticket and an hour of your evening.
Meanwhile over at optimisticpredictions.com, odds are getting pretty long on a NO bet on the notion of New Zealand becoming a republic - $13.00 says NO, $1.10 says YES.
Odds are somewhat closer on the prediction: "National wins 2005 election, forms coalition with Maori Party." YES is paying $4.60, NO is paying $1.27.
Post ends. Blogger departs for dinner at the mall with daughter's year two class. Remarks to himself that you could post a hell of a lot of these in a day.
Want a bet? | May 09, 2005 18:39
Is New Zealand going to hell in a handcart? If you fancy your skill at predicting the future, you should hurry over to optimisticpredictions.com and help yourself to $1,500.00 worth of free bets on questions of that nature. Yes, it's a gimmick. I like gimmicks. Gimmicks got me started on the internet and one of them still does a nice job of supporting the family.
The more I produce of them, the less certainty I have that a particular one will capture people's interest or not. I just know that if you want to make a point of some kind on the old interweb, you have a very substantial range of options, constrained by merely your imagination and the criminal law of the world's various jurisdictions.
So anyway: optimisticpredictions.com. It's a companion site to the new book, Civil War and Other Optimistic Predictions. I won't give away the ending, but if you'd like to get a flavour of the thing without handing over any money, by all means click over to the site and read the free excerpt.
In the book, I test various doomsday predictions about this little country's future. For example this one:
'This country could be brought to its knees by internal conflict and perhaps civil war over the coming decades as a direct result of this bill.'
If that sounds unlikely to you, then by all means pick up a copy and find out what this author made of that comment.
All the tough ones are there:
--Is the Treaty of Waitangi driving us apart?
--Do civil unions threaten the sanctity of the family?
--Are liberal social values and political correctness undermining our moral foundations?
--Are we destined for economic or environmental meltdown?
Predicting the future - often bleakly - is a national pastime, and now you can enjoy it in the comfort of your own home in a nice, friendly, readable 200-odd-page book. And because I think it's a good idea to let people have their own say, the companion web site is running a betting market to give everyone the chance to put some free money where their mouth is and bet on the future.
Right now the odds on the Treaty being declared null and void are probably the best a gloom merchant will ever get, so if you happen to be of that doleful disposition, go on, fill your boots, before things get better.
Unrelated Update
Adam Gifford has an excellent column in this morning's Herald on Telecom's woeful broadband performance.
Winston plays his cards right | May 06, 2005 09:09
The talk of the week has been just one question: just what is the source of Winston Peter's fantastic scoops? Here at Public Address, we try to do what we can to bring you the news the other guys missed, and I am happy to do so this morning.
The answer came to me as the hours dragged by yesterday at Wellington airport (and a warm thank you to that helpful Air New Zealand person who wouldn't let me get to the machine to check in on the 8.30 flight, and who encouraged me to try a Palmerston North flight instead. The bloody thing - it turns out- took off a mere twenty minutes late, just as I was changing my mind and making my way back to the airport from the city. But enough of my problems. As we'll see, the country has more pressing and substantially graver ones to deal with.)
So about those scoops, Winston? Mr Brown surmises the guy has a cracking source in Immigration. He may well do. But I have concluded that there is a bigger game afoot here. I first had an inkling of it as long ago as the last election. This was when we first heard the now immortal words uttered by an uncharacteristically optimistic Winston: can we fix it? Yes we can.
What made him so sure? The answer, I suddenly realised in a flash of inspiration yesterday as I watched the thousands of stranded people wandering about the airport, lies in the superior quality of intelligence-gathering practiced by such luminaries as Rumsfeld and Bush. They know how to spot a villain in the crowd, and why? Because they have a rockin' set of playing cards. From the Three of Spades all the way to the Ace of Hearts, they've been scooping up evildoers and getting them out of harm's way, to borrow an apposite Bushism*.
And then I had a recollection: our little girl has a very interesting pack of cards at home. A Bob the Builder set of cards. I could scarcely contain my excitement. When I finally arrived home last night, I quickly made for them. Sure enough, the answer was right there in front of me. Winston is playing with a full deck.
Can we fix it? You'd better believe we can. He's already outed one evil character, and fanning through the deck, I conclude that he has another eight to go before the election, if I know my card games.
It's bad form to disclose a party's election campaign, I daresay, but vital security matters are at stake here, so I'm going to spill the beans and show you the other eight threats to New Zealand's security soon to be exposed by that fearless campaigner for right-minded, solid, grounded, realistic thinking.
Here, just to recap, is the character he has already unmasked.
Known colloquially as Spud, the man is actually a dangerous former henchman of Saddam Hussein. We can all be eternally grateful to Winston for making the danger known.
But we still have eight to go. Here now are their cards, and the little information I so far have on them after a dedicated night of Googling ( wearing of course, a tin foil hat for protection all the while.)
Rolando Gormlezz is an activist from Cuba. He is thought to have advised a radical branch of the Maori Party on insurrection techniques and is rumoured to have ties with Te Wananga o Aotearoa.
"Dizzy" is the notorious Denver-based sect leader Leonard Grabasski Destiny. A charismatic kool-ade spiker, he has been responsible for corrupting the minds of tens of thousands of impressionable new-age thinkers.
Travis M Fergusson III has lived in Illinois for several years and is a tenured professor in agriculture. This, however, is a front for eco-terrorist activities. He is believed to be distributing GE seed in agricultural exporting nations which might pose a threat to US beef interests.
Felix Innuendo is a master of disguise. He has entered various countries posing as a housepet and is suspected of having spread various strains of avian flu and possibly the ebola virus. He is only partially house-trained.
Mr Alistair "Scoop" Trotsky is a Marxist agent masquerading in New Zealand as a conspiracy theorist and reporter. His journalism cannot be trusted.
Miss Monica "Wendy" Hilton is a double agent working the bars of Wellington. It is imprudent to buy her a drink or even a plate of sandwiches at the Green Parrot.
Mr Lysack Libovtiz is a tall Israeli gentleman who does not honour his wagers, and whose tips are unreliable.
And finally the joker in the pack: the Shadowy Osama Bin Labourer - the real brains behind Al Qaeda. Using a bearded Arab in robes as his front man, this unpretentious Wellington builder by day has, by night, been taking our civilisation into the nightmare world of terrorism and reality television that is the 21st century experience. He must be stopped. If you care about the future of your nation, do not accept a quote from this man, even if you've been waiting three months for one.
* "It's in our country's interests to find those who would do harm to us and get them out of harm's way."-Washington, D.C., April 28, 2005 Slate Bushisms
Click here for jokes | May 04, 2005 09:07
Dying is easy, as the old saying goes, comedy is hard. You can't beat the experience of a roomful of people laughing at your words. There are few more mortifying than a pregnant pause or a deathly hush as you fail to connect. And let's not forget the low murmuring as you lose them altogether.
Speech writer's confession: I generally take the coward's way out - I throw in a little humour but give a straight talk. Just a few times in my life, I've had a room rolling; I am by no means sure I could achieve that routinely.
So how brave are the several dozen people who make up this year's roster for the comedy festival? Very. I've missed the festival altogether these last couple of years or so, but this time around I intend to make a pig of myself.
Penny Ashton kindly sprung us a couple of tickets for her MC Hot Pink in Busty Rhymes show and we had a fine time last night. I would not have thought you could construct a hip-hop lyric ending on the line: go feel up Charlotte Dawson's, but Penny did. I would not have thought you could pluck three unsuspecting people from an audience and discover some genuine hidden comic talent, but Penny did. And I would not have thought many women could get their bra cup to fit their head, but Penny did. She's on until Saturday and you should most definitely get yourself along there.
The dumbest thing you can try to do is figure out how comedy works. It's hard to resist poking and prodding at it, all the same. I do know this: the more confessional and candid you are, the better. Sharing your failures and your shortcomings, your anxieties and your frustrations - as long as you do it with no sense of self-pity - is a very good idea. It helps if you can share your own amusement at your various personal disasters.
MC Hot Pink runs a very good line in this. She's very candid, and very brave. She makes it look almost effortless, and that is one hell of an illusion to pull off. Once upon a time, we had scarcely an entertainer in the country who could manage that. Now there are dozens of them.
Of course they're all in it for the money. Radar was there last night and he was explaining to me how all of them are rolling in it.
As if. What he actually told me was that it's a bloody good thing when you stop on the way out and buy the books and the CDs and the posters. They'll even happily autograph a T shirt for you when it helps to shift the merchandise. Dig deep. These guys deserve it.
The Happiest Place on Earth | Apr 29, 2005 09:05
This week marks the second time in my life I've visited Disneyland. Karren and I were here a long time before we became parents, by way of an airfare that chucked in a free night in Anaheim with tickets to the magic kingdom. We gave Disneyland about three hours before we bailed.
I like the America you find in bars, in diners, in Amtrak cars, in the homes of friends, and in the offices where they work. I'm much more ambivalent about the America you get if you present yourself front-and -center for a full fire-hose blast of the tourist and/or consumer experience.
Still, you do things differently when you have a five year old on school holiday. I'm not complaining, you understand. The work I do gives me the latitude to take these holidays, and they're welcome breaks, every one of them.
Actually, the work I do is an odd thing to explain to people. My companions over a few margaritas in a bar in San Diego's Old Town listened to the description with incredulity. After a moment's pause, Frankie said You're a drug dealer, man.
That took us on to a conversation about Schapelle Corby and of course her nine fellow citizens who were arrested last week. More incredulity. Not, of course, that here in the USA you can't also come unstuck in spectacularly awful ways. I recall Eric Schlosser documenting a pretty compelling case or two against the- three-strikes-and-you're-out policy in Reefer Madness.
To add to the unlikelihood of my story I explained that I was supposed to be in Austin talking with a client about writing his life story. It involves a struggle for democracy, success against overwhelming odds, death threats, corruption, and some quite exciting moments along the way. He had, to my exasperation, at the last moment flown out to Europe. Uh huh, said Frankie, and we went back to talk about the construction business and how quickly he can remodel a service station.
I wish I was in Austin
In the Chili Parlour Bar
Drinkin' Mad Dog Margaritas
And not carin' where you are
There are two interpretations I can draw from the mystery of the disappearing client. One is that he is indeed a VIP with a hard schedule. The other is that he's not entirely sure about doing the book. I'll find out soon enough.
I'm ambivalent. It's a great story and it would be good to tell it, but if it goes ahead, it will entail a lot of work. On the other hand, I've had time to draw breath after finishing a second book hard on the heels of the first, and it's high time I returned my attention to the pretty vast scope that still remains for expanding the automated speeches business.
I got to thinking about such things because I am not father of the year, if being a good parent means remaining actively engaged at all times with your kids when you're holidaying with them. So many hours in theme parks, so many opportunities for your mind to wander. I'll give myself a break: it was the cheesy entertainment that was not getting my attention, rather than my daughter.
And do they ever trowel on the cheese. Principal culprit: Sea World. Give a young Southern Californian a microphone and watch them audition for the TV executives in the audience.
Still and all, I had been looking forward to three nights in Austin indulging the old alt.country predilection. In this vast nation of many vast people, it can be a little dispiriting to sink yourself fully into the consumer culture. So much crap food and crap entertainment ladled out to people who compliantly hoover it up. You know that America is vastly and elaborately more than this, but standing in line for the Peter Pan adventure in Fantasyland, or eating your way through a plate of ersatz pasta at San Diego Zoo, you can feel immersed in something altogether less edifying.
And yet even in this swamp of marketing-manipulated humanity, there have been small delights. Four guys singing a-capella sixties soul hits and the crowd loving it. A talking trash can whose discrete remote control operator was happy to address Mary-Margaret by name, to her great delight and astonishment. And you should see the 3D show they do for the Bugs Life. Our little girl turned six and had the time of her life.
The holiday, in other quintessentially Californian words, is not about me. The family is having fun. The family even thinks it might be nice to come and live here for a year or two. Even in a week where the appalling Ann Coulter is on the cover of Time in all the newsstands, the notion of living here and sharing the sympathies of the 48% who didn't vote for the guy is full of appeal. When you live just a short(ish) flight away, a Mad Dog Margarita in the Chili Parlour Bar is always in easy reach.
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