Sunday, June 19, 2011

In times of test, family is best...

Hatched. Matched. Dispatched.  These are the three most regular forms of family gatherings.

And although its always interesting to catch up with family from near and far, there is one aspect that I just can't stand.  The questions. 

Lets break it down by age:

0 - 4 years
"Which one are you"? (said to my sister and I jointly)

5-18 years
"How is school"?
"What is your favourite subject"?
"Which one are you"?

18-24 years
"How is university"?
"What are you studying"?
"How is your job"?
"Which one are you"?

24 years +
"Are you married"?
"Do you have any children"?
"When are you going to get married?"
"When are you going to have children"?
"Which one are you"?


I detest "the questions".  I always make a point of not asking age appropriate questions of my younger cousins.  Jeez, there are so many other interesting things to talk about.  An example of a more interesting topic -  "Have you managed to dodge Aunty May from Hokitika and her "how is school" question today"? Or "Holy shit, have you tasted those club sandwiches"?

My relations may well think they're making friendly conversation / breaking the ice / clever to not be discussing the weather, in actual fact I consider their enquiries to be incredibly rude.  They should have done their homework before arriving at the event. 

For fucks sake, if I've turned up at a family function (whereby my immediate family is the focus of the event) without a partner/husband and kids in tow, chances are that I don't have either.  And what gives you the right to pass judgment on my marital status?  Or indeed, pass judgment on my morals.

I don't want to be single.  I don't want to be childless.  A religious person may put my marital and family status down to not being God's will. Riiiight.

Often I take stock of what I've achieved and what I've missed out on.  According to extended family members, the only purpose in life is to tick off the matched and hatched boxes before reaching dispatched.  I was kind of hoping there was more to life than that.  Obviously not.

I was at a family function on Friday, and ended up sitting in the car for an hour and a half because I got sick of the questions, the "knowing" looks, the innuendo.  On the upside, I deleted a whole lot of texts, digital photos and managed to update facebook and twitter.  And oh yeah, even touched up my makeup and painted my nails.  Not bad for 90 minutes in heartland New Zealand.

In times of test, family is best? Not if they ask the questions.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Thirty years

Thirty years ago yesterday, my father died in a helicopter accident in the Urewera National Park.  The crash also claimed the life of a young guy who was new to the deer industry.  The pilot survived.  

The pilot went on to crash another chopper about a year later in the same region, in which he again survived, but another of my father's friends was killed.  That took a long time for me to come to terms with.  He has to live with that burden, not me.

I can remember every detail like it happened yesterday. Every. Single. Detail.  I know what I was wearing.  I can remember how I felt.  I remember what other people wore.  I remember what people said to me.  I know what I ate (or didn't/couldn't eat).  I can remember the crunching sound of the icy grass beneath my feet.  Ironically, we had exactly the same sort of fog today as we did 30 years ago today. 

In 1983, Rex Forrester published a wonderful book called "The Chopper Boys".  It is a great read, full of real salt of the earth Kiwi men and stories that make you wonder why that era hasn't yet been turned into a movie. 

The guys in the deer industry in the 60's and 70's were a breed of their own.  They had to deal with extreme weather, very isolated locations and had a massive task on their hands. 

Rex followed up with the sequel "The Helicopter Hunters".  Both books have now been published in one volume.


The Chopper Boys & The Helicopter Hunters by Rex Forrester

"This is the story of the chopper boys, the men whose sweat, skill and heroism provided the foundation for the now-thriving deer-farming industry. Working in dangerous conditions in New Zealand's remote back country, these men risked serious injury, even death, for the adventure of it all - as well as sometimes for serious financial gain " (from the back cover).

It would be a fantastic movie.  Honestly, an utterly incredible film given the stories that Mum and our friends in Te Anau have to tell about the industry in its heyday.  And, the scenery.  Oh my god, the scenery.  Fiordland is simply the most beautiful place on earth.

A Helicopter Line chopper casually parked up in Fiordland

Hmmm.  I'd be keen to co-write with someone.  This is one movie script I wouldn't have the strength to write alone. Any takers?

Finally, they say that "time heals all". Maybe it does.  For me, I'd say that "writing heals all".

RIP Dad.

PS. The anecdote in "The Chopper Boys" about the guy who was using the kitchen light as a navigation tool at night...nah, no idea who that was.

PPS. And, the anecdote in "The Helicopter Hunters" about the guy swinging from the strop conducting an orchestra (and singing Ava Maria)...I have no idea who that was either ;-)

Saturday, June 4, 2011

If I was Prime Minister

We are heading to the polls later this year.  Disappointment will inevitably follow because I never end up voting for the person who wins the local electorate (even when I cheat myself and vote for the opposition).  Either way, the government always wins.  Should I even bother?

Oh, that rumbling noise you can hear and/or feel at the moment is Great-grandma spinning in her grave at Peria.  C'mon Great-grandma, you know that I always end up feeling guilty and heading down to the polling booth at the last minute.  And, I sincerely thank you for fighting for women's voting rights, and ensuring that New Zealand women were the first women in the world to be able to do so.  You can stop spinning, girlfriend.

But generally speaking, politics just don't interest me.  However, I've been thinking that if I was Prime Minister, I would immediately propose a few changes to current legislation, such as:

1.  Sonny Bill Williams must weigh in shirtless for boxing matches and ALL rugby games;

SBW today

2.  It would be illegal for the Highlanders to wear green;

3.  It would be illegal for people to throw their cigarette butts out their car windows;

4.  It would be illegal to use the phrases "my bad" and "awesome sauce" (that's a whole blog in itself);

5.  It would be illegal to wear sneans or jeggings in public (see my blog of 14 May if you're unfamiliar with those terms).

I know that with those five policies for starters, I wouldn't win the votes of a chain smoking jegginger and her colour-blind sneaner and gamer boyfriend, but you can't win them all, can you?

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Fancy Tickling

Some things just tickle your fancy.  My fancy was tickled recently by a facebook group named "I'm not drunk, I'm just holding onto the lawn so I don't fall off the earth". And there was also the group named "Planking on your bed because you're a tired ****" (that group has been removed).

Then some genius came up with this image. I laughed until I cried.



I use the internet for many things - work, friendship, networking, research, paying the damn bills, etc...but the most enjoyment I get is from discovering other people who have a similar love of the utterly ridiculous.

There are some VERY witty people, especially on twitter.  If you can tweet something in under 140 characters that will send Tena Lady profits soaring, you will ensure my undivided attention. And, chances are that I'll probably promote you and/or your blog and/or your website for free.

Look hot - whatever. Have a secksie accent - whatever. Be successful - whatever. Tickle my fancy? You are so in.