Public Address - Cracker (Home)

Kick it in the Butt (& Friday Links) | Sep 28, 2007 12:47

So after 18 years, I've given up smoking.

And to be honest, it wasn't that hard.

Yeah okay, it's only been a month, but I'm feeling pretty relaxed about things, I've gone out numerous times and gotten myself into a state fit for an ALAC advert (it's definitely 'how we're drinking' – and how), surrounded myself with chain smokers, placed myself in stressful situations – all the usual triggers – and come out the other end unscathed. Well, apart from my long-suffering liver, natch.

I didn't need to call Quitline. I didn't cover myself in patches, chew gum filled with tar or whatever that stuff is. I didn't get needles stuck into me, I didn't get hypnotised and I didn't read that Allan Carr book that entices one to keep smoking until you finish the last page (which seems to be a very cunning ploy by the Tobacco Industry – best case scenario the smoker loses the urge to give up by the time they've got through the book, worst case you've at least screwed them for one last week).

But my method, or rather my variety of methods, seem to have worked. Yes, only for a month and I don't want to get all smug and complacent, but I've never found it quite as easy as I did this time. This time there's no lingering inner nag.

What are these methods I hear you ask? Where can I buy a copy of your fabulous new treatise on kicking the habit? To whom should I make out my money order for $99.95 (including postage and handling) for a three-month supply of whatever it is you're selling?

Well, given how much you, dear Cracker reader, have given to me over the years (although strangely your subscription cheques seem to keep getting lost in the mail) it seems only right that I gift you this one, gratis. But you owe me, remember…

Cracker's Guide to Giving Up Smoking #1: Replacement Therapy.

This one is brilliant because of its simplicity. And 100% guaranteed if you stick to it. Foolproof. You don't need anything, no special props or supplements, it costs nothing and you can use it anywhere.

What I do, is every time I would normally have a cigarette, whether it's first thing in the morning, on the way to work, after dinner what have you, whenever I'm normally tempted to have a cigarette, I don't.

Want to see that again in slow motion, perhaps from a different angle? Whenever you'd normally have a cigarette, instead of having one, don't.

Cracker's Guide to Giving Up Smoking #2: Replacement Therapy 2.

This one is a little more hard-core, and has got me in some trouble at work, at least until I pointed out to HR that if they refused to fully support me in my quitting-smoking endeavours they would be as bad as the tobacco companies and would likewise find themselves on the receiving end of a whopping great lawsuit.

What I do, is every time I work normally go outside for a cigarette, I replace it with something that I like as much as smoking. For you that could be chocolate, masturbation or casting yet another vote for Good Morning's "Win a Wedding" promotion. For me it's drinking. Scotch to be precise. Fine single malt, cask-strength preferably, if you want to be even more preciserer. Nothing extreme, just a wee nip of scotch every time I'd normally have a cigarette. No more than half a dozen or so times a day. Or maybe a dozen. Once you get started it's quite more-ish, I tell ya. But certainly try and keep it down to one bottle per working day.

While HR might not see it that way, you think they'd see that unlike smoking, which requires popping down to the carpark every half-hour, drinking is able to be done at one's desk. Productivity 1, Smoking Nil.

Cracker's Guide to Giving Up Smoking #3: The Laziness Theory.

This only works for people who are incredibly lazy, or can do a good imitation of being such. It hasn't worked particularly well for me, because while I can be a son-of-a-procrastinator, I always tend to be doing stuff of some description. But I'm sure it's a pretty sound theory, if you've got the requisite lack of inclination.

The theory goes like this. Smoking requires effort, right. First you have to go down the road and buy the cigarettes, matches, lighters etc. Don't even get me started on people who smoke rollies, constantly having to keep tab of how many papers and filters they've got left.

Then there's the effort involved in smoking. Finding the ciggies, pulling them out, finding a lighter, borrowing a lighter when you realise someone nicked yours… what an ordeal. Right down to sticking the thing in your mouth and sucking on it, you are expending more energy than if you simply didn't. View it that way.

Start saying things to yourself like "I'd love a cigarette… but I can't be arsed getting up to get them". This works even better if you've intentionally left them in the other room, or better still, at the dairy.

When you feel like a cigarette, say "I can't be bothered even lifting my hand up to my mouth, I'm just going to stay on the couch a while longer completely flaccid. I'll have one in ten minutes, I promise." Just remember smoking requires effort.

This method can also be incorporated with method #2 above. By leaving your substitute item closer than your cigarettes, you can use it as a form of procrastination. Leave the cigarettes on the coffee table, but the chockie bickies on the couch next to you. See how that works?

(Warning: Extended periods flaccid on the couch eating Toffee Pops may result in Morbid Obesity – please consult your physician if you experience Cankles or Bed Sores)

Cracker would like to thank Dominic Bowden and the Guy from 48 May for telling me via signs at the bus stop that smoking isn't cool any more. Truly the straw that broke the camel's back.

FRIDAY LINKS:

The new Phoenix Foundation video for the song, Bright Grey, directed by Taika Waititi

Beautiful Book Autopsies

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Get it Off | Aug 23, 2007 20:29

When asked what they like to see in their news and current affairs, focus groups invariably say "more investigative journalism".

So with this in mind, and hoping to break a big story for the readers of Cracker, I have dutifully spent not only my working days, but also every night this week in strip clubs all around Wellington waiting for politicians to come in. No luck yet, but as long as Russell keeps approving my expense claims, I'll keep doing the hard yards.

Seriously though, who would've thought "have you ever visited a strip club" would be 2007's answer to "are you now or have you ever been a Communist?" Well, for a few days anyway. Um, hello, they're legal. Even if you want to apply something of a moral standard, why not ask when they last visited the Casino? Did not Christ cast the pokie players out of the temple, or something?

I find all this even more surprising given that over the past few years strip clubs seems to have become somewhat normalised as an acceptable form of entertainment. I'd hazard a guess that of the half dozen or so times I've been to a strip club in the past couple of years, it's been with a mixed group of males and females. And this almost seems to be the rule now. I don't know why, whether it's curiosity, some post-feminist reclamation, or the fact these women grew up idolising Demi Moore in [EDIT: 'Striptease', not 'Showgirls', ka pai Michael] instead of Julie Andrews in 'The Sound of Music'.

(Although having said that, Julie Andrews played a Nun who abandoned her sacred vows because she couldn't keep her hands off her boss, right? Dodgy. And while we're at it, what sort of moral should we take from 'Grease'? If you want to get your man, you should dress like a prostitute?)

Anyway, the point being, these days your modern day strip club is more like Cobb & Co than anything seedy and forbidden. They'll start offering kids meals next. Traffic Light anyone? Blue Devil? Pink Panther? Anyone?

Personally I miss the old days a little bit, when strip clubs were seedy and being there felt dodgy. Wasn't that the whole point? You don't have sex in a public place because you enjoy having a pinecone jutting into your back, and it's Playboy, not NZ Naturist Magazine that teenagers hide under the mattress. The modern strip club is really just a bit ho-hum.

So it's not just male politicians we should be looking at, the Alexander Downers, the John Keys and Dover Samuels. If Katherine Rich is hip enough to go to the Cure last week, then who's to say she isn't popping down to Mermaids with the rest of the National caucus of an afternoon? I also note that as with the "yes, but I didn't inhale" defence, it seems that most politicians quizzed decided it was okay to say "yes, a very long time ago when I was young".

(Barack Obama's response to the "have you used marijuana?" question is a classic. "I inhaled. Frequently. That was the point.")

I'm not saying politicians should go to strip clubs, I'm just saying if they do, so what? If it's good enough to be sold legally on Courtenay Place and Queen Street, then who are we to judge? Why should Darren Hughes, a young man in his twenties, with blood presumably as red as his hair, be made to feel ashamed if he decides to accompany his friends down to Sante Fe of a Friday evening? He shouldn't.

(For the record, I'm sure Darren Hughes has never gone to Sante Fe on a Friday evening. He's an MP after all, and knows we expect better from him.)

(For example knowing that Tuesday is cheap beer night at Sante Fe, not Friday)

____________

A couple of administrative matters.

1. I was interviewed for National Radio's Mediawatch the other weekend. Here's the podcast, my interview is towards the end.

2. My Metro piece on Wellington, 'Capital Punishment' is now online. If you didn't mange to buy a copy you might want to read it for free there.

3. TV3 once again doesn't disappoint by providing extended Boobs on Bikes coverage on its website. Enjoy.

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A Night Like This | Aug 15, 2007 18:06

Maybe it's the jetlag from my (cough, cough) recent excursion to Seoul (on which more later, clearly) but I kinda agreed with a lot of what Graham Reid wrote in his I Can't Believe it's Not a Cure Concert Review before I realised it was a parody. Not reading being much of a Herald reader I hadn't read the Dylan Review in question, so I sorta missed the joke.

For anyone else similarly suffering from being dense, can I assure you in advance that my own thought's on last night's Cure concert are a) honest, b) without irony and c) probably worth skipping altogether, since the concert was a day ago now and even if I say it was really good you can't travel back in time and go to it on my recommendation…

…or can you?

No, you can't.

The Cure: Vector Arena, Auckland, 14 August 2007.

First let me state: Big Cure fan. Or certainly I was a big Cure fan, I haven't bothered with the past couple of albums. I'm sure they have their moments, but they have been sounding a bit samey-samey, which was one thing I liked about albums one through ten.

I used to be in a Cure covers band. Which as a keyboardist was a lot more successful than the two weeks I spent in an AC/DC covers band. Although it wouldn't have done me last night, as the Cure circa 2007 have four members, one more than the early days, and one fewer than at another time.

So to the gig. Three hours was the rumour, and three hours we got. Graham says he could've done with half an hour less, I'd push that up to an hour, but then again I'm also acutely aware of my MTV-generation attention span. And also, with the Cure meaning so many things to so many people, I'd just be removing the songs I'm not so fond of, which could well be the tunes the couple beside me fell in love to (particularly if they're younger and have a better appreciation of the last few albums).
But even so, there was what felt like a generally poorly-received lull that started with "If Only Tonight We Could Sleep" and ended a few songs later. The beer line certainly grew exponentially during that time.

The songs seemed loosely grouped together by album – three of the four singles from Disintegration (Lovesong, Lullaby and Pictures of You) were all played in a row, although they needn't have been. And here's my one main complaint. Maybe they're trying to fill a gap left by having no keyboardist providing underlying atmospherics, but could they just tone down the flanger/phaser/delay effect on the guitars occasionally? With almost every song receiving the same treatment, it felt like the whole concert was being staged in a flooded coal mine, and many songs lost the dynamics that made them unique in the first place, two examples being The Blood and Hot Hot Hot!!!

I can't remember whether it was three or four encores we were treated to, but the inclusion of Faith as an end to one of them was either a rare treat for die-hard fans, or a drawn-out dirge for those unfamiliar with the song from 1981's eponymous album. But I think the same could be said for much of the evening. Three hours is a fan-only affair. If you like Friday I'm in Love and "The One about the Spider" (one of two songs the Stuff's reviewer couldn't get right – where are those Fairfax subs/Cure fans when you need 'em?) then you would be bored after an hour – about the time I was jiggling in my seat to one of my vaguely-obscure personal faves, Push.

Even my attention was waning a little towards the end, and without repeating the All Blacks ahead by 60 analogy Graham has already poked fun at, my date did point out the similarity to the Blues trouncing someone at Eden Park – as the encore began, those eager to beat the traffic fled.

But oh what they missed! Finally the overblown effects units on the guitars had something of a short-circuit, and the Cure emerged if not looking, then sounding something like their late-70s selves (of which, it should be noted for accuracy, Smith is the only remaining member). The energy was well up, and bassist Simon Gallup, who had spent all night looking like he'd be a better fit in a punk band – lanky, toned, stooped and tattoed – finally made sense, as they whipped through almost a medley of tracks from the first album, including Fire In Cairo, Jumping Someone Else's Train, 10:15 Saturday Night and Grinding Halt.

I'm thinking that even if you didn't know those tracks word for word, you'd still have had as broad a smile as I did when the final chords rang out.

(PS: I have no sub, nor claim to. This post is bound to be riddled with mistakes.)

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