dusty's mum and other stars

of the art world.

I just found out that Caroline has curated this exhibition. And maybe even produced this artwork.

I bet the line sizes go funny now ...


The exhibition is about how artists engage with the art economy and yet position themselves as belonging to alternative cultures. It is also stars some other old friends of mine. So if you are in W-town go and have a look. I think it is called Territorial Pissings ... or something of that nature.


I personally think it is about fandom and diaristic self-expression. Maybe blogging is art. I like that this is about Kurt Cobain. It reminds me of Usti. I have been thinking about it a lot lately fan-hood. I am more of a fan of things now than I used to be. Part of being a late bloomer I guess ... [I am still waiting] ... I think I took fandom to lightly as a teen when you are supposed to have posters on the wall. Sure I liked, I obsessed over bands and possibly even slightly modelled myself on Morrissey, and I did dream about once. Only once. He climbed in my bedroom window and did my maths homework. I wasn't taking maths at the time.


Caroline is awesome, though I haven't seen her for years. Last year I say a one woman show that was created from verbatim stories told by women and girls. Dusty's story was the best.


I sometimes imagine myself as an artist, probably a conceptual artist or an installation maker. People say I have an artistic temperament. A polite way to say moody, is it not? Instead I am a social scientist. Which is really somewhat of a surprise to me. Perhaps my artform is not making decisions about stuff like careers, but just getting buffeted along by ... insert set of beliefs here.

After all every life, is a narrative told by ourselves to ourselves ... are we our only listeners? Is that a wise question to ask in the blogosphere? We make sense, and tidy away the loose edges. Look at what I have just done. I just told you I am a social scientist, which is a short hand description of all the accidental falling into paths that led to here. So Luc Sante was cleverly right in a sneaky kind of way saying that humans are really just 'factories of facts'.


I had something else to blog about from last week's adventures in the 'Grad with AbD . We didn't get to Noir as our night was ruined by someone else's hair cut ... but that's another story.

I should be a dentist

because my day job is already pulling teeth ...

noir

Of course I could be spending my time doing something more profitable, but to blog is to procrastinate. So last night ended up being an awesome night out like I haven't had in a long while. Fish Bar wasn't so crappy as usual and the music was strangely good. We then moved on to the new revamped hotel bar, which had the coolest fit out like in a magazine and everything. Shame the clientele didn't live up to the decor.



Lastly we went to meet angsty A in all her birthday angstiness at the place formerly known as Malga ... the scene of AbD's triumphant investigations! By this time we were all feeling quite wasted. And we danced to crappy music and got more wasted. And I said hola to the little Chileans ... who I say HOLA! too a lot. So I said HOLA to them and Carlos said "Do you speak Spanish?"

The choreographer one of the two was a surprisingly unco-ordinated dancer for a .... dancer... or maybe I just wasn't getting it.

So inspired by going to the movies the other night ... when did they replace the term advertisement with "message of interest"? Come on! I was all set to go to the film festival screening of "Old Joy" because it has Will Oldham in it, not because it is in the film festival. I think it is bourgeois assumption that things are an artform if they can be in a festival. Anyways I was already to go see Will shuffle and whisper if his acting is anything like his singing, that is, but it turns out that it was last week. So I will just have to stare at this non-moving picture ... that's why they are called stills folks ...

And for your clicking pleasure ... a charming craft site, but beware there lurks a dark side to his art ...

http://bentobjects.blogspot.com/

and what of shower caps?

whither have they gone? You just don't see them in the stores anymore, do you. Perhaps I will have to get them from the petshop, where they are repackaged as canary cage seed catcher thingies. For now I will fashion one out of a new world bag, in a recyling kind of way.

Note, there will be no photographs by way of illustration, you will have to experiment with a supermarket bag of your own .... unless you are lucky enough to live in New York where according to the movies they put groceries in brown paper bags.

Besides men are never seen in shower caps in the movies. And Americans seem to wear track suits to bed.

a bell is a cup until it's struck

and a pony is a small horse.

Thanks to E, for answers to this, and many other of life's questions.

Some of you may know that I was going to NYC in the new year to celebrate a small mile stone. Well the Al Qaeda of birthdays i.e. my family have hijacked that plane ... plan and rerouted the celebrations to an all-family love-in a place quite a bit like New York ... only smaller and less interesting. So book your plane tickets folks we're off to Blenheim. Hurrah.

No other news to report. I am getting a new office, but since work talk is verboten, I can't go into the ins and outs of all that.

Ah well, I'm hitting the shower cos I am out on the town. Am meeting people at the fish bar, which passes for hip around here, but is actually just annoying. The bouncer looks Saddam Hussein, but his name is Ashley. That just about sums up the place.

Little Eddie

and he did come up to just above my knee. A charming little chocolate covered Dexter breed cow.

Turns out that I was useless as a cowherder, as they tried to follow me to the gate, not out of a desire to get loose ... they were just going with the flow. Of course, I had no idea what to do, and tried to talk them out of it. Oh well any dreams of a hobby farm went out the window.

animal vegetable mineral

I was supposed to be going to see tiny baby cows. Apparently, Eddie the Dexter only reaches your knee ... which doesn't seem very cow-like to me. In fact that very notion brings me to my main point, dear reader ... well actually not a point but a series of questions. Yes, I seek enlightenment, and that's where you come in.

You see, either there is something wrong with my vocabulary or with the English language. I want to say that Eddie is a cow, even though he is or will be when he grows up a bull. But to me, cow is the general cover term: a female cow is a cow, and a male cow is a bull. I can't use the word cattle to refer to a specific cow-or-bull. Can you?

This got me to thinking about other animals I am not so sure about. I don't know what a pony is. I mean I can recognise one out in a field, but I don't have a proper definition of one in my head. Is a pony just a short horse? Or is it some separate species? Do some horse parents just have pony babies like some weak gene? (Does the mare look at the stallion and think, well pony-ness doesn't run on my side of the family? Or do you need a mummy pony and a daddy pony to make a pony?

And what about sharks and dolphins? Are they both mammals even though they seem very fish like to me ... Is there a separate category that includes dolphins and sharks, and how does that relate to whales. Whales and dolphins seem similar to me, but I guess I am categorising them by disposition, they seem friendly and orientated towards peaceful fun ... whereas sharks are just nasty. And as for Orca, they seem like sharks pretending to be whales pretending to be sharks. I mean they used to be called killer whales which implies that killing is quite unusual behaviour for whales. There is no equivalent killer sharks because the opposite is true, sharks that aren't constantly eating surfers, swimmers etc are the rarity.

And what about eels? Are they fish? Or stingrays?

This gets me onto tomatoes and avocados, fruits or vegetables? I know the scientists say that they are fruit, and have some reason that escapes me about the seeds ... but tomatoes are definitely a vegetable for me because the likelihood of heating before eating is about 50/50. That is my taxonomy does admit grey areas, but it is the possibility of being consumed raw that separates the fruit from the veges. The higher likelihood of being eaten cooked seems to make you a vegetable. What about salad leaves, you say? Yes they pose a problem for my system, but they seem to be a separate subcategory of vegetables.

So dear readers, how do you organise the natural 'kingdom'? Help me out here ...

so this is what it will be like

from now on.

So C has moved to Auckland, and DrL is away, so it is good practice for when he moves south permanently. Weekends will be quiet... not that I miss the karaoke. Giving that up has been the only new year's resolution I have ever managed to keep.

Went out for a drink last night with Dr O before he disappears into matrimony. In fact he sort of already has given that he has moved to a rural idyll with horses, dogs and a philosopher. Whoever says ... and it seems that most people do ... that men don't talk about their feelings ... don't know Dr O. I was charmed by the tenderness of his feelings towards his wife especially as his conversation was sprinkled with hegemonic discourses ... "don't get me wrong, that kitty has claws" he said at one point.

Anyways...

perhaps they are spooky ...

Some just appear a little shy though

do I know you from somewhere?

Back in the W-town, and I always feel just a little bit sexier ... okay more interesting which passes for sexy around here ...

Wellingtonians just seem more happy. They don't scowl at you on the street or shout from cars. Is this what they mean by 'civil society'? Have been getting back into the swing of things back in the Palmengrad and the job, but its 7:30 and I am about to have an hour long online meeting with clients. So modern so dull. Slipped away for an hour to a bar and met up with Uncle S who caught me up on the arrival of babies ... so many babies ... mine must be in the post.

I went to the national bird show the other day. Apparently birds freak a lot of people out. I kinda like the way that they look at you. I also like photographing them ... as you might have noticed. Luckily for you I don't have my camera with me. It is interesting how phobias seems to be culturally learnt phenomenona. The people of the village think we re crazy to be scared of rats and spiders, but they are horrified by tiny little lizards.

Oh well I had better get back to my cyberhui ...

shoe and tell 2

This is Putu, the chicken I was given at the end of my last stay. She has had three litters? broods? ... sets of chicks since then. The first lot was eaten by dogs. But the hens of round 2 are are about to lay. Soon I will be up to my neck in fowl. Actually I am going to trade them in for a pig ... I should have enough by December ... so I can enter the circumcision ceremony. Papa BB is amping for me to do it, as he will be my sponsor. This means he has started to refer to me as his pig - a joking way of referring to a wife ... Hmm ritualised homosexuality anyone?

shoe and tell

Here's the rooster I ate at my going away dinner.

I did not eat this turtle. They know not to hunt them.

I had a great time though, endangered species not withstanding. Some very sad and disturbing developments though. One sister in law died in childbirth. Premature labour brought on by yet another bout of domestic violence... Another uncle has a very serious case of elephantitus ... and one of the teachers ... ayoung guy died in his sleep.

And me?I accidently swam with a shark. I was standing in waist deep water inside the reef, and noticed a fin slowly rise above the water about 15 metres away. I thought I was hallucinating until I heard one of the chiefs resting on the stage ... a kind of verandah affair just above the beach cry 'shark shark'. This is it I thought. So I started to carefully and splashlessly move back to the shore about 40 metres away. Because of the shape of the beach, it actually dips down just near the shore, and I thought if this shark is going to take me, he'll do it there. My legs were a bit shakey once I got out of the water, but no damage.

When I got back to my house I mentioned the adventure to my brother aged 9. Oh it wasn't a shark, just a dolphin, he said. And he would know because he was there. And he knows better than the chief ....

Other than that it was pretty much work work work. I didn't drink nearly as much kava as on previous occasions and that seemed to have allowed me to preserve a calm demeanor in the face of the usual shenanigans -consultants not turning up when they said they would ... the laplap and the water shortages ...

Oh well am back now, and back into it.

getting away

attempt two ...

So I am off again tonight ... hopefully.

An update on smiling man for those of you who may remember. Yesterday on my way to work, my smiling buddy you know the one intellectually challenged but a charmer was hanging at the traffic lights with a brother? caregiver. He rushed up while I waited to cross and put his head on my shoulder and said ... "You're a naughty man" ... What does he know that I don't?

bound for

nowhere ....

So as you might imagine form my typing on this interweb thingy I am not in the village. I am at home, in my kitchen.

I got as far as Auckland, but my flight from the "grad was delayed and missed my connecting flight to Island-land.

Oh well, try again Sunday.

little boxes

In the (smells like teen) spirit of tidying my bedroom because of landlord sneakiness, I bought fifteen of these.
I have actually only constructed these five. The rest lie uselessly flat inside their packaging.
But won't I be tidy? Won't I be impressive? Won't I look organised ....

I should stop this

arse-ing about and get on with preparing for the foray into the islands. The concept of organising myself is paralysing. So instead, I sit here. I have presents to get, structures to prepare, house to clean, as I know my nosey landlord will sneak in while I am away. Speaking of houses I saw one that I want. I went to one of those online mortgage calculators and well let's just say homeownership and I will probably never be friends.





Anyways as Max often entitles her posts, but with probably not intentionally skitey pictures of her destination I'll be away ...

Not quite Paris, is it

your eye and its partner

So blogger ate my template ... not to worry ...
So what have I been up to? Wouldn't you like to know ... Escaped to the big city fun for some cat sitting, with a curiously uninteractive cat. She didn't miaow she didn't purr and she doesn't sit on you. Just near you. It was unbelievably cold down there too. The house seemed impossible to heat. It is the first time I can honestly say I was glad to get back to Palmengrad. Not that it is a lot warmer here, but my little brick fortress sure keeps the heat in. Work has continued to suck my will to live ... in fact working isn't what it was cracked up to be ... what can you do? an ex-languid youth has gotta eat ...

I did have fun down in the 'ville though. Met up with EmB and AB and we got a surprise special guest visit from, well Ab did we were merely collateral visitees. I'm off to the islands next week, despite the fact I have not procured a school bell for the new village church ... I will be in trouble with the elders. I guess they just don't make bells like they used to ... In other news I have been reading about them Persians. What with the hoohaa about 300 and my love of Ole Herodotus. So in Persian Fire, which proposes that whole shebang was the birthplace of east versus west carryings on, and that the Greeks were terrorists states, I did learn one thing that I am sure that movie left out. At the battle of Marathon there were 600 Thespians! War of the lovies I'd suggest.

In other reading news ... I don't get out much ... aparently in Igbo culture a very excited greeting for someone who you have not seen for a while is to say "your eye". The proper response is "your eye and its partner".

So, dear reader(s) Your eye!

Holy moly

On the way to the supermarket I passed an Islamic sausage sizzle.

Recently at some kind of interfaith seminar our beloved leader confirmed that we were not a theocracy. The links, she would have us believe, have long be severed. The only protest this raised was Bishop Brian Tamaki http://www.bishopbriantamaki.org.nz/ and his creepy destiny church. Performing a haka in protest, they claimed the PM had betrayed one hundred years of christianity in this country. So Brian what about all those other hundred years your tipuna were here?

Weirdly though, given the PM's assurance, the speaker of the house grimly says a prayer as the first order of business in parliament ...

The downside of the vanishing christian heritage of the nation is the selling off of some of Wellington's architecture gem. St Gerard's monastery is now a chiropractor's office, the Fortuna Chapel is trapped inside a retirement home and now Stella Maris and the Star of the Sea may be sold off.

go rhyme your runes in june,

I'm not your seventh son ...

So how's your June progressing? It's finally got cold here, particularly the nights I have slept on the couch. This is a sign for me that things aren't going so well ... the tv as night nurse ... Things have been crazy busy at work ... but I can't blog about that ... but can you say hostile takeover?

In other news, there is no other news. I have been moping and working only. Aren't you glad now for the June blog silence? I have been reading Wierzbicka's theories of semantic universals, particularly her views of the non-match up of emotions. When she compares the Russian words that are most commonly translated as sad, she notes this very big difference. (The preposed question mark suggests this is a marginally acceptable construction. Nothing before the sentence indicated this is a grammatical construction).

On cuvstvoval kakuju-to grust', on sam ne znal pocemu.
?On cuvstvoval kakuju-to pecal, on sam ne znal pocemu.
He felt some sadness, but he didn't know why.

The difference is the interpretation of vagueness, only grust' allows this reading, and this impacts on other aspects of the grammar of the language. Here they are as adverbs:

Pecal'no ja smotrju na eto pokolenie
sadly I look on this generation
"I look with sadness on this generation."

grustno ja smotru na eto pokolenie
sadly I look on this generation

The difference between the two is the interpretation of sadly. In the first it is a judgement about this generation; the second implies a facial expression, describing the manner in which the event of looking was carried out, i.e. "With a sad face, I look at this generation."

Okay enough semantics. I am cleaning my house, and cursing my toilet today. Over the past few months its refilling power has slowed to a trickle ... making it awkward with guests. Now it has stopped altogether.

manly hugs and chick fights

the usual saturday night then ... Started out late last night, met up with karaoke buddy and the Maori-Samoan dream team who hadn't see for ages, W - the Maori half was also very excited to see me, and I was crushed for some minutes against the wall with him. Unfotunately for me they love to drink in the rugby head bar ... which makes me feel tiny and somewhat out of place. But as if rugbyheads were bad enough, women who fetishise the hegemonic masculinty represented by the various 1st XVs in attendance are far worse. Yappy ageing chihuahua lady started hitting on the Maori half of the afore-mentioned team, and karaoke buddy made it worse by telling her to move away. Ended up Samoan landed a few good punches on the chihuahua snout before I stepped in as the human wall. The chihuahua yapped and yapped until we left. And then tried to follow us to another bar to continue the fight.

Hurray for rugby.