One Little Word

My Dad had a beautiful but. You could hear it coming a mile off.

Yes you read right.

Dad was one of the most considerate, fair people I knew. A side effect of this was he always seemed to see both sides of a problem, so when weighing up pros and cons of an issue or item, he would list all the good aspects, BUT, then list all the negatives.

One little word can make all the difference.

I catch myself using “just” far too much. “I’m just turning off the computer” (after I’ve checked my email, surfed three news sites, updated my Facebook status, sent two tweets and waited for their replies). “I was just about to do that” (after reading my book / playing PlayStation / oh crap, I completely forgot about that, but I’m not going to let on).

Anyone who watches the plethora of police / highway patrol / breath-testing shows will know that “a couple” of drinks never actually means “two” (unless it’s a couple of litre-sized glasses).

Similarly when a girl says “Oh, you’re so sweet, let’s just be friends” she never means she wants to be friends with you, and especially not “friends with benefits.”

(I only learned what that expression meant in the last few years. Up till that point, to me, “friends with benefits” meant my (male) mate had a Sega Master System, and I only had a Commodore 64, but I digress.)

One little word that will get you chucked out of the Frame household faster than anything is “the”. Especially when it is used as the prefix for “Hawke’s Bay”.

To all the reporters, TV weather people, associated media and general public, may I just say this: “THERE IS NO ‘THE’ IN HAWKE’S BAY!” The same goes for Wairarapa, Waikato and Manawatu, but you still see those three little letters creeping in to daily usage.

“The Hutt Valley” in Wellington, by comparison is fine, as it was a valley named after someone named Hutt (sadly, it wasn’t “Jabba the” – I checked)

“The” is what’s known as a definite article, so must refer to, or precede a noun (naming word) i.e.: the cat, the book. “The Hawke’s Bay Hospital” or “the Hawke’s Bay region” is fine, as they describe the Hospital that is located in Hawke’s Bay and the region known as Hawke’s Bay. But describing the region solely as “The Hawke’s Bay” doesn’t work as it doesn’t describe anything – The Hawke’s Bay what? You don’t say “The Auckland”, “The Canterbury” or “The Otago”, do you?

“Aha!” you may say, the big body of water the region semi-surrounds is Hawke’s Bay, isn’t it? Well, no it’s not. To quote Wikipedia: “The bay itself is Hawke Bay, whereas the region which surrounds it bears the bay’s former name, Hawke’s Bay.”

”Hawke Bay” was named by Captain, then Lieutenant, James (as a Star Trek fan, I always want to add a “T” in the middle here) Cook after Sir Edward Hawke, First Lord of the Admiralty, when Cook arrived here in 1769.

And in any case, using correct grammar and “the” would make it “The Bay of Hawke”, just as our nation’s fellow famous bays are named “The Bay of Islands” and “The Bay of Plenty”

So endeth the lesson, dear reader and media-type. There is no such place as “The Hawke’s Bay”. Please stop referring to it as such, or we may exile you to The Chatham Islands!

Why The Warehouse Should Form a Political Party!

I tweeted a thought the other day, wondering if The Warehouse was the Steven Joyce of NZ retail. The Warehouse tweeted back asking what did I mean (awkward!), so I explained that Mr Joyce is considered the “Minister of Everything” for his many and varied portfolios and general “Mr Fix it” role in government and that the Warehouse is the “Retailer of Everything” selling CDs, books, toys, clothes, appliances, plants, food, etc. etc. etc. The Warehouse tweeter seemed happy with my explanation and NZ blogging and Twitter icon Moata Tamaira opined to me, “If only The Warehouse could go into politics.” “Hmmm,” I thought, why not?

Think about it – The Warehouse would be the perfect political party. Its red branding, egalitarian “Where EVERYONE gets a bargain” slogan and work in the community would appeal to socially minded voters, while its massive retailing empire, overseas trading ability and the sheer volume of money that flows through the company (the amount of GST they accumulate each year must be staggering) would appeal to those of a more capitalistic bend.

Too often politicians are criticised for “not living in the real world”, well the Warehouse is certainly part of the real world and has become such a feature of everyday life for New Zealanders that it would be the perfect interface between politics and the public. Go in store to buy a new pair of pants and pick up some shares in a state-owned power company at the same time (Note: I do not know what The Warehouse’s stance is on asset sales, I’m just using it as an example). Buy a DVD and you could also file your tax return at the checkout. Purchase some oil for your car and pay the registration at the same time. Brilliant, eh? Need to talk to your local member for parliament? Look no further than the information kiosk, or attending to the clean up in aisle four – in the Warehouse Political Party “public service” really does mean serving the public!

As Peter Dunne’s (499 people formerly known as) United Future discovered, politics is all about support and membership. This is from where the term “card carrying member” originates. The Warehouse already has financial contributors in the millions. Every day thousands of New Zealanders shop there, that’s a lot of grassroots support. Want to join the Warehouse Political Party? If you have a Warehouse store credit card, you could already be a member!

So there you go. It’s a little over a year to the next general election, the current mob in parliament (on both sides of the chamber) don’t seem to be making any new friends, or keeping many old ones and a gap has opened up with United Future ceasing to have an actual future, or a present for that matter, so it would be the perfect time for a new party to sweep into power and who better to do it than The Warehouse?

Remember my Name – F(r)ame!

I was reading an article in an issue of The Profit a few weeks ago about a local radio announcer and had to have a bit of a giggle. It was nothing to do with the person, or the station at the centre of the article, but the fact they were referred to as a “celebrity”.

They say, if you say a word too many times, it loses its meaning. Well, over recent years, “celebrity” certainly fits that bill. Andy Warhol’s quote about everyone getting “15 minutes of fame” has become less of a cliché and more of a mantra, a life-goal for thousands who’s lives seemingly require attention and adoration of hundreds or thousands to be fulfilled or credible.

I can’t help but feel that Hawke’s Bay is too small or close-knit to have celebrities. Dave the radio announcer is merely our mate Dave, the radio announcer. Margaret the city councillor is just Margaret, the city councillor. Yet we have people (too often the media) insisting on calling them celebrities.

As an example, every year maybe a dozen or more people die on Hawke’s Bay roads. Most of these local, unfortunate and untimely road deaths receive a few column inches in one article in the Hawke’s Bay Today and nothing is heard (or read) of the event again.

Yet earlier this year one road death, that of a model, mother and the wife of a rugby player and former All Black, died in a car accident in the Waikato region. This tragic event received weeks’ worth of coverage – 7 articles in total.

Now, I didn’t know this person, or their family at all and I am sorry for their loss. My problem is with how it was covered. I tend to think that everyone’s life is precious and equally important, so what I want to know is why the Hawke’s Bay Today featured so much of this incident, when they normally don’t feature much of similar death that happens locally. Was it because she was married to someone famous or was perceived, by someone at the paper, to be a celebrity?

Some may say I’m just reinforcing New Zealand’s infamous “Tall Poppy Syndrome” by denouncing the celebrity phenomena.

But what constitutes being a celebrity?

What qualities, above and beyond us mere mortals, do they require? What significant improvement or difference to the world do they make? If the examples set by those who don’t need naming, because they receive far too much attention as it is on our televisions and women’s magazines are anything to go by, it’s very little. They feature in poorly “unscripted” TV shows that follow them around doing things regular people do, or “strand” them on some desert island with a bunch of similar “celebrities” to see who can “survive” the longest or “outlast” their competition (anyone in these circles being capable of “outwitting” anyone else is a bridge too far, apparently). Their every meal, fashion choice or romantic liaison deserves cover-story status on thousands of publications. What a joke.

I think there should be less focus on celebrity and far more focus on credibility. Why not focus more on those people who truly deserve celebrating? Caring parents, influential teachers and business leaders, people who make a real difference to our world and lives.

Last month I nearly lost my father – he is my “celebrity”, my hero and inspiration.

He had a cold that had stealthily developed into pneumonia and was taken to the hospital, where he actually stopped breathing and spent a couple days in Intensive Care Unit, unconscious, hooked up to a ventilator.

The ICU of any hospital is not somewhere you really want to end up, either as a patient, or as a close family member.

It’s where those who are the sickest, the most at risk of dying are looked after.

One thing that sticks in my mind is the staff – the doctors and nurses who work in this most tense and delicate environment. They were friendly, caring (to both patients and shell-shocked relatives), calm, informative, skilled and utterly professional.

Bells, whistles and buzzers would go off at random intervals and they would barely blink an eyelid, just do what needed to be done.

Dad has since made a full recovery, but it was a close-run thing.

I think the staff of the ICU deserve celebrity status, but they’d just say they were only doing their jobs.

Where in the World is Z Kennedy Road?

I’m a little geographically confused. I regularly get my petrol from Z Kennedy Road in Napier. With a name like “Z Kennedy Road” you would think it would be located on, well, Kennedy Road, right?

Wrong!

Napier’s Kennedy Road starts at the lights where Wellesley Road bisects it, about 50 meters from the central city service station, which is physically located on the corner of Station Street and Tennyson Street (which ends at the same Wellesley Road corner).

But the confusion doesn’t end there – I was having a look at the till receipt from a recent petrol purchase and noticed it lists Z Kennedy Road’s address as “256 Dickens Street”. This would put it across Station Street and somewhere in the middle of the Countdown Napier supermarket’s car park!

And let’s not even go into why there are TWO Countdown Supermarkets in Napier opposite it!

With such geographic bamboozlement, uncertainty and inaccuracy, perhaps the people of Napier could claim Z Kennedy Road as a sovereign territory, surely the world’s smallest (look out Vatican City!)?

It could be a very affluent nation – I hear there’s a very good chance of finding rich petroleum reserves not too far underground (that’s if we decided to drill).

International relations, too, would be a strong feature of our new nation’s economy, with the neighboring ‘Kingdom of Burger’ and plentiful food sources nearby in The Duchy of Pak n’ Save.

Backing onto the Napier – Gisborne rail line, the “Napier Peoples’ Republic of Z Kennedy Road” (a bit of a mouthful, admittedly) could conceivably claim that too, as recent New Zealand governments certainly didn’t seem to want to operate the nation’s rail lines, or look after the regions.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the United Nations to lay our claim.

All we need now is a flag and national anthem.

Any ideas?

Pay no Attention to the Giant Man in the Pink Tutu.

It all started with a Tweet.

About a year ago, on my early morning walk to the bus I catch to work, anybody driving past would have thought I was either ballet dancing, or having some form of seizure.

It had rained the night before, and the footpath was littered with snails scrambling (or, at least moving as fast as snails can) for higher, drier ground. I, in turn, was trying to avoid stepping on any of them. Not because I’m overly environmentally minded, but thinking more along the lines of Karma – If I was a snail just out for a wander, minding my own snaily business, I’d feel very put out if some giant, inattentive biped was to step on and squish me, so I was doing my best to avoid any casualties.

As I side-stepped (and occasionally pirouetted) I realised how odd this must look to any passing observer and once I was out of the escargot minefield and on the bus, I tweeted about my experience and what it must have looked like.

Chel Adams, who runs Aurum Coffee in Hastings replied later saying she would pay good money (or coffee) too see me doing that in a pink tutu. Now one thing you don’t do with me is joke about free food, as I take food (especially the free variety) very seriously, so the challenge was on!

Over the months, the wager grew to coffee AND cheesecake, but time and money were not on my side, sadly and the bet lay dormant (albeit with constant reminders from a growing group of Twitter friends) for some time until the stars aligned last month. I managed to find a pink tutu that actually fit me almost perfectly (a hard ask, considering I’m 6’8” tall guy) from the Napier Operatic Society’s Tabbard Costume Hire and on a chilly Thursday, I made my way, tutu and all, to Aurum Coffee in Heretaunga Street East to make Chel’s day:

Was it worth it? Absolutely! Chel was kind enough (in between fits of laughter) to give me more coffee and cheesecake than I could have hoped for and I even helped out behind the counter making coffees for some very bemused looking customers. Would I do it again? I don’t know, but apparently Chel has plans for various costumes and me.

This could require a lot more food and possibly alcohol…

Something to Keep You Warm on a Cold Winter’s Night

The following was a winner in The Edge’s “Forbidden Fiction” competition last year. Quite possibly the only time I’ve received money for my writing!

“The Sexiest Thing a Man Can Do”

Angela had been waiting an excruciatingly long time for this day to arrive. Now, finally, it was here and with the wind moaning and the rain pounding on the windows, their small cabin’s open fire cast a sensual warmth over the two of them.

Brad stood before her, shirtless. The firelight flickered, highlighting the subtler details of his finely toned body.
He poured her a glass of red wine “Where would you like me to start?” he asked. A seductively raised eyebrow and mischievous grin curled the corners of his alluring lips.
She told him and with a chivalrous bow he set about his task.

His big, powerful hands were suppler than she remembered, gliding gently over every curve. His palms tenderly massaged, kneaded and rubbed.
His fingers nimbly navigated the more intimate places his palms could not. Darting this way and that, a firm flick of the thumb here, the tantalising caress of a moistened fingertip there.

Brad’s pace quickened. Sweat started glistening on his broad shoulders and bulging biceps. The windows started to steam up from his exertion.
Flushed with the wine’s warming glow, Angela’s arousal increased to the point that she let out an excited giggle.

Brad turned, looked lovingly into Angela’s eyes and said, “Right, so that’s the dishes done! What’s next?”

“The sexiest thing a man can do is the dishes” – Rachael Ray

Reading the Signs

We are constantly bombarded by road safety messages throughout media and along the nation’s highways and by-ways: “Make it click”, “If you drink and drive you’re a bloody idiot”, “100km/hr. – it’s a limit, not a target”, “Merge like a zip”. But despite these messages, Hawke’s Bay has seen an alarming spate of serious and fatal car crashes recently, especially along seemingly harmless, long, straight, wide pieces of road like the Hastings to HB Airport expressway. Why are people still making these same mistakes when they are constantly reminded of the hazards and what to do? It makes me think there might be a less obvious, yet more serious problem, to go along with speeding and drink-driving, that no amount of signage can cure – illiteracy.
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The Kids Aren’t All Right

Attending to the needs of the younger members of its population is all too often overlooked by local and national governments around the world. In the local case of youth and city councils, this appears to certainly be one thing Hastings does better than Napier.

I was a member of the “Napier City Council Youth Forum” in 1995 – a collection of senior students from all Napier’s High Schools and EIT. We got together once a month to discuss the issues facing
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The Colour of Hawke’s Bay

Some New Zealand bays are full of islands,

Others are plentiful.

But no bay has more color than Hawke’s Bay!

It should come as no surprise, from a place whose rugby team wears the opposite spectrums of magpie black and white.

Majestic Hawke Bay ocean hues: turquoise to navy, cold, hard grays to soft, saline foamy whites.

The lush, fruitful Heretaunga Plains – braeburn red and packham green.

Vineyard covered hills, bleached chardonnay by the summer sun, slowly turning pinot noir in the long evening light.
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