celebration

A mo(ve)ment in time

A man runs through a crowd

A vehicle in pursuit, chasing him down, looking behind

Bodies parting like a zip, closing behind in disbelief

Shattered bodies, desperate screams for help, adrenaline surging seeking a path through the chaos

Broken pieces of time and space

A man drives through a crowd bodies scatter, disbelief, a surreal juxtaposition

Two men in different places

Steal the attention they have split the masses

The man in yellow will share this day forever with another an entanglement of torment, of pain and of suffering

No celebration at the end

Time closes in on the other his race is over

It is not over…

(In memory of Bastille Day attack 2016 – with the Tour de France leg on the same day where Chris Froome had to run with his bike)

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Sweet – up in smoke

I’m not sure my nervous system, endocrine system, excretion and intelligence system can take much more. After a rugby world cup final that sent my adrenal glands into overdrive while my kidneys processed excessive diuretics, followed by manic dressing up and serious sugar overload there were a few days to recover before the next round of loud explosions at the moment of just getting to sleep.

So I’m gonna simplify the picture and come up with some ingenious answers coz it’s Friday night and I’m wearing odd socks:

We waved flags, all sorts of flags, and won a cup, playing a game the rest of the world has never heard of. In a country that doesn’t exist on many world maps, we worry people can’t tell our flag from Australia’s. Fine – let’s just make it official and put a kiwi on a flag laying an egg shaped object. What is the point of having a flag if we aren’t even on a map? It’s like the world took a bad selfie and cut us off.

Now to deal with this Halloween thing at the wrong time of the year and our insistence on celebrating a failed terrorist plot in another country over 400 years ago by playing with explosives. So if we are going to hang on, borrow and butcher other rituals why not go the whole hog and just completely cluster f*#k it. I propose exploding sugar fire-works. Just shoot lollies and stuff into the sky and kids can run all over the neighbourhood finding it. Much more skill involved having to read the wind and calculate the range of a pineapple lump or jaffa vrs a marshmello. Could be future All-Black training fending off the competition, speed, reaction time.

Time to get a referendum going. Don’t worry about the price, it shouldn’t sky rocket.

Having a Ball

It’s that time of year again. The school uniforms are ditched for suits and frocks. Forget no nail polish and jewellery it’s a chance to flaunt every rule schools have on hair, make up and shoes. So I still feel a bit like the school ball is a bit of an archaic ritual. I wrote about my feelings last year therefore I want to change tact, because last night I did the 10-12 shift at the ball and recognised the importance of these events as a kind of social rupture.

The opportunity to express an alternative identity for a night is like time travel or a dimension shift. Young people can decide how to present themselves and might even choose to express cultural or gender challenges that signal to others a sense of unique identity in contrast to the sameness school uniforms imply. I enjoyed the game of ‘who was that who just said Hi Miss Grant’? As I tried to do my own cumbersome version of facial recognition software. Sometimes it came down to voice before a name would drop in. The fact that the oldest song I heard was from the late 90’s helped me to acknowledge that I am finally awkwardly aware of my age.

Who knows what happened after the ball, and actually – it is none of my business. That is the door that needs to be shut once and for all. School staff and to some degree parents of 18 year olds might do well to remember we were once that age, and we need to play our part in the ritual ‘ignorance’ of the other ‘right of passage’ (post ball shenanigans) that might be a little less formal and perhaps a lot more messy.

Of course no-one wants anyone to get seriously hurt, but some will take more risks that others and expect it as part of the package deal. Cinderella lost her glass slipper and I saw a few young women learned from that – exiting the building one arm linked with her date, the other on her shoes, and on her feet a pair of jandals.

Oh the simplicity of a layer of rubber and the wonder of double entendre.

We didn’t start the fire – but the sparks are pretty

Any Billy Joel fan will recognise that line, but don’t be lead astray by that. I’m probably one of thousands with an opinion about fireworks. It’s hard to contribute to a topic already bursting with combustible hot air. People are red faced enough at either end of the spectrum to warrant their own brand of rocket, spinning like Catherine wheels if someone dares to express and alternative.

We seem a country hung up on traditions, claiming them, creating them, changing them but throw in the possibility of legislation stepping in and you had better stand back coz that wick is pretty short. There is a funny sort of categorisation of appropriateness when it comes to socially sanctioned celebrations. Religious holidays always have that edge of ‘but do you know why’ and I understand that as acknowledging that some traditions have particular origins. But generally, we don’t seem to care if easter eggs are sold early or after easter, there is no ‘chocolate police’. On Valentine’s Day the Emergency Department isn’t full of broken hearts needing restarting, or burns from scorned lovers. Christmas and Halloween now bracket Guy Fawkes in New Zealand and our cultural calendar of events with varying degrees of acceptance, so it seems we are stuck with if you can’t beat them join in or start a petition.

I do get the safety aspect around letting off fireworks and I’m not all that fond of loud noises – so I’m not exactly ‘woohoo’ about sky rockets, but I do like a good bonfire. People sometimes think that explaining the origins of celebrations helps give more meaning and value to an experience…like that worked for Halloween yeah right.

If you are out there tonight setting large amounts of cash on fire, enjoy it, be safe. The fire brigade will be run off their feet and they will not want to hear ‘we didn’t start the fire’ as you are ‘burning down the house’…cue Talking Heads or The Prodigy – firestarter.