tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47394567528427928122024-02-07T17:21:42.550+13:00I AIM TO MISBEHAVESimilar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-10562890140479623432009-06-25T21:20:00.002+12:002009-06-25T21:38:12.207+12:00You wanna hear a story?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDjgE3bCqZx-g1FoneqKCEV1-6ViqhuUghKIIvaaQJEPPmiZmsiDEzmZL23BT8j47krX8586WGQx5dmp9F_H1w_VPA0xTuPFsYvmlzkBg9VBLzQgJ2y9LfO14x6RpQyss-lPDfDvczow/s1600-h/Ricardo's+Photos+282.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioDjgE3bCqZx-g1FoneqKCEV1-6ViqhuUghKIIvaaQJEPPmiZmsiDEzmZL23BT8j47krX8586WGQx5dmp9F_H1w_VPA0xTuPFsYvmlzkBg9VBLzQgJ2y9LfO14x6RpQyss-lPDfDvczow/s320/Ricardo's+Photos+282.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351197142859296914" /></a><br />The chair I'm sitting in is the chair in which I lost my faith in love. It reeks of lonely realisation. Although maybe the chair and I are reassessing our relationship. This is probably far safer than reassessing my relationship with love, who has clearly lost the plot and at any minute now might get drunk and start singing show tunes. <br /><br />Still single. Thirty four, and fighting crime with sexy results. <br /><br />I won't be back here again. <br /><br />I'm spent. <br /><br />x<br /><br />MattSimilar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-62132434475481307242009-06-24T23:20:00.002+12:002009-06-24T23:27:20.146+12:00Ummm, hi...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrx9IRCBmFtQnx-bGRDwK40uhBQT4ogKqDKGpW4YzzehfrcQqlkdhW6CP2wNIo-RlYQ1fQYJ1IIbu6PkybE5ynLAcFzXitRn61M2_SwOWdYIEp36uBitcZrJG3sNeJRQGciEiFxA9Lmmc/s1600-h/beach.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrx9IRCBmFtQnx-bGRDwK40uhBQT4ogKqDKGpW4YzzehfrcQqlkdhW6CP2wNIo-RlYQ1fQYJ1IIbu6PkybE5ynLAcFzXitRn61M2_SwOWdYIEp36uBitcZrJG3sNeJRQGciEiFxA9Lmmc/s320/beach.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350854047829191618" /></a><br />I didn't mean to leave... and I can't talk right now. <br /><br />Tomorrow, I promise I'll explain.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-24939805187164367202009-03-24T22:23:00.002+13:002009-03-24T22:31:52.846+13:00Arriving on a jet plane<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQxNEv1l2ZtT0DhREwc3rk_8OKPNEyNLUJgQzxCZJ8tTPaUNuxnNsFapGTkv_Mk4cEEu-Av7KQYVrpON0Q_OTJIBX0w8B3astjVwjpdYSKaAag5ar8FHW_Vb9cVKYME7Xj51AebFfIBU/s1600-h/airplane.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 90px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQxNEv1l2ZtT0DhREwc3rk_8OKPNEyNLUJgQzxCZJ8tTPaUNuxnNsFapGTkv_Mk4cEEu-Av7KQYVrpON0Q_OTJIBX0w8B3astjVwjpdYSKaAag5ar8FHW_Vb9cVKYME7Xj51AebFfIBU/s320/airplane.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316684609284956914" /></a><br />I'm coming to Melbourne. <br /><br />A couple of years after my last visit I'm returning to the scene of several crimes. <br /><br />I'll be staying in Collingwood with my oldest friend. Well, the friend that I've known the longest at least, she's just turned 30 and just got engaged, and somehow I managed to miss both of those events so here I come. <br /><br />I'd love to throw words in the face of some of you Melbourne folk, or at the very least buy you a glass of wine (and not smoke a sneaky cigarette around you Ms P) and have a yarn. <br /><br />Easter is the time. Mr J. Christ did some stuff and we get a holiday. Yay him! I'm going to celebrate his sacrifice by having a brilliant weekend and if you happen to be in Melbourne and fancy a wine then drop me a little number.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-65731610689373963522009-03-17T20:26:00.003+13:002009-03-17T20:57:05.466+13:00Living On A Prayer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO48meyUvkJXj8vZKIDm87AKQoyQA8X1oizQ1-0iq8GcSgFlNlxl8j2wz5lkHMCW9NUxRICQDbzHjJiBJZ3CSWhuRecg1m64Z7MiWYTYjAmHnwmb3zOBak2cQdRHrJZKqC1hpr3YOcho/s1600-h/orewa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO48meyUvkJXj8vZKIDm87AKQoyQA8X1oizQ1-0iq8GcSgFlNlxl8j2wz5lkHMCW9NUxRICQDbzHjJiBJZ3CSWhuRecg1m64Z7MiWYTYjAmHnwmb3zOBak2cQdRHrJZKqC1hpr3YOcho/s320/orewa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314062326001421714" /></a><br />Oh, Bon Jovi, how you made me feel... I'm halfway there...<br /><br />Aaaaanyway... <br /><br />In the ongoing saga of editing a show that may or may not turn out to be any good, here is the latest in what hopefully will be a very short run of posts.<br /><br />Let's call this little number "<span style="font-style:italic;">Playing Well With Others</span>". <br /><br />Editing is a pretty specialised skill. As I mentioned last week there's plenty of people that can press the buttons, but not too many that can press the buttons that will press <span style="font-weight:bold;">your </span>buttons, if ya know what I mean. And no, Kimba, I didn't mean that button. <br /><br />What also separates a good editor from the reams and reams of average editors is the ability to take direction. <br /><br />When I'm working in the edit suite I am King. That sounds trite, and more than a little narcissistic, but sadly, and fortunately (odd combo), it's true. Luckily for me I realised a few years ago that there's people out there that are significantly better than me at doing things that I don't know how to do as well as them, and I could probably learn to be better at my job by shutting up, swallowing my novelty oversized ego and listening. I still think I'm King on these occasions... just a quiet one that gets told what to do...<br /><br />Example... the food show... producer is a woman in her early 40's. Unimaginative would be kind. Hell, boring would be kind. But, she's the producer. She's the boss. (small Tony Danza chuckle...)<br /><br />So today, as I sat in my lounge with Ms Producer beside me cutting an episode that she'd directed a few weeks ago I swallowed every impulse to try and steer the show towards my little vision and instead concentrated on what she wanted to see on the screen in front of her. The product we've ended up with doesn't look as good as I want it to, doesn't match what I know I could bust out if I had three days with no interruptions, but it's what she wants and as an editor on this particular job that is far and away (small Tom Cruise Irish accent chuckle) the most important thing. <br /><br />He he, small Tom Cruise... sometimes this shit writes itself!<br /><br />Aaaand back to it... The difference between this show and most others I've worked on, including many music shows, many dramas, docos and one feature film that all of you will have seen, is that my opinion was listened to. It sure wasn't alway acted on, but it was <span style="font-weight:bold;">always </span>listened to. And that's all you can ask for. <br /><br />It's also why I've been carving out a role as a director. Because if I'm the only one I have to argue with then I'm almost certain that I'm usually going to win. There are also minor aspects of control freakism to it, but whatever. You are. <br /><br />My long winded point is that being an editor is a strange balance between giving up control, and trying to take control. In advertising you'll be working with the producer, creative director, art director, director of photography, account manager, casting manager, the assistant account manager, the director, the executive account manager and the client that the commercial is actually for... that's why I don't do TVC's anymore...<br /><br />But on some jobs you can help shape something that really changes what was originally put in front of you. And it's the helping that makes it such, such, such a rewarding job. Taking footage that someone has put their heart and soul into and then making it even better...? <br /><br />There's nothing like that feeling.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-81082506480643443792009-03-11T20:29:00.005+13:002009-03-11T23:07:26.836+13:00What's worse...?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcvnKUq2WfQoYXZr4-JljxBzoQEMnjIKMtJ5pOhDbbKhxxjTVSBnDoAHMp_ZBy9nzMSMDtxYzqVtL3HW8ZJL_MSsH0M7D-n1iYIbhACcCqkg5JMZ04Ay-6c509FDi8mTmIfbaqFuMUKY/s1600-h/as.Sub.01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcvnKUq2WfQoYXZr4-JljxBzoQEMnjIKMtJ5pOhDbbKhxxjTVSBnDoAHMp_ZBy9nzMSMDtxYzqVtL3HW8ZJL_MSsH0M7D-n1iYIbhACcCqkg5JMZ04Ay-6c509FDi8mTmIfbaqFuMUKY/s320/as.Sub.01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311842834027720642" /></a><br />Which is worse? Is it worse to do a average job on something that you really want to be good, or is it worse to a bad job on something that you know can't be good no matter how much effort you out in? <br /><br />For the past two (and a bit) weeks I've been editing a series for a company that I worked for last year. This company is small but incredibly well respected. I should have been cutting the food show but I've made concessions and have devoted my days to the other company show, and my nights to cutting the food show. <br /><br />They're both very different. The company show is a semi-scripted comedy show about back-yard cricket. Think 'The Office' or 'Flight Of The Conchords' and you've about got it. The food show is semi advertorial where the vineyards and suppliers involved have paid cash to be on the show. Without bias I can say that the cricket show is some of the funniest tele I've seen in a long time. And I watch a LOT of tele. The food show, which let's face it, I should be biased about given that I directed most of it, is not that great. And that makes me feel bad.<br /><br />As an editor I get to work with loads of different material. In 17 years doing this job I've cut music vids, docos, dramas, comedies, porn (yes, really) and almost everything that comes across your screen. And now working in my lounge editing footage that I directed I feel miserable.<br /><br /><br />I've just come back to the screen after a gorgeous Marlboro Light (sorry) and have realised that I'm missing the point. <br /><br />I meant to write about cutting. So here ya go... <br /><br /><br />Many people can push the buttons that are involved in running an edit suite. The trick that makes a good editor (and it's no trick, it's learnt at the breast of a mentor) is working out a tempo. <br /><br />Whatever you're watching there's a tempo to it. Whether it's a commercial, a sitcom or a re-run of your favourite movie... there's a tempo. And like any of your favourite songs this tempo will bring you up, engage you, level you off, bring you up again, level you off again, and then raise once more... and hopefully raise some more... before finishing you off with someting that makes you feel as if you've had sunshine mainlined into your femoral bits. <br /><br />Doing this however takes a bit of time. There have been 30 second commercials I've worked on that have had over seven hours of footage. There have been music vids that have been four minutes on air that have had only twenty minutes of footage. There are degrees of competence in directors (and degrees of competence in editors) which make a massive difference. But the biggest thing comes back to tempo. <br /><br />As an editor you can fool people. But you need to feel people. And if you can't do that, for whatever reason then well... <br /><br />You can manipulate emotion according to the timing of an edit. You can make people cry with a well chosen audio bed. You can make them feel uplifted with a well timed look... Or you can ruin it all with a badly timed cut from one shot to another. Sometimes just a few frames make a difference.<br /><br />And sometimes you just want to leave people.<br /><br />(if you've read this far, go and see Watchmen at the movies. Seriously, it's a work of genius)Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-32442224843060781242009-02-28T17:09:00.004+13:002009-02-28T17:24:47.832+13:00Monkey On A PlateI'm back. Been on the road directing the food and wine show. It's called NZ On A Plate, which is a pretty lame title, but there you go. 5 locations around the country in 12 days. Very quick shoot. Not ideal, but sadly my inner control freak was taken into the backyard and given a beatdown by the producers. <br /><br />Shooting has wrapped, now I'm editing all 12 episodes and I've decided to blog about the process. People know a lot these days about the process of making film and television, due mainly I think to the immediacey of media. You can't do something stupid, or awesome, these days without it popping up right away on nakedpeople.com. Possibly. <br /><br />But while people have an idea of the process they don't know the day to day... the stuff that happens while you're not looking, the conversations that take place while you're not listening, the decisions that get made while you're cuddling a blow up doll that looks suspiciously like Ben Affleck. <br /><br />So for the next few weeks I'll throw some stuff on here about what I'm doing to all these hours of footage I've got, the dynamics of directing and cutting something that I'm not really in control of and of course my endless quest for creating the perfect girlfriend out of bananas. <br /><br />Below are some pics from the shoot...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzk_dLIGnnkLOs8W9VOnKtKYIVkkCGz8LD-463InmNNJqQ9qQtk5lDWPnlJvCeuau4WbXK5fCQjcbRLwDaarwE2D4ebkB8PgHP2JDGU9MoAdXnm34M2f99FtN7TR-crWtQliCup9dfzo/s1600-h/TAPE+1.Sub.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzk_dLIGnnkLOs8W9VOnKtKYIVkkCGz8LD-463InmNNJqQ9qQtk5lDWPnlJvCeuau4WbXK5fCQjcbRLwDaarwE2D4ebkB8PgHP2JDGU9MoAdXnm34M2f99FtN7TR-crWtQliCup9dfzo/s320/TAPE+1.Sub.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307697256215518786" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnDhVhPFkHYhjoQLwo0cLdYAJhkaOEMP-nV_PSf5V7gIBoJZi8_zlM4UlH8n60WF6GjvUxqS8smJ0vofbGy8u08RkAk2cnUUXIohgRs4gYqlOatLqIV_PDyc0PtjP9ZA8xN1x61X9mHA/s1600-h/TAPE+1.Sub.01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnDhVhPFkHYhjoQLwo0cLdYAJhkaOEMP-nV_PSf5V7gIBoJZi8_zlM4UlH8n60WF6GjvUxqS8smJ0vofbGy8u08RkAk2cnUUXIohgRs4gYqlOatLqIV_PDyc0PtjP9ZA8xN1x61X9mHA/s320/TAPE+1.Sub.01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307697029750478946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiei1Rakt9zroA4ZasB1hHq1WpHIZPkI1zquBL70Q1_9Rjq1l_w0RoZq-fPnFz_zPf0C3r8SgNerWGLGwv63YPXisnZgnPpNziAS2FikE80sZBu1w-kQgA4RtfEA0XiVgcrmiTzQWw2OM/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiei1Rakt9zroA4ZasB1hHq1WpHIZPkI1zquBL70Q1_9Rjq1l_w0RoZq-fPnFz_zPf0C3r8SgNerWGLGwv63YPXisnZgnPpNziAS2FikE80sZBu1w-kQgA4RtfEA0XiVgcrmiTzQWw2OM/s320/1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307697024933639586" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMg6e-9hvmuoAeTUimhq6sRC9Xr-YmM5iXBM5MGy-_8dSjcuhTaqGxHj_cldcFwlWIYemCfJCzByqEMDWU6fbJk5i_9iiRQAE3xzG35e336raHKXIIRZFFpWHfA-IJw6kkL84qcQaA3c/s1600-h/TAPE+1.Sub.04.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMg6e-9hvmuoAeTUimhq6sRC9Xr-YmM5iXBM5MGy-_8dSjcuhTaqGxHj_cldcFwlWIYemCfJCzByqEMDWU6fbJk5i_9iiRQAE3xzG35e336raHKXIIRZFFpWHfA-IJw6kkL84qcQaA3c/s320/TAPE+1.Sub.04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307697025867105858" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1wM_FjCco0b6YR-d9o7RvEijjWUiXYNFNLk-RSf7onA4MTz-kNf314xh5KGSyWvL7VVRkWD9jqp-1CYjRSJe3CVIk_NNJq7y3CaPyZgrWrFUKje9WwfuoweeIh0bbyyB2kjl1rBdrpA/s1600-h/18022009078.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1wM_FjCco0b6YR-d9o7RvEijjWUiXYNFNLk-RSf7onA4MTz-kNf314xh5KGSyWvL7VVRkWD9jqp-1CYjRSJe3CVIk_NNJq7y3CaPyZgrWrFUKje9WwfuoweeIh0bbyyB2kjl1rBdrpA/s320/18022009078.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307697020182617058" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1KslpxHf2s-hXldRhEyV0FwQSnXb7eFBZMof1yizQqhmk2wN1_CsDQKwJgPhlWAlSWiAbF5ZPmrCkOvIboTY3Hu_d3XwjdpduYY3LIu-0G2V412mrAiHMpaW2xpTawi_ZnYqj-ZygYY/s1600-h/18022009077.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1KslpxHf2s-hXldRhEyV0FwQSnXb7eFBZMof1yizQqhmk2wN1_CsDQKwJgPhlWAlSWiAbF5ZPmrCkOvIboTY3Hu_d3XwjdpduYY3LIu-0G2V412mrAiHMpaW2xpTawi_ZnYqj-ZygYY/s320/18022009077.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307697021507922194" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r0FJpzJyE9jL-d9Oce4-XF1wV35fEezVnwF6fFQUauI7PLdVidmJKeznv4iroEaCJZ-GFp4EuysDG2o_AD81wcny_WPl4Kl5nFchIfusr7j6an-pCtBb0NvTv3doi-aQC4jbQPQX8Aw/s1600-h/17022009063.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r0FJpzJyE9jL-d9Oce4-XF1wV35fEezVnwF6fFQUauI7PLdVidmJKeznv4iroEaCJZ-GFp4EuysDG2o_AD81wcny_WPl4Kl5nFchIfusr7j6an-pCtBb0NvTv3doi-aQC4jbQPQX8Aw/s320/17022009063.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307696041447863010" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvzKeOW_f3RkCFiehVoBnc8E5KRab7LVDfATwn_eFGeBYKLXDYaypYHG3FqaYMdVigXGGNm7-YOK2jwmikkTmK2hEkXlss5D-Y-LyuCsY1_7o-K4epyiuSytDFZkk-5fClwyCPqwiOH4/s1600-h/17022009060.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvzKeOW_f3RkCFiehVoBnc8E5KRab7LVDfATwn_eFGeBYKLXDYaypYHG3FqaYMdVigXGGNm7-YOK2jwmikkTmK2hEkXlss5D-Y-LyuCsY1_7o-K4epyiuSytDFZkk-5fClwyCPqwiOH4/s320/17022009060.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307696036383959474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLw0TD9Ah3iQcuAaCUDCUGOtx6-Pr_7ue3Sr59FJdFFjANWRAR4TZvkwvQHSDee4PsLzqkzBbf5YgS7HHskGeAYnrnjaqQCZRPlOmYRlalWVaI2WvxZ-kjVtUkXKUrG0o0GPbOL0d6Jk/s1600-h/17022009055.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvLw0TD9Ah3iQcuAaCUDCUGOtx6-Pr_7ue3Sr59FJdFFjANWRAR4TZvkwvQHSDee4PsLzqkzBbf5YgS7HHskGeAYnrnjaqQCZRPlOmYRlalWVaI2WvxZ-kjVtUkXKUrG0o0GPbOL0d6Jk/s320/17022009055.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307696026378604178" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYP25q-0rapF-5BquPywSmSKC0KlTjHM2DBr6WnpTzJaS9Ln3UHM6xouS_Ubbm7wQlR-4Q4FLTlmVfzFttWFukj2ndv7txVs_TDvtXATNWdvgTRPkw0UuetACzPs4Uj_YLXFzRqPEnRqw/s1600-h/15022009050.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYP25q-0rapF-5BquPywSmSKC0KlTjHM2DBr6WnpTzJaS9Ln3UHM6xouS_Ubbm7wQlR-4Q4FLTlmVfzFttWFukj2ndv7txVs_TDvtXATNWdvgTRPkw0UuetACzPs4Uj_YLXFzRqPEnRqw/s320/15022009050.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307696025502697602" /></a>Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-4289023199167725532009-02-09T21:24:00.002+13:002009-02-09T21:33:19.930+13:00Absent<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9m_oFKI1uQI0dNOxYxc3lxYK8QOpdnfU2vjZayRookeD7_L1QDMfSx8wxbZTi7HiKMrTzPCVjfKYcIb0GPNfUNtaclyPV562TNDoG0LHDKR5y4ZcY5jNmUpTG5WTxa8TVIetexBvZwE/s1600-h/CIMG1914.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9m_oFKI1uQI0dNOxYxc3lxYK8QOpdnfU2vjZayRookeD7_L1QDMfSx8wxbZTi7HiKMrTzPCVjfKYcIb0GPNfUNtaclyPV562TNDoG0LHDKR5y4ZcY5jNmUpTG5WTxa8TVIetexBvZwE/s320/CIMG1914.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300712871497464610" /></a><br />I've been absent for a while, and it's about to continue. Actually, can it be <span style="font-style:italic;">'about to continue'</span> if it never actually stopped?<br /><br />Anyway - due to the weather being hot, me being at the beach, me being at work and me being drunk I haven't been posting. And on Wednesday morning I'm off to begin shooting the food and wine show. Where it'll probably be hot, I'll probably get to a couple of beaches and I'll almost certainly be drunk at least some of the time. <br /><br />To all the very lovely Australian people that might stumble in here from time to time - I hope you and yours are all safe and well. I've donated to the Oz Red Cross and have bullied others into doing the same. Keep safe and my thoughts are with you.<br /><br />x<br /><br />MSimilar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-83607566992620577742009-01-29T21:22:00.005+13:002009-01-29T21:59:17.022+13:00More Air<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ml9WwIWFLy0sHg3F3_3BEVi1ZvgzJDe4EhoXpvDTqiPjqhednZ40Lsp6SU6Q2ZmMHJbqvf3-vOvwmHmYg13Zc97PXBOeYhGqQK5qJv30l560MNElFrSIkNmtaN2jCD4z84OWbk6wIeU/s1600-h/kids.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ml9WwIWFLy0sHg3F3_3BEVi1ZvgzJDe4EhoXpvDTqiPjqhednZ40Lsp6SU6Q2ZmMHJbqvf3-vOvwmHmYg13Zc97PXBOeYhGqQK5qJv30l560MNElFrSIkNmtaN2jCD4z84OWbk6wIeU/s320/kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296630910497660930" /></a><br />I went to a wedding on Saturday last. It was stunning. So very casual (I wore shorts and a rather smart white printed linen shirt) and yet so very appropriate. It's the second marriage for both bride and groom and they love each other with so much passion that it makes me a little jealous. More than a little actually. <br /><br />But that's not what this air is about. I had a conversation for the second time in a week (the first was at the wedding, hence the mention) this afternoon with my friend Ms K about kids names. <br /><br />I have mine picked out. <br /><br />Thomas, for a chap - after my maternal grandfather, <br />Kyra, for a chapette - after a name I heard that I really like. <br /><br />Is it just me or do other people (single, unmarried, no prospects etc...) have the names they want for their as to be conceived children already in place?<br /><br />Thoughts?<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(I took the the above pic at the wedding and it's of two daughters of friends. Gorgeous, well mannered kids. Who like swinging on trees.) </span>Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-79930912451912659622009-01-29T20:48:00.003+13:002009-01-29T20:59:31.821+13:00Air<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfny4ra5E_2Qhn8zuEoKKpAQ-tvNQ8bP5-qSC9VdxWI-FHe5mGlkyZSr_uOxqSj-bZVtZl_92ZM9qqfwhN_oQnA-5vmRB_z_lt-pMwfb3C95omLdWQbfpjtkYvLbuygZgtifppakdoHS4/s1600-h/wai.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfny4ra5E_2Qhn8zuEoKKpAQ-tvNQ8bP5-qSC9VdxWI-FHe5mGlkyZSr_uOxqSj-bZVtZl_92ZM9qqfwhN_oQnA-5vmRB_z_lt-pMwfb3C95omLdWQbfpjtkYvLbuygZgtifppakdoHS4/s320/wai.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296621662039713682" /></a><br />Many people can air guitar. Some can even do it well enough to win prizes at events for people who air guitar well enough to enter events where they might win prizes for air guitar. <br /><br />However, not many people can air drum.<br /><br />Just a thought. As I try to air drum. <br /><br />Another thought... is it possible I'm my own worst enemy? Is it possible that we're all our own worst enemy? Or do we all have a nemesis out there waiting behind a corner with a 'your life is fucked' gun?<br /><br />Just a thought.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-65229020758202595462009-01-19T17:48:00.006+13:002009-01-19T19:25:16.119+13:00VacateI've had a little ripper of a summer so far... trips up and down the country with people that I love and weather that has treated us to one of the best summers I can remember. Which is not saying much given that I usually spend summer in a vodka induced haze. Still, I've been lucky enough to have people there that can take some photos for me... So thank you to Ms J and Ms K. All the below pics were taken by them.<br />Luff you both lots.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJmoR6DHj51bKnKaWC9cXHtHuqofbqD2zPn8g79NWawAiVJT5Fq6r5lKSvp1s_T5BgAAFt38BuzVtbPfUIJ8dllFRsZF2RgCRzXTJ49QiFu9oWm6xCJXZ1eAKfhSCzW-oi9EPU1wzJeo/s1600-h/sounds3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJmoR6DHj51bKnKaWC9cXHtHuqofbqD2zPn8g79NWawAiVJT5Fq6r5lKSvp1s_T5BgAAFt38BuzVtbPfUIJ8dllFRsZF2RgCRzXTJ49QiFu9oWm6xCJXZ1eAKfhSCzW-oi9EPU1wzJeo/s320/sounds3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292864898074695170" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The jetty which I jumped off nude on New Years Eve. Forgetting that my friends were all sitting right where I'd have to climb up the ladder. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfT0AcHA0mz56aMKF1c79yh-aGWb6y-ruucXODei3WD-vukkI1yss9xEmmCRrBd7p5ejgj6VO0t5G4vKKgsLlhz3zCFeTlrzN7Nex1X4Y0mI0gbFqz4p94uuo_meGmhprtjRjrZNxUpg/s1600-h/sounds2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 237px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfT0AcHA0mz56aMKF1c79yh-aGWb6y-ruucXODei3WD-vukkI1yss9xEmmCRrBd7p5ejgj6VO0t5G4vKKgsLlhz3zCFeTlrzN7Nex1X4Y0mI0gbFqz4p94uuo_meGmhprtjRjrZNxUpg/s320/sounds2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292864565715708338" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">View from the water back up to the bach in the top left of the picture.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnp1aZoBn8md13lfX-moUM_zUEx7B7mSZc5_cTGnk19Nhhjs1cTpHcpTKbVBhwfB4U1yCEpC21We0UP5IJomUhNXV1zrZo2mNpQ6L5pwTeFa3ROEqBFxD6Ats3KKVxW5C48SZRNNjvNE/s1600-h/reader.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnp1aZoBn8md13lfX-moUM_zUEx7B7mSZc5_cTGnk19Nhhjs1cTpHcpTKbVBhwfB4U1yCEpC21We0UP5IJomUhNXV1zrZo2mNpQ6L5pwTeFa3ROEqBFxD6Ats3KKVxW5C48SZRNNjvNE/s320/reader.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292864104969260946" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I can read, drink wine and relax... all at the same time. Who said men can't multi-task?</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_916rUNgUiDttsmEtVO2F96ycZvcjEhf17feDyT5UBVIQrHLoazxHOu374LTlUEa1aFtUsCPci2zwVKF2z4iMbiusqFeFkVM2kkVxrATXHyjza6jNv06JU8FzvoTjbgOWja_6a_D5rGA/s1600-h/sounds1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_916rUNgUiDttsmEtVO2F96ycZvcjEhf17feDyT5UBVIQrHLoazxHOu374LTlUEa1aFtUsCPci2zwVKF2z4iMbiusqFeFkVM2kkVxrATXHyjza6jNv06JU8FzvoTjbgOWja_6a_D5rGA/s320/sounds1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292863565685999778" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">View from the deck of the bach we were staying at in the Marlborough Sounds...</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_ktFE7o-R3fLIxWW7TtqAef8zD6gnvq_1npqqSMtbA1s3VAwm_p6Kpib91SZO6jN09f8EyLxO7Zd-HVOd1wjIDF5pdK9nq-fhJ7RKyB56tbQLccbkhP8uKnOpnlTyWfl0pmUVeIw1b4/s1600-h/car.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_ktFE7o-R3fLIxWW7TtqAef8zD6gnvq_1npqqSMtbA1s3VAwm_p6Kpib91SZO6jN09f8EyLxO7Zd-HVOd1wjIDF5pdK9nq-fhJ7RKyB56tbQLccbkhP8uKnOpnlTyWfl0pmUVeIw1b4/s320/car.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292863204837128322" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">My little car... 1967 Triumph Herald convertible... drove north with the top down and got a wee bit sunburnt.</span>Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-67164852278902298152009-01-13T19:49:00.006+13:002009-01-13T22:58:31.351+13:00Add More Cream<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYG3Z3SRwAevihX7q6lEUmkJxK1-e1C7xDzPB6wH_LGpfhpBvQxcfbrW6vyfBwOX5EOsm7QD6tdBE_NRpOfXVXWPgaUdDDwsuwZ2A8GdofVLoeg8dZO_QP6E7b-W_B5VM9X4rJrUu2Qw/s1600-h/berry.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYG3Z3SRwAevihX7q6lEUmkJxK1-e1C7xDzPB6wH_LGpfhpBvQxcfbrW6vyfBwOX5EOsm7QD6tdBE_NRpOfXVXWPgaUdDDwsuwZ2A8GdofVLoeg8dZO_QP6E7b-W_B5VM9X4rJrUu2Qw/s320/berry.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290675753949552722" /></a><br />A couple of months ago I decided to plant a seed. Several seeds in fact. And these weren't metaphorical seeds either. They're the real deal baby. <br /><br />So into the ground (planters actually... I've had to move too many times to actually put things in a piece of land I might not be around in a few months) went tomatoes, basil, mint, parsley, coriander, some stuff I found outside my house that looked like seeds, thyme and some raspberry bushes. <br /><br />Oh my sweet baby Al Gore - my raspberry bushes. They've given me a green finger boner. Sorry, a little graphic but still... <br /><br />Ok, ewww. <br /><br />Aaanyway - havng harvested my crop of raspberries I had to work out what to do with them. I like cooking. I'm pretty good at it if I do say so myself. Somewhere along the path I learnt how to make the perfect creme brulee... Many have been made, but none with a crop from my own seed... ha ha ha... sorry I'm more than a little drunk. <br />He he...seed. <br /><br />So - creme brulee then. Here's my recipe. Got it from a chef in my home town that had made the best one I'd ever tasted. I bought him the worlds biggest mojito and got him pissed. Eventually he gave it up. <br /><br /> 8 egg yolks<br /> 1/3 cup plain white sugar<br /> 2 cups cream<br /> seeds of one vanilla pod<br /> 1/4 cup castor sugar (for the tops)<br /> 1 cup raspberries (also for the tops)<br /><br />Preheat oven to 150 celcius. Whisk together the egg yolks and sugar until the sugar has dissolved and the mixture is thick and pale yellow. Pale yellow like a jaundiced sailor. Add the cream and vanilla seeds, continue to whisk until it's well blended. Strain it into a bowl, skimming off any foam or bubbles. This is important... air will kill it like a ninja kills the advertising execs in charge of the coca cola account. <br /><br />Divide the mixture among 6 ramekins. Place the ramekins in a water bath and bake until set around the edges, but still loose in the center, about 50 to 60 minutes (it might be more depending on your oven... my oven at the moment takes about 70 minutes to get them just right). Remove from the oven and leave in the water bath until they're cooled. Remove cups from water bath and chill for at least 2 hours, or up to 2 days. I've got the best ones after leaving them for about 12 hours but up to you...<br /><br />When you're ready to serve, sprinkle a handfull of raspberries over the brulee and push them in just a little... don't be too heavy like Heavy D. Then cover those bad boy berries with about 2 teaspoons of castor sugar (or however much you like, I like a thick crusty crunch so I go all Michael J Fox on the sugar...) Now go freakin nuts with the blow torch. I swear, the burning makes the combo of the castor sugar and the natural sugars in the berries make a caramel that will make a midget taller. <br /><br />And that's it bitches. <br /><br />Is it any wonder I'm directing a food show in a few weeks, which is also going to be on Channel 7 for our Australian audience too I just found out today! <br /><br />Yay, as I skip around my lounge. <br /><br />I really need to stop skipping.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(this is for Ms P, who's blog inspires and who couldn't make a bad cupcake if she had a loaded midget held to her head. Or so I've heard.)</span>Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-3046627796867916892009-01-12T19:17:00.007+13:002009-01-12T20:23:55.451+13:00Step Lively<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4_LG7o0mD5tyGT-z_DfH-0J3tn7vcegIl0zOUJZBiaTMmGC1xfllO4aXL_ZpqWmRHx2wqJPpxijRF8qpEfSGr_qN4y1rkhm0U-oL-bLtfiMKxX1DpMv9PeeBny1bySfP_LnJS7RdoFM/s1600-h/arch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4_LG7o0mD5tyGT-z_DfH-0J3tn7vcegIl0zOUJZBiaTMmGC1xfllO4aXL_ZpqWmRHx2wqJPpxijRF8qpEfSGr_qN4y1rkhm0U-oL-bLtfiMKxX1DpMv9PeeBny1bySfP_LnJS7RdoFM/s320/arch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290296634695701458" /></a><br />The past reflects. It reflects who we are. Who I am, who I am to you and who you are to me. It also guides us. Shows us a path to take, or not to take. Paths are funny things. Some have cliffs on either side and they fall all the way down. Other paths have sunshine and scattered light, and if you fall it's onto a bed of memories and laughter. <br /><br />I'm on a memory trip down a certain path at the moment, while trying hard to remember all the paths I've walked before. I'm trying to remember that language can be used to provoke or criticise, or to embrace or comfort. I'm trying to remember all.<br /><br />After Ms MJ gave my personality a thorough dissection weeks ago my confidence took a sharp dip. Into some cold and deep water. It shouldn't have, but it still went deep and dark. The year 2008 was the toughest of my professional and personal lfe and it is with my greatest feeling that I want 2009 to be different in so many ways. So I've decided to walk slowly. Take the path that seems to call. <br /><br />Love can occasionally be a brutal thing. When I've been with someone for a length of time sometimes my heart starts to feel like an overcrowded lifeboat. I throw my pride out to keep it afloat, and then my self-respect and then my independence. After a while the only next step is to start throwing out people I love. My friends, my family, everyone I used to know. The lifeboat is going down and I know it's going to take me down with it. <br /><br />So, no more. Never, ever say no to love, or to the opportunity to love. But walk the right path. The one that has memories and laughter on either side. And the farther on that path I walk, the more memories and laughter are created. <br /><br /><br /><br />I think we all deserve that. <br /><br />I know I do.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-13647967872149625862009-01-12T19:03:00.002+13:002009-01-12T19:12:47.876+13:00Smiling Is Easy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAH6ObF7sKK5EoVvX9XsR7a-wUnqGwliG0tIRzxU5IP849cc4iT3JKbyYIkzjT2E2l_Kqmt1yGbwjAvtDKofR4481cAiwSff-WB5_tJGIj-eumb9pkrILSkUA1VelJWXscCgOlUoi2OwY/s1600-h/tarf+today.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAH6ObF7sKK5EoVvX9XsR7a-wUnqGwliG0tIRzxU5IP849cc4iT3JKbyYIkzjT2E2l_Kqmt1yGbwjAvtDKofR4481cAiwSff-WB5_tJGIj-eumb9pkrILSkUA1VelJWXscCgOlUoi2OwY/s320/tarf+today.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290286218187310642" /></a><br />Her hand was resting in the curve of my arm, near the elbow. The touch was exactly the same as the touch of a lover's hand should be. But we weren't, aren't, weren't, aren't... I felt an almost irresistible urge to take her hand and place it flat against my chest, near my heart. Maybe I should have done it. I know she would have laughed if I'd done it. So we held the stare. <br /><br />And the stare is where it stays. For now. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">- the above photo is from this morning. I did a runner out of town and went surfing. Should have been writing. Surfing seemed like much more fun. </span>Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-85194456557158596822009-01-04T12:24:00.004+13:002009-01-04T12:31:42.530+13:00Wisdom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5UdWw5Twk7VSn0za5f-d8Ygf1sdYVhre2W9M5JF_nejijCD-28k5Mms7geiqH0uDEgi9UkwhsS-vL4bzV2jsb3vskU_tAiJ9qjLY80fI0OklUavL66Qeu2vqNto6PKSxQljyGfSN4ibc/s1600-h/2420095227_c6b2075b93.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5UdWw5Twk7VSn0za5f-d8Ygf1sdYVhre2W9M5JF_nejijCD-28k5Mms7geiqH0uDEgi9UkwhsS-vL4bzV2jsb3vskU_tAiJ9qjLY80fI0OklUavL66Qeu2vqNto6PKSxQljyGfSN4ibc/s320/2420095227_c6b2075b93.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287213957481121074" /></a><br />Watching an Eddie Izzard dvd last night I was reminded of my favourite legend of all time...<br /><br />Basically the 3 wisest men in the land were asked by the king to write a <br />definitive history of the known world. They did. 24 volumes. It was the first encyclopaedia. The king said it was too long, could they make it shorter? A year later they came back with one volume... too long still, said the king. Another year later they came back with one piece of parchment. <br />On that parchment was written the condensed knowledge of the known world. The parchment had one line written on it.<br /><br />"This too shall pass".<br /><br />A great line to think of when you might not be feeling so flash.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-80069932971903513682009-01-03T20:43:00.005+13:002009-01-04T12:24:09.161+13:00Mistakes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQVRUa4TPHbOXO-IswE4KOJCHmCh88BTTQyMHZRtQv02IfRA85qNe0cKIASwvADPqyklqiZkeA2oTxciM9dymzGKyEQRiutzqTqwibsPCrYTyRw2Q3_BjpcrEfy_MtUpVtDaVtuTCa-w/s1600-h/tutakaka_bay_lg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQVRUa4TPHbOXO-IswE4KOJCHmCh88BTTQyMHZRtQv02IfRA85qNe0cKIASwvADPqyklqiZkeA2oTxciM9dymzGKyEQRiutzqTqwibsPCrYTyRw2Q3_BjpcrEfy_MtUpVtDaVtuTCa-w/s320/tutakaka_bay_lg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286975729551803570" /></a><br />Someone once said to me,'it's always a mistake to be alone with someone you shouldn't have loved'. I can't recall who it was that said it, but they were probably in a loving and stable relationship when they said it, so I probably punched them in the face for being smug, profound and correct all at the same time. No one likes a smart arse. <br /><br />The wise, sultry and lovely Kimba has asked about dating and what people want... oh boy... oh dear...<br /><br />The comments on her site are for the most part brilliantly honest and true (aside from mine of course, which was my inner 14 year old boy typing for me), which has lead me to wonder today, what the hell am I looking for? <br /><br />At Christmas my Mum told me in a moment driven by two glasses of wine that I should marry either one of two of my best girlfriends. Then on Christmas day my Dad decided to have a man-to-man chat about how my life was going off the rails because I'm in a creative industry that offers no security and by the way when are you going to meet a nice girl and marry her and settle down and calm down etc etc etc...<br /><br />I adore my parents. They've bailed me out financially, emotionally and physically (I got stuck in a sinking boat) over all my life. That's not why I adore them though. The reason I adore them is that they are the most in love couple I've ever met. Ever. Married 36 years this year and my Dad still can not sleep if my Mum is away. Her job takes her overseas twice a year and twice a year I get phone calls from Dad at 7am, 2am, 11pm, 2pm and so on... I want that love. Everyone deserves that love. They've worked so hard at it but it's there, still. <br /><br />Wow, random post. <br /><br />I should get a girlfriend. <br /><br />Or do the dishes.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-81047062540750350682008-12-25T11:27:00.002+13:002008-12-25T11:31:41.069+13:00Merry Fricking Christmas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_b4nY_e6qBsRj6lYiJZ21W5WJi7rmNnOpw7ufdQJfpE7BiWJBIbs-mGEcklVMWua6sfa5h-6BFqONyYIuQLYRy-LQa0jZdJe8IIVTmDXAGnoQayt73YoBhcAe-yRknmVb07kHwBsWREg/s1600-h/pohutukawa-flowers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_b4nY_e6qBsRj6lYiJZ21W5WJi7rmNnOpw7ufdQJfpE7BiWJBIbs-mGEcklVMWua6sfa5h-6BFqONyYIuQLYRy-LQa0jZdJe8IIVTmDXAGnoQayt73YoBhcAe-yRknmVb07kHwBsWREg/s320/pohutukawa-flowers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283487698595655250" /></a><br />To all that I know from this little place... I hope your day is a little bit lovely.<br /><br />Chrissy Kisses.<br /><br />MattSimilar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-69071660050615793052008-12-18T20:39:00.003+13:002008-12-18T21:24:14.745+13:00I just squished a mosquito<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZzOFh6IiJfOd0sUo5rvgpXberoDme_cHGdJRbVu8_WMEgZyTOWdgKmuiII5ZehSG3tAz36RtEjtjuKl8xDmwhni2SB2SSJ9BaqV6om_x21HPZg16zJaGSDVy4hLRn0rcmE6AezoBPmY/s1600-h/hat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 108px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZzOFh6IiJfOd0sUo5rvgpXberoDme_cHGdJRbVu8_WMEgZyTOWdgKmuiII5ZehSG3tAz36RtEjtjuKl8xDmwhni2SB2SSJ9BaqV6om_x21HPZg16zJaGSDVy4hLRn0rcmE6AezoBPmY/s320/hat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281042089831665202" /></a><br />The title of this post has absolutely no bearing on its subject, but I just squished a mozzie and I'm rather pleased about it. <br /><br />My last post was about those three little words. "I Love You'. Those three words make up my favourite phrase in the entire english language. They can reduce a person to the depths of crusty loneliness, or they can raise a person to heights achieved only by the most magnificient pavlova.<br /><br />Turns out not so much for me with the three little words. In a conversation on Monday morning I was told (among other things) that; <span style="font-style:italic;">'your friends think that you're immature, offensive and annoying'</span>... <span style="font-style:italic;">'you think you're funny, but in fact you're just rude'</span>... and my personal favourite, '<span style="font-style:italic;">if you were like this around my friends they would cut you down and you would embarrass me</span>'. <br /><br />Now, the fact that I can't be arsed spell checking 'embarassed' shouldn't count against me. <br /><br />This conversation on Monday morning that really shook me. Not just figuratively. I called my good friend Ms Coventry about an hour after the fact and I was shaking. For a good twenty five minutes my personality was dissected and torn apart. And I shook. <br /><br />I don't hurt easily, but this woman who just a few short days ago had told me that she loved me had decided the my personality, the thing that makes me, well, me, was something that needed drastic changes. I'm in favour of change. I change pants, t-shirt and breakfast cereal almost every other day. But having someone tell you that your personality needs to change... I'm more likely to start creating artistic tea towels featuring tasteful nudes of well known chefs. Not a bad idea come to think of it. <br /><br />I won't speak badly of her. Not even after she made me shake. She has issues with her body image. Massive issues. First five weeks - lights out sex. No exception. Whenever she got out of bed I was told to look away. Jeans and large tops were the clothes of choice, whatever the occasion. She was not an overweight girl. Sexy, confident and clever. Didn't like herself a whole bunch though... But, I liked her. Would have loved her. With all of me.<br /><br />I've been writing scripts this week for a new food and wine show that I'm directing and cutting, so I haven't really let myself think about the whole thing yet... I sent my final drafts for episodes 1-4 to the producer this afternoon so tonight I'm going to drink enough to kill any thoughts that I have, might have, will ever have. <br /><br />I'm newly 34 years old. And I have friends that don't think I'm offensive. <br /><br />I'm chucking that on my CV.<br /><br />Before I pass out. <br /><br />Anyone know any single women?Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-18327372257306743812008-12-04T20:56:00.002+13:002008-12-04T21:01:27.477+13:00Love Me Tender, Or Slightly Tough<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6gYhv-Nr3aUqOFTlj2lFSa1end31T_wUnQUaBE3-HG5toEXZbv3BLPp6s1WFUodHU_jDtCAmGqWS7B7T5J7G-Z4S5eanengkRD-a9CkAZ6vv07EcNmcFsk5l_pMg2yUGibEbn-7dF9M/s1600-h/waves18.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6gYhv-Nr3aUqOFTlj2lFSa1end31T_wUnQUaBE3-HG5toEXZbv3BLPp6s1WFUodHU_jDtCAmGqWS7B7T5J7G-Z4S5eanengkRD-a9CkAZ6vv07EcNmcFsk5l_pMg2yUGibEbn-7dF9M/s320/waves18.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275841963911316370" /></a><br />I had those words spoken to me a couple of days ago... you know the ones... there's three of them. They start with 'I' and end with 'love you'. <br /><br />Where to from here? <br /><br />No fucking idea.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-89845243675207234762008-12-01T18:24:00.004+13:002008-12-01T18:44:57.154+13:00A Post In Two Parts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZnzXIGYMN11_muDqMbP1m9xo8zvJzgU0h9y6VvrpXrZD3Oqyu9QLtfbnNoPfqjz7lTxCpgAGcCgRzJSfGjOuXWrXeMJaqxjD8qrN6Lyw_z7ck50tyhatAYdEM7sI0h8gLuW3Lu6LbCc/s1600-h/b5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZnzXIGYMN11_muDqMbP1m9xo8zvJzgU0h9y6VvrpXrZD3Oqyu9QLtfbnNoPfqjz7lTxCpgAGcCgRzJSfGjOuXWrXeMJaqxjD8qrN6Lyw_z7ck50tyhatAYdEM7sI0h8gLuW3Lu6LbCc/s320/b5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274693518048193106" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLjbvEk-6Mf1o3pc-8tyOCnrzwKUlmNfbh0yAFkavgIGgn_MsUiwMZx0rDVKzLnflCQ-SsFJY4RQA6z8WLVF2DmqSpzU4v2FIPXuVmqtEU3Co0la8vWhp_J6QjvAJD32zBqfi7qEICWI/s1600-h/b4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLjbvEk-6Mf1o3pc-8tyOCnrzwKUlmNfbh0yAFkavgIGgn_MsUiwMZx0rDVKzLnflCQ-SsFJY4RQA6z8WLVF2DmqSpzU4v2FIPXuVmqtEU3Co0la8vWhp_J6QjvAJD32zBqfi7qEICWI/s320/b4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274693361040646530" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtIARtix0i4jcEVkllUoSvSbpaEXcaxVfAArDAEsk1zdqJj7P1Hm-g-Az0LbmUJ1BQDOQn56dXPzcZsgQae9sFPML9gW2NYIDThb2XOzyK-S6Q_WNaSQPbeFgB53uy8XB3SWfL1cTY7c/s1600-h/b3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtIARtix0i4jcEVkllUoSvSbpaEXcaxVfAArDAEsk1zdqJj7P1Hm-g-Az0LbmUJ1BQDOQn56dXPzcZsgQae9sFPML9gW2NYIDThb2XOzyK-S6Q_WNaSQPbeFgB53uy8XB3SWfL1cTY7c/s320/b3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274693165030447074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VoMLHJv51GloAdWmsaiwJEMTvv9TizT8ZQ5DkQws_vYWPdgXb1dygG0jKsFfHUcxJ24kYLvNxyVz37H8NMy-MGVSaykilNlcXkL6xBzMPmTvKxQXDNkyNteOAu2dv79yK-gj4SHUkh0/s1600-h/b2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VoMLHJv51GloAdWmsaiwJEMTvv9TizT8ZQ5DkQws_vYWPdgXb1dygG0jKsFfHUcxJ24kYLvNxyVz37H8NMy-MGVSaykilNlcXkL6xBzMPmTvKxQXDNkyNteOAu2dv79yK-gj4SHUkh0/s320/b2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274692886386264450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXC_SAXJzJNV87v7Th7cM4ci1aBN-I_YTyysC-ghKzUpYcvzgU-XKQr6D5owYvDzyjRycgplZMdGNZKNEVjZJhTplcGYQNA_QTuZLMrJtiXyi7h8vzvpX-pICnhADkWRJ26FEocIn2NH4/s1600-h/b1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXC_SAXJzJNV87v7Th7cM4ci1aBN-I_YTyysC-ghKzUpYcvzgU-XKQr6D5owYvDzyjRycgplZMdGNZKNEVjZJhTplcGYQNA_QTuZLMrJtiXyi7h8vzvpX-pICnhADkWRJ26FEocIn2NH4/s320/b1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274692715798299698" /></a><br />Firstly - I've had a few requests for pics of my new place from overseas folk, so here, courtesy of my reliable phone camera are a few of the lounge, kitchen and of course, my piano. The exposure aint great coz I really just couldn't be arsed, but you get the idea... Lots of space, lots of open plan type styles and plenty of wood. <br /><br />I swear, there is not a better phone camera on the market then my darling Nokia N95. 5 megapix and it forgives me when I cheat on it with my Canon SLR. Geek info over.<br /><br />Second part - moving... you know what happens... you clear out a few drawers and discover thngs you haven't seen in years. I bumped into an old love letter from a girl that broke my heart, and frankly for a girl that shattered me, she said some very nice things. Girls are complicated. <br /><br />I also came across a piece of writing I did a couple of years ago. I used to be the movie reviewer, and television editor, for a New Zealands biggest music and lifestyle magazine. It's called Rip It Up, and while I stopped writing for them about a year ago I loved the whole process.<br /><br />Aaanyway - moving... I found a review that I wrote that the mag refused, kindly, but still refused, to publish. So fuck it. Here it is. The movie has come and gone but I still kinda like the complete and utter nonsense that this review is... See below.<br /><br /><br /><br />300 <br />By Similar Simian <br /><br />The Flick<br /><br />I just saw a movie that’ll give your eyes boners, make your balls scream and make you poop DVD copies of The Transporter. It’s called 300. I don’t know what the title has to do with the movie, but they could’ve called it Kittens Making Candles and it’d still rule.<br /><br />It’s about these 300 Greek dudes who stomp the sugar-coated shit out of like a million other dudes. I have a feeling that a lot of sports coaches are going to show this film to their teams before they play. Also, gay dudes and divorced women are going to use screen captures for computer wallpaper.<br /><br />Two cool things about the movie and one thing I didn’t like - <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cool Thing 1</span><br />Heavy metal during battle scenes - Who gives a shit if the music isn’t historically correct? Lord Of The Rings could’ve used some Guns n Roses. This movie has that chu-chung! kind of metal that you hear in your head when your 17 year old boss at Caltex is telling you that you’ll have to stay for clean up and you wish you had a sock filled with rocks in your hand.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cool Thing 2</span><br />Foes, Mini Bosses and a Big Boss - Basically, the Greek dudes are fighting these Persian dudes, but the director does it all like a video game. The Greeks fight every death metal video from the last ten years. There’s wave after wave of giants, freaks, ninjas, mutants, wizards, and a hunchback who looks like he’s got Paul Holmes on his back. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Not So Cool Thing</span><br />Dude Nudity (or Dud-ity) - These are Greek times, when there were a lot of naked women around. And there are some naked women in this film, but almost every naked woman scene has a muscular dude giving the screen ass lunch. Dude-ity is something directors put in their movies so people will think they’re serious, I guess, and not just throwing in naked hotties. <br />Any directors reading this – IT’S OKAY TO JUST THROW IN NAKED HOTTIES. <br />My final analysis is 300 the most ass-ruling movie I’ve seen this year, and will probably be the King of 2007 unless someone makes a movie where a pair of sentient boobs fights a werewolf.<br />10/10Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-24076175315969381492008-11-26T20:15:00.004+13:002008-11-26T23:57:21.475+13:00Diggity Dog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0XI4w4fESTGYpl3FcCXBjDpu-Fe-OKzjoyYhmBo7lI1AFIysJzOV_rEw23ghT310Wq5pI9H2az6xS0uVOafCzSQCauc2XudfYJ_YdI-Ns0D43WRlbLT0vMO-cNxnj8hyphenhyphenqI1UxB7iaGA/s1600-h/dog2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0XI4w4fESTGYpl3FcCXBjDpu-Fe-OKzjoyYhmBo7lI1AFIysJzOV_rEw23ghT310Wq5pI9H2az6xS0uVOafCzSQCauc2XudfYJ_YdI-Ns0D43WRlbLT0vMO-cNxnj8hyphenhyphenqI1UxB7iaGA/s320/dog2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272864172091006146" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxYzamD2fvxbH96sG2ullGngy6n_bOvwa0hzD9VSQuyeTE9GpmUvak5TSkpEyJJGKs1_YJOuB_eyxY-K1BPjvjt1TGVs3nXAFwsjW5ZMXL7mY7pHUOr5PMdleqxk31RBXb0QCxukrHETQ/s1600-h/dog1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxYzamD2fvxbH96sG2ullGngy6n_bOvwa0hzD9VSQuyeTE9GpmUvak5TSkpEyJJGKs1_YJOuB_eyxY-K1BPjvjt1TGVs3nXAFwsjW5ZMXL7mY7pHUOr5PMdleqxk31RBXb0QCxukrHETQ/s320/dog1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272864009421793490" /></a><br />I moved 3 weeks ago. Not only did I manage to move into a place that actually feels like home, but I also inherited a dog. He belongs to a guy down the street that doesn't seem to look after him at all well. That being said he's a healthy, happy fella and I love havin him around. <br /><br />One of the conditions of my getting the lease on this place was that I would look after the dog. The owner of the house I'm renting, let's call her Jane because that is in fact her name, had been taking care of him for the last year or so. When I came to look at the place - right now I should point out that when I moved, I moved two doors up the street... really... used to live at #23, now live at #19... but I digress - when I came to look at the place, bottle of good Sav Blanc in hand she made it clear that as long as I would look after the mutt I could live in her house. <br /><br />Given that I love dogs it was not a stretch to promise that I'd throw things, put water in things, ladle food into things and generally become a de facto dog owner. <br /><br />Meet Jack. The Golden Retriever that doesn't retrieve but sure does like having his belly scratched. Mind you, so do I.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-20831307399944632052008-11-25T19:38:00.003+13:002008-11-25T20:08:40.150+13:00It's been a while, and you still look the same...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhcYTvk6O_ryxrnnqsG0z94GDvMzDcCeMx2Lq5pLpDn6SrPZdNpEby1KqlG63VlRuXXPIIZQN3kolv-MO8HEr7GQjhPRKdKnwu7_mws9nB-9S4h2lhEb41nItzo-jzishZazd8w3pynU/s1600-h/fest.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhcYTvk6O_ryxrnnqsG0z94GDvMzDcCeMx2Lq5pLpDn6SrPZdNpEby1KqlG63VlRuXXPIIZQN3kolv-MO8HEr7GQjhPRKdKnwu7_mws9nB-9S4h2lhEb41nItzo-jzishZazd8w3pynU/s320/fest.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272487975086567794" /></a><br />So here I am. <br /><br />Back once again with the renegade master. <br /><br />A year older. I had a birthday last week. To all those that sent cards and presents, thank you. Which is to say thank you to none of you. That hurt my insides. Actually what probably hurt my insides is the cocktails and substances and dancing like a cirque de soliel dancer. It should be noted here that I dance brilliantly. My hips have a life of their own. Quite often they won't return home until long after I've gone to bed. <br /><br />Everything aside, I've missed posting here. I like the fact that what I think and put to paper (?) is read by people that I have come to like and admire. While I haven't been posting or commenting I have been keeping up with ya'll, and I feel very priveledged and honoured that some of you have been asking where I am and how I am.<br /><br />Truth is I'm not great and I don't want to go into it. So there. <br /><br />I'm still trying to fight crime with sexy results, I'm still trying to send incontinent intercontinental ninja florists, I'm still trying to replace lightbulbs while spattering by bed covers in ever more interesting patterns of blood, I'm still falling over myself trying to fall in love and I'm still walking that fine, fine line between beauty and the beauty of truth. <br /><br />So, all you talented folk who have gievn me your time to read my ramblings... cheers. I am back. <br /><br />Older, slightly thinner and more confused that ever before. Now if that ain't a movie poster I don't know what is.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-51541756787310762302008-10-30T22:27:00.002+13:002008-10-30T22:51:25.846+13:00Broken<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKegica0LT-QE0KXGd8KLA92D5VKfL8D-jdNzgUzPmtSamDidQz8NnnYpsN0P8fkT819AtZ8paarfMcb9KTMjVIIRgVgu9JtDHsp-K-C14WEnzZ1DgPX7j2s_nhocewu_zqWdXX2q5WE/s1600-h/fac.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 70px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKegica0LT-QE0KXGd8KLA92D5VKfL8D-jdNzgUzPmtSamDidQz8NnnYpsN0P8fkT819AtZ8paarfMcb9KTMjVIIRgVgu9JtDHsp-K-C14WEnzZ1DgPX7j2s_nhocewu_zqWdXX2q5WE/s320/fac.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262882287936828706" /></a><br />I'm broken. Tired, stressed and broken. <br /><br />Ain't posted in an age due to new girl stress, work stress, finding new house stress, drinking waaaaay too much stress, smoking every cigarette I can get my hands on and generally fretting stress.<br /><br />I can't do it anymore. Any of it. <br /><br />Want to quit work, want to quit the girl, want to quit the drink and the cigarettes (obviously some of these things are not entirely a bad idea...) and most of all I really want to quit being the person that I've become. <br /><br />How is it, and why is it that we end up being... sorry, that <span style="font-weight:bold;">I</span> end up being someone completely different than the person I know I am? This has been the hardest two years of my life and I would love to believe the adage of whatever don't kill ya makes you a ninja, but frankly, I'm not wearing cotton pajamas, kicking people in the face and killing pandas with my brain. Ninjas can do that you know...<br /><br />I've talked myself into being with the girl, I think. I've certainly talked myself into doing the job producing and directing the tele show that I don't want to do but will pay rent and bills but is causing me to squeeze my metaphorical insides like a tube of toothpaste. I've been ignoring my friend who I adore and I really, really don't feel like having sex. Even with myself. Or another person. Which is unusual. I rather like sex. Especially with another person.<br /><br />Being a rather selfish, yet giving person (I'm a complicated contradiction) I really don't know how to deal at the moment. I'd quite like to run away, but I don't trust anyone to look after my piano properly, and I'd probably only run as far as my local bar anyway. But I can't. I'm moving house on Sunday after shooting the first episode of the new show on Saturday and then editing it on Monday for a Wednesday on-air date. <br /><br />I'm freeeeeeaking out.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-82649134770579258562008-10-16T20:28:00.004+13:002008-10-16T21:10:45.122+13:00I Need a Nap. Or a Fatal Beating.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipVawOvWq6-1wxhPRTDn74tDSbsY7Cri-vT-gw4pzAGdTD5lCXAQpvs0VaMlA3FfFRhIerBCng-gBoYNjP0AziHSTIaYeXNOyd_XtqPyXp1Mh7Py01buRgMYL5HdQFD7_JK3Yd1BEcu8/s1600-h/piha.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipVawOvWq6-1wxhPRTDn74tDSbsY7Cri-vT-gw4pzAGdTD5lCXAQpvs0VaMlA3FfFRhIerBCng-gBoYNjP0AziHSTIaYeXNOyd_XtqPyXp1Mh7Py01buRgMYL5HdQFD7_JK3Yd1BEcu8/s320/piha.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257656917115226066" /></a><br />We walked through the evening crowds, loving the faces, loving the laughter, loving the perfumes of skin and hair. Loving the feel of this woman on my arm. And yet I was alone, far too alone with my love of this town and my growing feelings and fears of this woman. <br /><br />Sooner or later fate puts us together with all the people, one by one. It shows us what we could, what we could not, what we should and should not, let ourselves become. Sooner or later we meet the drunkard, the wasted, the betrayer, the ruthless mind and the hate filled heart. But fate, bless it, loads the dice, because I always find myself pitying almost all these people. And it's almost impossible to despise someone you honestly pity, almost as much as it's impossible to shun someone you love. <br /><br />Love is on my mind. <br /><br />Sex is also on my mind.<br /><br />Freud said that we're motivated by the drive for sex. Another well respected gentleman disagreed, Dr Adler said we're motivated by the drive for power. Yet another, Dr Victor Frankle, he said sex and power were important drives, but when you can't get either one - no sex, and no power - there's still something else that keeps driving us. The drive for meaning.<br /><br />I believe that in my life the drive for sex, the drive for power, the drive for meaning... they're all part and parcel of the same motivation. I just wish I knew what that was. I want to quantify it and boil it down and grab it in two hands and keep it in an open box to study it. <br /><br />Things are slightly off centre in a very new relationship, and if it's off centre this soon... well... <br /><br />I think too much.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-68385024362250268432008-10-06T20:37:00.003+13:002008-10-06T21:05:57.033+13:00Friday Night Lights<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHzgxPHznlpg-e9tezCp0KHAWUbHr5fJ-KaDUnCprwJlZlgVPfUdHtKFL1Zvz4KavKrhdJCiAB8v1pG3ifIPwuEKQa7vR2C0YuaxWs0qa6CO94-dF-WnpKMN-vRexoseYeItCfemBU3M/s1600-h/hdr_aucklandNight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHzgxPHznlpg-e9tezCp0KHAWUbHr5fJ-KaDUnCprwJlZlgVPfUdHtKFL1Zvz4KavKrhdJCiAB8v1pG3ifIPwuEKQa7vR2C0YuaxWs0qa6CO94-dF-WnpKMN-vRexoseYeItCfemBU3M/s320/hdr_aucklandNight.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253946120475580882" /></a><br />Friday night. Ms MJ picks me up for date number two. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">CUT TO</span><br /><br />Saturday night. Taxi drops me back at my place after dark. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">FADE TO BLACK</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">REVEAL...</span><br /><br />Her good friends hold a party. Many people. None I know. Doesn't bother me, that situation never has. Vodka is poured, conversations exchanged, laughter. There's a kiss. She cuts me a line of something. I inhale. There's dancing and more vodka and more laughter and another secret, quiet, yet shattering kiss. The sun is coming up. Another line is put in front of me. I inhale. Music changes, from rhythmic dance to James Brown telling the world he's a sex machine. More vodka, more laughter, more conversations, someone takes out a camera. An embrace on the deck, a whispered letter to each other. The sun is fully up. Sunglasses go on. The music goes on. <br /><br />An invitation... come with me back to mine... I go. We sleep. Her wrapped in me. We wake. We laugh. There's a golden number of kisses. Conversation flows easily. I leave for my own home. As I leave she speaks. I want to see you again very badly. Those words of hers are mine forever now. I can hear them. <br /><br />It's easy. All I have to do is close my eyes.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739456752842792812.post-40613126966939341132008-10-02T22:50:00.003+13:002008-10-02T23:34:58.264+13:00Close<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMmpHgmfMyTRj9LYJU6yn65A0g2XqYqNoiaBSKfL8OJXciqchan_3K8RqgXQeA9OM5w4D3jzgEIuFzpTDkhqmibb_S4qU-RQpn1AoCM-hl6PWRMQci7phmFOJanZLp2M7Ki1AbvEcVvU/s1600-h/costa_rica_07-06_517.22870634_std.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMmpHgmfMyTRj9LYJU6yn65A0g2XqYqNoiaBSKfL8OJXciqchan_3K8RqgXQeA9OM5w4D3jzgEIuFzpTDkhqmibb_S4qU-RQpn1AoCM-hl6PWRMQci7phmFOJanZLp2M7Ki1AbvEcVvU/s320/costa_rica_07-06_517.22870634_std.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252501922899030114" /></a><br />I've been internet dating. The woman I have stopped seeing was an internet. It worked. First dates are easy. Second dates, not so much. Third dates more difficult still. Finding my woman who knows? Good fucking luck. <br /><br />Last night I hitched up my special trousers and sprayed the special scent around my general direction and went on a first date with a woman that we'll call Ms MJ. I had arranged to meet Ms MJ last week before I had my whispered promise moment with a woman that I never thought I'd see again. <br /><br />The whispered promise girl hasn't called. <br /><br />So I went and dated.<br /><br />We shook hands and stared at each other. Open faced and button nosed she was. Guileless and unlined but with a weary shadow across her eyes. It was as if she had sealed shut some doors on herself, and stood guard over them. There was pride. I admire that in a woman. It should never, ever be underestimated. But there was maybe a little sadness too. It's taken me a long time to realise that everyone is just as tired, worried, proud and sad as you or me. Mostly me. The heartbreaking joy I put into sowing emotions that might bloom is something that gives me the strength to face the fear of love and the desparate hunger of loneliness. <br /><br />So, under the indigo sky of Auckland I dated. Voices were raised in laughter and excitment. Drinks were drained. Drinks were ordered. <span style="font-style:italic;">'Same again? Sure... your round?'</span> There's a kind of inspiration that's not much more than doing the right thing in the right way, but it only happens when I empty my heart of ambition, purpose and plan. It only works when I give myself completely to the moment, golden and relentless. So I kissed her. Properly. A good kiss is like a promise. I can tell in that first kiss if I want to dream of future nights with this woman. <br /><br />It was a very good kiss. <br /><br />And now I'm conflicted. The whispered promise has not called. I've had four emails today with the lovely past woman. I've just had a text from Ms MJ. <br /><br />Conflicted. And yet content. I don't know how that works, but somehow, for me, it does. But I have no idea what to do. None.Similar Simianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03615778706413803973noreply@blogger.com7