Barriers
What is it with some people at the grocery shop, not being able to stand that gap between your stuff and theirs on the conveyor? I had one tonight that threw herself bodily across the rubber belt to delineate the DMZ between our stuffs. The grocery shops never ever seem to have enough of them here either. There's one, usually. I left around eight to ten inches between our things because I could immediately see she was of a birdlike disposition, shifting from one foot to the other, glaring at me etc. But this borderline was plainly insufficient and she threw her hand across like a barrier arm, elbow down on the counter lip! Even though the customer before her wasn't halfway done yet.

Inexplicably worried, I put my own hand out, in the area between our things, not knowing what for, feeling foolish, looking around to make sure nobody else was seeing this. She was glowering by this stage and started to wake up to the silly way I was fearing her. I became indignant. I withdrew my hand insouciantly, leaving the glaring eight empty inches between hers and mine. I couldn't look at her any more, though, so I studied the hair of people two rows down.

As she had her groceries packed and was walking off, I could feel her eyes burning right into me, so I cast a glance up at her and smirked. I don't often smirk either.

I swear I heard a snort.

Roastin'
There's something to be respected about a nation able place a bare-faced value on a thoroughly pedestrian item of culture without feeling self conscious about it. When I first came to New Zealand for a visit, I recall laughing out loud the first time I asked what was sold at a Roast Shop and being told what it was. I suppose I expected something exotic, something oriental - duck perhaps, or something gamey like wild boar, 3 partridge on a skewer with a red wine glace... To be told it was roast beef dinners, well, I took a minute to think about it, let's say.

Whats more Gran and Grampa in the food pantheon, than the humble roast beef, spuds and mixed veg? Come on, what is more old-mannish? I personally would not ever think to make myself a roast meal. No sir. Not if a roll of meat, sack of spuds, a bowl of frozen mixed veg and a few sweet potatoes sat beside a roasting tray and roll of tinfoil on my fucking counter, would I come up with a roast dinner, to be brutally frank! And I'm nearly an old man myself, for Chrissakes. I know some people are really passionate about it. My old pal Snowman in Canada, say. That boy could destroy a roast dinner just by looking at it. You'd find him on a Tuesday night, his apartment flooded in steam and beefy fumes, setting himself up with a full roast meal.

But in almost any stripmall, any row of shops in Auckland and in New Zealand's small towns too, I've noted, you' find a shop dedicated to serving up the roast dinner on any given night. Tonight the wee man went down early and TSO and I were sitting here trying to weigh up our options for a takeaway. We crossed off KFC, hamburgers and Chinese pretty much instantly and we make a pretty nice curry ourselves here most weeks, so.... TSO threw out the Grey Lynn roast Shop up the road here. I snorted but then I thought, maybe...

She sensed my weakness and ran the car up there in a heartbeat, keen to get back to one of her favourite takeouts and, you know something - it was fucking awesome! Roast spuds done in a big, industrial oven, crisped to perfection on the outside, fluffy on the inside, bit of kumara, bit of pumpkin, mixed veg, delicious scratch-made gravy with just the right mix of sweet and an edge of vinegary-saltiness at its peak. And the beef? Endless shaves of perfectly cooked, tender, juicy, silvery beef - Jesus Christ, it was beautiful. Fifteen bucks, one meal, saw both of us contentedly in burping country, "unco' fu' an happy" as Rabbie Burns would have it. We even had a few shavings of the best crispy pork crackling I've ever tasted as a condiment. Apparently their roast pork is the real ticket, but on a Friday night with scores of big hungry islander boys done workin for the week - there wasn't a sniff to be had.

Roast shops then. Sign me up. I'm a believer.

PS - I've just learned that contrary to the image I had in my head, Roast Shops are not a remnant from a bygone age here in Aotearoa. No sir, their proliferation is a recent development, apparently, certainly within the last decade or less. That just makes the whole thing all the more awesome.

Shooting Back The other day on the news there was a piece of footage in which some Israeli settlers were stoning a family, including a rather mature lady. The report said it was part of a campaign to give video cameras to Palestinian families living day to day with illegal settlers next door, to allow them a voice and an ability to document their lot. The project is called "Shooting Back", rather unfortunately, and the most harrowing clip for me was this one. The most jarring thing about the whole project is that it's not an Al-Jazeera production or is it even run by a Palestinian concern. Rather it is B'Tselem - an Israeli human rights NGO formed by academics and lawyers in that country fed up with the way the Knesset is enabling the haranguing of often innocent people.

Indulge Me

I'll try and keep it down to one a week, I promise. Isn't he awesome though? No really - I mean, come on....

Good Lovin' You know, I've read volumes on what the best pop song ever might be and generally I agree with every single opinion on the matter - there are so many. But surely, when the book of pop is read, this is the best pop song ever? I just danced my way through the dishes to it on oldies radio and you know, it just never gets fucking old. I feel like one of the over-energetic go-go girls in the background in this clip every time I hear it. Awesome

Just Asking...

Are blonde or red dreadlocks ever a good idea? I've thought abut it for a long time now and in that time, had several recent sightings of red dreads and one blonde yesterday. I can't think of single good example.

Oh, And Ehm...

Meet my son, Rory Manu Hannah. He was born on May 26th. He's awesome but I'm not going to go too mad with the boasting and prideful talk. I am though. Proud as "a dug wi twae tails" as my dad says. He's healthy as a horse and so is TSO. The thing is that at the time it was all going down, I was full of things I wanted to say and maybe I'll write them down yet, cos they were pretty vivid. But for now, this is wee Rory.

Electrifying

This might be a longer post than normal but I read this thing in a local magazine here that really had me in stitches and wanted to share it. It ain't hosted anywhere online. I've painstakingly transcribed it for you so read it you ingrates..

From The Ponsonby Flat White, Issue 75, June 2008
"Last weekend I saw something at Larry’s Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest.
The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer. The effects of the Tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse effect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety....?? WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I’d get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn’t
be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right? There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a
second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses p e r c h e d delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and Tazer in another.
The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I’m looking at this little device measuring about five inches long, less than three or four inches in circumference; pretty cute really and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself, ‘no possible way!’ What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do my best...?

I’m sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, ‘don’t do it dipshit,’ reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little ol’ thing couldn’t hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and . . . HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . .WHAT THE HELL!!!
I’m pretty sure The Hulk ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs? The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.

Note: If you ever feel compelled to ‘mug’ yourself with a Tazer, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative? A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point) I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about eight feet or so from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the drooling.

Apparently I shit myself, but was too numb to know for sure and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head, which I believe, came from my hair. I’m still looking for my nuts and I’m offering a significant reward for their safe return!!

P. S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!

‘If you think education is difficult, try being stupid.’"

Awesome stuff.