Town Centre

After writing teeline passages about town centres, I've begun to wonder if they still exist.

If you believe the promotional imagery at your large nearby carbon copy shopping centre, its a place to meet friends and get all your to-do lists done.

When people-watching the other day at yet another Westfield, families kept to themselves, couples walked oblivious, school children gossiped and individuals moved with determination. No-one outside of shops seemed to actually interacting.

Architects impressions of new shopping centres highlight the building and the brand as the main attraction to the complex. People are barely decoration on the footpath or public areas even though they lure the viewer into the image and sell the concept as a place to be. It remains the same when these centres are built.

Reading the local paper, I came across an ad for my local block of shops. It termed the shops as 'a shopping centre where everyone knows your name'.
Like a lot of 1960-70s suburban shops in Hamilton, it is a singular row of shops with parking in the front and a large pot-holed car park at the back.

Owned by a family trust, basic necessities such as butcher, vet, fruiterer and real estate agent have gone. Replaced by cafes, therapists and furniture upholsters.

I won't term it the epicentre for the local community, but then maybe we don't require a modern version of the town square.

We call, text and meet at other locations on the move. The world doesn't stand still for us to interact with others.

Lost Art

Letter writing or sending a postcard seem to have become a lost art as email and new technology takes over the world.

In Browsers Bookshop, there is a box of old and new postcards. Most of the new ones are paintings by Edward Hopper (I'm now officially a fan) but some of the old ones are so faded and dog-earred.

It sounds strange to buy a used postcard, but the fountain tip pen message says more about the person than the scene. I read one from Paris that was an apology to a friend for something that they had not spoken off since.
I remember when I was younger, the point of writing a journal was to leave a piece of yourself behind and available to the future explorer who finds it.

A tale popularised by Anne Frank's diary, journals continue to be stocked with locks, flowers and ribbon bookmarks, but I wonder if their charm remains when social networking sites grow in members.

I guess its up to the individual as to what is important. Its nice to receive a hand-written letter or a postcard as fewer people get round to it, even if it has the cliche "wish you were here".

Three films

I prefer being in the dark rather than being in the light so I guess it isn't a surprise that I savour the cinema experience.

There have been memorable incidents- one involving smuggling a fish burger into a movie and then the attendant telling my friend off for possessing it. She had sushi with her and hasn't really forgiven me.

I jump a bit in thriller and horror movies and that is accentuated when I wear a plastic raincoat. I haven't yet fallen asleep, become locked in the grotty toilets or thrown up in my popcorn but I'm sure my time will come.

During this year's International Film Festival offerings, I ended up seeing three from the Incredibly Strange Film Fest which was running in conjunction.

Zombies were living in apartments in [rec]- the reporter trapped in the building liked to scream a bit but told the cameraman Pablo to keep filming while running.

A naive girl found power from an unlikely organ in 'Teeth'- very funny but I'm not sure if the mainly male audience found it so amusing.

Then 'Timecrimes'- three versions of one man play in a loop around a house and lab. Death, betrayal and confusion ensue. Love time travel movies ever since the Back to the Future trilogy.

Enjoyed them all and will have to seek out some incredibly strange ones in the future for some light relief.

Mixed tapes

In less than a months time, I'll be making a large road trip east for a three week stay. A five hour drive sounds daunting but isn't too bad with a couple of mix tapes.

Once you pass Taupo, it feels like you are alone in the wilderness for several hours. Last time I made the trip, I only recorded half of the tape properly with edited songs. The rest was taped continuously off the radio with ads, DJs and callers in-between songs.

As my car isn't worth the splurge of a CD stereo system, I'm sticking with my cassette player. Instead of hooking in the ipod, think I'll try and make at least 3 tapes for the journey.

I've always been a fan of older technology such as cassettes. I bought tapes instead of CDs until they became completely obsolete.

My brother used to use a hack tape to record songs and then re-recorded them onto a final tape. I just record direct onto a tape and don't re-record unless it is quite a messy recording.

Its funny to listen to the older tapes I made since about age 12. I had an obsession with 80s music and only recorded a few modern songs.
The quality is not the greatest- grainy, half cut off and parts re-recorded over but they provide some entertainment especially on road trips.

For birthdays, I used to record special mix-tapes so I had a defined soundtrack of tunes for the day.

I'm only half-way through the first tape for the trip and it is taking a while as I only want songs I haven't been able to capture.

I better listen to the radio over the next few weekends, so I can achieve my 3 tape goal.

Internal Maze

Whenever I visit a new supermarket, I feel like I'm lost in a theme park maze.

Everything is clambering for your attention and its a sea of colours and activity.

You have to travel through all the fruit and vegetables, dairy, meat before even getting close to smaller items like batteries or bread. All the while trying to escape slow trolley traffic and insistent product demonstrators.

No-one ever looks like they are having the time of their lives travelling with a trolley. At peak time like when you are on the road, there are traffic jams and road rage.
Shoppers try and pass you on the right and left, grab for the items you want, trespass personal space areas and children are always screaming for lollies or attention.

I wouldn't recommend going to supermarket- hungry, sick or tired, that never ends well. I once went to buy cake and ended up throwing up my dinner in the bakery- it wasn't pretty.

While you are killing time in trolley traffic, why not check out all the cheap appliances, latest dvds and cds available in a special aisle.
Along with my bread and instant meals, how could I forget that I needed to pick up a big screen TV for myself?

Then you get to the checkout and you search for the shortest line. Usually the operator-in-training is free, aren't you lucky? Over-charged and then they ask for your loyalty cards, which could be lost at the bottom of your wallet or in the washing machine. The bin could be a better choice.

I'm loving those self-checkouts- no personal contact/drama, only the machine and me. The scanning sounds are extra thrilling but they still demand my loyalty card.

If I heap all the goods back into my trolley, I could save 20 cents and then do battle with real cars in the car park. Or I could bundle them under my arm and drop keys, purse, groceries in the car park or even better the supermarket floor. Least I'm a clean and green consumer without my plastic bag.
I should really bring along my trendy eco-bag to pack my own groceries, but then I could be accused of shop-lifting.

After my weekly shop, I feel like a lab mouse that has just completed a maze marathon. Can't wait to start it all over again next week.

Coloured ink

I really should diligently read the entire newspaper before falling upon the magazine lift-out, but it is hopeless I'm rather addicted.

Viva, Time-out, Sunday, Escape even TV Week catches my eye. I wonder if coloured ink has this effect on everybody.
I can forgive the cheesy explaination statements on the cover (think Time-Out- because your weekend starts here) because the combination of words + pictures= numerous views.

The only problem with these magazines is the lack of variety in format. After a couple of kooky people have shared their 10 favourite things and a series of eco-warriors are paraded, the columns get old and predictable.

I do though enjoy the questions and answers in the Sunday magazine.

Questions like:
what is your favourite supermarket aisle?
Shave or Wax?
Ten material possessions you can't live without?
Biggest fashion mistake of our era?

All produce varied answers from the simple to the ridiculous.

What these 'magazines' feed on is the latest hype- designer clothes, TV shows and up-and-comers on the national or international scene. People love this light relief fluff and the free TV listings.

Auckland restaurants always get put through their paces by 'the duke', 'the woman' or 'Jude' reviewers. Their companions thoughts often find their way into the column even if its their 5 year old son.
What I've learnt in my review reading is: views/location and good food never mix, bathrooms are often tight and unpleasant and bad wait staff can kill the ambient mood.

The things you learn when you read gossip, food and TV reviews!
Long live the throw-away lift-out, keeps me sane when I should be doing work.

Risks

In our course there is becoming an overwhelming elephant in the room of where we will go from here.
We are driving on the avenue and side streets start to appear, is it really where we want to go or do?
Will we be stuck forever in this one way street if we take this path?

There is always fear with any choices as you constantly read about regrets and missed opportunities. In the latest TV Guide, stars comment on their regrets, namely turning down a part on a successful film or series.
I was struck by Henry Winkler's tale. He said he regretted not taking the part of Danny in Grease. He didn't want to be typecast after Happy Days but was unaware that he already was.
John Travolta went on to make big movies and he just went home.

I wonder what is worse thing you could become if you strayed from the professional journalism path. Your reputation could be a hack, a dark sided PR vampire or even an ex-journalist in 10 years time but is this industry so callous that you are forever tainted?

There are endless ways to become 'stuck' and still peddling the same trash in the future, but right now we have our fresh near-graduate status on our side. We have to strike while the iron is hot (love cliches) and try and make it sooner rather than later.

I've already thought and experienced all this doubt in a previous tech life. What is the point in worrying about mistakes you might make in the future.
You make decisions as the person you are today not what you could be 10 years from now.

Corporate Identity

Another day and another product is released. The latest is the iPhone, dripping with contract strings and add-on costs.

In line at the Queen Street Vodafone store is Jonny Gladwell, typical student camped out for 60 hours to be the first in the world to buy one.
Media coverage was overkill due to the lack of political blunders and overseas disasters.

We could all celebrate or relate to this guy then it turns out he's been paid to do it, wearing sponsored clothing and is the latest in sheep in wolves clothing marketing plant.

What a surprise that blatant logo placement is not reaching consumers so now honesty and creditability are for sale in this urban wasteland.
You can sell your soul on trademe, pretend to have a disability to sell airbags, make a "homemade" video on your cellphone of your workmates and be the latest video diarist on utube.

It does take the gloss off when everything is a hoax and set up by corporate identities. Though outraged, we can't kid ourselves that we would never sell what was truly important to us.

Bribery is the daily bread of corporates and we are only a twig in a storm.
Is it possible to fight the corporate machine and maintain individuality in modern culture.
Or are we so far gone that when a branded t-shirt is offered, we actually believe we are buying popularity and acceptance.

We are but branded calves in the herd.

Virtual Cities

Its freezing and winter is only just beginning.

So instead of slipping on the grit on the footpath, I have become a blog hunter on the web. Virtually travelling through blog communities began at the recommended blog section.

Its like the recommended section at the music store or wine store. Someone recommended it so why not take it seriously. There are always ways out (i.e links) that are side streets on your journey.

With my training wheels on and some spare holiday time, suddenly I found myself in the Brooklyn blogging epicentre.

Millions of people live there so why not name your blog after your street. You could click around forever looking at albums, observations and stroller mums but then you hit a brick wall (i.e no links). I'm a bit of hypocrite without my own links, so maybe I'll take this as a friendly suggestion.

I've found completely random unconnected blogs linked but it adds to the blog because you are bound to get bored and want to move down for a mocha at another sidewalk blog.

Long live the recommended sections and blogs of note, how else would we know these people exist.

Alleyways

Finding an alley is like crawling into a tight space, there is the element of the unknown.
Buildings make the space dark even in the brightest sunlight. It is a shortcut to another street, space or shop but there is no-one else about, is it safe?

In the bigger cities, they are necessary accessways for loading docks, creative businesses and flats. In small towns they hide rubbish bins and plumbing.

I'm fascinated by their unpolished nature, dirty and gritty they are ultimate in urban decay.

The above photos are a sample of what remains me of alleyways. The first is behind Napier's Emerson Street, rotten and dripping.
The next is the side accessway of an old office building. It had chicken wire windows on the left for light.
On the right is inside a 'flat'. I was doing documentation of an old building and persuaded the tenant to let me take some photos. This is on my descent from the roof down to the flat. It was about to be demolished and was particularly wrecked.

I question safety in my exploration but you never know what you'll find or see. If I'm really worried there is always the zoom lens.

TV Stereotypes

New Season TV is coming to a small screen near you.

Every new programme buys into standard stereotypes. There are so many, the only variety is the combinations of these boring characters in reality TV, drama and comedy.

Poor little rich girls/bored housewives/frustrated young office workers seems to be the latest offering from America.

Kiwi shows are pure agony. Prolonged excuses to rehash kiwi cultural stereotypes and ex-shortland street stars put me off my cocoa before they have even begun.

I confess as a long time TV junkie I have become rather cynical. I'd just like something fresh and slightly intellectual to grace our screens. Any non-children cartoons that appear late at night, I keep an eye on.

Pictured is "The Oblongs" circa 2002. Even though it seems ages ago, a cartoon about an anti-stereotypical family living in a toxic wasteland is not your typical fare so of course it appealed.

It had a short run in the US which seems to be the usual consequence.

While I try and enjoy shows without looking for moral messages, I like the "outsider gets on with life regardless" message of this show.

There are so many 'be a clone/sheep' characters everywhere else on TV, your whole TV schedule can become overloaded with the trials of perfection for real or imaginary people.

Maybe thats why shows about models/celebrities are so popular and addictive.

It's a charmed life, guess someone has to live it and film it.

hair talk

Having shorter hair means regular hairdresser visits.
For several years I enjoyed changing my hairdresser every couple of appointments.

Each salon has its own style depending on how expensive the cuts are. The staff are like walking advertisements with their hair, makeup and clothes. The waiting area has comfy couches and a mountain of gossip magazines and the atmosphere is self-absorbed.
Then your hairdresser comes along and there is an ease of conversation about TV and random items.

I've settled with my latest hairdresser for about 2 years and I'm dreading our next appointment as usual.
She's not the greatest conversationalist and is extremely negative about everything.
When you get blunt answers, a conversation becomes lots of questions. Am I still a child on a kitchen stool wanting some chocolate? Not mature enough to understand the world or engage in discussion.

Months in a row it was a 40min lecture on using product and my lack of hair styling interest.
It has become slightly better as I have learnt some lessons.
Stay clear of certain topics:
-movies
-marriage (she's engaged but don't mention the wedding)
-hair competitions
-public holidays

After a while, I'm completely spent and have no questions left so I try and use the time constructively for internal monologues.
Its like a monthly resolution, how will I do things better next month (work and health wise) rather than talk to someone who doesn't care.

Some months I've gotten so mad that I'm ready to chuck it in and decline a new appointment. She must realise I'm absolutely fuming because that haircut is particularly good.

What is more important a good hairdresser or a conversationalist. I never thought I'd be so dependant on conversation to keep life pleasant.
Is 40 mins monthly of stonewalled talk really worth the haircut?

A to B

"Public transport, have you smelt these people?...We believe in human energy but profit from human laziness, what are you going to do..walk?" - just heard this on the radio parodying petrol companies values.

So Let's review the 'sensible' options:
Walking- weather and considerable distances sadly put me off.

Cycling- It's dangerous as cars and buses don't respect personal space or the cycle lanes.

Buses and Trains-both save time and headaches from traffic but is boring if you are ill-prepared.
They used to have advertising on the ceiling and on the wall but that has all but vanished.
I didn't really care about tyre repairs or bus fares but it is something to kill time. If that fails or there is nothing about, I look at the scenery then the passengers.

Sights- unless you are a tourist, you'll know the route back to front so that becomes tiresome.

Passengers: You are relatively safe in the bus as they are not usually facing you.
You can:
-analyse the drivers ornaments or decorations.
-look at people's clothes, hair and/or what they are reading.
-if a pushchair plus mum get on, then there is some manoeuvring and bus lowering.

Even if I bring something to occupy myself, boredom is not my sole enemy.

I try and sit on the aisle seat so I can have a whole seat to myself. People go for the empty aisle seat first.
In the latest Sunday magazine, bad bus etiquette was on the down list. Commenting on how your bag doesn't need a window seat. I disagree completely.

Even though I sympathise with later passengers, they don't look beyond the obvious and search for a seat, that means lots of standing.

On the train, I used to catch the limited stops service so often fell asleep and woke just before my stop.
If that is not possible, the scenery is going past fast so stalker staring begins.

It requires some skill of averting your eyes when caught staring. Unfortunately your gaze naturally goes back to the same person at the other end of the carriage regularly so you can get stung over and over.
Suddenly your shoes are super interesting.
Sharing a seat is also inevitable as train users are particularly vigilant.
Both buses and train users though seem to have a common sharing habit of seeking out the same gender or age group, if necessary.

Public transport may involve chatting with strangers, but as always I hope for simple weather comments and not long involved conversation. I'm trying to relax!

I'll try and learn my lesson and bring a good book or schedule a brainstorm session for my next trip but I can't promise anything.

Rip the city down

Rejuvenation is how a city evolves and expands over time. Areas become dilapidated and are targeted for re-development.

In the property game, investors and developers are always on the look out for the next up and coming suburb or precinct.

Gentrification 'renovates' an area so it appeals to a specific target market. This could include restoration, additions, relocation or new building developments.

New cafes, stores and galleries make a questionable area palatable to the masses. Previously I considered this a logical and inevitable process to keep urban areas progressive.

Reading "Hollow City: The siege of San Francisco and the crisis of American Urbanism" by Rebecca Solnit and Susan Schwartzenberg divided me on the issue.

It examined the gentrification of San Francisco during the 90s dot com craze. Residents were forced out of homes, residential hotels, workplaces and eventually the city by raising rents, new developments, demolition and developers tactics.

The dot com craze was a fast bubble that appeared and cause chaos in San Fran. New start up companies, their employees, clients and luxury brands arrived and demanded immediate residential and commercial space. Minorities and poorer communities in historic areas were the worse affected.

A photo essay of Starbucks around the city with a caption of the established businesses they replaced was particularly sobering.

We want brands but they come with bulldozers and white walls.

Locally, all re-development seems small and measured until a Westfield drops into your area.

Renovation of Wellington's upper Cuba St was a drawn out battle between locals and residents.

A motorway entrance and some restored and relocated historic buildings was the inevitable conclusion. When I last visited it felt like a cardboard film set without character.

Its a sad way for the past to be erased but the future requires progress to be made.

dream slideshows

I was reminded of the film "Eraserhead" the other day, when I read a David Lynch book.

Finally it explained the plot:
Man left with his ex-girlfriend's deformed baby, becomes paranoid. He loses his mind and begins a relationship with a woman in his radiator.

When I saw it, I was rather perplexed as to the point. There was an ugliness to the characters and creatures that inhabited it. It rapidly became grotesque and contrasted with the starkness of the man's small apartment.

Once I lost sight of the plot, it became a slide show of images that either intrigued or disgusted.

I often feel trapped in a dream like state when watching his films, easily manipulated by my own confusion.
Just once though I'll forget about agendas, the god complex and plot/meaning.

Random DVDs make the world go round, so does weird imagery.