All quiet on the Dave Front

Not that I'm trying to imply that I am as large as the Western Front, or that I am one seriously deadly line on a map. Frankly, there isn't much reason for the title. Well, no, there is. Still no messages or anything like that. I'm not worried yet. Not overly ecstatic yet, and nor do I have an email that says 'Fuck off I'm married'. Which is good.

Played cricket today. Batted like a demented chimp but fielded like a deranged demon with much goodness in thine soul. Am now covered in mud.

Just goes to show that it is good to be dirty.

rah rah.

Man of the year to date

Has to be Gavin Newsom of San Francisco gay marriages fame. Sad to say that I had forgotten that some of the most remarkable and courageous events and aspects of our culture have come from, or been inspired by, America. I wonder what our kids will think of this.

Also, keep checking out Rolling Stone which includes an interesting blog on current U.S. events.

And if you want something refreshing and non-intellectual, then try and figure out whether Bush is a chimp. You can almost see the brain clunking over.

Balls

One of the topics of conversation last night at Charlies was regarding an email I sent yesterday. The general consensus was that I had done a good thing (everyone agreed on that) and that I had balls. This is a rather interesting turn of phrase that I don't particularly understand. Yes, I have balls. I'm not sure how this makes me more courageous. They are distinctly masculine and perhaps that is where the phrase comes from. Why people would choose balls of all things to represent masculinity eludes me. They are possibly the most bizarrely designed and uncomfortable aspect of our anatomy. I doubt they're particularly attractive. And when our balls are threatened by cricket balls, younger siblings or ex-girlfriends, we usually turn into a bunch of quivering pansies. I would have thought an Adams apple would have been more appropriate. There is no corresponding compliment for women, either. If a woman does something particularly worthy of attention we do not tell her that she has breasts, a clitoris or a spare and false rib. If we did I suspect our balls would be in trouble.

Interesting party at Charlies. Claire 'some of my best friends are Christian' was very popular among the more Germanic guests. Tim got trashed in a rather amusing way. Charlie got stuck in the roof. Ben explained the mechanics behind some weird form of Xanadu kung fu. On a trip to BK we nearly got taken out by a bunch of insecure blokes in a suuped up Mazda when they tried to speed around the Cathedral. I swear time slowed down and I saw exactly how the car was going to hit us - and it would have hurt. I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, although I did see the immediate future and was surprisingly coldly accepting of the fact that it would have involved a wheelchair. Will would also have been well and truely screwed. So a big F U to all those little men who are insecure about their little men and try and take it out on those of whom they are jealous.

They don't have balls.

Still argh but procrastination is coming along nicely

Good news is that my clock over there on the left has passed the big 1000 since the start of the year, and in the last blink of an eye has crept up to 1100. Awesome. And you think all I do is procrastinate. Perhaps the increase in traffic is due to one blogger's opinion that I got rather mean about the star wars debate. I'm not sure how she got this opinion, although I'm sure the good people at Colmar Brunton have a fair idea. No harm was intended and my point was that everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Somehow, in the midst of the heated debate, Ben waded in and started talking about cannibalism. I take no responsibility for his deprived lusts.

Secondly, it has become apparent that I am more coherent when I type. This is due to the fact that when I type my stream of consciousness is not filtered by my tongue. It might be if I typed with it. From now on I'm going to stop talking and communicate by using a whiteboard and whiteboard marked.

Supervisor very happy with what I've been doing. I'm very surprised.

Argh.

Argh

I am a twisted vortex or writhing and twisted confusion. Luckily those two twisted cancel out and I remain straight, but still somewhat confused. Perhaps it's because I got dragged (yes, dragged) to Denny's the other night by Ben and Tim where I ordered the worst pancakes ever to be invented by man or woman. Damn you Denny's. The reason I'm confused is readily apparent to anybody who knows me or has read this blog before. But I'm not talking about that because the consensus is that I coul be digging my own single grave with that one.

Argh.

Big ups to Sarah who scanned in a sketch of my WWII prisoner. This means heaps and am thus happy.

Also, big ups for Ben who has initiated a history game on his blog. It is good. Luckily Ben has kept his sanity and apparently has an extension.

Argh.

Star Wars

Historians often like to look at the mentalities of the day in their research. This means looking at the structures inherent within the mindset of a particular peoples. We have them, and they had them, but we don't necessarily know what they were. It is a way of seeing the world that is different to the war that we see the world, and by understanding their mentalities, we can better understand the world they lived in. The best example of this is Lucien Febvre's examination of the role of Christianity in the Sixteenth Century. One of his rivals had claimed that the Rabelais was an unbeliever - Febvre studied the mentalities of the time and discovered that the society of the day was so riddled with Christian imagery and symbolism that it would have been impossible for someone in 16th century France to disbelieve in Christianity.

I draw this to your attention because it is becoming apparent that there are some among us who do not necessarily view the world through the same cynicism-tinted-glasses as the rest of us. I mean, naturally enough, the Ben/Michelle entity(ies) who are obsessed with Star Wars. Recent comments have suggested that they cannot comprehend that a well educated and moderately intelligent person believes that Star Wars is at best a B grade movie series. It is. It is a good B grade series, and for whatever reason legions of geeks regularly dress up as jedi's and Darth Mauls and take their long suffering women friends to see the latest installment of the Lucas pension fund. I like the original series. It was good. No problem with that (although it was still B grade). The latest (and, funnily enough, the earliest) series really does make me wish that I'd used the force on George Lucas' ass when I had the chance. Ben, however, for whatever reason, disagrees. That is also fine. I'm not going to impose my thoughts and emotions on him. It would be Vadar-ish of me to do so. Vadar-ish, Ben, Vadar-ish.

After posting that comment, Ben went away and thought long and hard about what he had said. Three hours later he comes back with this stunning comment which equates a love of Natalie Portman with cannibalism. While I'm glad (and slightly confused and aroused) that I can occupy another man's mind for three hours, I'm also slightly worried. Ben should be thinking of this thesis on blogs, rather than my blog and dreaming of special sauce on mine liver. Then along comes Michelle and agrees with Ben that human liver is tasty with BBQ sauce.

Cannibalism is still illegal, guys.

Is there a link between the rise in popularity of star wars and the subsequent rise in number of cannibal reported deaths in the last several years? I'm not going to offer an opinion on that. Just read the comments of Ben and Michelle, examine their mentalities and decide for yourself whether you will sleep with one eye open tonight.

Why I broke up with Natalie Portman

I had a message from an anonymous viewer the other day which stated that Star Wars is cool, and that Natalie Portman is so far out of my league that she may as well have been from a galaxy 'far, far away.' Thanks, anonymous. It will be noted that I haven't been able to visit your blog because I don't know who you are.

I admire the humour and thought that you put into your comment, although perhaps you misunderstood what I was saying. I do think that Natalie Portman is hot. Few would disagree with this reasonably moderate statement. She isn't all that, and while I think she is hot, it does not necessarily follow that I am attracted to her. I would classify most of the girls I know within the 'hot' bracket of the hot or not continuum, yet I am attracted to very few of them. According to the test linked on Ben's site, I am extremely picky. This would explain, in part, the rather dry drought I have been experiencing... I would say recently but that would be misleading. What's longer than recent? Anyway, I'm not sure if this qualifies me as one of Ben's 'Nazi's', but I do know what I like, and this has been confirmed not by science, but pyschology. Which is sort of a science.

The point to this rambling and self abuse (ha!) is that just because I think Natalie Portman is hot doesn't mean that I'd want her. She can stay in her far away galaxy and beam back the odd B- or C grade movie that is Star Wars. With her work commitments, and our respective legion of groupies could well damage the economy and infrastructure of several small but important countries as their grief at their loss manifests it self through violence and politics (as is the fashion of our time) - which would inevitably strain our relationship. So it just wouldn't work. That and the fact that she's not necessarily attractive. Just because she looks good on screen doesn't mean she's attractive in real life.

Sorry, Nat.

And Ben is a colour Nazi. I give him the opportunity to comment on some of the big issues of the day, and he comments of the colour of my site. Shallow, Ben, shallow. I was hoping that the colours and images inherent within my delicate and delectable prose would have been enough for the sophisticated and intelligent readers of my site. Never mind, Ben. With your sensational colour sense you could always become a colour consultant on Hot Property. Fab, darling.

Where are you, Mike? A couple of comments and then you disappear. We need intelligent debate on this forum, and Ben and I certainly aren't providing it.

Ed note: Mike has the link for the Ken Pollack article. Cheers.

Vanish.

Nader, Bush, Brash and Climate Control

Nader has confirmed that he will run for president this year. I think this is going to a good thing. James clearly disagrees with me, and he is right when he says that this election is all about the key battlefield states. I'm looking forward to his argument on his blog. Perhaps he will be more correct than I, and he is certainly a better political scientist than this one time historian hack, but I think there is still a case to be made for Nader's entry.

1) It will continue to moblise Democrat voters. Dean did a good job of this until he withdrew from the race. There is still a danger that the Kerry/Edwards fight will stagnate. Nader could maintain the frenetic pace within the Democrat base by forcing the Democrats to ensure a large Democrat turnout in the key battleground states. Of course, the argument that the base is energised because they hate Bush is valid and I don't see a way to really rebut that charge. Dean harnessed that energy and it is a pity to see him gone.

2)Dean supporters are unlikely to vote for Nader. The main reason is, I believe, that they were so anti-Bush that they will support the man with the best chance of toppling Bush - even if they don't necessarily believe in the Kerry/Edwards policies.

3)This probably goes for the other democrat voters. Those that vote for Nader probably wouldn't vote for the Democrat nominee. For whatever reason they might not see the difference between the Republicans and Democrats, and the fact that Joseph Lieberman is a Democrat is a good example of why some might be wary of the right-wing faction of the Democrats. If Nader's vote is seen in this light, and those who vote for him wouldn't vote for Kerry/Edwards or Bush, then his campaign is relatively harmless or even beneficial for the Democrat machine for the reasons listed above. If the difference between Bush and Kerry/Edwards is, say, 100,000 votes in the key battleground state (Florida etc), and Nader polls 300,000 votes it doesn't necessarily follow that Nader cost the Dems the election.

This is an interesting article which examines the electibility of Kerry and Edwards based on their charm and appeal.

I've head recently that Rumsfeld has created his own intelligence agency which runs parallel with the CIA but haven't been able to find anything on the web about this. It was on BBC world apparently. Keep your eyes out for it because it could be an interesting development in the world of intelligence and lack-thereof. Three competing intelligence agencies?

Looks like the climate change debate is heating up again. The Observer had an interesting article in The Press today that can be found here. I found the whole thing rather exaggerated and fanatical. It's not that I don't believe in global warming, it's just that I don't want to. The fascinating thing about the article is that it originated from the Pentagon. Given Bush's strident anti-environmental protection plan policies, this could be extremely embarrassing for the administration. Climate change could be the next issue of homeland security.

And on a local loco issue, Brash has stated that he will abolish funding for universities that maintain a quota system for Maori students. Which, interestingly enough includes Canterbury, Otago, Auckland and Victoria as their law schools have a quota system.

I think that is as good a note as any to go and do some real work.

Red eye, green eye

My eyes are killing me from staring at the computer all day. Or it could be that my contact fell onto the pavement yesterday while I was playing cricket (don't ask) and I had to run to the nearest public toilet to drink some tap water on it to hydrate it.

I find it impossible to keep still for any length of time. The result is I tend to wander the university in search of inner peace and tranquility. Unfortunately I never find it because I either run in to one of you (depressing), or run in to a girl which makes my heart rate leap above the fabled 230 bpm (exhilarating, mildly depressing on occasion but good for the old metabolism). Today I've had my break at the computer. I knew something else would screw up after enrolment, and it turns out I can't get after hours access to the history building. Now that I am inside I can't go and then come back in until tomorrow. So no inner peace walks for Dave.

Instead my attention has turned to that soul-destroying specter of the American domestic elections and all the potential international ramifications. To be precise, the role that Ralph Nader will take in the upcoming election. While some observers have argues that Nader lost the Democrats the election in 2000, Nader has maintained that Gore lost the election for Gore. I disagree with both. I would argue that biased media coverage lost the election for Gore, the bizarre brand of 'democracy' they have in the USA, and the intervention of Jeb Bush in Florida 'won' his brother the 2000 presidency. Several articles have suggested that Nader will run as an independent this year, as opposed to running on the Green party ticket as he did in 2000. Democrats are annoyed, saying that he might cost them the election again. I don't buy this. It will be remembered that Nader got 3% of the national vote last election. He might get between 3 and 6% this time. If he gets 5% then I think his party is eligible for federal funding assistance for the next election. I'm not sure what this means for an independent and I won't pretend to be an expert on this issue. The question is, should he run if it means that some democrats who might have supported Deans vote for Nader instead of Kerry/Edwards? I think so. A close race will be won by Bush, regardless of the number of votes cast for the Democrats. To be honest, I think if the Democrats are to win this election they will need 60+% of the vote have to win comfortably to remove the possibility of interference from the powers and brothers that be. The only way they can get 60% of the vote is if the voter base can be energized in such a way that they can get up off the sofa and go and vote. Nader could even help the Democrats. If they are worried that Nader will cost them the election, more people may well turn out and vote for Kerry/Edwards. It is not as if that many people turn up to vote in the presidential elections in the States. I might hold a different opinion if the same was to happen in NZ where most registered voters turn out - only 51% of registered voters voted in 2000.

That the Democrats were complaining that Nader lost them the election when 49% of voters didn't turn out speaks volumes about their mentality. Dean jolted them out of Bush-lite policies and statements and energized the electoral base and the mainstream Kerry/Edwards adjusted accordingly. Now that Dean is out of the race, Nader's entry could help win the election for the Dems.

I'm no expert on this. Just trying to find peace of mind and inner beauty. Through USA electoral politics. Maybe I need to find another hobby....

Big Car

I went and saw Big Fish last night. It is quite good and I have to admit that I enjoyed it more than what I thought I would. This is not to say that I thought I wouldn't, I just couldn't comprehend Tim Burton and colour. It got me thinking about the role of stories in our lives. Being the simple sort of chap that I am, I'm rather fond of stories on a simple Dave level. But above and beyond that stories still perform an important function within our lives. They help define and shape us and who we portray to the wider world. I think everyone has a number of largely true stories which we relate to others in order to help them understand who we want them to think we are. The story we tell is important, as is the context of who we're talking to, and where the story is told. I happen to have a number of weird and utterly me stories. I'm blessed and cursed with a capacity to have weird stuff happen around me. I could be sitting in a park bench in the middle of a grassy field with nothing around and something would happen. A plane would fall out of the sky, a tree would fall over, or a small bunny would start humping my leg. I haven't seen a bank robbery yet, but expect to do so later.

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy this true story. Some of you might have heard it before, because it has had a rather wide audience due to its inherent coolness. You can hear/read it again.

I'd parked my car on the road outside my Idris Rd flat last year. This was my new and lovely cool car (94 Corolla) that I had just received. I'd also just sold the world's most expensive to run and bad car. I swear that Holden did more to destroy the ozone than Bush and Cheney combined. It was late and I'd just got back from uni so I was probably mildly grumpy in spite of the awesomeness of my car. Went up to bed and slept the sleep of the damned. Was woken in the morning by my flatmate, Neil, who told me to go outside and move my car. I didn't really understand him, but seeing as that was nothing new, I went to move the car anyway. It was bright and sunny, although still reasonably cold as it was August or September and the summer that hasn't really arrived (save for that drought) hadn't arrived. The brightness annoyed me the most so I used some of my sophisticated vocabulary to express my disappointment at having my retina pierced by such a harsh light. This tirade of sophistication continued when I saw that the council had painted a bus stop around my car. We'd had no notification that something like this was going to occur, and subsequent investigations by Mike helped us determine that the bus stop painting was heard by our neighbor at approximately 5am. I have to admit that on one level I was impressed by their handiwork. They had managed to paint completely around my car without spilling the rather unfashionable yellow bus stop paint on my fashionable blue non-bus stop car. The tirade of elegant and sophisticated language continued as I went back inside and upstairs to get my keys to move the car. No-one likes a bastard who parks in a bus stop. It's like an asshole who parks in the invalids car park, or pregnant women's car park when they're only a few months pregnant or male. I was still feeling pretty sleepy as I went back into the light and harshness that was that day. What I saw next, however, shocked me to the core. The council had painted around my car. That was fine. That was even kind of cool. What was not cool was that they had painted around my car and then given me a $40 fine.

Much like Celia, I was: If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down.

Never write a blog when hungover

Ouch. Last night was rather intensely alcoholic. And yes, I did drink for a change. Rather a lot too. I can't help the fact that people ply me with free alcohol and movie tickets for turning up and answering a few questions about life as a postgrad. I think I've found my true calling.

Apparently I'm very pretty. I've been called ruggedly handsome, staunch, suave and creep before, but never pretty. Pretty man. Ugh. That might just tarnish my carefully manufactured masculine persona.

Anyway, it looks as though I'm going to have a cool name to put on my C.V. If not president then maybe casting director of the PG Soc committee.

The night finished with me crawling into bed at 1.30 while Claire, Charlie and Ben stayed up for hours watching Star Wars. Nerds. Apparently they got to bed at 4.30, and Charlie and Ben didn't look too happy when I woke them up at 9am. Hope I didn't interrupt anything. Feel free to abuse me about distracting Ben at this most important of weeks. However, I have to point out the similarities between Michelle and Ben. Both enjoy star wars far too much (yet Michelle is supposedly female), both are shortish, both want to be slappers, and both write blogs. Nerds. Come to think of it, I haven't actually seen the two of them in the same room at the same time.

You scrub up rather well as a girl, Ben.

... read Torshin's comment on British and U.S. intelligence (get it?). Is typically good and distracts me from my task at hand.

Why did I have to have a hangover during enrolment? Bastards decided that as I'm extending, I didn't have the prerequisites. Grrr. At least they didn't think that I was married this year.

I'm going to curl up in the corner and suck my thumb.

Literary violence and associated personas

It is interesting to think about what this blog has become. When I started it I doubted that it would last long, or that I would have over 800 visits within about 6 weeks. I also doubted that it would really be worth that much. And even if you remove the fact that I now have groupies, this blog has helped me quite a lot.

Firstly, you have to understand that the Dave persona I use on the blog is not my real personality. This persona tends to be more arrogant and focused on sex that I am in real life (not that it's not important, just not the fundamental reason for being that you might assume had you read this blog from any length of time). I tend to be less secure in myself that the persona, although the good thing is that that is changing. I am becoming the alpha male, the better male - and if Dave is King, I'm rallying to that banner. So blog has helped good. It's also helped the speed of my writing and the accuracy of my spelling. And it has given me a creative outlet from which I can ramble and rant and smile and make fun of everyone, particularly me. And Claire.

The 'Dave is King' slogan, which came from nowhere one night while killing Tim, Tim, Si, James and Ben has inspired me to create a pseudonym - Davis King. Look out for my best selling Mills and Boon novels soon.

Charlie and I have created a band. It's probably going to remain fictional as he's buggering off and my guitar skills are far below standard. But the band is called The Clap and we've come up with some good song titles. My personal favourite is Help me if you can by going down. Other songs include Take it like a man, boy, take one from the boys and the drinking anthem Please God say I didn't

I gotta give a speech to a whole pile of new postgrads soon. Hmmm. Don't know what to say or what to expect. Could be fun, though. Fresh clay with which I can mould a whole new batch of groupies. Perhaps, perchance, a horde of groupies.

Awesome.

Awesome

My mood has been improved somewhat over the last 15 minutes or so after reading the comments that some of you have written. Take Corey's classic diatribe on the misfortunes of being a student. You can almost pinpoint the moment his heart breaks when he realises the futility of his and our existence. Fortunately, I don't care anymore. No offence, Corey.

Secondly, someone who I don't know, or don't know I know, thinks that I am funny 'beyond belief'. I've learnt to take these comments well. Sarah (Nic's, although I don't intend to imply possession. I just know too many bloody Sarahs and haven't found the time to do anything about it.) once told me that she thought I was a funny man. I think that was a compliment. Anyway, Kristen might be another member of the rather large TBALC or an affiliated group. Or Kristen might be the representative of a large and powerful publishing company looking to publish my life story through the medium of action hero comics. Comic for the comic. Awesome.

To change topics from the awesome and the delusional to the delusional and scary: Claire and Nic. I've already published on the topic of 'I'm not stalking!', and 'Please, Hayley, don't stalk mysterious girl.' I thought I made my thoughts perfectly clear. I will bumble my way though to a sophisticated and elegant romance. By myself, and without creepy help - no matter how well intentioned. Clairely this message has not worked. Nic and Claire have been looking up things they shouldn't, and I'm not convinced that they were doing it for my benefit (a la Hayley) - not that that would have made it right, but perhaps more understandable and honorable. I would be more annoyed if I wasn't trying to think up ideas for Surly-man the comic.

Little boy in trouble: Help me if you can I'm feeling down.
Surly: *shrugs and walks away*.

Quiz

Bored? Sick of doing thesis or work? Looking for distractions or procrastination type activities.

Hi Tim and Ben.

Do this quiz to see how well you do on New Zealand's 'black fella' issues. I got 8/12 which is better than what I expected, and significantly better than most people.

Rock.

Kill it

That cancerous growth that is the debate on the merits of gender, sex and Fight Club has a new chapter with Quix bringing in a discussion of group sex. For my two cents, I think the writers of Fight Club would never have attempted to analyze this film to the same extent as this group has, and I can't help but wonder if everyone is reading far to much into the film and using it merely as a dynamic source by which they can build their own arguments on various issues. I'm sure we could examine Fight Club in order to better understand the interaction between Democrats and Republicans over the handling of the Enron fraud scam.

Enrolment day today. Lots of fresh faced people with idealism and hope. Let's crush it.

Help me

It seems that Russell Brown takes several hours to write his blog. I don't claim to have the same sort of blog as Hard News. My blog tends to be more of a rather long stream of consciousness that only takes about 10 minutes to gurgitate. So, welcome to the strange and wonderful world of my brain.

My brain is divided up into several main sections, and there is interplay between each. The largest, and, in my opinion, most important section of my brain is that devoted to the worldly pleasures. The astronomer in you will not be surprised at this as I am a Taurus. Freud called this section the id. I call it freakin awesome. This area concentrates on things like food, sex, beer, sex, candlelight dinners and redwine in front of the fireplace with someone other than me. This section is also the most under-utilised section of my brain. I know what you're thinking. 'How can the largest and most important section of your brain be the least utilised?' Simple really.

The id is patrolled and contained by the idiot. This will come as no shock to those who know me. In order for the id to be successfully utilised for the pleasures of the flesh, one has to get there first. There is no point being a Casanova without being able to charm. Charm, in fact was Casanova's greatest asset. Given that he claimed to have slept with over 20,000 women, mathematicians have calculated that he did not spend much time with each women. His charm made up for this deficiency. Although I make high and largely valid claims about my sophisticated humour and disposition, when confronted with an attractive and randy member of the opposite sex, the idiot comes into play. Take, for example, the following imaginary (but based, sadly, on fact) scenario.

Attractive member of opposite sex: You're yummy. I could eat you for lunch. Or dessert.
Dave: !?!
Amotos: Here is the key to my flat. 9.30 sound good to you? You look good to me ;)
Dave: tee hee walks away without number.
Ten minutes later
Dave: damn!

The idiot is watched by a very amused paparazzo. The paparazzo takes note and photos of the more ridiculous things Dave gets up to and hands the images across to the ultimate forces behind Dave: The cynic and the idealist. These departments fight and argue and usually wear each other out. The result is that I get tired of work and write absolute rubbish into my blog.

Go read something decent.

Republicans

I've pinched this link from Quix, who rightly points out that there are some serious oddities within the primary system if John Kerry comes second in the New Hampshire Republican primaries. How idiotic can you get. Of course, we could always be delightfully cynical and suggest that there is no bloody difference anyway.

Speaking of idiotic, read Charles Krauthammer's latest column, which tries to figure out why there have been no subsequent terrorist attacks (US in Iraq et al is liberation, not terrorism) since September 11. I'd probably rather head butt the guy than shake his hand, but he can make an argument from time to time and I can be an asshole. His argument is based on the premise that al Qaeda has not managed to pull of a successful attack since those rather memorable planes. I would argue that it has. Think of the Bali bombings, serious attacks in Saudi Arabia and Nigeria, and attacks on Americans and American interests in Iraq (I'm presuming that some of them are al Qaeda inspired, funded or directed). Furthermore, it is possible that they do not need or want to target American interests on American soil for the time being. The wave of panic and hysteria that gripped America in the days and weeks that followed the attacks has not gone away. The international support for America and all the possibilities of a positive, international and humane response has, however, disappeared. Who needs to attack America when they do such a good job of it themselves?

They don't even know who is Republican anymore.

Syndicate me

I could do with an advance to write a sophisticated and elegant novel. Anyway, refer me to your peeps and read this link on blogs.

Blog it to me

We are now fundamentalist free. To rehash a joke I heard about 10 times on Friday night (that was, funnily enough, probably due to the hash) he took all the fun out of fundamentalism - which leaves da mentalism.

And there were a few good events at the drinks that are worth repeating. Such as Charlie and Claire's lame assed decision to start watching The English Patient at 11pm. Sad. This forced Corey, Fi and myself to have a party in my room. Oh yeah. Scrabble isn't quite as foxy as twister, but I managed to spell the word nerds and get a triple word score (which took it up and above 6 points). I'm a geek. I'm a geek.

Emma and Tria arrived but that wasn't enough to tempt the boring ones out of their pad. 2 more to my party. Emma told me off for my use of her on this site, but then privately thanked me for the resulting traffic that I caused. Apparently 8 of you (as of Friday night) had clicked the link from this blog to her blog. Sorry about that.

Once the wedding guests had arrived things livened up a bit. The main reason was that when they opened the door the she-devil walked in and proceeded to make herself at home in our flat. When I say 'she-devil' I clearly mean small, black, cute and furry cat. I like cats, but we can't have one no matter what Claire might say or think. So I had to (metaphorically) crush it's cuteness with my (metaphorical) testosterone. We hissed at each other a bit and I, in a scene that no doubt reminded a lot of people of Fred Flintstone, had to keep throwing the cat outside as it kept jumping in through the door which people would open for it. It finally bewitched Fi and lives with her now.

I christened my thinking pipe and reminded Ben of Gandalf. Finish your thesis.

Other goodness included a trip to Countdown with Emma, Charlie, Andrew and Adam when the last two had a rather nasty bunch of the munchies. Adam was trying to seem sober, while Andrew was trying to seem upright. Back at the flat they got into the celery, peanut butter and twisties in a big way. Was tempted to suggest that one of them might have turned into the 'big fella' but not even I am that crass. You know what I mean.

I gave up at 5.30 and slept through most of yesterday. For some reason I went for a run around Hagley park, and although I set my best time to date, I also cried and died like a baby.

CSI rocks.

Send no money now

Check this out. It is early morning and Dave has been up for several hours already. Sweet. It appears I have discovered the secret to a decent night's sleep - and this one doesn't require an attractive member of the opposite sex, although I'm sure that would help. The key is going to sleep relaxed. Sounds simple, but I've never thought of it like that before. I'd usually go to bed tense and angsty over whatever it was I was tense and angsty about, and then wake up tense and angsty after a terrible night's sleep. Not anymore. I go to sleep relaxed and wake up relaxed and refreshed. Amazing.

Watched The Quiet American last night with Charlie and Claire. It was quite good and I recommend it. Based on Graeme Green's novel, I think. Anyway, Brendan Fraiser has to be one of the most under-rated actors in Hollywood. See it.

And while I'm recommending things (and while this good mood lasts), Java has a breakfast special of 2 eggs on a bagel and a coffee of your choice for $5. Very good.

Perhaps the reason I'm happy at the mo is that you-know-who is leaving today. Fantastic. Actually - I was watching Inside the Playboy Mansion the other night. It was a nice mix of interesting and though provoking observations such as seeing the 80s and 90s as a repressive era, and charting playboy's role in the public acceptance of female sexuality and, more importantly, the female enjoyment of their sexuality with lots of half naked women. Nothing crass. Well, not according to me. The flatmate in question walked into the room during the ads and proceeded to begin eating his tea. Then the program's came back on, and so did the breasts. Crikey. I've never heard anybody eat so fast (or noisily, for that matter). Robert inhaled his food and then bolted for the door. Haven't seen him since. He's probably in hiding or praying for my hedonistic and doomed soul.

Speaking of hedonism, those of us who aren't in Wellington for David Bowie, at the Wedding, Billy Connelly or out enjoying a romantic night with that special someone are mourning our single and singular lifestyles at Peverel tonight. Not sure who's turning up or how many people will be there but bring booze and it will be good.

Still not 10am. Huh.
Rock.

Friday 13

Does anyone else see the irony in being single the day before Valentines day - on Friday the 13th? I think that basically means we're doomed for that most cliched and commercial of romantic nights. Shouldn't all days be like that. I should probably clarify that because it might get my in trouble one day. All days should be romantic, but that doesn't mean I'll take the missus (when I get one) out for dinner every night sprinkle rose petals over the house. Toasted sandwiches in front of the box could be romantic given the right context.

Speaking of romance, I've now got two groupies - or at least 2 that I know of. Sweet. Not that they're romantic groupies. I hope. More like yes men, and I like yes men (and women) when they agree with me.

Emma has suggested that I have to pay a poll tax whenever I mention her on this site. That ain't gonna happen. But it has given me a fantastic idea. I'm going to charge her each time I use her name. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. You can't ordinarily buy advertising of this quality or sophistication, but I'm super. And this way we both win. Emma gets more visitors to her site thanks to my large readership base, and I get to buy a house in the mountains for me and my groupies.

How like a Wilderness

I am a vortex of pure and swirling lethargy. I wonder if lethargy can swirl, and if it does so vigorously is it still lethargic? Never mind. The point is, I feel like I want to hit my head against a brick wall. I'm researching and writing up my historiography (literature review) at the moment. I don't really know anyone who enjoys this process as it takes forever and you are constantly worried that you are either going to miss something completely or misinterpret what has been said. It will be fine in the end, and for some odd reasons these sorts of essays always get my best marks - possibly because I sweat blood over them. This blog is at times a haven because it means I can vent my frustration and pent up humour on unsuspecting targets such as politics, Don Brash and Claire.

You may have noticed that I have managed to include a comments option on my blog. There were those who said that it couldn't be done on blogger. Mike has grasped the fact that he can use this to comment on my blog and the content in my blog. Unfortunately he has yet to grasp the concept of coherence. But this is redeemed by the fact that he agrees with everything I say. All I can add to this is 'awesome'. I have my first groupie.

Good work at the stag night last night. I'm not sure why a stag night was held at an internet cafe, or for that matter who the stag was. It was enjoyable and I got into the mood of things by exclaiming that 'Dave is King' rather more than what I ought to. Never mind. Lots of violent games were played and many corpses lay at my bloody feet, and I now own Torshin/Combat Wombat.

Back to unreality

There are only several days to go until Robert moves out of the flat. Several days ago I would have said that this was a good thing. Now I'm not so sure. The problem isn't so much with Robert - it is with the remarkable similarities between Michele, our new flatmate (not the slapper), and Claire (the lovely redhead). In particular, I'd like to draw your attention to two main aspects of this unholy relationship.

1) The Porn Couch.
Several years ago I bought a fantastically groovy, 1970s style yellow couch. It isn't the best with which to recover from a hangover (Ben - use Claire's), but it looks cool so thus is good. Now the funky yellowness, which contrasted rather nicely with our lime green walls and red curtains, is gone - replaced by a shiny leopard skin cover - complete with porn/leopard skin cushions. I'm not a prude or anything like that. In fact, I strongly support the concept of action. Any action, really. The point is - it's a porn couch! taste has flown out the window, and, not surprisingly, Claire loves it. As does Michele, which is good I guess because she is the one that put it there in the first place. I get the feeling it is staying, partly because I meekly succumbed like the weak lamb that I am.

2) Queer Eye.
The most horrendous program to have emerged from the marketing department since Oprah began talking about her weight. For some reason women love bitchy men who tear us straight, and inevitably clueless, men to shreds (I will now have a 3,000 word essay from Ben and Emma on the use of stereotypical gender and sexuality in the media, and the causes thereof). Man has become emasculated. And women have become delighted. I couldn't believe the way that Michele and Claire clucked as they watched the Queer Eye special the other night (I was absorbed in pizza). They clucked! I thought very old women did that when they were gossiping about so-and-so being such a nice young man, and wouldn't he be a good match with so and so. No! Women cluck when watching Queer Eye. And Yvette, I have on good authority, also clucks! If anyone needs me I'll be curled up in the corner of my room for a while.

And in other news... several of us have decided to form our own website. That is Dave Miller, Mike, Matt the gardener and I - all from history - are going to develop a fantastic website based on columns from us and others, build up a strong support base and give ourselves fancy names like 'Marketing Director', 'Human Resource Consultant' and 'Janitor' so that we can then add them to our CV and get pretty sweet jobs in Europe. And get Website groupies. The ultimate plan is to onsell it to some faceless and soul-less corporate giant for a large packet and then retire to the mountains to live with more groupies.

I don't think I've thought this out very well.

Actual Temper

I tend to get annoyed at those who treat history as a blank canvas upon which they can create a chronology or, worse in my opinion, use events out of context to give the argument an air of authenticity. Unfortunately, my enjoyment of huge egos, public debate, speech and drama has lead toward the inevitable fascination with politics. Politics, naturally enough, tends to bastardize history in the ways that I described above. Given that I also enjoy history, I often end up highly pissed off.

Grr.

History does have the problem of being simultaneously objective and subjective. We try to avoid the subjective because that tends to bring in our own anachronistic biases and assumptions. Language is particularly dangerous. In the US constitution all men are supposedly equal under the law. If we read that today we assume that all men were supposed to be equal under the law. But back in the day a black man was not considered a 'man', and so would not have fallen under the said provisions. This explains the apparent contradiction of a somewhat egalitarian Jefferson being a slave owner. Also - think of how the meaning of the words 'gay' and 'faggot' have changed over the years.

Historians cannot achieve complete objectivity, in my opinion, and there are some projects by which it is harder to remain subjective. I think my thesis, examining the diary of a WWII POW is more prone to subjectivity than a number of others, simply because a)there is not much known about officers camps, and b) I am largely interpreting what Davis wrote. This tends to be at the more academic side of history, however, and this rarely appears in the political sphere. What normally happens is that politicians or their advisors misread and event or document out of naivety or realpolitik.

Take, for example, Brash's comments about Maori. David Miller has written a column about it for scoop and it is worth reading if you haven't heard much about the debate. I disagree with a number of things Brash is arguing about, an am not impressed over his grasp of history. That he is seen as being intelligent is doubly damaging because people will assume that what he said was accurate (contrast this with whenever Brownlee or Hide open their mouths). Do not make you facts fit your argument! Basic, basic logic that appears to be outside the grasp of some of our foremost problems.

But that is nothing compared with the incomparable Muriel Newman. She has recently reminded us that
"Leaders and academics that hark back to the pre-European days of Maori domination of New Zealand have driven this opportunism. They appear to conveniently forget that Maori violently conquered the Moriori, the original settlers, and their claims of tangata whenua status and demands for compensation for historical grievances appear to many to be ill informed."

Nice one, Muriel. That was, as Russel Brown has pointed out, discounted years ago (I think in the 1950's, if my memory has survived it's regular caffeine hits).

Brown was angry that an MP would publish something that was so blatantly wrong and foolish, and thus lend it some legitimacy. He should get used to it. As Miller pointed out, Brash was only trying to broaden his re-election prospects, and what Newman has done is only a ridiculous example of the norm.

Politics, it seems, is the graveyard of good history.

Synthetic Temper

There have been a number of interesting blogs this week. If you want to watch someone blow her nut I strongly suggest you read Claire's little rant on Americana. Young Mr Caygill has kept up to date with the Democratic primaries, and it is also worth reading the discussion for, well, discussion. He's recently been approached by someone from the NYT, so snaps for Torshin.

And if you are brave, you can attempt to immerse yourself in the cancerous growth that has risen from the ashes of Ben and Emma's 'argument' over Fight Club. Interesting blogs on this argument can be found here, here and Cardinal (Ben)'s entry here. The debate has already claimed Ben's thesis, and I do not suggest attempting to wade in the muddy alternate universe that this argument has become.

To continue on that line - why is it that several blogs have referred to my tongue-firmly-stuck-in-the-cheek 'history' of the pirate party as being an accurate account? I am astonished and, frankly, more than a little frightened that a bunch of seemingly educated louts would recognise the difference between an awards show and a history documentary/account. I mentioned James T's crotch about five times! In itself this is not necessarily bad (move past the crotch, people), but the alarming trend to ignore history unless it serves some political or entertaining purpose is, and I'm going to be frank again, worrying. I think I'm still a little hung up on the Don Brash logic that politicians can distort what has happened in the past to legitimise the redneck vote. Historians can be awfully territorial sometimes, and their might be an element of that in my feigned outrage. Or perhaps I'm f#%*ed off that someone believes they can disrespect my and our shared heritage, history and culture in order for personal gain. Perhaps I'm annoyed that I acknowledge that he has a point. I don't know, and to be perfectly honest, I'd rather not know. Ignorance is bliss, and perhaps I long to become an American citizen.

I am suitable impressed that James T's crotch managed to get in a paragraph that contained the words 'history', 'documentary' and 'Don Brash'.

In other, unrelated matters I've gone and got myself a new guitar. It's a Walden Dsomething and comes with in a rather pretty red colour. Claire saw it earlier and began to giggle (after she'd played it)- I'm hoping for that sort of reaction to come from lovely girls. It's got a rather high action, so my fingers had better get hard soon. Has a rather lovely pickup as well, so maybe when I one day can afford an amp I'll take it down to the evil flatmate's new flat at 3 in the morning....

Breathe. That's the key.

Names and Name Calling

The recent explosion of the internet and all things web-ish has lead to a rather interesting phenomena of the self-given name. Once upon a time the father of the child would give the son or daughter a name, and that name would be linked to the father forever. I, for instance, would be David, son of Daniel, son of Fred. All very masculine (don't you think so, Ben and Emma?). Then, with an increase in the number of people living in settlements (ie, cities and towns), the surname came into usage. Again, these were given. The surname could have been simply 'son of Daniel' - either FitzDaniel or Danielson. Or the surname could have been to do with the occupation - butcher, baker or armourer to big and scary Norman knights (as Searle means). Names could also be used to signify social position - in India certain names are reserved for certain castes.

The point is, in all cases these names were given and inherited. People had no choice in the matter. There were the occasional means of getting around this. You could change your name by deed poll (I'm not sure when this happened), or be known by your second or third names. My grandfather was known as Fred - his second name because he didn't like his first.

There were also nicknames. Such as Bush, Paddy, Scrubber, Muzz, Muzza, Gazza, and Shazza. These tended to be derived from the name of the individual in question, or imposed by group consensus (which rarely took into account the attitude of the victim). Therefore, throughout my school career I was known by the nicknames of Moses (wore roman sandals the first day at Intermediate and never again after that), Hippo (got stranded in a sandy bog on camp), Searle, See-ar-lee, Searly and Dave (not much imagination really). Again, names were given and not chosen.

Until now. The internet has provided us with a means of self expression through the use of the username. Examining these can be quite revealing. Take the names of Nic, Ben and Tim (as their parents know them). They are know online as Saint (or sitting duck on Counter Strike), Luther and Cardinal. I have no idea how they came to choose these names, or why they decided to choose names that are loaded with religious significance. Please note, Nic - Jameson's is not the holy spirit. I know I started this paragraph saying that names could be revealing - I change my argument because I'm confused by trying to figure out why Nic is a Saint. Pirate Jesus?

Anyway - this has lead to a rather confusing situation. Introductions used to be 'Hi I'm Nic, my phone number is *blah*'. Now the introduction goes something along the lines of 'Hi, I'm Nic, unless you read my journal where I'm Saint, unless I'm playing Counter Strike, where I'm Sitting Duck. My phone number is _, my cell phone number is _, my office number is _. My email address is _ and my website is _.nic.com'

Bloody confusing.

I am a simple man. Therefore I'm going to be easy. My online names will either be Dave, or Surly (a neat allusion to one of my favourite Simpsons characters, and a play on Searle - Searley - Surly).

That went on for a while. Anyway, congrats to James who is now married (I assume). Good Stag Night - but you're not going to hear anything about it from this lout.

Also congratulations to CD - who kicked Canterbury (woohoo!), and to Kenya, who beat Australia in the Sevens (WOOHOOO!).

DJ Surly

Woo! Didn't post for a day. I knew I could give it up if I wanted to. It's not an addiction. Can stop anytime I want.

Not that anything has changed. The builders are still pilfering through our possessions in the History building, so I've relocated to the law library. Very quiet - which is better than Central because they've got someone with a hammer in there.

Claire has confirmed what many of us have thought for a very long time in a recent post. Which is, I don't want to get on the wrong side of her. Tim has kindly lent me a place to hide for the next couple of months. I'm writing this surrounded by three horny goats and a buxom Swiss girl called Heidi (why am I writing?).

Car accident last night. Cool. Except for the potential kid being killed. Not cool. But egotisitical tosser loosing control of car and crashing - there is a funny side to that. Shut-up Dave.

Also discovered the joys of running around South Hagley park last night. These include hurting really badly, crying in public like a little catholic school boy (pc jokes suck), and then feeling fantastic. Was astonished at the number of super fit amazonian women running the other way. Tried not to make eye contact cos they so could have kick my ass/dragged me into the bushes and have their way with me.

Mike is getting very excited and gesticulating wildly and mentioning wild claims like he is going to change my life with a new website My dj name is 'Fuzzy Logic' and Mike's is 'DJ Buck Fit'. KatiePickles (feminist lecturer) is DJ Well Hung. Nice. Mike needs to get out more.

I'm off to do something with my life.

Thesis

Here I am again in at uni doing work (well, in the strictest sense of the word I'm not doing work, my stream of conscious is flooding onto the net to be examined by who knows who. I will be doing work shortly....) late at night. Where is the life? Claire, lovely and intelligent flatmate that she is, has told me I should rest more and do less work in order to do more work. While I can see the simple logic within that superb sentence, I don't think that is going to happen. When I'm not at work I think of work. When I am at work I think of work. When I'm not thinking of work I wish I was thinking of work because that would be easier and less complicated than whatever it is that I am thinking of. Grrr. And the frustrating thing is I'm not making the progress that I should be. I'm not even sure that I am making progress at all. And the completely ridiculous, astonishing, mindbogglingly stupid, pathetic, knee-slappingly-hilarious thing about the whole thing is that I actually enjoy what I do. Ridiculous!

Could be worse. Could be doing pols. We are so going to kick your collective arses in paintball this month.

Male Bonding

Mike called me 'Dad' yesterday for the first time. And the second time. I'm not sure why he thinks I'm his Daddy (and I'm certain it's nothing kinky), but I'm moderately touched and moved. The physics of the whole thing are rather mind-boggling (he's 6 months older than me), but I guess there's nothing a Dad won't do for his son.

Also: isn't there something inherent ironic in Bush ordering an intelligence review?

Prison

Being the lover of fine irony that I am, I should be enjoying my thesis more than what I do. I am studying the diary of a prisoner of war in WWII and his physical and emotional journey is a rather ironic parallel to our own rollercoaster that is a thesis. Take this quote.

'The prisoners seemed to have recognized various stages of barbed wire psychosis in themselves and others. The mildest forms consisted of nothing more than an increasing inability to concentrate; the worst cases were actual insanity.'

While this has been used in the POW context, it is obvious to anyone here that this could be applied with equal validity to us, the crazed and maniacal thesis students.

Although one thing that we have that the prisoners didn't is a student loan.

F#%*ers.

I think I might recede into a cocoon for a few days and do nothing but write the chapter that I'm meant to by Wednesday. Arrr. I will emerge like the delicate and butterfly that I know I am and can be.

The Official History of the Bounty.

Being the suave, debonair sober drunk at Sara and Tim's party last night, I am in some position to record for the sake of posterity the events and action sequences of last night's rather good party. I don't think I've ever been to a party where a parrot, a pirate and a wench have had an intensive two hour academic discussion over the location of Manhood on the masculine-feminine space time continuum (turns out there is no thing as gender, just a rather large confused mass of mono-genderic folk).

Being the soft headed academic with the attention span of a small and confused goldfish, I have written this history the form of an awards show.

Best Action Sequence Nominees
James T. Just like Action Man, except real and dressed like Errol Flynn. No single event stands out and the entire evening has been classified as an action sequence due to the noises coming from his codpiece.
Rumble on the Couch It began with Adam inserting him fingers in places that he shouldn't and ended with Charlie, Fi, Adam and possibly several other people lying or sitting on top of me. More action than I've seen in months.
Corey trying to walk home dressed as Mozart Although Sara lives in a relatively safe area of Christchurch, Corey's bold effort to walk home to Elizabeth while dressed as Mozart Blackbeard receives points for bravery. He was molested three times in ten minutes before being rescued.
Ben Dancing Ballet Ben + parrot costume + ballet. 'nuff said.
Ben vs Emma re gender Ben + Emma + conversation on Gender. 'nuff said.
Tim vs Large Bottle on Plank I don't pretend to understand Tim or why he felt that the bottle deserved to be tackled, but the result was a spectacular tackle off the plank, over the paddling pool and into the shark/sail boat infested lawn. Captured well on Pete's camera. Arr. Clear and undisputed winner of this section.

Best Costume
Corey 'Wolfgang' Wallace I didn't know what Mozart would look like if Mozart was a pirate, but do now. Most elegant costume.
James 'Flynn' T. This costume left little to the imagination. Complete with codpiece that not only growled when he grabbed it, but had subtitles for the hearing-impaired, this costume was easily the most pornographic and successful.
Tim 'Fuck Me' Street The mere fact that someone who is male and 6'7" was wearing fuck me boots is enough for a nomination. In a nice touch Sara was wearing matching fuck me boots. Who said romance was dead?
The Entire Vertigo Flat Nice uniform which included more spent seamen than a Russian nuclear submarine. Points for originality and creative use of flour.
Benjamin 'Pollyanna' Allan As I'm not above the use of pun, this costume was a cracker. When wearing his black framed glasses Ben was a terrifying likeness of Elvis Costello crossed with a green felt parrot. Easily the most original costume and takes out the trophy in a hotly contested section.

Best Phallic Instrument
Sarah's Sabre Could have poked more than an eye, the sword gets points for realism. In the later stages of the evening the sword was put away and Nic came out.
James T's Codpiece It growled!
Will's Cannon Universally acclaimed as being 'cool', the cannon also walks away with the best phallic award of the evening.

Best Looking Pirate
Corey Immaculately dressed, Corey was at his debonair best. Smooth, brother.
Sara Complete with a wicked coat and fuck me boots.
Tim Same as above, except taller and for some reason drinking KGB all night. Girl.
Fi (Roger the Cabin Boy) For some reason everyone seemed to think that Fi looked better with a goatee. Takes out the best looking pirate award, and has the stains on her shirt to prove it.

Most common phrase
Arrr Universal phrase used by nearly everyone at the party.
Grrr Singular phrase used by James T.'s codpiece. Winner.


It is strange going to a party and having everyone know about your life. I had not counted on people actually reading this blog and learning stuff about me. Being asked about my 'action plan' by a number of people was both disconcerting and flattering. The obvious benefit is that I don't have to talk to any of you in real life.