| by Lou | 1.00pm UK time |

I saw this "NZ women promiscuous - doctor" item on NZ Herald in the weekend, which goes along the lines of:

"Oh hai guys, this gynaecologist in Timaru who has a conservative right-wing Christian woman-hating agenda basically thinks that Kiwi women are sluts who have slept with everyone in the world and don't know who their baby-daddies are. He has some ridiculous and patently untrue so-called statistics that I am going to quote verbatim and not bother doing any further research on. And I'm certainly not going to offer any other opinions as that would lessen the impact of this story that is designed to get myself some internet hits by further contributing to the sexual judgement placed on women by society."

(Oh and guess what - 63% of people think NZ women are too promiscuous! And guess what else! 63% of people should mind their own fucking business!)

And I reacted something like this:



And having already been boycotting stuff.co.nz for over a year now didn't want to lose my other main source of NZ current affairs by adding NZ Herald to the list, even though they've had an increasing number of entirely redundant and agenda-pushing so-called "news" items of late. So I clicked the "email the writer" link and fired off this:

Even by the appalling low standards of journalism plaguing New Zealand, your article quoting a misogynist gynaecologist with an inflated sense of importance is utterly abhorrent.

You've given an entire article to a doctor who talks of personally having women tell him they don't know who they slept with to become pregnant, and that this occurs "thousands and thousands" of times - without having researched any actual statistics or given any space to alternative points of view (or seemingly even bothering to question him about his baseless extrapolation).

Would it not have made sense to question him on the role men are playing in this? To have looked at trends over time? To have question him on his obvious judgementalism in relation to medical ethics?

Your article is proof that there is still plenty of stigmatism going on in New Zealand towards sexually active women. And provides proof that you probably, like the doctor, hate women.

The only sensible course of action this article prompts is for all Timaru women to boycott this doctor - who wants to show their vagina to a medical so-called professional who is more concerned about moral judgements than medical health?

And he replied with this:

Dear Lou,

Thanks for your feedback. I certainly did question him on how often he saw women who couldn't remember who they had slept with the night before and his response about "thousands and thousands" was his reply. I am a reporter of this story, but it is not the last word on the issue - more stories have been written since and will be written in the future. You may like to send a letter to the editor to: letters@nzherald.co.nz

With best wishes,
Simon

And then this "Sex poll only half the story" appeared on NZ Herald and I realised with joy that I wasn't the only one to fire off a FUCK YOU and I think (hope) they may have learnt a lesson.

| by Bel | 11.29am NZ time |

A film that you used to love but now hate

Let me clarify immediately. I do not hate Donnie Darko. I love Donnie Darko and always will.

What I hate is the re-release "director's cut" version of Donnie Darko.

The original film had a very short run at the cinema and achieved its cult following after it came out on DVD. I was lucky enough to catch it at the NZ International Film Festival and was instantly smitten.

However, eventually Richard Kelly put together a "director's cut" version, stating that his debut had been let done by a lack of funds for special effects, music licensing etc.

I excitedly went to the movies in the middle of the day, expecting to joyously watch one of my favourite films.

Within moments my nerdy heart sunk and I knew I was going to experience nothing but disappointment. Because that iconic and perfectly balanced opening sequence, of Donnie waking on the ridge-top road and cycling back down to his home, had been mutilated beyond repair: they'd stuck a different song on. No more Echo and the Bunnymen. No more warm-fuzzy feelings from that first three minutes of screentime.

And from there it only got worse. Digital effects were used to overlay pages from Roberta Sparrow's book, making the mysterious time travel themes condescendingly obvious.

The intrigue and ambiguity which made the original so compelling was stripped right out, and instead we got to watch completely thought-unprovoking screen-saver-esque footage to spell out the plot.

Any and all deleted scenes were jammed back in, making the film 1) longer and 2) cluttered with unnecessary detail on characters which the viewer has already embraced.

There may be a chance that there's still people out there who haven't see Donnie Darko at all. I would implore that you seek out the original release and avoid the director's cut version like the plague.

If you would like to read more on the differences between the Donnie Darkos, check out other irate fans here and here.

(And let's not even mention the straight-to-video "sequel".)

| by Bel | 9.32am NZ time |

"EVERYBODY IS PREGNANT"

This catchphrase has increasingly come into usage (between me and Lou exclusively, sure, still counts) in the last few years, as we realised that, um, everybody is pregnant.

It's not some kind of metaphor for creative potential or spiritual fulfillment. I actually mean that it seems that each and every uterus around me has slid the sign from 'vacant' to 'occupied'.

My bestest, oldest friend is pregnant. Along with two other friends from back in our high school days. And then I was told a fourth was up the duff too. Did I miss the memo? Are we coordinating a tiny sized sequel to the group of girls who hung out back then?

This week I sat with glazed eyes as two parents bonded over their varying experiences with... um, something to do with having babies. Which they found immensely interesting and useful to share knowledge about. Meanwhile:

Yeah, that's me. Thinking about the ballet.

Is it selfish of me to not engage? Or is it just indicative of my personal immediate priorities?

I am of course happy for all these expanding families and the exciting new path they are heading along.

But with me not on that path right now, I am fretting a little too.

Because the kicker is that EVERYBODY IS PREGNANT doesn't take long to turn into EVERYBODY IS BUSY WITH THEIR BABIES.

My mind is already jumping ahead to a year from now, two years, five. When these friends whom I have shared so much with will be occupied with something that I can't relate to. Being out of step with your friends' lives can have a real impact. Choosing to not have children (in the short term, long term, whatever) shapes a life which has different considerations to those who are in the midst of parenting.

The obvious solution is that I jump on the bandwagon and get knocked up like all the rest of them. But after having spent years hacking through the jungle that is building a career, I'm just don't feel like the time is right. Even if everybody else is doing it.

Birth control

| Posted by Bel | The time is 12.36pm here in Wellington NZ |

Remember when I wrote that rant to the tradesmen who were still working on our place when we moved in, as part of the 30 Days of Me extravaganza? I'm sure you do.

Do you remember me mentioning "all the dust and debris" that was left everywhere? Because I did. I used quote marks just then because I quoting. Myself.

Ok. Well!!

With my reluctance I realised on the weekend that our floors were so filthy I would actually have to vacuum. After making an initial attempt and getting nowhere, I recalled the last time this happened, and my beloved descending into an angry cursed-filled fury, kicking the vacuum cleaner as it made a lot of noise and sucked up sweet F-A.

Because I am a slob, but an organised slob, I found the warranty amongst a pile of random papers and headed out to Kaiwharawhara (what an adventure!) to sort out the hunk of junk.

A very wisened and trustworthy looking man peered over the vacuum cleaner that I had hoisted up onto his benchtop. Various lids had been opened, shutters prised and filters removed. His glasses were slid halfway down his nose in a very professional way. He muttered. He tutted. Then he paused, and said, "Ooh. What's this?"

I froze. I was horrified at the prospect. I couldn't see what he was gesturing at. My mind spun. A condom. A tinny. A condom with a tinny inside. A hot pink lacy G-string with skidmarks and bloodstains AND a condom stuck to it with a tinny inside. A tiny TV playing a tape of me getting ready for my 6th Form ball, using a curling wand to make ringlet tendrils drape down either side of my face as I sing along to Ace of Base. WHAT COULD IT BEEEEEE?????????

I leaned in to look. I looked harder. I looked again.

His finger was pointing at something. No, his finger was the something. There was a fine coating of dust, which he wiped from deep inside the vacuum cleaner's guts.

"What is this?", he said again, almost gleefully, rubbing the gritty microscopic particles between his fingertips, "What do we have here?"

Was it a trick question? Was it a rhetorical question? Was it the babbled ranting of an oft electrocuted madman?

"I think it's, um, dirt?" I said quietly, trying not to sound over-confident. After all, he's the professional here.

The technician slid his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and looked me right in the eye. I was ready to retract my clearly foolish "dirt" claim. What he said next chilled me to the bone.

"Have you had the builders in, have you?"

He proceeded to educate me in the dangers of ever using a vacuum cleaner to tidy up after tradesmen. Apparently nasty substances such as sawdust and dust from OH I DON'T KNOW using an electric saw to cut up tiles in the middle of the kitchen OR SOMETHING can do terrible damage to vacuum cleaners. Particularly snazzy modern bagless varieties that a lovely brother might give to his sister as a present for her wedding anniversary because she is a bit of a slob and doesn't have one.

That kind of dirt (which also extends to talc and baby powder, so watch out nanas and littlies!) will slowly eat away at the engine, gradually making even more frustrating and redundant your attempts at keeping the place tidy.

The vacuum cleaner was declared a write-off and I was advised to buy a cheapie next time I needed to clean up a domestic building site and just chuck it out afterwards. Sadly, I wandered in the direction of their gleaming rows of latest models of cleaners to do some window shopping.

And this is when the only good thing about this story happened!!

They had a DJ ROOMBA! (But I didn't buy it. I just pointed and went "DJ ROOMBA!!" really loudly.)

| Posted by Bel | The time is 12.31pm here in Wellington NZ |

Dear Baz:

(I can call you 'Baz', right? I mean, um, I don't even know what to call you for long, so I'm gonna have to.)

I like you, Baz, I do. I have liked you for a long time. I saw your film Strictly Ballroom at the cinema when I was a wee girl of 10 years old and got told off immediately afterwards for attempting to flamenco dance in my bedroom, waking my younger brother up in the process.

When Romeo + Juliet was released, I was at a tender age. Nerdy enough to love the original text, teenagey enough to love the sexed-up modernisation. I bought the poster, I bought the CD soundtrack, I bought the other CD soundtrack. I put my hair in a deliberately nonchalant half-up style and wished more boys in my town wrote poetry in beautiful natural light on the beachfront (instead, they were more the menacing-cigarette-in-a-gas-station type).

In my first year of university, just as I was a public relations student realising that I was actually a film theory student, you unleashed Moulin Rouge. It was only 18 months since I had last been in Paris. You transported me back and you added a whirlwind of drama and glamour which included the most beautiful dress to bless the silver screen until that green frock in Atonement.

Then you made a film called Australia. I remember being aghast when I saw the trailer. I think I may've actually shuddered at that bit when Kidman's face, as smooth and luminescent as a traditionally iced wedding cake, peered down at the dark skinned child huddled in a hovel which managed to scream simultaneously "poverty!" and "fabulously decorated by the one and only Catherine Martin!".

I'd heard that you'd been working on operatic stage performances, Baz, a move which seemed both inspired and completely logical. I decided to ignore this cinematic misstep, much in the way we pretend that Guy Ritchie's Madonna film didn't happen, or how we must block out the fact that Elizabeth Moss is a grand ole crazy Scientologist and just focus on how wonderful and perfect she is as Peggy.

Last year there were rumours you had a new project on the boil. The Great Gatsby was going to be remade and you were the man to do it. I watched the film not so long ago and thought that its themes of the indolent upper classes and the slow rot of wealth were still timely - I could see Joseph Gordon Levitt making a great Nick Carraway (the narrator).

Next thing we heard, you'd cast our old friend Leo in the title role - a part made famous by Robert Redford, if not emblazoned in minds by the original F Scott Fitzgerald novel. Then the glorious news that it was to be Carey Mulligan as Daisy Buchanan.

But now - I hesitate. Oh Baz. Just when it seemed that things were going so right, it all seems that things could go horribly, horribly wrong.

Baz, listen - honey.

Please don't do this.

Just don't.

Resist the urge.

I know how it is. You're away for the weekend, you're in Vegas, you're hanging out with Michael "Blow Shit Up" Mann and Oliver "Throw Money At It" Stone and you get a bit carried away. It happens!

You do things you wouldn't usually, you say things you don't mean. Nobody's going to hold you to it, sweetheart.

I always feel a bit woozy after wearing 3D glasses for a couple of hours. Was that it? Did you have to trial new fancy ones? Was James "More! More! MOOOOORE!" Cameron there? I can't imagine he'd be a good influence. Did something weird happen like that scene in The Hangover when Mike Tyson starts singing and you start thinking he's kind of funny and adorbs and forget he's actually a convicted rapist? Vegas is a crazy place, I hear.

Anyway, hopefully you're home now and have had a bit of time to think it through over a cool can of Fosters and have moved on from the whole folly.

If so, cheers! and good luck with the script and that whole shooting business. Let me know if you need any consultation on cloche hats (they're a personal fave).

If not, well.... *shakes fist*

Love, your fan,

Bel xxx

Posted by Bel. The time is 3.17pm here in Wellington NZ. Reblogged from I Am Offended Because... by Ally

Eff You Peter Carlisle

by Ally of I Am Offended Because...

There is a pro-choice rally in Wellington on Tuesday. [Bel's note: i.e. tomorrow, 5th October. See details on poster below] I really wish that I could go. Partly because I want to feel like a proper days-of-yore feminist who goes to six protests before breakfast and then goes home to read the Beauty Myth. Partly because abortion is actually illegal in New Zealand and because getting an abortion requires already vulnerable women to jump through hoops like little sparkly-ruffed circus dogs. I'd like to go to the rally because for a woman to choose abortion in New Zealand she has to see two different doctors and she has to tell them that the continuation of her pregnancy will endanger her life, her mental health or her physical health. If she lives outside of Christchurch, Wellington or Auckland she will have to travel, often meaning many days away from work and away from her local support network. MP Steve Chadwick is currently proposing an Abortion Reform Bill to take abortion out of the Crimes Act, which surprisingly will be opposed by anti-abortion group Voice For Life. The life that they advocate for of course being that of unborn foetuses, rather than the full and healthy lives of women and their planned families. So I have a few pretty good reasons for wanting to go and protest.

But mostly, I'd like to go to the rally to say a big 'fuck you' to Peter Carlisle. I don't know who Peter Carlisle is, but he posted this on the Facebook event page for the No More Jumping Through Hoops Abortion Rights Protest and I instantly hated him:

Needless to say, I am more than a little offended by the dismissive, misogynist, homophobic, slut-shaming and inaccurate Peter Carlisle. So were a whole lot of other open legged lesbians on the event page. Nicola made this brilliant point:

Astute, although I often wish that we didn't have to use extreme situations like rape or incest to suggest that a woman should be entitled full control of her body. Hannah casually pointed out Peter's apparent lack of basic biological knowledge:

My friend Izzy, a she-wolf if there ever was one, eloquently put Peter in his place:

But Tessa possibly had the best argument of all:

And just quietly, Peter Carlisle is not only poorly informed about basic biology but also about the meaning of the word contraception. He should possibly get his facts right before posting on a Facebook event filled with slutty lesbians who also happen to be pedants. Contraception is something that is used to prevent conception, so I am guessing that most women who request abortion are a little past that point. And if Peter means that women are using abortion as a method of birth control, perhaps he should go and read this awesome blog post at the Curvature. Here is a snippet:

"Because do you understand the actual words you are speaking? Do you know what birth control is? It’s right there, in the name. It is something you use to control whether or not you give birth. That’s it. Ta-da. The end. When someone says “lots of women use abortion as a form of birth control!” what they mean is “lots of women use abortion.” The extra words are unnecessary. How the hell else are you going to use it?"

I would love to go to that protest to shove it to Peter Carlisle. I would like to shove it to all of the Peter Carlisles of the world; men who think they ought to have a say in what women do with their bodies. I would love to go because full equality depends upon women having full control over their fertility. I would love to show my support for Steve Chadwick's bill, because often it is not abortion that causes mental distress, it is the obstacles that women face. I would love to shove it to Peter Carlisle for suggesting that women who have abortions are sexually promiscuous and for even thinking that the amount of sex a woman has is something that can be used as an insult. It would be great to ask him about a pile of things, like why he thinks that my being a lesbian (or at least a woman who is in a same sex relationship) somehow seems to undermine my stance on reproductive rights or why he seems to think that women are solely responsible for planning when to have kids. I would like to take him up on why he thinks it is appropriate to tell another human being to just shut their legs. I would like to tell him about how no contraceptive is 100% effective and about how nobody is perfect and about the many women who have died in back alley procedures as a consequence of limited access to safe and legal abortion . I would like to tie him to a chair and make him watch Vera Drake. I would like to ask him why he feels so comfortable with the idea of forcing his moral beliefs onto others. I would like to politely suggest that if Peter Carlisle doesn't like abortions then maybe he doesn't have to get one, but he shouldn't rob others of their personal choice.

But I can't go to the protest. I will be sitting at my desk at work devoting eight hours of my day to typing, mediocrity and capitalism. But maybe you can. Go. Shove it to Peter Carlisle.


If you live in Wellington and you want to stick it to Peter Carlisle you should go to the No More Jumping Through Hoops: Abortion Rights Protest at the Court of Appeal tomorrow, on the 5th of October. Make a stand against Right to Life is taking the Abortion Supervisory Committee to court, to try and further restrict women's access to abortion in New Zealand.Meet on the corner of Aitken and Molesworth Street at 12.30pm and wear something red. I understand that organisers are also looking for volunteers to hand out fliers this afternoon at the train station and on Tuesday morning they need help blowing up balloons.

Email actionforabortionrights [at] gmail.com for more information or go to the Facebook event page.

Reblogged from I Am Offended Because... by Ally

Posted by Bel. The time is 1.17pm here in Wellington NZ.

A letter to someone who has hurt you recently

Dear crappy, lazy, good-for-nothing tradesmen*,

*Please note this is not a diatribe against tradesmen as a whole. This is very specifically directed at the tradesmen who have been "working" on the house we moved into on the weekend.

Moving house is a difficult business. People say that it is one of life's most stressful events, up there with the death of a loved one and divorce. (In some cases, the three events are intrinsically linked, due to the stress levels.) Even when you prepare yourself for it, and plan ahead what you can, there is still an element of unpredictability to shifting house.

I've dealt with broken crockery, forgotten keys, wrong directions and losing the bolts for the beds before. If fact, I would even count these as the things I plan for now. (Remember people, 7 moves in 5 years - this is old hat.)

But I was not expecting to walk into a house with an unfinished kitchen, laundry and bathroom this Saturday.

I was not expecting piles of tools to be heaped on the floor in the dining room, and for access to the kitchen to be blocked by the disconnected fridge left across the doorway.

Nor was I expecting exposed wiring gaping from holes in the bathroom walls, or to be told that one of the bedrooms needed to have its carpet replaced because of water damage.

The unpainted walls in the hallway don't phase me at all really, not compared to the fact that I can't install our washing machine, that we had to scrub every surface in the kitchen to get rid of all the dust and debris, and that the bathroom floor is raw wood and has to be covered in towels every time to protect it from splashes.

The charming cherry on top was having to pick up your half drunk and grimy fingerprinted bottle of Bunderburg Ginger Beer from where you left it on the middle of the kitchen bench and tip it down the (filthy) sink and chuck it out for you.

Dear tradesmen fellows that will be returning to my new home this week, to supposedly finish off what was due to be done last week, please don't be offended that I have neglected to leave out chocolate bikkies and fresh milk for you. You have hurt my feelings, with your disregard for deadlines and inability to work to schedule. I am glad that I am not the ones paying you for all this, but I do feel sorry for my landlord, because he is going to have difficulty getting rent money out of us this week.

Regards,

The new (exhausted and angry) tenant of that place you haven't bothered working on over the last month
xxx

Posted by Bel. The time is 11:17am here in Wellington, NZ.

Usually the polls on Stuff.co.nz are along the lines of 'Is Megan Fox really the new Angelina Jolie?' with the options to click 'Yes', 'No', or 'I Don't Care As Long As They Get It OOOOON'.

But a few days ago, they had a topic close to my popcorn-scoffing heart: "Which behaviour is least acceptable at the movies?". Even the options to select from sensibly covered most cinematic grudge starter...

Using mobile phones
This is pretty high on my list. I've never been at the movies when someone has answered their phone in the midst, but there are dreadful rumours of such a thing happened. I hate it when someone has their phone on vibrate. Fuck! You can still hear vibrate! I will scowl (somewhat futilely) at someone's wee screen lighting up if it is on silent, but lordy me the tiny growl of a vibrating phone does my head in.

Discussing the plot
Depends to what extent.
Monmentarial whispered clarification = ok.
Continual mindless banter proving you do not have the intelligence capability to follow a film with 1930s intertitles = not ok.

Laughing at the wrong moments
Totally fine. We all have our weaknesses.

Kicking the chair in front
As someone of above average height and shoe size, I know that seating arrangements at a cinema can be at times less than comfortable. Does this gives anyone an excuse to wage warfare on another patron's spine? No. Sit still for fuck's sake.

Loud eating
In Transformers? Game on. I believe I even got into a burping contest after my 4th beer. But in anything where nothing is exploding, please be dignified. Open all that kai you smuggled in as quietly as possible.

Monopolising the armrest
Tricky situation. Usually it is a case of the person on your left has decided they want their right armrest, and the person on your right has decided they want their left armrest. Then you're pretty much fucked. Unless you can spark up some spontaneous hand-holding or something.

Amorous displays
Tolerable in the back row only. Sheesh, everyone knows that.

Clapping
Clapping? Clapping? What could be wrong with that?? Perhaps coming from somewhat of a live performance background, I have no problem with the occasional outburst of spontaneous applause. I'm always so caught up in a movie I don't even think about it - not that I would stand up and give an ovation because of some awesome thing Mel Gibson said about stuff they could never take off us, but you know.

Are there any other pet hates they've missed?

Posted by Bel. The time is 9:15pm here in Wellington, NZ.

It has been an awkward week at the office. Literally one person has spoken to me directly about the fact that I've been told my department is being laid off. There has been lots of breezy "Good morning!!"s as people hurried past on seemingly urgent tasks, making not a lot of eye contact.

I don't blame them really, I mean, unemployment's like swine flu: the new plague. Unpleasant to dwell on and infectious by association. We've all heard about people being made redundant - maybe there's even someone in your family, you know, without a job - but who really wants to hang out in the corner of the office that has had the X metaphorically slashed across it?

Posted by Bel. The time is 3:00pm here in Wellington, NZ.

I got made redundant yesterday. In fact, the whole marketing department at work is being 'disestablished'. Due to the Current Economic Climate (c) TM (R), it's been decided that it will be more economically feasible to outsource all the marketing and comms services to an agency rather than keep me and my manager on board.

Obviously, I think this is a shithouse idea, but I'm not going to 'submit feedback on the proposal', as we've been asked to do, since the CEO is new to the company and clearly has been hired to do a hatchet job. This recession has everyone running for cover and some financial decisions are being made that don't necessarily make a lot of sense in other way.

I'm not exactly an unbiased commentator on the situation however. There'd been no rumours of restructuring or cutbacks that I was aware of, so it came as a shock to know that I was being pushed overboard. As the meeting wound up, I said, "um, I think I might go home now" and bunked off for the afternoon. I have very little desire to sit behind my desk and continue working on something that I'm not going to be part of. It's like that feeling you get when you hand in your notice, of all the responsibility and motivation sliding off your shoulders - except with a nasty aftertaste of humiliation and, well, redundancy.

Over the last 24 hours I';ve experienced a mixture of feelings (and some mixed drinks). At times I have actually felt quite thrilled,'liberated from The Man', on May Day even - how appropriate. To have my hand forced like this gives me the momentum I haven't had in the job hunting I've done lately. Because, let's face, the job wasn't all it's cracked up to be - and rather than continue to suffer through and only enjoy the days when everyone's out of the office, I can seize the opportunity.

Other times, I've felt really despairing. There has not been a worst time to be job-hunting in our lifetimes. We've all watched the 'Vacancies' section of Wednesday's Dom Post dwindle down to barely a double page broadsheet. It's a ruthless market out there and employers are in the power position. I feel like I've always lucked it with my jobs in the past and right now it seems like a time when that isn't enough to cut it.

But fact of the matter is, I'm one of thousands, if not millions, facing this right now. People are being laid-off around the world and throughout New Zealand and many of them are in far worse situations than me. That doesn't mean I'm not having a total pity party right now, but somehow I'm taking comfort in knowing that this is part of what seems to be a great inevitable wave.

This is me, waving, not drowning - I'll keep you posted.

Um, the photo is not that relevant but I wrote that goofy title and when I googled 'crocodile being attacked' that image came up and, come on, i had to use it.

Posted by Bel. The time is 1:45pm here in Wellington, NZ.
Yes, doofus. I figured we'd put that at the top, so anyone reading would straight away know which of us was ranting. I put some codey stuff in the template so if you write on the next line down it is not so ittybittycommittee styles. CODE BITCHES!! I CAN DOS SUM!

The flat we were going to take fell through. They wanted us to sign the lease and hand over $3000 tomorrow. Um, hello? There's this trendy new thing out - you may have heard of it: the 'recession'? Hmm? Well we have jumped right on the band wagon and ain't no way I'm pulling that much cash out of my ass.
Honestly, real estate people are such scummers.