Posts by Joe Wylie
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I feel so clever for having come up with Ian Dalziel...
So it was really you who bought me a coffee last night - and cried Mis cojones! when you dropped a couple of oddfellows on the footpath. As a minor figment of your imagination, I'm impressed. Now, about Redbaiter . . .
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The sublime Drew Friedman's Jacko.
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For anyone who wants to post kiddy-fiddler jokes, there's a whole thread of them on Kiwiblog. Seriously. Those people have no culture.
I remember a dodgy would-be artist's agent in Sydney who was obsessed with Michael Jackson. The guy seemed to steer every conversation to the subject of Jacko's alleged pervery, heaving himself to his feet in outrage over "that bastard". Hardly conducive to doing business, but it's a field riddled with eccentrics.
As it happened, someone spotted him as having ripped off a number of creatives back in the 80s, and he shortly quit his shonky serviced office, trousers on fire. I'm inclined to think that gloating over the darker aspects of Jacko's weirdness appeals to those who don't often encounter someone as vile as themselves.
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Bad was my first album
Snap. I got it on vinyl for christmas when I was about 8, and played it waaay more than was healthy.
Gee, you're so young. I'm so old I can remember when Brian Priestley had a regular TV spot, The Fourth Estate, where, resplendent in dark shirt/light tie like an academic version of one of the Kray twins, he provided sharp and incisive comment on the media of the day.
On pop cultural matters, though, Mr. Priestley's edge was in need of honing. As an I-rest-my-case coda to a string of nasty examples of declining media standards, Brian, without a hint of irony, brandished the cover of "the latest record by this young man", titled simply Bad. The world going to hell in a 12" vinyl handbasket.
Amazingly, Brian is still out there, and is supposedly as sharp as the proverbial tack on all things non-Jacko.
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If I hade to choose one song it'd be Off the Wall, but right now I'd like to remember him this way. -
Act MP has to apologise for his apology.
So there's nothing left to blame but those two (approx.) years on a Louisiana oil rig. Or, according to Garrett's Wikipedia entry, time spent in the Socialist Unity Party. Or even as a Labour Party activist.
Expect Garrett to pull the Manchurian Candidate defence real soon now - "I was brainwashed in a hardline Trotskyite sexist cell, where elaborate Marxist metaphors of worker oppression and oral sex were all the go."
Damn commies.
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Thanks, like Joe said, I'm not politically buffed.
Mark, if you're referring to me, I've never used that expression. For the record, it strikes me as a bit dickish.
And as long as I'm here, that proverb about men needing to fear fame as pigs should fear becoming fat was rather nice. If you have any more like that in your store thereof . . .
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I clearly remember going to a primary school friend's birthday party, to which she had invited "Mr Muldoon". I wonder if it was the same girl. (The horrible alternative is that there were at least two such people!)
He wrote her quite a sweet letter apologising for not being able to attend, actually.Many have attested that Muldoon was like that - publicly nasty, while somewhat wussy in one-to-one situations. After Dalvanius Prime publicly slagged the Muldoon government's funding of indigenous arts while on a state-sponsored trip to the MIDEM music fair at Cannes in the early 80s, Piggy collared him at a public function, accusing him of biting the hand that feeds.
Dalvanius suggested that next time a visiting dignitary was to be be given a traditional Maori welcome the big recipients of arts funding, such as the orchestra and ballet, be put "out there on the tarmac".
"You mght have a point there," Muldoon conceded, turning suddenly amiable. -
False memory Mrs Skin - until you give us the reference.
Maybe you dreamed it. While I've never been 'gifted' with a Piggy dream, they weren't uncommon. A now elderly relative dreamed that she was taking a short cut on foot through a lane behind the then unfinished Beehive. It was evening, and she spotted Muldoon glaring at her from a rear doorway.
"Don't you cut through there," he snarled. "If you cut through there I'll have you towed away."Unfortunately the dream ended before she was able to give "that creature" a piece of her mind.
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Fascinating stuff Steven. It confirms my feeling from back then that John Glennie got dealt a raw hand by fate. Didn't one of the two friends who told their story die of cancer or some such not long after?
Best anecdote I remember - when the taxi driver on Great Barrier radioed the island's sole policeman with the news that they'd been flagged down by "wrecked yachties", he packed his long baton, assuming that "wrecked" meant drunken yachties cutting up wild.