Cracker by Damian Christie

Please Please Me

I was reading the paper last week, when I came across this little gem:

An Auckland lawyer, conned out of $1.6 million in two separate classic Nigerian scams, is calling for banking restrictions to defeat overseas fraudsters.

So let's get this straight. The lawyer, in theory a smart, educated man, is ripped off – twice! – to the tune of $1.6 million. And the government should change the law, to stop stupid people from being able to send lots of money overseas. Fer'chrissake.

Knowing how much lawyers like personalised license plates, I've taken the liberty of organising one for you, my 'learned colleague’.

If anyone knows the name of this lawyer (I'm working on finding out) can they please email me? He's got name suppression, but I want to ensure that no one I know ever gives this fool a cent in professional fees. Having said that, there's a good chance the guy would work for Magic Beans.

The case, and the lawyer's subsequent call reminds me of the case late last month, where the mother of a boy attacked by a shar pei put in a complaint to Purex for using the dog in their "rolly" commercials. "The way I see it, it's almost false advertising," says the mother, who is clearly a moron.

When someone's child is attacked by a dog, the salutary lesson is "under no circumstances should children approach dogs, unless an adult says it's okay". Not "toilet paper ads featuring shar pei dogs should be banned."

If the phrase hadn't already been hijacked and rendered meaningless by that other famous imbecile, Muriel Newman, I'd be tempted to say it smacked of political correctness gone mad.

Speaking of which, I think I’m the only person not to have commented about Tamihere, excluding of course the people who haven’t commented about Tamihere; those that have made a point of not commenting about those people; and those who have in turn not commented on them. Only of course, to provoke no more comment.

God this blogging is a Right Royal Circle jerk sometimes.

Suffice to say, at what point did it seem like a good idea to allow JT to have his own – albeit postponed – radio show? Can’t everyone involved see the metaphorical Hindenburg hanging over Can West’s transmission tower? And what do Herr Jennings and Commandant Garner think about JT grazing at the same trough?

Doric, Ionic, Corinthian

All columns, you see. One thing, and possibly one of the only things I remember from 7th form Classics. That, and some of those Satyrs must've been pretty pleased with themselves in the Ron Jeremy department.

Anyway, a proper post after the weekend. In the meantime, if you're looking for some way to waste a few minutes until hometime, I thought I'd post a couple of my Herald on Sunday columns. They're not on the website see, and I know a lot of you don't read actual paper anymore...

Bullying

This week in England, school children were encouraged to wear blue wristbands as part of the inaugural Anti Bullying Week. I couldn’t think of a quicker way to get a hiding if I tried.

And I’d know. This may come as a surprise, but as someone who did well academically, and yet spent the first few years of college barely five foot tall, I was on the receiving end of quite a few. And the bullies I met wouldn’t be put off by a blue wristband. They were vicious. Vicious and organised.

Shifting from town to town quite a bit growing up, I was always surprised how one group of bullies automatically knew where I fit into the social pecking order. Every time my father was transferred, I’d take it as an opportunity to reinvent myself. On my first day, I’d pull out the coolest thing I could possibly think to say to my new school chums, the thing that would set me free from yet another year of abuse.

“The name’s Damian. But they call me ‘Ice’. Because I’m cool. Like ice.”

The response was inevitably a winding fist to the gut. Time and time against they’d see through my brilliant subterfuge. Years later I concluded that while the school’s administration was sending on my records, somewhere in a bully’s bedroom, my nerd status was also being faxed forward.

Back then we had no Anti Bullying Week, no corporate-sponsored websites with support for victims of bullying. Parents weren’t much help either, relying on their rose-tinted recollections, where bullies gave you a horse bite and called you a whoopsy. “Bullies are just cowards,” they’d offer. Possibly, but when your bete noire is two feet taller than you and carries a knife, knowing they’re cursed with a yellow belly is cold comfort.

That to me is true bullying – sticks and stones. But despite all the focus on battling bullying over the past few years, the real message is being watered down. On the Telecom/NZ Police site nobully.org.nz, physical violence is eighth out of a list of nine ways kids might be bullied. Eighth. To me that sounds like an afterthought – “Well, we’ve got seven, we could stop here… unless anyone has any others?”

Further up the list are such travesties as “leaving people out of activities” and “not talking to them”. Frankly I’d have been glad if the bullies had just given me the silent treatment and left me out of their sadistic daily routine. Another site suggests sarcasm is a form of bullying. Congratulations, you’ve just incriminated every teenager, ever.

When we start fretting about kids being bullied via txt message, or being excluded from activities, I think we’re losing focus. I don’t know what the solution is, other than to say, take your kids’ concerns seriously. Today’s schools might not be the haven of psychopathic crack dealers talkback would have us believe, but nor are they all hopscotch and ha’penny treats. And if you’re reading this now, a school student suffering from bullying, I’ve got some advice bound to work against any bully. Tell them Ice sent you.

A Wolf in Arab's Clothing

A Wolf in Arab’s Clothing.

It was interesting to read this week of a survey that found terrorism was second on a list of Britons’ top fears. A thousand people were questioned by Universal Pictures – yes, inevitably in this day and age there was a movie tie-in – and it was discovered the only thing the Brits found scarier than being involved in a terrorist attack, was spiders.

I find this a little strange, to be honest. I’m no huge fan of the humble arachnid, don’t get me wrong, but surely being in the proximity of a semtex-clad fundamentalist when they hit the trigger would be scarier than any daddy long-legs. Even a really big one.

Needless to say, any survey like this is bound to produce fairly dubious results. Death itself came fifth, after snakes and heights. To really test the theory, you’d need to send those telemarketers out to respondents’ houses with a handgun and a jar of spiders. “Put your hand in the jar, or I’ll kill you.” If they capitulate and touch the spiders, you’ll know they actually feared death more. Methodologically more sound, sure, but good luck trying to convince Colmar Brunton.

How we rank our fears depends on how likely we perceive their realisation. Pre-September 11, the perceived risk of a terrorist attack in England, the US, or here at home was virtually nil. Spiders and snakes would have romped home in the polls. Post 9/11, post-Bali and it’s a worry, even if the chance of any particular individual being killed by terrorists is still minute.

What’s interesting, is how our fears can be manipulated all out of proportion. As a child growing up in New Zealand, my biggest fear – the thing that had me trembling under the blankets at night – was wolves. Not exactly endemic to these parts; in fact I don’t even think the Auckland Zoo had any. But in almost every bedtime story, there they were, blowing down houses, eating someone’s nana, or covering their paws with flour, to trick some unsuspecting goats. Devious, those wolves.

Yes, perceptive reader, there’s an analogy can be made here. The Little Golden Books of my youth have been replaced with media, and politicians. Their tales don’t have morals, and unfortunately, more often than not, they lack happy endings. But they’re more effective than any children’s story book when it comes to manipulating our fears. Whether it’s terrorist attacks, dogs attacks or boy racers holding illegal drags in your neighbourhood, there’s always something new you should be getting worked up about. Usually requiring shiny new legislation, stricter controls, larger fines and new taxes.

Now having an insight into the things that make us go Ahhhh!, there’s another group now beavering away to try and manipulate our fears in order to part us from our hard-earned dollars. Just look who funded the British survey. I for one can’t wait for Hollywood’s latest blockbuster, about a fiendish terrorist plot to cover an entire city in spiders and snakes, causing people to seek refuge by climbing unstable ladders. It’ll be a scream.

(c) APN Ltd, Reproduced with permission etc

Have a good weekend - I'm off diving at the Poor Knights again. Wish me luck.

Family Values

First things first.

Would the owner of the late model BMW with the personalised plate "LLB BMW" please kill himself.

Seriously.

Dowse yourself in petrol and jump off the top of whatever mirror-clad office building you inhabit. See if you can't aim to land on the still-burning corpse of Paul Holmes' mana.

What were you thinking?

"Umm, let see. I really need a personalised plate, because my brand new BMW doesn't draw quite enough attention to me as it is. Besides, I need to remove any doubt in people's minds that I'm a complete wanker."

[Looks up personalised plates website]

"Oh no, the plate 'BMW' is gone. What a shame, because imagine having a BMW, with the license plate 'BMW'. How cool would that be?! Not to mention a real conversation starter at all those Law Society parties."

[much tapping ensues, followed by a relieved shriek]

"Oh my god! LLB BMW isn't gone! Wow, those personalised plate ads were right when they said some of the best plates are still available. Happy days, happy days indeed! Now people will know that my car is a BMW, and that I'm a lawyer!"

Oh that's right, and a complete wanker. And people wonder why I gave up law?

Second. The Graham Capill thing.

Without the blurry face, the footage of the Rev. getting smacked not once, not twice, but thrice in the chops makes for compelling viewing. To see him whimpering on the ground like the little bitch he is truly is the coup de grâce. I've been watching it over and over again, jumping and clapping each time like a Tellytubby on Crack.

I don't want to come across all Leighton Smith on this, but I really don't agree with Judge David Ryan. When Daniel McNally appeared in court for delivering his own brand of Tough Love to the paedophile Capill, Judge Ryan hit the roof:

[Woe betide the man who] takes an interest in some business in the court before me and take exception to the way it's dealt with then mete out his own treatment…There will be no question of bail for this man from me.

No question of bail. No question. For what? Punching a grown man in the face. Not ideal sure, but is it really throw-away-the-key material?

Whereas Capill, who on a number of occasions touched up an eight year old girl while she lay in bed, is remanded on bail. The learned judge says his offending was "not at the serious end of the scale."

Okay, I know what he's getting at, but this is an eight year old girl we're talking about. 'Not at the serious end of the scale' is "she looked eighteen, she was drinking in a bar, but turns out she was fifteen". When the kid is eight, there is no "light end of the scale". Graham Capill, you're a paedophile.

I can only hope that the real reason Ryan let Capill out on bail was so a few other people could mete out their own justice ahead of his sentencing. In the interest of justice however, can I just ask one thing:

If you are planning on doing so, make sure you get someone to film it.

Sweet-bix

I interviewed Ans Westra for my bFM show on Sunday.

Those of you in Auckland must get along to the Auckland Art Gallery to see "Handboek", the exhibition.

Those of you who aren't in Auckland could do a lot worse than shelling out for a copy of the beautifully produced book of the same name. At around $60, it's a steal.

Anyway, the interview went great–such an incredible woman–so I'll try and find the time over the next week to transcribe it for your reading pleasure.

Until then, a few ways I've kept myself entertained recently.

1. I've started casually dropping the phrase "of your earth" into conversation.

It works best when placed immediately before a unit of measurement. For example:

"Are you going to be long on the phone?"

"I'll probably only be about ten of your earth minutes"

"You're such a geek."

Or

"You're looking good, have you lost weight?"

"I don't think so, I still weigh about eighty of your earth kilos."

"What?"

"Nothing."

2. When I'm finished in the bathroom, I fold the end of the toilet paper into a wee point, like they do in flash hotels.

My theory, as yet unproven, is that this will fool people at work/my house/restaurants into thinking they have unexpectedly ended up in a flash hotel toilet. Though this could explain why my soap and shampoo keeps going missing from the bathroom.

Next I'm going to leave origami sunglasses lying around like these guys.

3. I've been quietly championing the term "sweet-bix", as coined by a friend of mine (or so she says). Use in place of "sweet as" or similar:

"Are you at home? I'm coming round to give you those twenty of your earth dollars I borrowed last week"

"You are? Sweet-bix!"

"Sweet-bix indeed."

If "Sweet-bix" ever makes it on to nationwide television, I'll be happy, happy man. Mr Campbell, I'm looking in youse fullas direction…

Mamahamalipimata

After a couple of weeks, and a couple of hundred emails on the topic, I think it’s time we ended the quest to find everyone’s lexical hot/nots. It’s been very interesting (and quite disturbing) finding out which words make you cringe, which words you enjoy lolling around your mouth, and how few people can actually spell onomatopoeia.

Even with a large number of entries, it was difficult to get consensus on many words, or even what it is about them you don’t like. But there were still reasonable sized clusters around certain words.

Without further ado, the number one most hated word was (and I still find this really, really strange)...

Pottle.

If you’re wondering ‘why?’ you’re in good company. However Matt offered a nice vehement explanation, so he gets one of the books:

'Pottle', as uttered by Alison Holst... it has to be delivered in her particular flat adenoidal monotone, with the two 't's sliding into meaninglessness sibilant chaos. Even on its own, pottle is a stupid word; a case of unnecessarily making up a limp, pasty new word where several robust ones already exist. When used by Ulluhsssuhn Hullsssst, it sets my neck-hair on end.

Matt also picked up bonus points for referring to my own bête noire, Susan Devoy, as “dreary” and “painfully plain”.

Robyn was among the Pottle Voters, adding “why use pottle when pot will do” and pointing out that a pottle is actually unit of measurement, equal to 2 quarts (or 1.9 litres). Robyn has the dubious honour of submitting the most common selection of hated words… she also offered the overall second place winner:

Moist.

I actually thought this one would romp home, until the odd pottle conspiracy. “Unless you’re talking about chocolate cake”, says Lisa, moist is a big no-no. Johanna helpfully adds that it conjures up images of "sweaty crotches". I would have never guessed.

Panties

…also seemed a contender for the gold, but while many people mentioned it in passing, with comments like “the word I hate even more than panties is…” very few actually voted for it. It still came in third though. This, from Lyn:

By my reckoning there's a demographic of women out there who, some time prior to their first period, received feminine hygiene packs from Johnson & Johnson who must have been trying to drum up a new generation of business. The packs were probably sent away for by an embarrassed relative. Awkward mother/daughter talks probably followed the arrival of said packs via post in a plain brown wrapper and the unveiling of all kinds of menstruation-related equipment and ridiculous instructions. The one I remember was 'press the pad into the crotch of your usual close-fitting panties'. Yup. Stayed with me.

Um, thanks for that Lyn. You get a book too.

Honorable mentions go to:

Blog, Bosom and Flaccid (in fact many words ending in ‘id’), people who say “orientated” rather than “oriented” – the former being oddly the more correct of the two – and people who say “yoggit” instead of “yoghurt”.

And Robert’s email made me laugh:

I know it's stupid, but I absolutely hate the word 'February'. Which makes this time of year particularly irksome.

I think it's because I couldn't say my 'R's properly when I was a kid, and I would be teased mercilessly when I said words like 'Febwuawy' or 'wailway', or 'Wobert'.

Childhood trauma is a great excuse for anything...

In the Most Loved Words category, there was no clear winner. In fact there was only one word that more than one person voted for. So the winner, with a paltry two votes:

Voluptuous.

If I were to draw any conclusions from the words many of you did like, it’s that there are a lot of round vowels, m’s and n’s and popping and bobbing sounds. For example:

Oblong. Discombobulate. Gumption. Flollop (which isn’t really even a word, but okay). Lump. Conundrum.

Other submissions were worth noting:

Maggie likes playing with the word Tablet, apparently: “Tab-let. Ta-blet. Taaa-blet” (?!)

Schnauzer (it makes Jeremy giggle every time he says it).

Buttonhole (which surely must rival ‘cellar door’ as one of the most perfect phrases).

Jaguar, but only when said with American pronunciation – “Jag-warrr” (I agree, must be too much Sesame Street when I was growing up, same with their Spanish lessons... “Arg-warrr”)

But my favourite submission for best word, even though I can’t find anything on the net to back this up, so it’s probably a complete lie:

Mamahamalipimata. According to Patrick, it’s from a tribe in South America and means “two people looking at each other, both wanting the other to do something, both knowing the other wants them to do it, but neither willing to do it”

Even if you are lying Patrick, you deserve a book.

Thanks everyone for your submissions. As the kids are wont to say, word up.

UPDATE: It's spelt mamihlapinatapei, apparently. Thanks to Gloria for the link :)