Shihad played the second night of their Killjoy/General Electric tour last night in Christchurch at the Bedford.  Great idea to play one album from start to finish, but I think you still need to do an encore guys! One album is just too short for a concert and the crowd definitely wanted more. We hung around for ten minutes after the set finished, vainly hoping the boys would come back out for a couple more songs, in denial of the fact some dude was dismantling the drum kit.

But what they did play, was of course awesome. An interesting crowd mix, from young to old, punk to old school rockers to merivale cardigan wearing types. One of which was right in front of me. A skinny tall thing in a cardigan, with a boring blunt bob haircut and nerdy glasses. I couldn’t help but think she was in the wrong venue, surely she was meant to be in a jazz club somewhere. Or perhaps at the opera.

But when the band started to play, it became apparently that not only was she in the right place, but she was a huge fan, which was kind of funny and disturbing at the same time. She just went insane. Punching her long octopus-like arms in the air, bouncing when Johnny said to bounce….  unfortunately she didn’t quite pull it off, much to the delight of the surrounding fans who I am sure found her just as entertaining as the main act.  Punching the air became a sort of limp wristed wave and a kind of swimming action with her arms, and her idea of bouncing was jumping up and down twice, losing her balance and having to dramatically clutch on to the sound pit railing next to us with both hands. Then the strobe light made an appearance and started crossing her hands over each other at full speed in front of her face, fascinated by the effect. That did us all in, there were hysterics at that point and her equally nerdy but more restrained friend moved ever so slightly further away from her.  I had the misfortune to be standing right behind her with a table at my back, so had nowhere to go when she went mad, and spent most of the night trying to avoid being whacked in the face by one of her tentacles. While funny, it kind of spoiled my own flow.  Love, if you’re going to go nuts with your hands in the air, get yourself up in the mosh pit area with all the other meatheads. There’s a reason I stay far away from the mosh pit at Shihad concerts – Christchurch Shihad fans can be over-enthusiastic at times, and an elbow to the face is something I try  to avoid, it bloody hurts!

But overall, a good night, if a little short lived. Forgot how much I love the General Electric album, think that’s going to get a turn on the playlist today!

Is it just me or does anyone else think Ozzy Osbourne’s new song Scream should have been released about 6 months earlier, so it would have been in with a shot at being chosen for the 2001 Rugby World Cup as the official song?  The lyrics are pure gold. It could have been written with rugby in mind. Seriously…

I’m black and bruised, beat up but still I take the blows
‘Cause all I need is blood and sweat and skin and bones
I’ll take this rage, rattle your cage, nobody said it’s easy
It’s do or die, only the strong survive, get ready for the last stand!
Get ready, I’m your hangman!

Let me hear you scream like you want it!
Let me hear you yell like you mean it!
If you gotta, GO DOWN!
GO LOUD!
GO STRONG!
GO PROUD!
GO ON!
GO HARD OR GO HOME!
Let me hear you! (let me hear you!)
Let me hear you! (let me hear you!)
Let me hear you scream!

I’ll pull you up and push you right back in your place
I’ll take you down and wipe that smile right off your face
I’ll watch you break, you’re mine to take, don’t blink, you just might miss it!
It’s all or nothing, nowhere left to run, are you ready for the last fight?
Get ready with the war cry!

Let me hear you scream like you want it!
Let me hear you yell like you mean it!
If you gotta, GO DOWN!
GO LOUD!
GO STRONG!
GO PROUD!
GO ON!
GO HARD OR GO HOME!
Let me hear you! (let me hear you!)
Let me hear you! (let me hear you!)
Let me hear you scream!

Maybe New Zealand should adopt it as our team song instead. We can sing it right after the haka. Let the rest of the world have Right Here, Right Now. We’ll scream Go Hard or Go Home!

Every now and then I come across a piece of writing that sums up something I feel so well, I wish I could plagiarize it. But of course I don’t like to break laws, so in this case I will just have to link to it – “On Dying Alone. And Pantsless.” Those words could have come straight from my mouth, if only I’d thought them first! Except I do wear pants, frequently.

I had the misfortune this afternoon to sit in Coffee Culture in Riccarton next to a mother and her sprog. Said sprog was 3 or 4? I don’t know, I’m not good with kids ages. Younger than my 5 year old nephew, much older than my 10 month old other nephew. So probably 3 or 4. Old enough to speak somewhat coherently. Not that the poor little bugger could get a word in, with her mouth talking nine to the dozen. Jesus, woman! During the 15 minutes I sat there, I must have thought to myself “shut the fuck up lady” at least 10 times. I may even have muttered it under my breath once or twice, quietly hoping she might hear me.

This poor tyke’s name was Fergus. Or so I gathered from her constant monologue. So there’s strike one, right there. What’s the poor kid gonna get called at school by the bullies? Yeah, you got it – Fergie. He doesn’t stand a chance, it’s what his fucking mother calls him. And you just know she’s going to be one of these mothers that insists on walking him right to the school gate every morning and giving him a whopping big kiss in front of all his schoolmates.

But what disturbed me the most was her one-sided conversation. Poor wee Fergie was trying to play quietly in the kids area. Every ten seconds she would turn away from the magazine she was pretending to read and utter in a tone any normal person would reserve for actual babies:

“Fergie, sweetie, what are you doing lovey?”

“Fergie, darling, come and show mummy.”

“Honey, would you like a biscuit?”

“Fergie sweetie, daddy will be here soon.”  (thank fuck, the kid’s thinking, daddy please save me from this bitch)

At one point, because I can only assume he was frustrated with all the lovey, sweetie, darlings, Fergus threw his fluffie cup on the floor, where it smashed rather satisfyingly. I couldn’t help myself, I smirked.

What did mummy do? Did she discipline him for destroying the cafe’s property?  Offer to pay for the cost of the cup when the waitress came over to clean up the mess? No.

“Oh never mind darling, mummy will go get you another one.”

Oh. My. God. I may not want to be a parent, but seriously? I have more of a clue than this woman. Lady, you are turning your kid gay. And what the fuck was your husband thinking, letting you name your son Fergus?

This kid is going to play dress up in his mother’s clothes and end up gay or a transvestite, or at the very least, a guy who doesn’t leave home until his early 30’s and expects his girlfriends to do everything for him (good luck with that). Or he’s going to rebel and be an out of control punk by the time he’s 8 (of which I will be very proud). Or one day he’s going to take a shotgun to school… and, well you know the rest. This, lady, is how serial killers and mass murderers get their start in life. Congratulations.

I cannot believe they sold my dream home. What was wrong with waiting until I won Lotto and showed up with the cash? I had so many plans for the renovation of that villa.

Oh well, a girl’s gotta have dreams, so here’s the new one. Sigh.

Bored on a wet, cold Sunday morning led me to looking at my website stats for the first time in months.  The top ten search keyphrases that led people here are:

cantabrian
one eyed cantabrian
fish cakes made with mashed potatoes recipes
kiwi blogs
hungarian goulash
dog blogs
kama
popular kiwi blogs
recipe slow cooker beef curry
hungarian goulash recipe

I’m please to note my blog is not being found through more disturbing search phrases anymore! And all are relevant except for the fish cakes thing – I don’t think I’ve ever made fish cakes, much less blogged about them. Although now of course, I have, so I expect many more fish cake loving blog readers to bookmark me.

I wonder who was searching for “kama” and whether they were looking for me? More likely they were looking for that Gridiron player with the same name, or something to do with sex. I find it quite amusing that I share my name with not only the Kama Sutra (that’ll bring them flocking), but also some high-school gridiron player, Kama Bailey. He’s all over You Tube as well. From all accounts he seems to be quite good. Go Kama!  I think we should get married. Imagine that. There’d never be any danger of forgetting each other’s names at important moments, and I wouldn’t have to change my surname. Cool.

Well, at least 2 of the top 8 google results are actually mine. And I rank higher than him on the Spock.com search engine. Plus WikiName.com lists Kama Bailey as a girl’s name. Haha, I win.

I got an email on Facebook tonight. From someone whose public opinion I dared disagree with – she obviously felt compelled to look me up on Facebook and tell me how she felt. For heaven’s sake. People take themselves way too seriously. And if I can be frank, lady, I couldn’t give a shit about what you think about what I wrote. I didn’t write it for you. I write here as an outlet for my thoughts, and to keep my friends and family updated. I doubt anyone else reads this blog, and again, I don’t really care. It did serve to remind me however, that I haven’t blogged in simply ages and I should get off my ass and post something, before all afore-mentioned friends and family think I’m dead (damn you Twitter).

So hi people. What’s new?  For me, March and April were surprisingly busy. There was a Wine & Food Festival (Waipara) which I attended with my sister and parents, and didn’t drink nearly enough wine to warrant all the dancing I did to the Waratahs. And I never did get that bacon & avocado roll I had been craving all the way there. Oh well, there’s always next year.

Then there was a volleyball final which we shall NOT talk about. EVER. Except to say it’s not about winning, it’s how you play the game. Well it would be, except it IS about winning, and we didn’t play anything resembling volleyball. Oh well, there’s always next year.

Then there was a beautiful garden wedding of two beautiful friends, Pam & Andy, and a rollicking good time. I bought a new dress (yes, I wore a dress). It was pretty. The groom wore a kilt, the bride a gorgeous dress with a train a la McLeod’s Daughters (with the coloured strip down the back). There was a gorgeous ceremony, drinking, eating, Spank the Monkey, funny speeches and dancing and I was home by midnight. Perfect.

Then, I got a new addition to the fur-family (zoo). Billie Joe the kitten is a gorgeous tortoiseshell with half ginga, half black face, right down the middle. Super cute pictures are on Facebook. It took a while but she and Jack have finally bonded, which she’s stoked about because it means she’s no longer locked in the bedroom for hours at a time, and he’s stoked because it means he’s allowed back on the bed at night. Even Eliot has finally stopped spazzing out and has allowed her inner kitten to have a play from time to time. Only Ed is still in a grump. He will get it over it eventually. Old Grumpy Ginga.

Then there was Bark in the Park. At which our boys Jack and Chopper got free bandannas and poo bag holders (nice). This event took over our favourite spot, the dog park at the Groynes. There were dogs and people for Africa. Lauren ordered Chopper a camo hoodie to stop his shivering in the cold. It was crazy fun. By the way, if you haven’t joined our Facebook group, you should. Assuming you actually own a dog.

Then there was the Lee Child book tour. Lee Child is one of my favourite authors, in such distinguished company as Tom Clancy, Nelson de Mille, Robert Ludlum, Barry Eisler and Vince Flynn. Lee was a very suave, very cool, very funny man. You can totally picture Jack Reacher in your head after meeting Lee Child, and funnily enough, Jack looks just like Lee. After Lee’s talk and question time, we queued up to get our copies of 61 Hours signed. We had to write our names on little post-it notes so Lee could get the spelling right. I wrote a little message on mine…. “Would the real Jack Reacher please call….”  The front inside cover of my book now reads “To Kama, the real Jack Reacher just might call….”  The guy is seriously cool and if I wasn’t already married in my heart and mind to Billie Joe, I’d be tempted to marry him (also in my mind, mind you).

Then, have eaten dinner with my sister 4 nights in a row. We’ve had a roast pork. Chicken steaks. Chicken Nachos. It’s all been very good. But I now have no petrol left in my car and payday’s not till Wednesday. Suck.

Then, today I spent the day in our Wellington office. Not much to report there. And now we’re all up to date.

This post was brought to you by the word ‘then’. It’s a good word. I like it. I may start a Facebook group about it. Then random strangers who want to email me on FB can go join it instead and leave messaging me via FB to my actual friends.

I read the review in Wednesday’s Press of the Faith No More concert, in which she gave them a reasonably glowing review. Bollocks. Now I’m by no means suggesting Ms. Anderson gained financially by writing such a report, but clearly we were not at the same concert.

I think perhaps The Press should hire me on a freelance basis, send me off to all the concerts for free, then get me to write a non-biased, honest review of the performance. And pay me lots of money. I’d do a far better job.

I’m a big Faith No More fan. By which I mean, I have a collection of their biggest hits on my iTunes, and would count most of them among my all-time favourite songs. By my own admission, I only know the commercial hits, not their more obscure work off their other albums. In which case it’s fair to say I’m certainly not a die-hard Faith No More fanatic, but I was excited about this concert and hearing some of my favourites performed live. Apparently I expected too much (hard not to after the recent Green Day tour).

The first five songs I had never heard in my life. I have no idea whether they were new or old. They seemed to consist of Mike Patton trying to prove he can scream with the best of them (I couldn’t make out the actual words), and the guitarists making what could best be described as random screeching noises. The acoustics in the Westpac arena are not suitable for that kind of sound, obviously no-one warned them. Sound check anyone? I was prepared to hear some new songs, but by the fifth song I was ready for some hits. Finally they pulled out Evidence. But throughout the whole concert they were kind of few and far between and I was starting to get edgy (I only counted 8 songs I knew). There was too much I didn’t know and I couldn’t relate the screaming, screeching noise with the Faith No More I know and love. I wasn’t enjoying this as much as I had hoped, and I was starting to look at the ceiling and wishing I was back at Green Day with Billie Joe & Mike rocking the stage. In short, I was getting a little bored. I’m fairly sure I wasn’t the only one, there wasn’t a lot of energetic jumping up and down (always the sign of a good rock concert) and the applause at the end of each song, while loud and appreciative, was short-lived. I, and many of the people around me, stood reasonably still for much of the time. That gave me a sore back, cramp in my left foot and a bad case of the grumps.

Come back tours should really be banned unless the band can actually pull it off. And the band members should wear black. These aging rockers dressed in white, cream and pastels, including their trousers. Mike Patton had his hair slicked back in some kind of Antonio Banderas Zorro style. I don’t know the image they were going for, but to me, they all looked completely ridiculous and perhaps better suited to a jazz bar or whatever genre of musician wears a white suit (wedding singers?).

What Ms. Anderson describes as Mike’s banter with the crowd, to me seemed forced and strained (and sparse, to say the least), and it certainly didn’t create much crowd response or interaction. I’ve been in louder, more energetic and happier crowds at Opshop concerts.

So time went by, and as they launched into another long instrumental, I was almost ready to leave. A nice warm bed was actually seeming like a better option. But I thought I would hang in there for the encore as surely they had to pull out something brilliant for that. Well, they did a 2 song encore which at least included my favourite, Stripsearch. Then they left the stage again and we all kind of looked at each other and went, “Huh? Is that it?” The lights didn’t go on, so we stuck around figuring they would be back for a second encore. Perhaps we’d get another big hit.

Well, no. They came out, thanked the crowd, and after some disorganised pissing around, went into another instrumental. We shuffled our feet, tried not to look bored out of our skulls and waited patiently (we were, after all, still fans, if somewhat disappointed ones). The instrumental finished, the band walked off stage without so much as a goodbye, the lights went on, and it was over. We nearly fell over in shock.  One guy near me yelled out, “You Suck!” and I have to say, I was close to agreeing with him.

I almost ran to my car in my desire to beat the carpark traffic, get home and put the evening behind me.

In conclusion, I was left with ringing ears and an overwhelming sinking feeling that I will never again enjoy a concert as much as Green Day. Boys, you have ruined live music for me.

The fundamental problem with online dating, is the whole “plenty of fish in the sea” concept. You meet someone in a bar, at a work function, a party, a friend of a friend, and start dating them, you can (usually) rest assured you are the only person they are seeing at the time. Not so with online dating, and probably why it never works out for me and I should give the whole thing up after so many fruitless years. Men who are new to the online dating scenario are suddenly faced with a veritable “sea” of available women, most of whom are sad, lonely & desperate for a relationship (this is where I differ!) and will take anything they can get. The men of course immediately think “Great! I’m going to hang my rod out for as long as I can and see how many I can catch!” Inevitably all the women he’s seeing at the same time will realise they’re not the only one on his menu, dump him, and he ends up alone and wondering why.

Women like me (not desperate) on the other hand will tend to sift through the rubbish until they find a gem, then concentrate their effort and attention on him, and him alone. I receive a lot of mail through various dating sites, 98% of which go straight in the trash. Another 1% I might respond to but after a few  messages, realise we are not even remotely compatible, wish them well and cut contact. The final 1% (not very high is it?) has managed to capture my attention enough to suggest a potential relationship is worth pursuing. And this is where online dating lets me down. Because I’ve already done the sifting through by this time and come to the conclusion that this guy is worth some time and effort in getting to know, to the detriment of anyone else who might contact me in the meantime. But the guy I’m keen on, he’s generally still fishing. And I know this, because in this time and age of social networking websites, it’s hard to keep anything a secret (unless of course, you’re Chris, but that’s a whole other story). Certainly nothing I do is a secret, online at least, my life is an open book. What you read is what you get.

So I know he’s chatting with various other women online, probably meeting them in real life – what’s a girl to do? In the case of the “date” I had yesterday for example. I go into first meetings with very low or no expectations, then I’m never disappointed – it’s a strategy that works well for me! Yesterday I felt something of a connection almost immediately, and that rarely happens to me. Kindred spirits, if you like. Both introverts who can be social when the need arises, but would rather have quiet nights at home, both dog & music lovers, scarily similar ideas on where we want to live in the future, etc etc. I surprised myself at how much I liked him. I felt there was definite potential there. Of course, I have no idea if he felt the same way, I’m not good at reading people’s minds. And of course, I see him online on Facebook (after our date & suggesting we see each other again), chatting to other women I am guessing he has just befriended in the same way as me, via an online dating site. So he has been sucked into the whole fishing thing too.

I can’t really blame him and I’m not pissed off by it, it’s just human (man) nature. But instantly, I am put off. I think I’m a great catch. I’m financially independent and secure. Laidback. Honest, don’t play mindgames. Loyal, I don’t cheat. I’m very low maintenance, don’t require attention 24/7, have a great family, love to laugh and have fun, and most importantly, I think I’m a good person. Oh, and I’m damn good in bed (or so I’m told)!

I know my self-worth and I am worth any man I am seeing, to focus on me, and me alone. And I won’t settle for anything less. I don’t need or want to compete for someone’s attention in a social networking environment (it really does feel like being back in kindergarten), I have confidence in myself that I’m one of the better women out there, if a man can’t recognise that for himself, that’s very much his loss.

So, I think, the dating sites have got to go. What will I do with my time??