just so you know

I’m spending hours sorting accommodation and transport in Spain for mid-late March next year as I prepare for this conference (which looks fantastic).

Updates will follow.

yeah, right

This little storyabout Chinese hackers reminded me that for the last few weeks my 6 pm call/s have been those charming ones where someone with a strong accent (yes ok Asian) informs me that he/she knows that my computer is producing error messages and that if only I would go to the computer and hit certain keys I’d be able to see what error messages I am producing. I guess he/she then wants me to tell him/her my loggin password etc.and my bank account details?

I got suspicious (now after the first “hello”) but about the time they identified my operating system.

I have to say, however that they are bloody persistent. Slamming the phone down doesn’t seem to work. I wonder if they are the same caller/s who call at 11.30pm then hang up?

You really can’t

beat Welly on a good day.

It’s been a stunning week. No wind, sunshine. Fabulous. Just the sort of weather to start painting the deck. The quintessential Kiwi summer task. There is nothing more pleasant than painting away on the deck although struggling under the deck and onto ladders is a different matter.

And yep. I do have a big deck, thanks Ed. And everyone else who finds this amusing. I’ve heard a few tales about Aussies and Kiwis and our mispronunciation of decks and other related topics.

Oh! latest internet confrontation? Dickensian.

I have taken self off 2 dating sites now and working up to deleting them all.

But as I keep saying I’ve made a few good friends.

Back to that deck.

the lengths they’ll go to

I’ve been resisting making this post, but am at last forced into it.

I have, it’s been clear, been playing about on the internet on one or two dating sites. Met some interesting characters and some nice new friends. But there has also been a theme of men not turning up (standard practice I gather) and today’s last one is a long line in ‘reasons for not to meet’. And yes it is established that I am egocentric.

There’s a bit of a long history here too.

Father had a heart attack. I did meet him but it was not the romantic event I had planned. He was a little preoccupied.
Stood up in Athens. When asked (later) why? He didn’t know.
Earthquake in Christchurch.
Fireman’s hose disconnected, flew up and knocked him out.
Panic attacks.
I’m too good for him.
He’s a con man.
I’m obsessive/manic/mad.
Best friend died.
Essay to write.
Exams. (Clearly these last two were at the yoof end of the spectrum).

That’s not to mention all the other ones who simply did not turn up and were never heard from again. Of the ones who did: a good friend, a long monologue about work and another about recent losses (too sad). Another monologue about dietary requirements.

I am doing quite well wardrobe wise: I buy a new frock each time they don’t turn up and yesterday I bought a new print (Nigel Brown).

There’s also the past history: gay, died, married, never arrived in New Zealand, fell in love with another woman, chose alcohol over me. Did I mention gay?

Sigh.

One guy from Christchurch say’s he’ll turn up but I’m expecting a plane crash that weekend.

I’m sure there’s more. Like the first boyfriend who fell off the roof and died (a few years after me, but nevertheless it was a shock).

Welly for geeks and arty types

There’s an article in the weekend DomPost about “Silicon Welly”. The article is a little overblown about Welly’s geekness but there is perhaps also some truth to it.

There does seem to be a range of geeky web-type people here.

Wellington has changed a lot since I came here in the early 80s when Courtenay Place was a major attraction for me – Greek shops and restaurants and Dutch second hand shops. It was windy and tired and the wind always seemed to howl down Wakefield Street when I was waiting for a bus. I remember being embarrassed when a French friend came to visit and an Australian telling me that Wellington was the arsehole of the earth. I remember visiting the Wellington Opera and seeing ripped petticoats and slightly amateurish productions. Not so now. World class I’d say and the old St James theatre is now a fantastic venue. Macbeth last night was pretty cool.

Two years ago I attended the Cuba Street Carnival and was amazed at the large number of South Americans here now. I see intense characters talking about internet geek stuff and the cast and crew of Jackson’s films certainly enlivened the streets and still enliven the tango classes. At milonga there are frequent Visitors from Overseas and it’s a chance to practice Italian and basic Spanish.

Even Porirua has changed – a little livelier, less poor, better coffee.

And I dunno – seems to be less windy too.

old bill shakespeare

One of the things I keep realising as I get older is how good the ‘old’ poets and writers were. How perecpetive they were about life, or perhaps it’s that life imitates art and art imitates life and it’s always been that way.

While my previous internet interlude reminded me of the brilliance of Oscar Wilde, and the first one took me into the minds of some interesting people in the Middle East, this latest one was definitely Shakespearean. It’s true that Bill himself probably got the story from elsewhere.

While ‘identity’ was an underlying theme, the major focii were trust, love and er sex. And although I’d be hard pressed to see myself as a shrew, it certainly felt as if I was being tamed and the world wide web was the stage on which this possible taming occurred.

Needless to say, we are over that now. But I do wonder at the way the internet, more than ‘real life’ seems to allow us to enact these well worn themes.

Better get on with my research about identity and self-presentation online, although I feel there is a PhD about identity, theatre and the worldwideweb lurking about somewhere.

I’m resisting that thought, however. Wonder what’s next on the playlist?

while I am playing around

Friend Plain Jane has a post about buying perfume. This image is a kind of response to her post.

thanks michael

One of the best friends was turning a significant age and we discussed the best present for her.
She chose a Marimekko wall fabric and helpfully sent the WallArts webaddress.

When I checked there was no link for postage prices for Australasia so I contacted Michael Alexander and he kindly added a temporary link for me on the fabric I wanted.

That allowed me to pay for the fabric and the postage.

I wrote to thank him and tell him all was well and he asked if I wanted to include a birthday message.

Which I gather he did.

Excellent online shopping experience and a pleasure to deal with the man.

birds on wires

Ahh Aaron.

While I’d like to write about the elections in the UK, the news about the online serial rapist in Auckland (constructed identities there) the new Sri Hvsetd book I am reading or the newly apprised tango tikanga the thing that’s in my mind is the odd behaviour of men. This excludes all nephews, 50 % of former lovers, close friends, husbands of friends and gay men.

Yes ok it’s the internet again. I remember when I was a teenager I used to think that men in NZ were damaged because of the war years. Then I met some great friends and some men with some damage. And now, through the internet, I have met some truly damaged men. Why is this? What’s wrong? Does the internet allow for us to connect in a deeper way so that they share stuff? I’m still exploring this and don’t know the answers and won’t go on. I have also made some good and funny friends. But weighing up? Odd behaviour.

The song? It reminds me of a fantastic concert I went to in the 1980s (we sang along with the Brothers in the hotel afterwards) and a trip I took with a former student who loved this song when I played it to him. Where is he now? Ah yes, inside for murder. Sigh.

Thank god for tango. Crippleness? We think the arthritis is returning. Better make lots of hay while the sun does its thing.

we take some odd turns

Having espoused the feminist cause in the 1980s, it’s with some surprise that I find myself mentally rocketed back to school dances as I learn the tango. Now I adore dancing the tango for all sorts of reasons, mostly that being able to dance with a slightly damaged foot is a thrill and I adore most of the music…….. but. But. There’s a culture about waiting for the guys to ask us to dance and I suspect that my foot is a distractor. Last night I leaned heavily (euphemistically of course) on someone I knew who was clearly reluctant to dance with me…maybe it’s because I am taller than him and uncompliant. Or maybe it’s the foot. Or maybe it’s because of something else.

It does not mean I don’t get dances and have at last begun asking fellows I know to dance. But it does bring back two memories; School dances when I was taller than all the guys and Mum after Dad died, crying in the hallway after she had been out to her first dance without him.

It’s also the interesting (in the ‘I used to be a feminist vein’) to be on dating websites ……….and perhaps that’s enough of that for now.

And yes, of course there’s a duality/binary opposite: It’s also great to be swept up in the arms of a fantastic dancer and swirled knowingly around the room, it’s great to watch others and to watch women leading men (so it’s not all sexist) and it’s great to get dressed up and wear high heels. Maybe I need to go along to queer tango. Maybe I’d better learn to lead. I have no objection, just the skill required to steer. And dating sites? Yes, of course it’s wonderful to feel admired and to flirt and certainly, to meet some interesting characters.

But sometimes it is weird and it feels as if the (mumble) school teenager years are really not that far away.

Sigh. Gain or loss? Gain.