A Tale Of Two Halves

A Tale of Two Halves

Living close to the Kauri Museum at Matakohe, means that I meet quite a few tourists and I often advise them about places to visit. I keep a Northland map handy and I have noticed that many women have a different way to approaching maps compared to men – especially when it comes to looking at locations close to Matakohe itself.

Men generally scan the map quickly and also ask if I have a larger map to see where the location fits in. Women often move the map around and line it up local features if the destination is close by. They are also inclined to write notes. I have read about this sort behaviour and I find it really interesting to observe it first hand.

A recent news report I came across confirms these sexual differences and added extra information on how both sexes react to works of art. Professor Francisco Aylaya, from a Californian university, has published the findings of his research that used magnetic field detectors to see which parts of the brain were being used when men and women were looking at art.

He found that men mostly used a zone on their right side and women used both sides. His study suggests that the right side is used for spatial awareness (seeing the big picture) and the left side focused on contextual relevance (seeing things close at hand and their connection to the surroundings).

Professor Ayala thinks that these differences have evolved to become hard wired ever since mankind became hunter-gatherers. Men tended to go on long hunting expeditions while most women stayed closer to the home base gathering nuts and fruits and dealing with other tribal activities.

When I think about this it makes me wonder what is going on in the left zone of men’s brains and the obvious answer came when I read an email sent to me from, of all people, a very staunchly feminist friend I know. At the top was picture of an old Native American chief with the title “Where did the White man go wrong” and below it was the following text.

“The Indian Chief, 'Two Eagles', was asked by a white government official, "You have observed the white man for 90 years. You've seen his wars and his technological advances. You've seen his progress, and the damage he's done."

The Chief nodded in agreement. The official continued, "Considering all these events, in your opinion, where did the white man go wrong?"

The Chief stared at the government official for over a minute and then calmly replied. "When white man find land, Indians running it, no taxes, no debt, plenty buffalo, plenty beaver, clean water. Women did all the work, Medicine man free. Indian man spend all day hunting and fishing; all night having sex."

Then the chief leaned back and smiled. "Only white man dumb enough to think he could improve system like that."

After reading this, I think perhaps many men need room upstairs for thoughts about women while out hunting and looking at art.

A Dog's Tale

This cartoon was drawn to illustrate a tale about a farm dog that was locked up in the Pound for allegedly chasing a neighhbour's cat and threatening chickens.

Milking Monikers

Monikers Maketh More Milk

For most of my working life I have had farming neighbours and I have got on well with nearly all of them. My first impressions of how they lived and worked are still the most lasting and come from the time I fled the city to set up a studio in the country. I found a derelict farm house to rent and in order to get a regular supply of water, I had to sort out an arrangement with John, my sharemilking neighbour.

John had a British army background and he wasted no time in telling me what a lousy job it was - sloshing around in the mud and cow shit and putting up with bitterly cold southerly winds. To make the case clearer, he waved a piece of alkathene pipe in the direction of a few stragglers and roared profanities at the dog.

His milking shed looked like a battleground and it was so noisy, I left with my ears ringing. There was effluent all over the place and his young worker was just as agitated as the cows as he tried frantically to milk at the hectic pace that John had set.

My landlord, on the other hand, had quite a different approach. I went over to his place to have a chat once and as it happened, he too was finishing off a day’s milking. It was a balmy summer afternoon and we met by the railing around the yard.

He had the National Programme going at a moderate volume and the last of the cows were going thru’ the shed at a leisurely pace. While we were talking, a cow came up and sniffed around me. I stepped back (not wanting to get goobed on) and to my surprise Frank reached out and scratched her topknot, which she seemed to really like.

Frank explained that he knew this one as a heifer when she was struggling to survive and needed extra TLC. I gave her a scratch as well, keeping an eye on her huge salivary tongue. The farm worker gave me a smile when he saw me nervously approach the cow and I could tell he liked his job by the way he whistled along with a familiar tune on the radio.

I came away with a different view about farming and thought to myself “Now that’s the way to do it.” Because I had seen this way of working, it was not surprising for me to hear this week that naming cows could increase production.

Research results from Newcastle University in the UK indicate that this practice can yield up to 284 litres of milk annually. Keeping track of hundreds of cows this way might seem crazy at present. However, when robots take over in the near future, farmers might use the same automated voice recognition technology that Telecom employs to milk its customers.

“Hello Daisy, please tell me in a few moos how your day has been while I connect you to a machine that can help.”

Shadow on the Wall

Shadow On The Wall

My family caught me by surprise this Christmas with a new time eating distraction. I am now the proud owner of an iPod that has been loaded with heaps of music (most of which I have never heard before) and the full length movie “Transformers”.

It was a nice gesture, but what really made my heartbeat quicken was the microphone attachment that came with it. This nifty device plugs into the base of the iPod and it has boosted a hobby of mine, which is composing music. Up till now, I have used a tape recorder and struggled to get my tunes and songs out in a form my friends can easily hear – or to put into some form of notation for other musicians to play.

Owning an iPod has put me into the iTunes world and so I have become a member of the ‘cool generation’ of downloaders. I can make mp3 recordings, add extra bits to them in ‘Garage Band’ and send them over the Internet. I can also view movies that I take with my digital camera and add them to the movie theatre I carry in my pocket.

I was as happy as Larry until I heard a BBC radio programme recently, called Digital Planet (RNZ National 5.30 am Sat. morning). iPods were mentioned while they were talking about the emergence of our “digital shadows”. They explained that this term can be loosely defined as the recorded trail we leave behind us when we use the internet, cell phones and the digital surveillance cameras that detect our activities in public places.

In the days when analogue data (film, tapes etc.) was king, it was very difficult to assemble the huge amount of material recording our daily lives. Not so today! The Digital Age is upon us and believe or not, the activities of almost everyone on Earth can now be quickly detected.

Using reliable research from the International Data Group (IDC), it has been estimated that in 2007 the average amount of digital information being held for every person alive was about 45 gigabytes (GB) of data (1 GB = approx. 700 photos on my camera). Since then, it has been estimated to be growing at a rate of 60% a year.

This is scary stuff! It is like being told that there are more stars in the Universe than all the grains of sand on every beach on Earth. My minds boggles - and when I hold my iPod in my hands I now get a sinister feeling that I am being detected by the nerve ending of a gigantic new monster that we have created.

My misgivings were not helped much when I found out that a lot of this information is being mathematically broken down into useful data by “Numerati”. This term was coined by Stephen Baker, who wrote a book on how this data finds its way to those selling consumer goods, services and political influence.

No wonder I am getting so much spam, junk mail and offers over the phone. I have noticed lately that the spam I receive in particular, is looking more and more attractive, but I dare not open their attachments for fear of picking up the electronic equivalent of STDs.

In places like China, the government trawls the Internet 24 hours a day for any signs of political dissent or moral corruption that might upset its power base. In places like that, older technologies might be a safer bet for personal safety. In this country, analogue recording will more likely protect your privacy more from the prying eyes and ears of marketing types. Mind you, some animal rights people in NZ have good reasons to avoid the pointless attention of the SIS as well.

I heard a film archivist say recently that we should not be too eager to throw away our VHS recorders, tapes and films. He said they could be repaired mechanically if they get damaged and can last a long time if carefully looked after. I like my iPod, however hardcopy media can still offer us a safe and more uniquely personal experience than the digital shadows of our former selves.

Key Aura

Key Aura!

It was a holiday that Nick had been looking forward to for ages. He had been counting down the last days at school as he crouched over his desk scribbling words and numbers into his (“Could do better”) work books. He could not stop day dreaming of beaches and surf, as he watched the chalk dust drifting lazily to the floor.

When the holidays finally began, there were the usual family arguments at home over what to take or leave behind. Nick’s parents wanted “quality time away from it all”; whatever that meant. To Nick, it had sounded like being sentenced to a week of boredom away from Sky TV.

His mood lifted tho’, when they agreed to take along with them his best mate Tama and Rufus, his floppy eared Labrador. They were all soon travelling north and Nick began to catch tantalising glimpses of the deep blue sea between the passing hills of green farmland.

When at last the car wheels came to rest on the sandy car park Rufus bounced out first, followed by Nick and Tama. They raced up the nearest sand dune and were disappointed to see that the ocean was still some distance away. Nick felt the unpacking and raising the tent took far too long, but eventually they were on their way to the water.

The boys had not gone far down he track however, when they came across an old corrugated iron shack, with “The Foreshore and Seabed Act Sux” painted on the side. While they were having a nosey inside Nick’s Dad caught up with them. “Hey guys, get out of there, that’s private!” He said, calling them over.

“What does that mean Dad?” Asked Nick pointing at the writing. ”Not sure Nick, but I suspect the locals think they got a raw deal from our Government and they want more control over what goes on around the beaches and in the sea.” “Well I hope we can keep coming here if they win that court case they’re after.” Said Nick’s mum.

His dad chuckled the way he did when he was half serious, “Yeah well, maybe we will all have to get ID chips put in like old Rufus here to sort out who has more rights than others.”

The tide was out and the boys ran across the beach to test out their new boogie boards. They later got the call to come in for lunch and on their way back Nick saw a man, in some sort of uniform, talking to people digging up shellfish. Tama seemed to think he was a beach warden of some sort.

After a long and tiring day Nick and Tama were glad to get into their tent and they let Rufus curl up by the entrance. They talked a bit about who got the best wave and then both fell asleep. A couple of hours later tho’ Tama woke up when he heard Nick yelling. Tama gave Nick a poke with his torch to wake him.

“What’s up Bro? You having a nightmare or something?” Nick rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, I was being chased off the beach by a Maori guy like that Beach warden. He was waving a stick and trying to check if I had the right ID chip with some sort of scanning thing in his hand – scary eh!”

“Yeah, but that’s never goin’ to happen I reckon.” Said Tama. “You must have been worrying about what your dad said. My mum’s a pakeha and you know my Dad’s a Maori eh. Well, he said he couldn’t figure out why some people were blowing a fuse.”

Nick seemed more awake and slowly, some colour returned to his face, “You know what!” continued Tama, “Dad said, why worry about changing things – anyway, before long most of us will all be Iwi and paddling the same waka .”

Stans Palace?

Museum Musings

The Kaipara and Whangarei districts might be close neighbours, but in some respects they are worlds apart. In my view, this can be seen most clearly in the way run their museums and how successful they are.

You would think that the Whangarei District Council, with much more income from rates, would have the best of everything. Sure enough, they do have a very fine library and some amazing parks and beaches, but when it comes to museums, the tables are turned and the Kaipara District wins hands down.

Kaipara museums are self funded and cost the ratepayer very little. The Whangarei museums, on the other hand, have been receiving bucket loads of rate payer funds and yet only manage to attract a tiny fraction of the huge amount of tourist traffic passing thru’ the city. Even locals don’t seem visit them often, so I find myself asking - what has gone wrong?

The most obvious reason appears to be their buildings and locations. The ‘Museum & Kiwi House’ (ex “Regional Museum”) occupies a leaky building on State Highway Fourteen, and well away from the CBD and tourist rich State Highway One. The Clapham’s Clock Museum is crammed into a small space that it shares with an information centre. It is struggling to utilise its potential by being away from the CBD and SH1. The Art Museum is also in an isolated situation and housed in an inappropriate building that is hard to access if you travel by a tourist bus. Being located in the shade of a large office block does not help its cause either.

I recently had the chance to discuss the plight of Whangarei’s museums with the mayor, Stan Semenof and Mark Simpson (CEO), in the mayor’s office at Forum North. I had some suggestions of my own that might help, but they made it quite clear that the conversion of the old Regional Council building (at the Town Basin) into a Hundertwasser inspired Art Museum would be the master stroke to get value from ratepayer funding of museums.

They showed very little interest in anything else and I can now see why their efforts and those made by the other Whangarei museums, are failing to get ASB Trust or Government support for their projects. To put it bluntly, the residents of Whangarei are failing to get their act together as a community to preserve and present to the world, their own cultural and material heritage.

The Kaipara museums obviously do not have this problem and it seems to me that this illustrates very clearly the old city and country differences that have been with us ever since the dawn of civilisation. It all boils down to a matter of quite different attitudes held on each side of the divide.

In the country, people learn to help one another out because they know that it is the mutual arrangement needed when community resources are few and stretched over a wide area. In urban areas, most residents learn to often expect someone else to help out – after all, “isn’t that what taxes and rates are all about,” I hear them say. Indeed they are, but as you can see, without strong and united community support, a lot of money can be wasted by bureaucrats.

Judging from the recent headlines in The Northern Advocate about sewerage being dumped in the harbour, Mayor Semenof has more urgent matters to attend to these days. Before he died, Hundertwasser designed a waste disposal plant in Austria that ran on its own energy. Perhaps one of his inspired designs could be used in a new sewage treatment plant here.

If Kawakawa can attract tourists to visit a Hundertwasser toilet, just imagine what an impact a monumental ‘Hundertwasser Toilet’ for the whole of Whangarei would have. In times when the council is not so flush with funds, this idea might be right on the button!

A Matter of Fat

A Matter Of Fat

Food seems to be on my mind lately and I was interested to hear on the news that the Japanese Government is planning to penalize people they classify as being dangerously overweight. In order to stem the rise in heart attacks, they are going to employ obesity wardens to spot check people on the street and issue fines for those exceeding the officially healthy height to weight ratios.

I wonder if the idea will catch on here? If it does, then I know of one small town, I visited recently, where the residents had better head for the hills.

Kaiaua is situated on the coastal route out of Auckland on the way to Thames and it proudly boasts to be the best place to buy fish and chips in New Zealand. Now, I cannot claim to be a skilled judge in deciding which greasies are best, but on the day I visited the Kaiaua Fish and Chip Shop, it was overflowing with enthusiastic customers.

While I stood in the queue, I had time to take a look around the place. I soon found myself becoming very self-conscious about my appearance, because I noticed that I was the only letter “I” in a paragraph of “O”s. At almost every table, were some of the fattest people I have ever seen. The shop was packed with families and couples ploughing thru’ mountains of chips, hamburgers and battered fish. Even the kids were bursting at the seams and looked like mini versions of their corpulent parents.

To avoid staring at them too much I gazed out of the front window at the view. By the beach, I could see some contractors standing around their vehicles having a smoko and all of them were portly to say the least. The sign attached to one of their trucks appropriately read… “Oversize”.

After my meal, I went next door to the Bay View Hotel for a game of snooker and a beer – sure enough, the majority of the crowd were just the same. There were, thankfully, a few more of my build (which is on the slim side) to make me seem less obvious. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves as they swayed and danced with the music and I began to wonder why I was so concerned about a diet that experts say is such a health hazard.

I have often heard Auckland described as the “Polynesian Capital of the World” and I think many other Kiwis might be picking up some of the lifestyle too. In a traditional Polynesian society being XXOS was very acceptable because it indicated you had risen high enough to be able to avoid physical labour.

Today, we have machines to do much of the hard work and so, in a way, we can now all be aristocrats. If people use their physique to celebrate this, then unfortunately, I am going to be always in amongst the disadvantaged – no matter how much I eat, I will never get near the ‘Pacific Norm’ in body shape.

Somehow I will have to accept gracefully my newly undersized position of being at the bottom of the ‘peckish order’ or get a stomach enlarging operation of some sort so I can look like Gerry Brownlie or the Hon. Parekura Horomia.

Then again, as this is an election year, it might more prudent to hold off until we see who wins. If the economic situation worsens internationally, lean and mean could well be fashionable again.

I can imagine people like parking wardens would jump at the chance to take part in the battle of the bulge. I can see them leaping out, Japanese style from behind cars and dishing out instant fines for being over the limit. Come to think of it, I have got the build for a job like that, but I think it would be too stressful punching tickets above my weight.