ONCE IN A BLOG WHILE

24 march 09 - Christchurch, NZ

The sound of today's date makes me a little crazy. And not the kind of crazy that's fun, spontaneous and consumed like the friend who picks you up from the airport after 4 years of not seeing each other; that kind of crazy is big-eyed and carried away in the moment of shear nostalgia. The kind of crazy that I'm reminded of now is horrifying, and threatens me in a way that is only similar to the time when I was a 16 year old boy, a girlfriend told me that she was 'late' ...not because she was actually pregnant, but because she, in one single relationship, sought all of the attention her father never gave... yeah, that kind of crazy. 

Ah yes, time has never been a friend of mine. I was reminded of this when I did the math of how many years it had actually been since I saw my friend Andre Van Den Assum. 4 was the number of fingers I counted when I did my highly technical calculation.  And while I was staring down at my four primary digits in reference to the last four years, I thought of these fingers and how I had used each one of them rather specifically in making decisions that had brought me to where I was standing so very early in the morning on a Saturday a couple weeks ago.  

Maybe it was that I was sleep deprived or maybe it was that I was trying to conjure up a comforting feeling while standing in the "drop off only" area of the upper deck of the Wellington Airport at 7:02 a.m. but I found something profound in that moment. I realized that these four fingers held a symbolic meaning  And it was this: I've been pointing towards the future looking for the next move with the first, saying 'fuck you!' to the past with the middle one, made a lifelong promise with the next one and accidently clicked the 'Purchase this Flight Time' with the little SOB on the end.  

I don't know why I decided to use the pinky finger when I was booking my flight to head north for a 10 day mission, but I must have inadvertently bumped the mouse forward a skosh which slid the cursor up by just enough to click on the 5:40 a.m. flight versus the 9:20 a.m. flight from Christchurch to Wellington. I even did the reach across keyboard move to give the gesture a little extra gusto.   

The worst part of it is that I actually have a strong dislike towards using the pinky for normal human movements. This abnormal disdain originated from when my best man Dylan would use a pinky-thumb-combo to do simple tasks like pick up silverware or turn down the volume on the car stereo while we were driving around nowhere. I can't figure out why it drove me crazy like it did, but it got me every time when he did it and I wasn't the only one who noticed it.  But this is getting off track already.  

It was too early to be standing at the Wellington Airport but there I was; dazed and confused from the 5:40 departure from Christchurch earlier that morning. I told my friend that I would easily catch a bus into downtown and hang out for a few hours because it was so early but Andre insisted on picking me up.  

He was like, "Na mate! It's not all the time a good mate comes into town for a mish (short for mission). 'Sides, this is gonna be a big week fo chur. Ye bru!"  

I can't say that this surprised me coming from him. He is easily the friendliest and most welcoming person I've ever met. After meeting his family, I could see where he got it from. I'll tell you more about them later but back to me leaning against a no smoking sign, waiting for Andre to pick me up.  

Like I was saying, it didn't surprise me that he absolutely insisted he come pick me up but I also wasn't counting on it. After all, there were other contributing factors to consider. First it was a saturday morning. Second, there had been a Super 14 Pro Rugby game in Wellington the night before, which I was sure he would have been at. And lastly, it was a weekend that the City of Wellington was expecting 150,000 visitors to be in town for the Cuba Street Festival. (Which is a very big weekend for those who like live music, artisan booths and tons of people.) All of this added up to a wicked hang over and a high probability of sleeping in!  

So I wasn't gonna blame him and was about to get onto the city bus at 8:20 when my cell phone rang. It wasn't  a number I recognized but it was Andre calling from one of his flatmate's phones.  

"Yo Mike! Ya brotha, you're not gonna believe the night I had! Got free tickets to the Rugby game last night, snuck into the compli booths stocked with free booze, got blitzed, lost my phone in a gutter and possibly my lady friend! No worries tho, aye! I'll be up in 10 so hold tight and we’ll get amongst, ya’r legend!" 

There was a surprising amount of people getting dropped off that morning. I saw a lot of couples dropping significant others off, a hand full of friendly good byes and a few drops that communicated 'good riddance.'  The best drop off I saw though was the Super 14 Pro Rugby team from Dunedin, the Otago Highlanders, being let off. They were the visiting team from the prior evening's rugby match. They were dressed in matching blue and yellow warm ups. At first I wasn't sure if it was really them because no one else of the dozen or so people I was standing near seemed to even bat an eye at their presence. This was kind of strange to me because this team is to New Zealand what an NFL team is to America. But they couldn't have been less noticed than a team of ugly softball girls from an NAIA school in middle Arkansas.  

It was my second moment of Zen that morning. Witnessing professional athletes being ignored like any other person getting ready to get on an airplane. I found it refreshing. No requests for autographs. No chubby little kids in out of date jerseys jumping up and down. Nothing. Just an airport full of people looking pissed off to be around so many other people so early on a Saturday morning. It was perfect.  

But before I got too carried away in my egalitarian fantasy, I had to remind myself that these guys make no where near what NFL players do and New Zealand isn't immune from venerating strange idols.  Take for example, Charlie Sheen. He's huge here. He and that stupid show "Two and Half Men." Its re-runs are on prime time week nights and for some reason, middle aged Kiwi's love it. I'm sure if he walked through that morning, somebody would have said something.  

At 8:45, I knew the blue station wagon that was swerving around parked cars, barreling down the ramp way and blaring Hawaiian reggae was for me. Sure enough! Before the car could come to a complete stop, Andre was out and around to give me a great Kiwi welcome. A minute later we were on our way with a full box of beers and an appetite for debauchery! The next 10 days of my trip up to Wellington are relatively foggy but made up of experiences that can only be had with good friends.  

The gist of my trip to Wellington was to catch up and visit with Andre. He was a friend I had made when I studied abroad in 2004 at the University of Otago in Dunedin. During that time I had become quite close with him as we shared similar interests in sports, libations and ridiculous social scenarios. I later found out that he and I had another interesting thing in common; his parents separated for reasons similar to mine except vice versa. Of course this wasn't something he openly shared with me. I had put it together after I met his whole family unit when I tagged along with him for his sister’s 21^st birthday. Both his ‘Mum’ and ‘Pops’ lived basically next door to each other in the same town they had raised Andre and his two biological siblings. (Andre’s has a half brother too from his Pop’s second wife.) 

Picking up on this revelation went a long way in explaining why Andre himself was such a kind and endearing person. During my time in Dunedin I had heard him frequently stand up against people who would say horribly ignorant things against an individual's sexuality and the associated preferences. The most classic of these instances was at a rowdy bar during an All Black Rugby Test Match (the All Blacks are the pride and soul of New Zealand Rugby. They are the premier national rugby team made up of the cream of the crop ‘ruggers’ from around the country).  Allegedly one of the best All Black players was gay and some random drunk bastard made a comment about how it was unbelievable that a man with so much athletic talent would ‘fancy blokes.’ Another chump chimed in with, “I can’t believe they’d even let a puff on the team in the first place.” 

Upon hearing these comments out of a thousand drunken blabbers at that moment in that college bar, Andre took exception. This is when he secured his place in my mind as a truly impressionable human being. Without anger or confrontation, he was able to convince these guys that they weren’t wrong for having their prejudices but were far from right for thinking that sexual preference had anything to do with athleticism and that perpetuating their preconceived ideas did nothing productive except contribute to an unnecessary undercurrent of hate towards fellow Kiwis. 

Of course the forum was merely a drunken scene and those who heard it probably took it with a grain of salt but what struck me about it was not only that Andre said anything at all but how he handled it. He heard something socially ignorant from some of his peers and took a stand against it; not against them. I don't know why it was a moment of clarity for me but how he handled his perspective on the topic seemed so obvious. Up until that point in my life, the only way I knew how to deal with sensitive topics like that was to get inappropriately emotional and be angry. Had I said something like that, I would have surely ended up stomping home, upset and banned from the bar for causing a scene. 

The second reason I went up to Wellington was to give Andre a hand during the lead up to his first music festival, The Pickle Pot Fiesta. He originally planned this festival with 10 other guys about 2 years ago. But in the end it came down to being just he and his friend Dan. Neither of them had ever attempted planning something like this but they did an incredible job. Especially since Dan's just barely 21 and Andre can barely keep a schedule, they were able to gather a tremendous amount of community support and the show was widely supported. They were able to strike up great support everywhere from deals on flyer prints to free radio advertisement. Everything came together very well... all except the weather forecast. It was a source of severe stress for them both during the week because it was probably the absolute worst forecast they could have been dealt; severe 90 mile an hour wind gusts from the South East, torrential rains and depressing dark clouds.  The forecast basically suggested a hurricane. And to make it worse, every single day leading up to the show was beautiful and warm. Clear skies, no wind. But all hell was supposed to break loose on Saturday, with winds worsening in the afternoon. 

So the forecast was shit but on the day of, the weather behaved itself in the region and they had a very respectable showings. It wasn't what it would have been given sunshine and no winds but they both had a good support base and it turned out well. It was a great experience for me to get to tag along and see a 'grass roots' show at its best. I got to see a lot of the area and have genuine cultural interactions. Of course, it would have been best if Heather could have come. That was the hardest part about it. But luckily I married a very supportive woman and she was all about me going up to see an old friend. So I definitely owe her one when one of her friends calls up one day and suggest a crazy girls weekend. I'll gladly be solo dad for the week! 

These are a few pics from the week I spent in Wellington. They, naturally, only tell part of the story. There is only so much I can write within the confines of the blog. I hope you have been able to wade through 2,000 meandering words of this brief travel essay. 

We love ya! 

M&H 

Wellington - They call NZ's capital city "Windy Wellington." The day I took this picture, I learned why this could be. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, one for the divine, but the wind was gusting so hard I had difficulty standing straight pretty much all day long. And I wasn't the only one. I took this picture balancing between a 70 year old man and a 4 foot Japanese woman. The old man was leaning at a 45 degree angle against his walking cane and his ears, which were abnormally large, were flapping against his head like when a dog hangs out a moving car's window. And upon further review, the Japanese woman wasn't really 4 feet tall at all; she was actually hunkering down, clinging to the railing of the observation point. 

CUBA STREET FESTIVAL 

Looking down Cuba Street from where the festival begins.

Random Mural on a wall. Can you see the basketball hoop? 

I'm trailing the group on our way down to the festival. 

 SOUTH RAUMATI in PARAPARAUMU along the KAPATI COAST - The Kapati Coast is a very special place in the world. Looking out from Andre's Sister's Deck in South Raumati, which is a town in the Paraparaumu area along the Kapati Coast. It's kind of like Cape Kiwanda which is a town in the Pacific City area along the Oregon Coast.  

 

Looking east to the foothills that hug the Kapati Coast. 

Looking south along route 1 on the southwest coast of the north island. Andre and I stopped here to adjust a Festival sign.

Looking south.

Looking north up the coast is Kapati Island on the horizon. It's believed that the Maori, New Zealand's original inhabitants, invented trench warfare there. Today, you go out there to watch some of the world's rarest birds.

Andre and Dan discuss the final touches for their first Pickle Pot Fiesta music festival.  

Andre puts up a festival sign on Paikakariki's (PIE-kaw-KAH-re-KEY) busiest and only intersection in hopes to suss up some last minute local attention.

Andre poses with members of two bands. To his right is three members of Sheeba Williams. Sheeba is the middle gal of the three women. She is a local Paraparaumu product and plays some great soulful / funk music.  

The short guy in the mustard orange t-shirt, goes by the name of Bonaparte. His music is wild and definitely not something I'd go looking for but I gotta say that this guy can FUCKING ROCK THE PANTS OFF A PARTY! Let me tell ya. 

He goes about 5'-2" in his girly platinum white combat boots and talks exactly like the Ralph character of The Simpsons.  His stage presence is undeniable and his whole style reminds me of a crazy cross eastern-euro / Stanley Kubrick mix. I guess he's originally from Austria but claims Berlin as home. The first time I saw him was at the Cuba Street Festival. He came on after some lousy Nickleback knock-off garage band. I was 8 1/2 beers deep into the afternoon standing in a group of about 100 people when this cast of strange characters comes marching, single file, onto stage.  The first was a tall lanky guy wearing black spandex from head to toe. On his head he was wearing a black balaclava with cat ears... oh & his instrument was a key-tar!

The next was a tiny guy wearing platinum white combat boots, tight bright white pants, a civil war era Cavalry blouse, a full-head lion hat with ears and one of his eyes was painted black like it had been punched. 

The third person didn't have an instrument but was a scantly clad chick with boxing gloves. Her role during the whole show was to make strange random sounds into the microphone and dance around crazy like a sexy robot. 

So me and the about 6 dozen drunken people I was big eyed and confused with weren't sure what to expect. But within minutes, Bonaparte exploded and had everyone jumping around. 

(I have a video I took from Cuba Street on the bottom of this page.)

Andre and Dan were able to get Bonaparte to play at the Pickle Pot because he was doing a 3 month tour through NZ over the summer. And from what I could gather, it was a ridiculous schedule he kept. For example, we went to see him play at midnight on the Thursday before the Pickle Pot. The next day he flew up to Auckland to do a show and then jumped right back on a plane to do the Pickle Pot Saturday afternoon and then played another show later that night back in Wellington. And if that wasn't enough, he flew back home to Berlin Sunday morning. That's a freakish 72 hours.  Hearing about it gets me all excited and riles me up in a way that make me half wish I was a talent laden freak with a medium to express it. I can only imagine the outrageousness I could come up with living a life like that. Maybe in another life!

But seriously, you should do yourself a favor and check Bonaparte out. I know it's gonna be way out in left field for most of you who read it but you cannot deny the product is evocative. 

ANTI ANTI music video

and

Finding Bonaparte

The headliner for the Pickle Pot was a group called Olmecha Supreme. These guys were great too. They've got this soulful/hip hop/jazzish sound that reminds me of Blackalicious. And apparently the lead man, Imon Starr, is the son of legend Taj Mahal. That should mean something if you know who that is. I don't know how his son would end up in NZ and be a influential musician here, but it is the case.