Thursday, June 16, 2005
It's easier to leave than to be left behind
-REM
So this is it ... goodbye Wellington.
Don't leave me.
Sweetcheeks, don't make this harder than it already is.
Then tell me you love me, tell me you'll stay.
I can't make empty promises.
You can, just this once.
Those days are behind me now, I've changed. Hell Wellington, we've both changed. Five years ago you didn't even have a decent beach to lie on.
I'll make another, anything.
Look kid, I know this ain't right, but I'm going to miss the way you caress my...
Fine! Just forget about me and get on board that goddamn plane, but... but...
What is it darling? You're crying.
...but please, don't remember me like this.
Like what? Hey, c'mon doll. You wanna know what I remember about you? Your stunning natural beauty, your innate sense of cool, they way all your best bits are within easy walking distance. Not some pretty lady standing on the runway trying every which way but how to tell her man that she loves him.
But you're moving to Auckland!
Auckland means nothing to me, she's a means to an end. The town bike. Everyone's had her one time or another. It's you that I want.
And I want you.
Ah what the hell, I wasn't gonna say this but you know what I'll miss most of all?
What's that?
The way you blow sweet nothings in my ear.
(sniff) Promise you'll write?
Every day. But if I don't, remember, you'll always be right here, in my heart.
You sure know how to make a girl feel swell.
I know. I'd better go.
Stay.
Goodbye Wellington.
Stay...(sniff) Goodbye Chuck.
Goodbye.
-REM
So this is it ... goodbye Wellington.
Don't leave me.
Sweetcheeks, don't make this harder than it already is.
Then tell me you love me, tell me you'll stay.
I can't make empty promises.
You can, just this once.
Those days are behind me now, I've changed. Hell Wellington, we've both changed. Five years ago you didn't even have a decent beach to lie on.
I'll make another, anything.
Look kid, I know this ain't right, but I'm going to miss the way you caress my...
Fine! Just forget about me and get on board that goddamn plane, but... but...
What is it darling? You're crying.
...but please, don't remember me like this.
Like what? Hey, c'mon doll. You wanna know what I remember about you? Your stunning natural beauty, your innate sense of cool, they way all your best bits are within easy walking distance. Not some pretty lady standing on the runway trying every which way but how to tell her man that she loves him.
But you're moving to Auckland!
Auckland means nothing to me, she's a means to an end. The town bike. Everyone's had her one time or another. It's you that I want.
And I want you.
Ah what the hell, I wasn't gonna say this but you know what I'll miss most of all?
What's that?
The way you blow sweet nothings in my ear.
(sniff) Promise you'll write?
Every day. But if I don't, remember, you'll always be right here, in my heart.
You sure know how to make a girl feel swell.
I know. I'd better go.
Stay.
Goodbye Wellington.
Stay...(sniff) Goodbye Chuck.
Goodbye.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Packing his bags,gotta go, gotta go
Packing his bags,gotta go
He's a Samsonite Man
Maybe he is just a rollin stone
Wandering from here to there
Searching for a place to call his home
-Alicia Keys
Love letters. A Truman Capote biography. A jar of coriander. Two postcards (unsent). Six squeaky nuns. A signed Super Furry Animals poster. A book of (my own) god-awful poems. A Scrabble turntable. A film script. A ‘You’ll Win With Gore!’ cigar from 2000. Cheese. A maroon rugby shirt. An Edward Hopper calendar. Tickets and programmes from UK gigs. The baby. The bathwater.
If you’d met me today you would have gone home and said boy, that Chuck, he is ruthless! And ya know what? You would have been right, for today was the day I had to move on up and move on out, or whatever pineapple head M.People shemale sang about. And what looks like a recipe for disaster up there is in fact a list of things I’ve had to throw away. Not that I really wanted to, but in the interests of avoiding clutter they were decisions that had to be made
I’ve lived in this lovely little flat for a year and have taken a certain pride in keeping it clean. But tonight as I write, boxes are stacked in the corner, bookshelves are stripped, pictures are unhooked and a pile of rubbish lies in the middle of the floor. And truth be told I’m sad to be leaving my pad and this damn fine city. But as compatriot Jessie will tell you leaving Welly's never easy...
Sure, I’m happy to be heading to greener pastures and wouldn’t trade in the opportunity for nuttin’ but i'm sorry to leave, especially as I’ve been so happy here. So tonight’s my last night, I’ve got a bottle of red wine to drink, a plastic dog to console and a freezer to watch defrost. Wish you were here.
Ugh, enough gloom. Who wants a nun? I’ve saved them from the dumpster and have six to give away – simply choose and name your favourite from the fine specimens below and tell me in 10 words or less why your sweet singin' sister deserves to be saved. Numbered 1-6, left to right.
Or they burn.
Packing his bags,gotta go
He's a Samsonite Man
Maybe he is just a rollin stone
Wandering from here to there
Searching for a place to call his home
-Alicia Keys
Love letters. A Truman Capote biography. A jar of coriander. Two postcards (unsent). Six squeaky nuns. A signed Super Furry Animals poster. A book of (my own) god-awful poems. A Scrabble turntable. A film script. A ‘You’ll Win With Gore!’ cigar from 2000. Cheese. A maroon rugby shirt. An Edward Hopper calendar. Tickets and programmes from UK gigs. The baby. The bathwater.
If you’d met me today you would have gone home and said boy, that Chuck, he is ruthless! And ya know what? You would have been right, for today was the day I had to move on up and move on out, or whatever pineapple head M.People shemale sang about. And what looks like a recipe for disaster up there is in fact a list of things I’ve had to throw away. Not that I really wanted to, but in the interests of avoiding clutter they were decisions that had to be made
I’ve lived in this lovely little flat for a year and have taken a certain pride in keeping it clean. But tonight as I write, boxes are stacked in the corner, bookshelves are stripped, pictures are unhooked and a pile of rubbish lies in the middle of the floor. And truth be told I’m sad to be leaving my pad and this damn fine city. But as compatriot Jessie will tell you leaving Welly's never easy...
Sure, I’m happy to be heading to greener pastures and wouldn’t trade in the opportunity for nuttin’ but i'm sorry to leave, especially as I’ve been so happy here. So tonight’s my last night, I’ve got a bottle of red wine to drink, a plastic dog to console and a freezer to watch defrost. Wish you were here.
Ugh, enough gloom. Who wants a nun? I’ve saved them from the dumpster and have six to give away – simply choose and name your favourite from the fine specimens below and tell me in 10 words or less why your sweet singin' sister deserves to be saved. Numbered 1-6, left to right.
Or they burn.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
- Elton John
Alas no Paris last night, I knew it was over. Instead a rather ordinary dream about a Rhodesian Ridgeback that I had to housetrain before its master came home from work. I think I did a pretty good job, I had it fetching a newspaper. I’m not sure what happened in the end though, I think it segued seamlessly into a dream where I was standing by myself at a party, leaning against the wall by the speaker, nodding my head, occasionally jerking my arms, perhaps in time with the music, perhaps not, while fun loving people swirled around me…
Wait a moment …that was no dream! That was Saturday night!
It’s true I’m afraid. It was a great party and I had a ball, but I woke up the next day concerned that I had spent far too long in my own little world which, incidentally was quite a lot of fun. Anyhow, an e-mail this morning confirmed my worst fears. In several photographs there’s people having a good time, dancing, mincing, whatever, and there, lurking in the background, eyes closed and in exactly the same spot …is me. Presumably these photos were taken over a decent amount of time, and presumably I was having quite a decent time at the time, but it certainly looks strange in photographs. Sort of like Where’s Wally? Look! There he is!
As my Canadian friend Leonard might say, weird hey?
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
- Elton John
Alas no Paris last night, I knew it was over. Instead a rather ordinary dream about a Rhodesian Ridgeback that I had to housetrain before its master came home from work. I think I did a pretty good job, I had it fetching a newspaper. I’m not sure what happened in the end though, I think it segued seamlessly into a dream where I was standing by myself at a party, leaning against the wall by the speaker, nodding my head, occasionally jerking my arms, perhaps in time with the music, perhaps not, while fun loving people swirled around me…
Wait a moment …that was no dream! That was Saturday night!
It’s true I’m afraid. It was a great party and I had a ball, but I woke up the next day concerned that I had spent far too long in my own little world which, incidentally was quite a lot of fun. Anyhow, an e-mail this morning confirmed my worst fears. In several photographs there’s people having a good time, dancing, mincing, whatever, and there, lurking in the background, eyes closed and in exactly the same spot …is me. Presumably these photos were taken over a decent amount of time, and presumably I was having quite a decent time at the time, but it certainly looks strange in photographs. Sort of like Where’s Wally? Look! There he is!
As my Canadian friend Leonard might say, weird hey?
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
I gotta job to do
But that's the easy part
What's really killing me
Is this broken heart
You're hard to leave, tough to go
A heartache's ahead, this I know.
- Billy Ray Cyrus
Well the Lions have won, someone’s giving birth rather noisily on television, and I have a job! Yes – what a remarkably clean baby (I’m half watching Lost). I went for it, really wanted it, and got it, which I’m rather chuffed about. Only problem is I’ll have to pack up Brutus in my old kit bag and follow the well trod path up north, leaving my flat, family and friends here in the wundy sutty. I’ll be sorry to leave Wellington of course, but I’m looking forward to a bit of welcome change. Auckland, fetch me some kippers you old maid, I’ll be up for breakfast shortly.
So what else? Winter’s set in, I’ve got a cold and Paris Hilton has been coming on to me in my dreams. Which is great, but a little odd. Odd in that I don’t find her particularly attractive yet she’s been popping up in my dreams with unnerving regularity. Not particularly attractive, snorts Angry Sci-Fi Fan from Hamilton, pah!. Well it’s true Angry, I like her mischievous demeanour and her dopey grin, but that’s about the sum of it. Put it this way, if I was after such attributes I’d have settled for Wilma a long time ago, even Curious George. But that’s beside the point. I won’t elaborate further other than to say that after a brief courtship we now seem to be something of an item.
I’m really starting to like you Chuck, said Paris on Monday as I made the bed.
Despite myself Paris, I'm starting to feel the same way, I said on Tuesday.
By last night however she pointedly humiliated me in front of her well-heeled friends and our relationship may well have hit the rocks. I’ll let you know, though I fear I’ve broken the spell by spilling my guts in this piece. Time will tell, but for now, where’s that diazepam?
Apologies for the delay in spilling my guts, I just had to put a few things in order. And now that they are, onward ho!
But that's the easy part
What's really killing me
Is this broken heart
You're hard to leave, tough to go
A heartache's ahead, this I know.
- Billy Ray Cyrus
Well the Lions have won, someone’s giving birth rather noisily on television, and I have a job! Yes – what a remarkably clean baby (I’m half watching Lost). I went for it, really wanted it, and got it, which I’m rather chuffed about. Only problem is I’ll have to pack up Brutus in my old kit bag and follow the well trod path up north, leaving my flat, family and friends here in the wundy sutty. I’ll be sorry to leave Wellington of course, but I’m looking forward to a bit of welcome change. Auckland, fetch me some kippers you old maid, I’ll be up for breakfast shortly.
So what else? Winter’s set in, I’ve got a cold and Paris Hilton has been coming on to me in my dreams. Which is great, but a little odd. Odd in that I don’t find her particularly attractive yet she’s been popping up in my dreams with unnerving regularity. Not particularly attractive, snorts Angry Sci-Fi Fan from Hamilton, pah!. Well it’s true Angry, I like her mischievous demeanour and her dopey grin, but that’s about the sum of it. Put it this way, if I was after such attributes I’d have settled for Wilma a long time ago, even Curious George. But that’s beside the point. I won’t elaborate further other than to say that after a brief courtship we now seem to be something of an item.
I’m really starting to like you Chuck, said Paris on Monday as I made the bed.
Despite myself Paris, I'm starting to feel the same way, I said on Tuesday.
By last night however she pointedly humiliated me in front of her well-heeled friends and our relationship may well have hit the rocks. I’ll let you know, though I fear I’ve broken the spell by spilling my guts in this piece. Time will tell, but for now, where’s that diazepam?
Apologies for the delay in spilling my guts, I just had to put a few things in order. And now that they are, onward ho!
