Cracker by Damian Christie

You’d think by now Mike Williams would know his stuff. He’s the longest serving Labour Party President, and has been the man at the top during the party’s halcyon years.

But anyone who agrees handing out IRD pamphlets is a good way of winning votes, man… I don’t know what they do to pass those long winter evenings where you come from Mike, but I bet it ain’t reading tax department literature.

A little later, Helen Clark was on the news talking about taking that idea and throwing it off the 9th floor of the Beehive. Did she mean the idea, or Williams? I know I’m a geek, but given how much Williams looks like the Evil Galactic Emperor, it’s hard not to picture that scene from Jedi, when Vader picks the Emperor up, and tosses him into the Death Star’s reactor below…

(Mike Williams, L; Evil Galactic Emperor, R)

Talking about the stymied plan, John Key points out –with no hint of irony– that people would be disgusted if they thought parties were using taxpayer funds for "their own self-promotion and re-election"? Um, isn't that exactly what happens, by law, each year?

I don’t know anyone can really be surprised to hear that some businesses are screwing employees out of pay rises to compensate for the introduction of Kiwisaver. It’s a pretty simple equation really. It’s the same maths that mean rising petrol prices pushes the cost of food up, or the new holiday pay legislation means a flat white on Anzac Day costs $4.20 instead of $3.50. Something’s gotta give, and if it can be avoided, it won’t be the employer’s bottom line.

It is disappointing to learn that some employers are already pushing down wages, especially as there’s a tax credit to offset at least part of their contribution for the first two years. But rest assured, as the employer contribution rises to 4% over the next few years, wages will drop (or at least not rise by as much as they might). Businesses aren’t just going to take a 4% hit on their wage bill because the Government tells them to.

So which are the “large New Zealand companies”? Mallard said on Campbell he won’t name names until he’s had a chat with the CEOs concerned, in case there’s been some oversight, or it’s all the fault of some minion. Which means he’ll never name names, because any CEO worth his/her salt will say “that’s right Trev, there’s clearly been some oversight, and/or it’s all the fault of some minion”. But someone with more time on their hands than me should really keep on top of that one.

(The sometime-libertarian in me does find it ironic the Government is complaining about businesses trying to rip off employees, just because they’re trying to avoid the extra costs the Government has arbitrarily dumped on their lap)

Trevor Mallard says he’ll consider legislating so businesses can’t avoid the contributions in such a manner. Unless he also legislates a compulsory annual wage increase, there’s going to be a fairly major loophole.

Finally, this might have been doing the rounds, but I haven’t seen it anywhere else yet:

You know it's time to give up blogging when (a) you've started almost every blog in recent memory with "it's been a while since my last post, because"; (b) your desktop is littered with half-finished thoughts that someone else at Public Address got to first; (c) you realise that despite all Russell's early assurances, bloggers don't "get all the babes".

And to be fair, it's been six years. I am, if memory serves, the only remaining founding member of Public Address other than Russell. It's been a good innings.

You don't think I'm leaving though? Course not. If I did Russell would end up acting like Martin Phillips when he became the only original Chill, and we don't want that. And it's election year; things are just starting to get good.

No, the last month or so has been a bit busy behind-the-scenes here, that's all. A move to Auckland (and to the only babe this blogger needs), a change from full-time employment to fuller-time freelancing, including work on not one but two brand new TV shows, both of which premiered last week. One was Russell's, (I'm in the credits there somewhere, I assume), the other, which I'm more involved in, is Back Benches, a political panel show filmed live each week at the Backbencher pub. Both are on TVNZ7.

Both shows managed their first eps very well, especially considering neither host had ever done it before – even after four years of working in telly, the idea of fronting half an hour live (Back Benches is live, Media 7 is 'as live') is a scary prospect. And I respect Russell and Wallace Chapman for handling their debuts so well. Importantly, I think as both hosts grow into their roles and the shows find their natural rhythm, both are only going to get better and better, becoming a staple of the media diet heading up to the election and beyond.

And while I'd encourage everyone to get Freeview boxes, I understand it's not realistic for everyone, particularly if you already have one of those other digital boxes on your TV. But that's what the Interweb is for, and both our shows are available there, gratis. Personally I'm waiting for the Freeview PVR boxes before saying goodbye to the Sky subscription (I seem to only use my MySky to record free-to-air channels).

Some of you will have also picked up that I've been co-hosting Public Address Radio on Radio Live for the last few weeks, which has been great fun, and something I look forward to doing more of now I'm back in town. As much as I enjoyed certain aspects of living in Wellington, I have to say the opportunities in Auckland are such that the streets are paved, if not with gold (especially not at current prices), then pork bellies, or milk powder, or some tangible commodity. And thanks to a friend with a new boat, I've been able to bring home fresh Snapper more than once since making the move.

Still, the end of daylight savings (to which every clock/computer/phone I own has adjusted itself automatically, but on different days) means a halt to the after-work fishing, diving and general hunter-gathering. The weather might be warmer up here, but dark is still dark.

Now I've realised I'm not about to starve (or worse still, get a real job) I'm a little more relaxed. More relaxed means more free time, which should mean more blogging (especially with the end of the fishing and diving). Don't be surprised if the next blog begins "It's been a while since my last post." But be assured it won't be my last.

I have a friend who's a doctor. Not a real doctor – well I have one of those too, but he's the boring, studious kind who won't help out by writing scripts for all the really fun drugs. No, my other doctor friend is not the boring studious kind, but he does know a lot about politics. He teaches it in fact. So I listened intently to him Opining Under the Influence the other day about the "Black Jesus", Barack Obama.

And lo, it gave me cause to think, and to Google. Indeed the terms "messianic" and "Obama" seem to be quite close pals these days, displayed in pieces such as this by Frank Rich of the New York Times:

In [the view of Clinton fans], their highly substantive candidate was unfairly undone by a lightweight showboat who got a free ride from an often misogynist press and from naïve young people who lap up messianic language as if it were Jim Jones’s Kool-Aid.

But does being a good speaker make you a cult leader? Obama supporter (but clearly not devotee) Kathlene Geier thinks it's heading that way:

Excuse me, but this sounds more like a cult than a political campaign. The language used here is the language of evangelical Christianity – the Obama volunteers speak of "coming to Obama" in the same way born-again Christians talk about "coming to Jesus."

Jake Tapper at ABC also has a few opinions about the increasingly self-referential rhetoric spouted in the Obama camp.

The problem I have, is I really want to like Obama, because I really don't like Hillary. She's corrupt, she's power hungry – I just don't like her. But given the choice between a power-hungry woman and a man who seems to be all talk and no substance… well it's just too much like our own upcoming elections, isn't it? Although I don't think anyone will ever accuse John Key of having the charisma required to lead the masses to the Rat-poisoned Raro. But he's the first Opposition leader to have out-rated Helen Clark in the preferred Prime Minister stakes, he's obviously doing something right.

A couple of things for those Wellingtonians among you:

First, I'm leaving town tomorrow, so you're safe to walk the streets again, dreads on display, skirts over trousers, boutique beers in hand without worrying about hearing me snicker. It might be late coming, but I've really had a fabulous time here over the corker summer, and I'm pleased that it sounds like one of my new part-time jobs will see me back down for a night every week or so. Most importantly, I hope to still be able to continue my duties as the reigning Wellingtonista Best Dub-dub-dubber.

Second, I was getting some photos of my Afghanistan and /Pakistan trip developed by the venerable team at Wellington Photographic on Grey Street (the little city store up the top of Lambton Quay, not the big one on Vivian Street) the other day. A couple of the staff there liked what they saw, and hey presto, a dozen or so of my shots have been blown up and are on display there (in two lots, for about a month each).

I'm really happy with the way they've come out, and flattered that they're up on display. Proof that with a good camera, an interesting subject, even an idiot can take the odd nice pic these days. You've seen some of them in the blog, but even at 5" x 7" (in gloss) I was impressed how much better they look in real life than on a computer screen. Perhaps a timely reminder to get some of your own favourite digital shots printed out before they're forever lost when your hard drive corrupts. (And a free plug here, if you get 100 prints done at Wellington Photographic, it works out rool reasonable).

Aucklanders, I'm planning something a bit more elaborate for you guys when I move up. Stay tuned (which in Interweb terms I guess is "keep it bookmarked"?)

The sun was beating down in Paraparaumu on Monday, as we stood around waiting for the wreckage of a Cessna to be removed from a quiet cul-de-sac. You've probably all seen the photos of what was left of the plane, looking like the result of some capping stunt gone very, very badly.

When the police offered the chance for us to cross the barrier and get the shots we needed, I tagged along with the cameraman. I didn't need to be there, our cameramen (and at TVNZ, they are all men) know far better than I do what's required of them, but human nature said I should go and look.

I've seen car crashes before, and been exposed to countless how many horrors on telly, as well as a lot of footage that never made it to air –one of my first jobs as a current affairs producer was to scroll through hours of footage from the Boxing Day tsunami, looking for the best shots. And I can honestly tell you, sensationalist and gratuitous we might sometimes be, but I saw horrors on those tapes I would never want to inflict on the general public. I've been told, but still can't imagine the impact it had on those who were there filming it. They are unfortunate enough to have learned –and to still recall– what decaying human flesh smells like.

We walked down the close, and at the little thermometer shaped bubble at the end, was most of a Cessna, upside down. It had a far greater impact on me than I'd expected, but the only word I can come up with to describe it was wrong. It sounds simple, but planes aren't supposed to be upside down. They're not generally supposed to be on the ground either, and certainly not upside down. I declined the offer to go inside the house and see where the engine had landed. I had to go and interview the 17 year-old pilot's father.

I have seven days left at work, and if I never have to approach another dead child's parents and ask them to postpone –or better yet, display– their grief so the nation can watch, it'll be too soon. Some reporters can find a convincing argument they should do so – if I was a grieving parent, talking to the media would be the last thing I'd ever do. Some reporters take great pride and build reputations around their ability to 'get the get' in such situations – I'm just not that person.

Hear me now: From this moment on as a journalist, I will only talk to people who want to talk to me. Unless they're politicians, legitimate public figures with a duty of care (such as hospital board chairs and senior civil servants, not paparazzi targets) or crooks. I'm probably writing my own WINZ cheque right there, but that's the way it's going to be.
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My colleague Charlie has been reading to me a list of facts from a Formula One magazine.

Did you know that when it is running at full throttle, a Formula One car sucks in 600 litres of air every second?

I now have a new worst fear. Being trapped in an airtight space with a Formula One car at full throttle. Even in a decent-sized room, how long could the air possibly last?
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Fanta-pants Lindsay Lohan has stripped in yet another attempt by some starlet to recreate photos made famous by Marilyn Monroe. Which begs the question; which photos are starlets of the future going to be recreating? Miss Universe 2050-does-Lindasy-Lohan-doing-Marilyn-Monroe? Or are there going to be a lot of grainy night vision shoots in honour of Miss Hilton's 'One Night in Paris'? Shaky am-cam footage of a busty Baywatch look-a-like performing simulated lewd acts on a well-hung tattooed rocker as their launch steams steadily towards the rocks?

Lindsay's photos shoot is here (N particularly SFW). But based on these, This Gentleman Does Not Prefer Redheads. Madonna made a far better Marilyn all those years ago.

Of course, you could just love Lindsay for her intellect:

"If you saw my house, I have a lot of Marilyn stuff. I've got this painting of her in my house. It's eerie because it's a picture and it's kind of cartoony, and there's a big bottle of pills next to her, and they've fallen over."

Eerie.
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In other news just to hand, Prime Minister Helen Clark has withdrawn the offer made to Owen Glenn to become NZ's Honorary Consul to Monaco. Instead insiders say Labour Party staffers are now drafting legislation to be introduced before the house within the next month. This new law will be known as the "Owen Glenn is Officially the Super Best Coolest Person in the Universe Ever (No Returns) Bill."

And can the increasingly ridiculous Sir Howard "She's too fat to be a Pop Star and by the way I invented 'Chur Chur'" Morrison kindly stick to singing?
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From the 'Too-Soon?' files:

What's Black & White & Hungry?

Heath Ledger's Cat.

Often, when things go quiet at Cracker HQ, it's not because there's nothing going on behind the scenes. And so my appalling contribution to the year's discussion to date has more to do with great upheavals in my life than simply the fact I've got nothing to write about.

So ironically, as Russell announces his new television show, I've quit my job at TVNZ. Great job, love it and all that, but finally I realised all those local bloggers saying "well if you hate Wellington so much…" have a point. With my employer showing no signs of relieving me from manning the outpost any time soon, I have to do something drastic. So I'm going freelance.

Sunset, Punakaiki

"That's very brave" has been the most common –and somewhat worrying– response. Brave, me? Hardly. Is there something these people aren't telling me? Is being freelance the same as being unemployed, only without the comfort of a weekly WINZ cheque for $148.73?

Backing this up, Mum called the other day. "So have you found a job yet?" was her first question. Being freelance –as far as parents are concerned at least– is clearly synonymous with "job seeker".

Anyway, it's an exciting time. Nothing's yet set in stone, but there have been enough discussions, chance meetings and nibbles on the barbed pilchard of opportunity for me to be reasonably calm about it all. Of course, if you run a small but prosperous media empire and want to try and ease my nerves further, knock yourself out. Mum'd be especially grateful, I'm sure.

Pancake Rocks, West Coast

Over the past couple of weeks I've had a chance to see a lot of the country, which is one thing I hope I won't have to give up in favour of smoking weed and playing Xbox when the freelance gig starts. I took my first trip to the West Coast (of the South Island) and even though it was only for a day, managed to see a few different places. Definitely keen to head back there in the Holden when there's more snow about.

Then I went to Christchurch, where I had a surprisingly good time. Surprising, because I usually feel like I'm trapped in some strange mash-up of The Stepford Wives and Romper Stomper: Skinheads asking what school I went to, before sconing me with a tray of club sandwiches. This time there was a busking festival (so much more than barely talented guitarists singing Eric Clapton ballads on the street) and the weather was perfect.

FUSE Performer, International Buskers Festival

I often think Auckland should have more in the way of events. Wellington has the Arts Festival, the Cuba Street carnival, Wearable Arts and so forth. Christchurch has this busking thing and whatever else they get up to down there. But Auckland really doesn't do a lot. I guess it's hard when there is no proper 'heart' of the city, which is one thing I've come to appreciate about Wellington while I've been here, and seems apparent in Christchurch too. I don't think anything can really be done about it, short of rebuilding the city around a central square or erecting a bucket fountain to attract people from far and wide.

By the by, I was in Christchurch to do a story on the UK's "leading psychic", Colin Fry. I went in with a relatively open mind, but at half time couldn't believe people weren't demanding their money back. I'd sat there with a notepad and pen, and written down everything Colin had asked, everything he'd gotten wrong and everything he'd gotten right. In a two hour show, this guy had fewer hits than Rick Astley, but it didn't seem to detract from the audience's enjoyment. Without the clarity provided by a simple notepad and pen, they picked up on the few good guesses and clung to them like a pitbull to a small child's arm. "How does he do it?" they enthused as they queued at the book signing afterwards.

If you're interested in seeing the story, here's a link (Yes, I'm quite happy with the way it turned out, in case you were wondering).

News just in, the Flight of the Conchords have won a Grammy, for best comedy album – not bad when you consider it's actually an EP with only five tracks on it. Five brilliant tracks of course, like this, this and this.

FUSE Performer, International Buskers Festival

Right, that's it for now, I've got to try and blag those little white foam chip things from someone and then work out how best to cohabit a lazy Birman with a spoilt Tabby, not to mention their respectively lazy and spoilt owners. Suggestions welcome.

FUSE Performers, International Buskers Festival