You may remember that before the break we said we were going to eliminate two people over the holidays. Well, because we’re bitches, we’ve kept our promise and two of your favourite lecturers are goneskies. Chris Eichbaum and Hilary Pearse, you’re outta here. Are all you Eichbaum and Pearse fans upset? Maybe you should have tried harder. Now there are only five left to battle it out over the coming weeks. Expect a twist. Maybe.

You know what to do. Vote either by texting 027 CUSTARD, or emailing editor@salient.org.nz. If you’re going to cheat, be smart about it. If you text us heaps, we become quite familiar with your phone number. We know you’re the same person. We’re not as stupid as we look.

We want to see more t-shirts, posters, badges and viral marketing campaigns. Call the mainstream media. Get on talkback radio. Email Kathryn Ryan while Dean is on Nine to Noon and say how awesome Salient is. We’ll love you forever. Promise.

Oh and don’t vote for Candy Badger. Or maybe, do.

Marc Wilson, Psychology
My favourite—in fact, defining—TV show is not the TV series I’ve presented (they’re a bit naff and none of you are old enough to watch TVOne anyway); it is The X-Files. If you’ve really never seen it think of Fringe but with subtlety, Gillian Anderson as the hot redhead sceptic and David Duchovny as the porn-watching crusader for the Truth. Together they investigate head transplants, alien babies, psychic killers, government cover-ups and other stuff that makes our world such an awesome place. In a time when chain-smoking was still marginally acceptable, the series’ Darth Vader was the Cigarette Smoking Man. Who killed JFK? Covered up the Roswell aliens? Rigged the 1980 Olympic US/USSR ice hockey game? Ol’smokey, that’s who. For me this isn’t just entertainment but the inspiration for my research and my teaching—join me in PSYC429 ‘Psychology of Superstition’ or PHIL215 ‘Conspiracy Theories’ anyone?

David O’Donnell, Theatre
Book: Nola Millar: A Theatrical Life by Sarah Gaitanos. Nola was a pioneer New Zealand theatre director and this book is endlessly inspiring creatively, as well as celebrating Wellington’s rich theatrical history.

Musician: Gareth Farr creates works of electrifying beauty reflecting our Pacific cultures and landscapes.

Film: Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire has angels in long black coats invisibly cruising the streets of Berlin, circus acts and Nick Cave—the perfect movie.

TV: The Office is the kind of drama I’d like to make, extracting uneasy existential laughter from foibles of real people and situations.

Peter Andreae aka Pondy, Computer Science
The Hogfather by Terry Pratchett. All of Pratchett’s discworld books are wonderful; I love his insight into the way our real world works (and doesn’t). Why The Hogfather? First, the wonderful parody of a computer with an artificial intelligence, replete with obscure references to early research in AI, including some from the lab where I did my PhD. Second, it has Susan in it—seeing through the perspective of someone who is genuinely rational is always mind bending. Third, the combination of his deep skepticism combined with his warm sense of what is central to being human. Go read what Death says to Susan after she has saved the Hogfather.

Dean Knight, Law
Favourite book: Uncle’s Story by Witi Ihimaera. In the summer of 2000/01 it had me and all of my friends blubbing. A moving story blending Maoriness, gayness, sign language, masculinity—all told through a search for an uncle’s long-lost, war-time lover. Superb!

Favourite musician: Does Kathryn Ryan count? I confess my radio is usually glued to National Radio… But otherwise, Everything But the Girl. Or, for something upbeat, anything playing on GeorgeFM.

Favourite TV show: No question. West Wing. All 7 series. End of story. [FN: For the long list of favourite quotations and scenes from West Wing, see facebook status thread.]

Favourite film: I know as the law guy I should mention A Few Good Men.  A 1992 classic law movie. Stunning cross examination of Jack Nicolson by Tom Cruise:
Col Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee: I think I’m entitled to them.
Col Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee: I want the truth!
Col Jessep: You can’t handle the truth!
But, being truthful myself: J’ai tué ma mère / I Killed My Mother from Toronto and New Zealand film fests. Stylish, quirky film about a young gay boy’s love-hate relationship with his mother—written, directed and starred in by a really talented Quebec kid.

Matthew Trundle, Classics
A Classicist to the end…

Book: The Iliad of Homer: the finest epic poem vividly portrays the struggle for life over inevitable death, the glory of eternal fame, and the horror of war sung in the finest poetry. The Iliad remains the foundation stone of western literary tradition.

Musician: In the absence of ancient music then classical must do. Dmitri Shostakovich produced the most sublime and romantic symphonies for orchestra, notably cello and violin sonatas, and especially famous is his Opus 97a. The Gadfly Suite.

Film: Gladiator, naturally, for persuading Hollywood of the value of productions about the ancient world; no corrupt sword and sandal homage this, but a genuine effort to reproduce the ancient Roman Empire. It may not be perfect, but it is wonderful!

TV Show: I Claudius. By far the finest adaptation of antiquity for the small screen, sans unnecessary blood and sand, sans CGI, just fine dialogue brilliantly acted. The Sopranos comes to the classical world, as indeed the classical world was there long before The Sopranos.

There will be over 150 different beers on offer from at least 45 breweries, and not just limited to New Zealand’s own.

But with each session lasting only 4 hours, it’s probably best to approach Beervana with a strategy in mind.

Dave’s strategy: Beervana is the best opportunity of the year to try many brews which are otherwise unavailable in Wellington. As soon as I enter the venue, I scout out every stand and check out which beers are on offer. From there, I head to the more limited releases first—in case they run out. Following that, I like to visit the stands from micro breweries which are rarely seen in Wellington (Brew Moon, Arrow Brewing Co, Twisted Hop), and sample as many different styles as possible. To finish off the session, I seek out the bigger, hoppier brews. Imperial IPA’s with tongue-numbing bitterness are my favourite way to end an afternoon or evening of intense beer-ing.

Denise’s strategy: It’s always better to start with the lighter brews on offer—there’s no point in confusing your palate by downing some delicious, but heavy and sticky, imperial stouts and barley wines. Save those ones until last. To maximise your Beervana experience, order half tastings—it’ll mean you get to sample twice as many beers in the same time.

Water is your friend at this event. Kindly ask the stallholders to rinse your glass with water before each new beer, or fill your sample glass from a water stand and down it to refresh your palate (and help stave off a headache the next day).

Don’t be afraid to ask the brewers questions. They’re usually all too willing to brag about their beers, and you can never know too much about what you’re drinking.

Not to be missed:
- 8wired’s smoked kumara porter—only 50 litres made.
- Yeastie Boys’ stall—handpulled Punkadiddle, ‘nuff said.
- Emerson’s stall—last year’s champion brewery, and always has something special on offer.
- The education seminars—ranging from Beer and Cheese to Beer and Women.
- Hashigo Zake’s stall—a handsome column writer will be manning the stall during selected sessions.

The most important thing to remember is that Beervana runs on a cash-only basis, so hit up an ATM before you get in the door. No money, no beer!

Tickets are $30 from Ticketek including a glass and a free sample. Sessions run 12-4pm and 5-9pm this Friday and Saturday at the Wellington Town Hall.

See you there.

For a guide to Beervana that didn’t have to stick to a word limit check out this.

If you have any questions or comments about this week’s beers, you can email us at davethebeerguy@gmail.com or denisethebeergirl@gmail.com

What animal would be your patronus and why?

Holy sheeeeeeeeeeeit! What a week of voting. At 5pm Thursday we had two lecturers tied at the bottom—Chris Eichbaum and Matthew Trundle—after a frantic last hour of voting. What to do? ELIMINATION! ELIMINATION! DOUBLE ELIMINATION! In the first week back from break we’ll be sending home not one, but two lecturers. You have until 5pm Thursday 2 September to vote for your favourite lecturer. Text their name to 027 CUSTARD, or email editor@salient.org.nz. Just think, you could spend your entire holiday launching a campaign, making posters and badges and doing leaflet drops, obviously neglecting the piles of readings and assignments you should be doing. Ooh ah.

Who will it be, Victoria University?

Who will it be…

Chris Eichbaum, public policy
My patronus/power animal exists in corporeal and enduring form. Her name is Millie, but she was christened Princess Rose.

She is an Airedale terrier. She can be a wilful patronus, not always inclined to follow her master’s wizard-like commands. At her best she is indeed an incarnation of this caster’s (at his best) innermost feelings—a sense of loyalty and of service, and of a desire to make a positive difference.

While not yet proven in this regard, she also has immense potential to shield me from Lethifolds, a number of which have been sighted in Kelburn. We are working on photo recognition now—the Dude abides, but Millie will take no prisoners.

Marc Wilson, Psychology
One of the subscribers to the Otter Weekly Gazette (subscribe here) said they’d
be a wolf “because the Facebook quiz ‘What is your patronus?” said it would be. And let’s face it, Facebook quizzes are always correct and NEVER lie.” So I dutifully followed their lead and did the quiz and apparently I’m a squirrel… Seriously though, I wouldn’t be a stag because I don’t have as much to compensate for as Harry, and while rats are obviously
intimately associated with psychology, I’m not a moustacheoed behaviourist. Soooo, my patronus would be inspired by my dog, Banjo, who is NOT a black toy poodle, whatever his
registration says. Why? Because he looks a little like me in the shaggy hair department, AND as well as deflecting the minions of the Dark Lord I can send him to pee on their beds like he does at home. Now, where’s that sock gone?

Dean Knight, Law
Because I’m democratic—or, rather, because I’m a Harry Potter peanut—I consulted my virtual community:

• A golden labrador? (The ginga thing again, sigh)
• A bear? Or a cub? (I’m sure they mean the San Fran kind, not cute pandas…)
• A horse? (A knight needs a horse I’m told… or, rather, a cowboy does)
• A camel? (A horse designed by a lawyer)
• A dragon? (My nickname already, apparently, because I’m scary with Socratic questions…. pfftt, hardly!)

Well, elephant, I think. Big, strong and able to squash enemies with ease. And, of course, elephants and the Law (www.laws179.co.nz) has been my blog for years…

Peter Andreae AKA Pondy, Computer Science
When the web informed me that “the Patronus [...] is advanced magic and difficult to master”, I realised that I have a Patronus already—an EMACS. My EMACS certainly lets me do advanced magic, invoking obscure incantations on text and data*. I first acquired an EMACS in 1977, so I have had many years to master it (though keeping up with the
upgrades is still challenging!). A Patronus is also supposed to “defend against Dementors”; my EMACS is a constant defence against the dementedness of both Unix and Windows, magically massaging their crazy formats and multifarious interfaces into the one consistent, friendly and infinitely powerful*** editor, superior to all other editors.

* Like C-X(C-AC-FC-KC-NC-X)M-0C-Xe** to extract lecturer’s names from silly acrostics.

** You could use EMACS to try this one yourself, though be careful in case the spell backfires on you and deletes all your files instead! You could also use Regexps, but beware!

*** http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/real_programmers.png

David O’Donnell, Theatre
I’m a staunch citizen of Aotearoa so my patronus would be indigenous. The kiwi’s an obvious choice—as a theatre director I spend most of my time in the dark. But I’ve chosen the playful pukeko—cheeky, colourful and with long skinny legs. I sometimes get bogged down in university admin like the pukeko in his swamp. But pukeko are fast runners and some Maori martial arts moves are based on their footwork, so if attacked by werewolves, wizards or really terrifying creatures like theatre critics, I can run away or do a neat sidestep to protect myself.

Hilary Pearse, Political Science
This week I copied Dean and put a call out for patronus suggestions on Facebook. Responses included the hippopotamus, the sloth and the naked mole rat queen. So I’m going to ignore my ‘friends’ and go for the leopard. Leopards are agile and ferocious so would be a good defence against Dementors. They’re solitary and elusive, characteristics that appeal to me as an introvert. Also, the leopard has been my go-to costume for animal-themed parties ever since I discovered a pair of faux leopard skin six-inch open-toed heels for $8 at Paperbag Princess. Cheryl West, eat your heart out.

Matthew Trundle, Classics
A wolf (lupus, lykos). Despite that fact that Harry Potter has been translated into both Greek and Latin, I know little about this global phenomenon. Marc Wilson’s answer last week showed how useful the internet really is—and so according to an online questionnaire for what one’s Patronus animal would be. I would be a wolf—Lupus Lupus—which seems to me an excellent choice (especially given the other options, one of which was an iguana). A she-wolf suckled the young Romulus and Remus. Romulus founded Rome. The wolf became the symbol of Rome and wolf skins were worn by the younger men in the army. Lykos, the Greek wolf, was worshipped by the men of the Arcadian mountains, Zeus had turned their first king Lykaos into a wolf. Wolves were wild, untamed and hunted, often associated with the transition to manhood. The wolf seems an excellent choice to me—well done the online survey.

Don’t forget to vote!

I’m not sure I’m ready. Did my bathroom scales lie to me, and is my suitcase actually too heavy? Maybe. Do I have enough money? Maybe. Did I say goodbye to everyone? Not quite. Do I have my passport? …Maybe. Do I have a return ticket? No. Are the Australian Customs officials going to confiscate my Marmite? Most likely. I’m being picked up in an hour.

The last day is the most hectic. I woke up well before my alarm, awake with nerves and probably caffeine (from meeting friends for coffee to say goodbye the night before). Before being picked up at 11 and taken to uni I needed to finish packing, move the last of my stuff out of my room, vacuum and say goodbye to my flatmates. Helpfully, builders decided to arrive at 9.25am to tear the roof off. Clouds threatened to rain through the new hole that used to be the roof. I’m probably leaving just in time.

The day was filled with meeting friends for coffee, buying things last-minute, meeting friends for coffee, exchanging money into other currency, meeting friends for coffee, saying goodbye, and pure caffeine. I did my last stint of work at Salient, and Sarah and Ju went crazy with Peak Salient as usual. Molly joined in too, making three of them. I’m probably leaving just in time.

In two weeks I’ll be in Germany, which is a good place to go to. I’m reminded of The Simpsons Movie, in which the family goes to Alaska. “Welcome to Alaska,” the toll-booth man says. “Here’s a thousand dollars.” For me, going on a certain scholarship to teach English in a secondary school, it is much the same, only euros instead of dollars, so, even better.

Last time I went to Germany

But that’s getting a bit ahead of myself. I’ve got two weeks in Australia first. Warm, sunny Australia. Oh, and the Whitsundays. I’m going there too.

This week, I guide you in the secret ways of: How to Visit the Cinema

To set the scene: Your broadband limit has reached its sputtering last breath, and you fear that watching a movie online might just be the straw that fucked your computer. You’re banned from Video Ezy, thanks to the fine your flatmate helpfully accrued for you. You decide that the $15 leftover from your student allowance after paying rent—normally relegated to buying food—will be far better spent at the movies. But it’s been so long since you’ve been able to afford to go that you have forgotten the art of movie-going. You’re overwhelmed by the plethora of tweens in the Readings food court; the staircase at Embassy is not designed for skinny jean-wearers. You are confused as to where the emo kids are going to hang out now that Hoyts is gone, along with its $8 tickets.

You cheer up at the thought of buying snacks—they really are the best part of the movie-going experience. The trick here is to have a bag large enough to conceal your supply of Coke, candy and chocolate; the Candy Bar is just an insult to poor students and those fortunate enough to possess taste buds. You contemplate asking them if you can borrow their microwave to cook your own popcorn.

Now, make sure to arrive in time for the previews. They’re like, fully awesome… full of promise, hope of things to come, and they sum up in about a minute what is often—if misjudged—a long and drawn-out two hours of your life. Before the movie starts, make sure your snacks are arrayed around you to avoid awkward crackling noises mid-way through the movie. Also, avoid sitting near any of the following: tall people, Jaffa-throwing teenage boys, feet-seat-resters, kickers, hair-grabbing kids, screaming toddlers, texters, smelly people, people with pointy elbows and Twi-hards. (Even when you’re not going to a Twilight movie; they will inevitably provide a running commentary of similarities in lead characters to Bella/Edward/both.) Actually, it’s good just to try to go to obscure sessions with minimal public attendance. After all, we go to the movies to escape from these people in the first place. You don’t need others around, breathing noisily etc, ruining your alone time with Robert Downey Jr. You have so little time with him as it is.

Write an acrostic poem using your name that explains why students should study your subject

Week four. The competition is heating up. Only two votes separated the bottom two. The weakest link this time around: Justin Bachoff, everyone’s favourite lecturer of Modern Mythology. Clearly not quite favourite enough. Goodbye. Admittedly we felt so sorry for him in the Salient-VBC office we made a Facebook group. Clearly social media doesn’t work for everyone. You’ll see on the Salient Facebook page (yes, we have one, LIKE us!), we have links to all the fan pages/groups/events that have been set up for Academic Idol. David O’Donnell is still out in front, with Pondy and Marc Wilson not far behind. Chris Eichbaum and Matthew Trundle have clawed their way out of the bottom of the pack. If you want to see Hilary survive another week, now’s the time to launch a campaign. Seriously. She’s the last/only girl standing!

To vote, text the name of your favourite lecturer to 027 CUSTARD or email editor@salient.org.nz.

P.S. We can tell if you’re voting multiple times from the same cellphone. Especially if you vote three times in a row in the space of a minute. Seriously, if you’re going to cheat, at least be smart about it. Just sayin’.

Who will it be, Victoria University?

Marc Wilson, Psychology

Thanks Salient, for ruining my life. I had to look up “acrostic” and my family laughed at me. Not fair to us science-types and I can’t even make fun of Matthew Trundle in a poem! All I had till five minutes ago was:

My
Acrostic’s
Rubbish…

So here goes—who should study psychology and why?

Make a psychology-pimping poem? You must be joking
All psyc involves is rats, brains and poking [them]
Reinforcement, replication and repression
Clinical compulsions and obsession
Wernicke’s area, three-part lists and replication
Id, illusions, and guided imagery
Law of effect, and Long term memory,
Social norms, personality, and mountains of data
Olfactory bulbs, hippocampuseses, and cerebral matter
Now that’s over I’m just glad I don’t have a Z in my name….
 
Please wait till I’m out of the room before you laugh. Pondy probably wrote a program to do this for him.

Peter Andreae, aka Pondy, Computer science

Programming: Problem solving, Precision, and Persistence to
Orchestrate the Operation and machinations of a computer to create
New algorithms, New applications, New systems that
Deliver the technological magic that other people Demand and Depend on
Yet do not understand

[Take COMP 102, 103 and 261, then take over Google!]

David O’Donnell, Theatre

Dionysus was a Godot-like charmer,
And his Thespian fans created festivals of drama -
Video has nothing on the Ancient Greeks,
Inspiring thousands of years of live theatre geeks.
Drama students learn how to sculpt time and space,
On a studio stage transforming to a magical place,
Doing interactive performance with multi-media,
Or getting physical with the art of Commedia.
Noh and Kabuki will seem fantastical,
Naturalism’s easier if you get all Stanislavskial -
Enter into the minds of Beckett and Shakespeare,
Learn how to play Hamlet, Lear and Medea,
Let inhibitions go – there are no fakes here!

Chris Eichbaum, School of Government

Concerned to make a difference, you say
Harnessing craft and critique,
Ready to challenge assumptions at play
Inclined to embolden the meek,
Sounds like Public Policy to me.
The state and civil society are core
Opportunities abound to speak truth to power,
Positive and normative domains are explored
Hundreds of ideas contend and flower,
Enhancing the back office is where the real challenge lies
Remember—as ever—the Dude abides

Dean Knight, Law

Daring adventures in the common law
Examining judgments for their every flaw
Abstract, though, the law is not
Ne’er the people should be forgot
King, Queen, and Guv’nor lead our realm
Nay, their ministers at the helm
In our names, they serve and reign
Good governance is our refrain
Hapu, family, plumber, and more
Tis people at the heart of law

Matthew Trundle, Classics

A Classical Odyssey

Muse, sing of the man of many turnings, many troubles
Across the world having sacked the sacred city
Troy. He learned the thoughts of men and knew many cities
To reclaim his life, he suffered much on the sea
Hoping for the homecoming of his companions.
Even so he did not rescue his companions
Who perished through their own recklessness.(1)

They, who should have studied Classics
Reading ancient texts of wisdom
Under great minds of deep intellect
Nurtured in the teaching of millennia
Disciplined in Latin and Greek
Learned of history and archaeology
Education in the past would have saved their lives.

(1) My translation of Homer’s Odyssey 1.1-7.

Hilary Pearse, Political Science

Having a degree
In Political Science inevitably
Leads elderly relatives to
Ask if you want to be a politician.
Rather than explain that’s not really how it works,
You could just say yes and tell them that many
Politicians have political science degrees. Some
Even have more than one and taught Politics before
Ascending to great heights, including Helen Clark, Condoleeza
Rice and Olof Palme, Prime Minister of
Sweden, although he was assassinated so is probably not the best
Example.

Marc Wilson and Dean Knight are still making a strong showing on the tally, but it’s pretty obvious that a well-run campaign goes a long way to making sure your favourite lecturer stays in the game.

The question on everyone’s lips though—who’s out? Dun dun dun. Dramatic pause… Geoff Stahl—the tribe has spoken, but the hipsters were silent. There is nothing more to say really.

In other Academic Idol news, resident Salient advice columnist Candy Badger appears to have launched her own voting campaign on Facebook. Candy ain’t even a lecturer. Given Candy got ten votes, we’ve decided to STV that shit and distribute her votes among the ACTUAL Academic Idol participants. Just so you all know your votes for Candy haven’t been wasted.

Anyway, what you’re really here for… This week’s responses! Text the name of your favourite lecturer to 027 CUSTARD or email editor@salient.org.nz.

Who will it be Victoria University?

This week’s question:
The guys at TVNZ want to produce your idea for a sitcom. Write a blurb describing your sitcom, and what role you’d play within it.

Marc Wilson, Psychology

“Academic Guy: A Scrubs-like exposé of the japes and hi-jinks that happens at Academic Board!” Replete with obvious and inaccurate stereotypes—including the English classics prof (wears cricket whites and and Indiana Jones hat), computer scientists who don’t wear shoes and smell of freshly-baked bread, artsy design types too busy to vote for their lecturers, and (as these are stereotypes) the handsome and not-at-all-unbalanced psychology lecturer. For no good reason the cast will occasionally break into rap/song, people will be electrocuted for the good of science, and someone will have a weird head shaped like a rugby ball. It’ll be funnier than Melody Rules and more popular than Country Calendar for several seasons before lapsing into atrociously self-referential humour and getting canned. A few cult-like fans will pile root vegetables on the lawn outside TVNZ…

Dean Knight, Law

Lambton X-Legal
A renegade barrister (that’s me) crusading in court for the underdog against nasty corporates. 
But he has a secret. Mutant powers. Knightrider QC (aka Mad Cow) can transpose words in law reports with the blink of an eye.
As a judge studies the leading precedent, the ratio decidendi morphs.  “Appeal dismissed” becomes “Appeal granted”. Magic! 
But if only his bumbling law clerk could work the photocopier…
Knightrider’s closing argument reaches its climax. He refers the judge to Fitzgerald v Muldoon.
Alas. The critical page has been wrongly copied.
The Dom Post crossword instead. 4-across becomes 7-down. V-I-B-E becomes S-I-G-H…

Justin Bachoff, Modern Mythology

I’d like to make something about one man’s experience of a post-apocalyptic world, struggling to survive in isolation. Throughout the series you will see flashbacks of what happened etc., but as it progresses it will become increasingly clear that the apocalypse never in fact occurred, and that the flashbacks are mere hallucinations of an insane and deranged mind, while the series culminates in some other horrifying act of insanity. TVNZ probably wouldn’t buy it though, so maybe, er, a light-hearted race comedy set in, oh, I don’t know, a corner dairy would be more suited for pitching instead…

Peter Andreae, aka Pondy, Computer science

I hate watching sitcoms because as a viewer I am helpless, unable to intervene with a word of advice or a distraction to prevent the inevitable acts of stupidity, ignorance, and embarrassment. My proposal for TVNZ is an interactive, multiplot sitcom, where viewers would be able to give advice to characters during the show (e.g., by txt or active TV screens). The collected responses would then be instantaneously analysed using intelligent text processing and decision algorithms and used to choose a different path through the sitcom multiplot. I leave the details of the situation to more competent writers; my role is the intelligent algorithms.

David O’Donnell, Theatre

The GLEEn Room is set in the greenroom at 77 Fairlie Tce, where students conduct incestuous backstage romances and struggle to write extension requests for their overdue English essays during all-night technical rehearsals for their vampire musical Bite of the Conchords, in which Kiwi musicians fall victim to the fangs of an over-zealous fan. I play Pill, their hopelessly optimistic teacher whose naïve optimism borders on delerium for, unlike the prodigiously talented students at the real 77FT, these aspiring performers are a bunch of social misfits with real impediments to stardom such as stuttering, dyslexia, halitosis and dementia.

Chris Eichbaum, School of Government

Go with what works—no plagiarism, but derivative.
Option 1
Yes Vice Chancellor—in the tradition of The Thick of It and Yes Prime Minister. Second thought, no! This is a sitcom, not a documentary (I would have played the Director of Communications—Alastair Campbell meets Bill O’Reilly).
Option 2
FCOM Street—Sesame Street meets Shortland Street. Story of an intrepid band of fluffy characters offering a (great) university course, but with intentionally bad acting. Leslie Brown and me as the Yip Yips; Michael Cash and Pal Davies as Bert and Ernie.
Option 3 (favoured)
The Big Bong Theory—Cheech and Chong meets quantum physics—Lady Gaga as Penny—me as a very relaxed Leonard—why? Because the Dude abides…

Matthew Trundle, Classics

Yes, Vice Chancellor sees a young(ish) Associate Dean, Married Without Children, attempting to subvert the university system from within, battling red tape with Latin and Greek. In the pilot series, episode titles include ‘Managed Enrolment’, ‘Student Debt’, ‘Performance Funding’ and ‘Academic Standards’. The show ends with said Associate Dean moving to West Auckland lamenting his Outrageous Misfortune.

Hilary Pearse, Political Science

I’d politely suggest to TVNZ that they don’t have such a hot track record for situational comedy. Instead, I’d pitch a New Zealand version of True Blood. Half the cast in season three are antipodeans anyway so they could abandon their attempts at the Louisiana accent and come home. We’d have to film it somewhere warm—not wearing a shirt is an essential part of the character development for several roles—perhaps Northland or Hawkes Bay? I would play Sophie-Anne, the vampire queen, being naturally bossy and prone to burning in direct sunlight.

Don’t forget to vote!

The profiles have not been edited.

Vice President (Administration)

Richard Carr

I am currently enrolled as a BCA and BSc, majoring in Operations Research and Economics. I want to be involved with VUWSA to help ensure that we can create a sustainable organisation which can function proudly and co-operatively in partnership with the University and the larger community while providing excellent services to students. I have three main goals which will help lead VUWSA toward creating an organisation which can be a stable, functional and valuable asset to all students at Victoria.

1. Working with the VUWSA Trust to increase the non member revenue. In doing this I hope that I will be able to reduce the membership fee without sacrificing the services we offer by growing the amount of revenue generated through other channels.

2. Develop a more accountable and transparent office by using the VUWSA website to inform students of strategic plans and decisions that are under consideration so that students can be aware and have more input towards the choices made by myself and the Executive.

3. I would like to work towards a more efficient Students Association by reassessing and prioritising current spending to ensure a sensible allocation of the VUWSA resources, so that the money we do have has the most impact on us, the students.

Thomas Horrobin

Do you think VUWSA needs to get its shit together?
Do you think the way that it has operated in the past few years has contributed to student apathy?
Or do you just not love Joel Cosgrove penis?

If the answer to any of these questions is ‘yes’ then you need to vote Thomas Horrobin for administration vice president. In resent years VUWSA has been plagued with mismanagement. From the time former President Geoff Hayward spent $22,000 pimpin the VUWSA van to the year after when Cosgrove tried to cover it up and the time Jasmine Freemantle’s executive didn’t participate in ANZAC Day ceremonies because they didn’t believe in war. Well, all this is about to change because once we get VSM, you’ll no longer have to pay your VUWSA fee unless you actually want to be a member. So VUWSA will have to either earn students respect and pay its way or it can die in a cesspool of debt and complacency. VUWSA has a 100 year history and it was here representing students through both World Wars, the Vietnam War and other history changing events like the 1985 Springbok Tour. This history doesn’t need to stop but it will if VUWSA doesn’t prepare for VSM. I don’t want VUWSA to die and that’s why I want to be your Administration Vice President.

Alan Young

Profile submitted late.

Hi I’m Alan Young and I’m a Political Science, Philosophy and International Relations Student from Victoria University of Wellington where I’m currently in my third year of study. My leadership experiences range from being a Class rep at University, Campus coach where I help 1st year students settle into University. In my current role as Activities Officer and a Member of the general executive I help assist and organise events and activities for the Students such as Speed Dating and Poker nights whilst also assisting in orientation and re-orientation events. At the moment I’m a Volunteer Walker/ Driver for Disability Services for those with mobility Impairment and Just simply giving them a helping hand should they require it. I wish to stand for the Position of Administration Vice-president as I want to expand my skills and gain experience in the role. In the role I will Draft and maintain the VUWSA budget and provide Financial advice to the executive, clubs and at general meetings. I will be expected to achieve goals 4, 7 and 8 in the VUWSA Constitution which are to control the Student Union Complex and provide quality cost-effective services for members. Maximise the benefits to members by minimising fees or user charges and to ensure that the structures and procedures of the Association result in effective and efficient communication, management and accountability.

Vice President (Education)

Bridie Hood

Hi! My name is Bridie Hood and I am running for the position of Vice President (Education) in the upcoming By-Election, a role that I have been filing since the beginning of the year. The last few months that I have spent filling the role of EVP has given me a good foundational knowledge of the role and what it requires. I believe this to be an asset as I will be ready to get to work with implementing some new ideas into the Education Team. I have helped contribute to a stronger and more recognised Class Rep system and am leading the Education Team in producing a new Alternative Student Guide. But there is still a lot of work to be completed in the EVP position. If elected I will continue to work on strengthening the Student Representative system, seek to broaden the scope of the VUWSA Alternative Student Guide and lay some foundations for the future Education Team. Unfortunately I can’t promise free coffee on campus or anything exciting like that, but I can promise that I will help to make sure students are getting the most out of their time here at Vic. That their rights are upheld and that I won’t go down without a fight. So go on, do it! Vote for me Bridie Hood! – ‘Keep the good going’

International Officer

Paul Zhong

No profile submitted.

Queer Officer

Kerry Brown

Entering into the Queer community that thrives at Vic was a key point in my life, and has introduced me to so many fantastic queer and queer-friendly people. The gutsiness, energy, and heart with which these people engage with queer issues has inspired me to get involved and to participate.

As well as being a volunteer mentor for the Queer Mentoring Programme at Vic in 2009, I also recently participated in Challenge for Change, an amazing twenty-week mentoring programme for 9- to 13-year olds, and I would be super excited to apply the skills I’ve gained to co-ordinating the Queer Mentoring Programme here.

I think visibility is an important part of keeping the Queer community strong. It was when I treated my sexual identity as unmentionable that my well-being was most in danger. I want to promote an atmosphere of support where people are empowered enough to be visible – if they want to be!

There is a great Michael Leunig prayer that pays tribute to that rebellious, tribulating part within all of us that has worked for the causes of love and joy. I think this position should be of interest to everyone, queer or not, because of that sentiment. Syrupy, I know.

Cruz Johnson

Hello, Victoria University! My name is Cruz Johnson. I’m a first-year student, studying towards my B.A./B.Teach, majoring in French and History, and I am honoured to be standing for Queer Officer on the VUWSA Executive.

Why do I want to be Queer Officer? I’ll tell you. So far, I’ve had a wholly positive experience as a queer student at Victoria University, and I want to do my very best to make sure that all queer Vic students are safe, happy, and comfortable on campus. I’m not just talking about being at a UniQ meeting, either; I’m talking about being able to walk across the Quad, or check out a copy of Men Alone, Men Together, with no negative repercussions. Hence, I want to give my support to the Queer Mentoring Programme, which I perceive as playing a fundamental role in helping queer students develop a positive self-identity.

The role of Queer Officer is also one in which I can learn. I will discover the world of politics and administration. I will encounter some of the cogs which help keep Victoria University running, but only if I am elected, so I look forward to your vote on election day.

Tom Reed

Hi everyone, my name is Tom Reed and I am running for Queer rights officer. I am in my second year of a BA majoring in international relations, politics and history. I believe that there is still work to be done in tackling homophobia and heterosexism on campus, and in the wider New Zealand community. I have had formal training in Queer issues, including having completed a safe space sticker training program and being a member of the rainbow speaker’s bureau at American university in Washington D.C.

It is my goal to make Victoria New Zealand’s safest, most accepting and coolest University for Queer students. I will achieve this by continuing to run and facilitate the Queer mentoring program, which helps people who are coming out or who are unsure of their sexual identity. It will also be my responsibility to organise Pride week, and to publicize the results of the recent national Queer student survey. I would also like to implement a safe space sticker program, which is a workshop that educates students and staff on issues facing the Queer community. This will encourage a more accepting and diverse campus for all students.

Publications Committee Representative

Timothy Parker

Hi! My name is Timothy Parker and I’m running for Publications Committee Representative in this year’s by-election. Essentially this position overlooks the goings on at Salient and has a say in who will be editor for 2011.

I’m currently studying honours in English Literature and in my four glorious years at Victoria University of Wellington I’ve done plenty of reading – and dear I say it – critiquing the student publication that is Salient. In that time I’ve also been involved with the VBC 88.3 (Victoria’s very own student radio station), primarily as a DJ, so I know how a media outlet functions (and, on occasions, fails to function!).

The position of Publications Committee Representative, which is currently vacant, is essential for keeping checks and balances around Salient’s publication process. My experience in Victoria student media puts me in good stead to fill this position. The more positive, articulate and enthusiastic contributors there are involved with Salient the better! Give Timothy Parker your vote for the position of Publications Committee Representative in this year’s by-election!

It’s been a tight week of voting. Marc Wilson and Pondy were the early faves, but Dean Knight has made a late surge, helped no doubt by the foundation of a Facebook fan page in his honour. If Dean wins, he’s promising to wear his rugby outfit to uni every day for a week. We didn’t even think that would be allowed at Law School. Hilary Pearse is there repping it for the ladies—we’re not sure if she’s single, but if you like it—well, uh, just gonna stop it with that pop culture reference right now…

So, you know what to do: vote for your favourite lecturer by texting 027 CUSTARD or emailing editor@salient.org.nz. We get excited every time 027 CUSTARD beeps and vibrates across the desk, and then tally the votes on our whiteboard in the office. We are easily entertained.

Tell all your friends about it. Make public announcements in lectures. Facebook it. Tweet it. Write letters about it. Heck, print flyers if you’re keen. It’s all in your hands, Victoria University. Who will be Academic Idol?

This week’s question:
If you were stranded on a desert island, but could choose one food to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?

David O’Donnell, Theatre

Playwrights know what it’s like to be hungry.  Brecht wrote a scene where a starving man greedily devours some cheese, and Beckett depicts two tramps salivating over their last carrot. Theatre students don’t have it quite so bad, with a Bluebird machine in the Green Room and the Aro Fish and Chip shop just down the road. I spend many nights at university attending rehearsals and shows, so I’m often surviving off takeaways. Therefore on my island I’d only eat salad full of the fresh vegetables that I crave during busy term-times. And there would be plenty of carrots.

Peter Andreae, aka Pondy, Computer Science

What food? No contest—fresh bread! One of the nice things about the School of Engineering and Computer Science is that the kitchen in the common room has a real oven in it. Several times a week, I make bread dough at home in the morning, let it rise on a shelf in my office, and then cook it in the oven for lunch. When I go to get it out, the smell of fresh baked bread has spread through the whole floor making the staff (and the students sitting on the couches in the corridor) hungry. It’s so easy, so cheap, and so nice; what I can’t work out is why nobody else does it.

Hilary Pearse, Political Science

Vegemite toast. I know that’s a controversial stance given the long running vegemite vs. marmite debate. For the record I also vote crunchy peanut butter rather than smooth. I reckon I could happily exist on vegemite toast for a while, at least until I succumbed to scurvy. The only close rival would be pho, Vietnamese noodle soup. Incidentally, both are excellent hangover restoratives, must be all that vitamin B and salty goodness.

Matthew Trundle, Classics

As one lies under the pine trees in the blazing Sun of some Greek island paradise contemplating the vastness of the wine-dark sea and watching the dolphins play on the shore, what better accompaniment than the grape and its juice from which comes so much sustenance and the joy of Dionysos? A short-lived existence, admittedly with few carbs and no fats, but a happy one nonetheless!

Justin Bachoff, Modern Mythology

I would choose Huntley and Palmers Sesameal crackers. Then after a couple of years I should accumulate enough empty packages to construct a raft, which I will use to sail to the next desert island and hope to find a lifetime’s supply of cheese.

Marc Wilson, Psychology

A quick survey of psychology students indicates the most preferred answers are (a) fruit, (b) carbs, and (c) nachos. Nachos give me wind, so they’re out. A carb-only diet is not only going to get boring reeeaaaal fast, but a lifetime of constipation doesn’t sound so good. So, fruit? Did you know that fruitarians eat only fruit, AND only fruit that has fallen naturally from the plant? They’re a pasty bunch usually found hanging around trees with a crazed-with-hunger look about them. Fruitarians might live longer, but I bet they’re more willing to die. I prefer to go with 2% of students and live on BUTTER CHICKEN! There better be a Tulsi on this island…
  
(And Justin, Crispin Glover was only George McFly in the FIRST BTTF movie!)

Dean Knight, LAW

Gin? Does that count as food? Alas, I’m guessing not…

In all honesty, it’s probably unfair to ask a gay man who is a foodie to try to narrow it down to only one item of food!

But, if just one, then it would have to be a thick slice of Vogel’s toast with sliced fresh tomatoes.  Sprinkled with cracked pepper.  Then drizzled with a little balsamic glaze. And finally topped with some roughly torn basil. Mmmmmm.  That might not sustain me for long, but I would at least perish replete—and with style.

Geoff Stahl, Media Studies

As a vegetarian/aspiring vegan, and lover of savoury meals at any time of the day, I’d like to sate myself in solitude on the following, assuming it’s an island in the Pacific allowing some of it to be locally sourced: umeboshi-scented jasmine rice with fresh-cracked black pepper, the foundation for garlic/soy marinated tofu, fried to crispy perfection, layered with sautéed spinach (with some fresh nutmeg), topped with mango braised in palm sugar and brandy, and finished off with toasted sesame seeds and fresh coriander.  (N.B.: I am rarely earnest, but I am cooking about food.)

Chris Eichbaum, School of Government

My favourite dish is the Curry Laksa and roti from the Kopi Tiam in the Newtown shops, so I’m tempted to order that in for the duration.

The absence of that supportive and affirming collegiality associated with university life, and of the pure joy associated with staff and faculty meetings is going to make it tough. And I will probably hate the warm tropical waters, the sound of waves on the reef, the fragrance of the frangipani flowers. No, I won’t be able to handle this. I’ll need to go out with a smile on my face, so it has to be kava cookies for the (limited) duration. The Dude abides.

DON’T FORGET TO VOTE!

In 2006 Academic Idol was touted as “reality journalism at its best”. Yes. Reality journalism. It exists. It is real. here it is, in Salient. If history really does repeat, Academic Idol will be a resounding success, a law lecturer will win and Salient will come second in the student media awards. To Critic. Fuck.

Due to unforseen circumstances (like being overseas), some of your faves have had to decline the invitation to participate. Perhaps they just weren’t cut out for the cut throat competition anyway.

The concept is simple. And a lot like American Idol. Each week, each lecturer will be asked a question and they’ll have to answer it within the 100 word limit. And by deadline. Votes will be deducted for lateness, and exceeding the word limit. All you have to do is vote for your favourite—email editor@salient.org.nz or text 027 CUSTARD. The person with the least number of votes is eliminated. Fired. Goneskies. It’s as easy as that. We’ll keep the tally of votes in the Salient office on a large whiteboard. Yeah, technological sophistication is where it’s at.

Without further ado, here is your top ten. We’ve thrown in a couple of wildcards for good measure. And there’s a few Survivor-esque twists thrown in the mix as well. The future is in your hands, or something cheesy like that. Get behind your favourites. Support your school or campus. Vote. Go on.

This week’s question:
Who would play you in the movie of your life and why?

Peter Andreae (aka Pondy), Computer Science

The Honda ASIMO. Since my research goal is to develop an artificial intelligence system that can learn how to act and interact in the complex human world, it seems like a good idea to have an artificial intelligence agent play me in a movie. ASIMO isn’t intelligent enough yet—it has excellent motion control but is no good at reasoning and talking yet (which is what my life is about). But by the time anyone thinks a movie of my life is a good idea, I’m sure I will have made an intelligent learning system that could be installed in one of the robots.

Hilary Pearse, Political Science

Jessica Simpson. People comment on the uncanny physical resemblance all the time, and not just when I’m washing my car. I’ve also felt a deep sense of connection with Jess for some years now due to the spooky parallels in our lives. I too had a disastrous early marriage to a member of a boy band and have been publicly humiliated by a fashion experiment involving high-waisted jeans. And I hear that Jess is also interested in democratic reform within Westminster-derived parliamentary systems. It makes me wonder if we could be related. My mum’s side of the family is from Marton and I think there are some Simpsons living there too.

Justin Bachoff, Modern Mythology

Well I guess I’m surprised as anyone to be here. The person to play me? I would hope that Crispin Glover would be available. He seems of all people in Hollywood to have an innate grasp of the structure of modern myths: the smoke-and-mirrors game played out by hidden actors, the possibilities created by infinity and the uncertainty of personality. Aside from that, he’s George McFly! How cool would that be? Also, I would allow Rachel Weisz to play the romantic interest for obvious reasons.

Geoff Stahl, Media Studies

A few weeks ago, some French tourists passed me on Cuba Mall, declaring “Regardez! C’est Bruce Willis.”  While finding the comparison somewhat untenable at the time, I thought this a viable response to the question. Bruce’s aging physique seems now to have dovetailed nicely with my own prolonged lack of fitness. The thought of a soft-edged, in-decline action star bringing to the role of lecturer the existential malaise, waning charisma and the hint of sarcasm born of a life once lived large but now reined in by the strictures of institutional imperatives, for this Bruce seems entirely appropriate. Either him or DJ Tiësto.

Marc Wilson, Psychology

I’m so honoured! Now I’ve been nominated I’m going to stop writing funding applications altogether. There’s no point denying that I’m not the most manly of men, so I’d have to pick someone who is everything I’m not and that person is… Bruce Campbell (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bruce_Campbell), star of ‘The Evil Dead’ series directed by childhood friend Sam Raimi. Not only does he have the chin I always wanted (see his autobiography If Chins Could Kill), but university isn’t too different from fighting off zombies. Let’s face it, if I could deliver lines like “I’m here to kick ass and chew gum… and I’m all out of gum,” I wouldn’t be the B-grade academic I am today—Hail to the king baby!

Matthew Trundle, Classics

Patrick Stewart (aka Captain Jean-Luc Picard) because he is English, bald and a great classical actor.

David O’Donnell, Theatre

I’m getting on a bit so I’d like to see several actors playing me, in the style of the Bob Dylan film I’m Not There. Jemaine Clement could play my younger self because he’s got the mop of hair for it and captures the essence of the young Kiwi male. Cate Blanchett would be the slightly older version, perhaps adapting her portrayal of the über-cool young Dylan, and like me she seems to be an expert multi-tasker, being a new mum, Hollywood actress and co-director of the Sydney Theatre Company all at once. Sir Ian McKellen could play the older me—as a veteran Shakespearean actor I think he would have the range to master the role, and I’d hope that some of that Gandalf-style wisdom might rub off on my lectures.

Lee Gibson, Design

Without a doubt, Wesley Snipes*. 
But don’t get a movie made, just take some highlights out of his films over the years and you would have a great summary of events, almost a biographical documentary. Key moments: New Jack City—growing up in the King Country; White Men Can’t Jump—some nice hightops and a fade; Blade—looking tough as; Money Train—hanging with Woody Harrelson (we are actually close friends); Blade II—still looking tough; Blade Trinity—going through a weird stage, but still looking tough, then just fading out with no one noticing.
*minus jail time

Chris Eichbaum, School of Government

What are we looking for here—physical likeness or attitude? I guess for me it’s more about the latter. That said, when I consulted my guru, the venerable ‘Dara’, the advice was that, on the physical similarity stakes Jesse Ventura was a good likeness (from the neck up). That may well be the case, but on matters political, Jesse and I are not exactly of similar mind. So I’m going to opt for attitude—and on that basis I am going for an actor in my favourite two films of all time. At the top of my list is The Fisher King, directed by a member of the Monty Python Crew, Terry Gilliam. And at number two is The Big Lebowski, directed by the Cohen brothers. And the actor? Jeff Bridges. Why? Because The Dude abides…The Dude abides.

Dean Knight, Law

Hmmm. Tricky.  A quick plea to friends, via Facebook, generated these suggestions:
• Neil Patrick Harris (“Doogie” once was my nickname, as a 19-year-old summer law clerk);
• Sir Ian McKellen (militant gay, and he once crashed a party at our house);
• Alan Tudyk (my doppelgänger, apparently);
• Fyvush Finkely (grrr – just too mean!);
• David Wenham (hot ginga!);
• Leonardo DiCaprio (some foolish attempt once to replicate his circa-1996 floppy blonde hairstyle);
• Philip Seymour Hoffman (creepy…);
• Allison Janney (omigod – CJ is *my* idol!);
• Matt Damon (some rugby talent seen in Invictus, but needs more work…).
But maybe GLEE’s Matthew Morrison, as he has a much better voice and more rhythm than me?

A local Ulsan landmark whose function has puzzled many Western commentators.

In a shock move that left many analysts stunned today, Samuel Bowen Partridge was offered an English teaching job in Ulsan City, South Korea, which he promptly accepted. Where mere days before he was “deep in the doldrums” according to sources close to Samuel, he is now elated at the teaching agency that did in two days what all the others couldn’t in two months—secure him work in a favourable location at market-rate pay.

“Sure, I gotta wait two months to get out there but I’m just psyched to finally have something going for me for once,” Samuel said in a recent statement to the media. However, some analysts, while happy for him, do worry that Samuel has jumped into something straight away when he could have possibly found better work in a larger city. David Seans, in his weekly column for The New York Post, noted that “Ulsan is a quiet industrial city of only 1 million people in a country of over 50 million!”, and that “Samuel may have been able to get better work elsewhere, as, in two months the job market opens up for the half-yearly intake.” In short, it’s likely if he hadn’t desperately jumped on this opportunity, others would have made themselves available.

Whether he lives to regret the hastiness of the decision will be a discussion for the future, but currently the Samuel Bowen Partridge camp is in celebration mode—and who can blame them. Samuel has been waiting for work now for upwards of three months. “It’s like a dream come true, we’re all so happy for Samuel!” said a volunteer SBP staffer at the campaign’s celebration event.

And as for Ulsan city itself, the local populous are welcoming of the idea. “Yeah… I spose we could do with a couple more white people in Ulsan,” said ‘Harry Keum’, the number one pinch-hitter for the Ulsan City Dragons Baseball team, who was more than a little confused at Western News Media groups pitching the question to him. “I thought you guys were here about our weekend match against the GanJu Cherry Blosoms? At the moment we’re 3–0, so we’re going into the game pretty confident, past form against the Cherry Blossoms included or not.”

When quizzed on his opinions on the inter-Korean Baseball League or indeed his feelings on Professional Baseball itself, Samuel refused to comment, but reminded the media to celebrate and focus on the positives of his job offer, and not on “a vapid sport made popular by secessionist immigrants of mainly ‘baser’ Irish and Scottish ancestory”.

The Republic of (South) Korea

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Susceptible to: occasional typhoons; low-level seismic activity; Socialist invasion; East Asian-styled pop music.
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Population: 48,508,972
South Korean language schools are known to offer the best deals to foreign teachers, including prepaid flights, accommodation, low cost of living and relative high pay coupled with low work hours.
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Young New Zealand-born male teachers with good degrees who are looking for work will only do as an alternative if Americans, Canadians or any other woman cannot be found. However, at this current time, along with the rest of the world, the Republic of (South) Korea is dealing with the effects of the worldwide economic downturn, and as such work for foreign English teachers is drying up. It is common practice for Korean language schools to request photos of foreign applicants before they are accepted. This, coupled with requirements for a criminal background check, drugs and AIDS test and good academic marks from a recognised university makes the application a long and thorough one.
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As of this date (March, 08, 2010), Samuel Bowen Partridge (S.B.P.) has unsuccessfully been looking for suitable work in the Republic of (South) Korea for four months. Unsure as he is, he has three offers to go to work immediately at language schools in rural and industrial centres and is considering giving up his dreams of the ‘Bohemia’ that was to be his Seoul experience.
Wondering if his failures are because his photos are not homely enough (patriarchal South Koreans are known to be susceptible to ‘xenophobic angst’ at the idea of Western men getting K-babes), he is now very much in despair. The idea of living in a country town, or a coal pit populated by dirty (mud or soot-covered) plebs and few other Westerners is, at this moment, an unappealing one. Samuel has been reading Green Hills of Africa and the unease and frustration that Hemingway feels surrounded by African tribesmen informs his own anxieties.
-
On the ground the situation remains tense, but the impasse cannot continue indefinitely, in fact many experts believe that a break in the deadlock will occur in matter of days as despair begins to settle in—expect Samuel to capitulate soon.

With a population of at least 12 million, Istanbul is the biggest city in Europe. And that figure doesn’t include the city’s estimated four million unregistered inhabitants. Effectively that’s give or take the entirety of New Zealand within one city, which is a great way to make us feel insignificant. Aside from the obvious fact of its size, this Turkish ‘mega city’ is unlike any other I have ever encountered. Not only does it span two continents, but it remains a living testament to the long and rich histories of some of the world’s greatest civilisations, cultures and religions. It seems that in its juxtaposing mosques and cathedrals, bazaars and department stores, Alfa Romeos and horse-drawn carriages, the entire world is on offer in Istanbul.

While so much of Istanbul’s appeal is rooted deep in its glorious past lives as Byzantium and Constantinople, today it is remarkably forward-looking. The issue of Turkey’s entry into the EU has long preoccupied the scholar, the politician and journalist alike. Can Turkey ever be considered European when the majority of its population are Muslim? Are Western Europe’s critiques of its human rights record genuine humanitarian concerns or simply a convenient excuse? There seems to be a ceaseless barrage of attempts to define the Turkish nation and its people as Western or non-Western, Christian or Muslims, Asian or European.

But, from my impressions of Istanbul, this preoccupation ends well outside Turkish borders, or at least at the doors of its parliament. Certainly the sentiment of locals suggests that EU membership is not the be-all and end-all, or the ultimate symbol of progress and modernity. Turkey, and especially cosmopolitan Istanbul, escapes neat political definitions and cultural stereotypes, it is simply too large and too diverse. Nothing exemplifies this more than Istanbul’s most famous gem, the Hagia Sophia. Once a cathedral, later a mosque and now a museum, this architectural marvel showcases equally stunning masterpieces of Christian iconographic mosaics and Islamic calligraphy side by side.

Why must we critique Orientalism by insisting that Islam is incompatible with the West? Can we not simply accept that the realities of our world are complex and multifaceted, and that in our efforts to define it, we move further away from truthful understanding? The West likes to depict the East and particularly Islam as rigid, dogmatic and fundamentalist, and yet it is our perceptions that are the least flexible.

The city Istanbul has a sense of energy unlike any other I have encountered, even in the metropolitan capitals of London, Paris and Milan. Sleazy carpet shop owners aside, its people showed me a genuine friendliness and wonderful humour. The streets thrived with activity well into the night, sparkling ethereally with strings of lights and filled with the voices of dancing youths. Istanbul has willingly embraced its diversity to produce a truly unique and wonderful city that brings us so much more than the kebab and is well worth a visit.

Walking to my internship I narrowly avoid passing the White House, instead passing by the Eisenhower Executive Building. I then walk down past the World Bank, turning again slightly before the International Monetary Fund, and end up across the road for the General Services Administration building at my office, in the historic DACOR Bacon House (built 1825).

Today, however, was different. My way was blocked by a combination of Metropolitan Police, Secret Service agents, officers from Homeland Security, and a throng of civil servants trying to get to work. Evidently several city blocks had been cordoned off, and no one was allowed access in.

Interruption of everyday life is not unusual in DC. However, it is usually brief. For example, when the Vice President travels from his crib at the Navy Observatory circle to the White House, he does so in a motorcade which heads directly down Massachusetts Ave, and all side streets crossing it are blocked by men on motorcycles resembling the Terminator. These motorcades can be up to 12 vehicles long, containing mainly black SUVs, but often complimented with a sprinkling of ordinary squad cars.

The SUVs will normally contain Secret Service agents, they are usually heavily armed with automatic weapons, and basically hang out the windows like a dog might, keeping a beady out for assassination attempts… or a foreign student who just wants to see what happens if he pretends to pull out a pistol. The short and dry of it is if you try cross the road you will likely be run down, so you wait for five minutes.

Today was different. Normally only streets directly around the White House get cordoned off, which one can understand and learn to avoid, but several blocks in the downtown area? That is unusual. What’s more, the small ratio of Fire and EMT to police suggested that it was not a gas leak or fire drill, nor that there was a major traffic accident.

I presume it is simply some type of threat and they are taking all possible precautions. Maybe even a practice drill, but I doubt that. While it is mildly interesting, unless something explodes, it will likely not make major headlines. I might be wrong, it could be something big. Then again, big things happen in DC all the time. I guess the threshold of what is considered extra-ordinary is slightly higher in the Capital of the United States of America.

Before leaving for the land of the free, I, like all the other Vic OE n00blets, was taught to be wary of the ominous and debilitating culture shock. I understand that this might be a serious issue if you are travelling to a markedly different culture such as in the Middle East or Asia, but I could not think how it would affect me in America. I mean come on! America is just like New Zealand right? We eat Western food, have liberal democratic governments, and speak English, what more do you want?

It turns out that I was wrong on several accounts. Firstly, America does not speak English, it speaks Spanish; complemented by a variety of strange dialects which a linguist may study in a few hundred years and tenuously conclude that they originate from English, only to be scorned by other experts in the field for making such ridiculous assertions. Secondly, America does not produce pies.

For apple pies, blueberry pies, strawberry pies, or any other type of fruit pies are not really pies. They are desserts. Perfectly delicious deserts, made even better with Vanilla ice cream, but not pies. Pies, as far as I am concerned, are made by Irvines, sold at Mena’s, and intended to be accompanied with a can of Fresh Up and a short walk up the hill to Uni. What can I say, I am culturally stubborn.

Can you blame me though? Try to imagine a world without pies as you know them. No steak, steak and cheese, mince, mince and cheese, steak and venison, steak and mushroom, steak and kidney, potato top, bacon and egg; no vegetarian pies, no butter chicken pies, no excuse for tomato sauce, no pies with too much gristle, no drunken pies, no soggy microwave pies, no thermo-nuclear-been-sitting-in-the-warmer-for-twelve-hours pies… That is my hell, and I intended to do something about it.

So a pie I did create. The rolling pin was my hammer, and the plastic kitchen table my anvil. I heated, hammered, cooled, and hammered again. The normally quiet community was woken by the roar of my forge, and the bang and clanging of my labour. Many pastry prototypes spewed forth from my ovens, and many were discarded, until finally, to the wonder of the townsfolk, I held forth a creation so beautiful, the religious among us bowed low in reverence, believing it was God himself, wrapped in golden pastry.

However, my dogged pursuit of the pie came at a cost. Much blood, sweat and tears had flowed into my work, rendering much of it unsuitable for human consumption, and what was left to be eaten was not enough to make my effort worthwhile. With much lamenting I laid to rest my dreams of regular pie consumption. But through it I learned a very valuable, very American lesson, as much as you like the qualities of pie, some times it’s easier to enjoy them at home, rather than fight to create them abroad.

New Zealand’s surprise story is exactly what this World Cup currently needs. The lack of goals in the opening rounds made a mockery of universal criticism of the infamous Jabulani adidas ball. The ball, deemed ‘perfectly round’ by its manufacturer, was hailed as a nightmare by goalkeepers, with its unpredictable flight sure to result in a glut of spectacular goals. Aside from the delightfully-named Siphiwe Tshabalala’s effort, there has been a notable absence of stunning goals. The world wants to see the big stars (Kaka, Rooney, Drogba, Torres, Ronaldo) fire, but only the mercurial Messi has really set the stage alight. Oh, and Winston Reid.

Then there has been presence of the vuvuzela, to which so much press has already been devoted. The horrendous droning sounds are killing the traditional tones of football fanfare. It is not just the South Africans (who claim they are traditional to the sport—ten years of vuvuzela-ing does not count as tradition) blowing the horns; visiting fans are going nuts over the monotone ‘instrument’ too. When in Rome, I suppose.

The France team has only mustered one point and has been sent home in disgrace after in-fighting and player strikes. Coach Raymond Domenech personified the team’s dour campaign when he refused to shake the hand of his South African opposite after the 2-1 defeat to the hosts. Capello’s England has been awful, but they at least have a chance to kick-start their tournament against Slovenia tonight. New Zealand, with three amateur players in its ranks, is providing the charm to a World Cup that desperately needs to ignite.

What’s the deal? The China Field Study is a summer course (POLS378/INTP378) that includes three weeks of lessons and field trips in Beijing as well as two weeks of classes back in Wellington at the end of trimester three.

While you’re in Beijing, you are hosted by the lovely people at the China University of Political Science and Law (CUPL). Yes, there are a few classes to attend (before you ask, the classes are in English), but you have heaps of time to visit the important historical and political sites and explore the city. Not to mention you actually get to meet some of the important players in modern Chinese politics.

When the first part of the course is over in Beijing, you can also use the fact you are already in China as an excuse to do some more travelling in China or a little further afield. Some students on the 2008/2009 course went to Tibet, while others explored the south of China and Vietnam. Just be back in Wellington in time for those classes at the end of the summer trimester.

Keen? If you need further convincing/information, head to the POLS website, or contact Course Coordinator Jason Young at Jason.Young@vuw.ac.nz.

Applications close at the end of June, so hurry up and get organised.

Salient Editor and three-time award-winning student journalist Sarah Robson took out the award for Junior Magazine Feature Writer of the Year.

Robson, who attended the ceremony, is both pleased and baffled by her win.

“Well, I was the only finalist in my category, so it would have been, like, really embarrassing if I lost to no one.

“But seriously, can someone tell me how I won? Shouldn’t some big-budget glossy magazine be winning this sort of thing?”

It has been ascertained that there were several other entrants in the category.

Despite the fame and glory associated with winning an award sponsored by an airline company, Robson is disappointed she did not get to go on stage to accept her prize.

Any prospective employers who may wish to contact Robson to remedy her post-Salient unemployment are encouraged to do so.

Robson submitted a portfolio of features from 2009 for consideration for the award, including the now infamous 3000-word Campus Hub expose.

2009 Salient Editor Jackson James Wood is said to be taking credit for at least 5 per cent of Robson’s win, despite firing her on an almost daily basis.

Upon hearing the news of her win, Wood called Robson at the ceremony and yelled excitedly down the phone.

“Aaaaahhhh! Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!” he exclaimed.

Highlights of the night included The Listener columnist Jane Clifton complimenting Robson on her dress, and schmoozing with former Salienteers Nicola Kean and Matt Nippert.

In other news, the Herald on Sunday won Newspaper of the Year.

It’s 4am and sleep continues to evade me. There’s no spare benches left at Gatwick airport, especially since the arsehole over there has taken up two to himself. I have it in good mind to wake him abruptly with a lecture on basic courtesy but I’m too exhausted to make the effort, plus it’s every man for himself in here. Instead I have attempted to squiggle into the very narrow gap between the arm rests on a row of wooden seats. It’s going to be a long night at the airport, but such is the life of the budget traveller.

The budget traveller is willing to don five layers of clothing and towels as scarves in order to avoid having to pay for a check-in bag on Ryanair, and is easily distinguishable by their jandals, hoodies and general jaded appearance. After having spent an unfathomably large amount over Easter, particularly thanks to the inconvenient interference of an Icelandic volcano, I have decided to embrace the low-cost, airport sleeping approach to travel. I’ve booked the cheapest hostel in Istanbul that doesn’t look like I’ll be mugged in, and am planning to take full advantage of free breakfast as sustenance for the entire day. It’s hardly glamorous, but I’ve already played the “I promise this is the last time I’ll ask for money” card with my parents one too many times.

This stone-cold and back-breakingly uncomfortable wooden bench, however, does have a silver lining. It’s all part of one great adventure, or at least I tell myself. Certainly, some of the most memorable moments of my travels thus far have been born out of financial desperation or a radical divergence from plans. I never, for example, would have imagined that I would spend an extra week in Italy staying with only stranded airline pilots for company in a small Tuscan village. Nor would a chance to learn Serbian, or be introduced to the custom of home-distilled rakia shots if we hadn’t been forced to take refuge with an extremely hospitable family near Torino while the ash cleared.

One particularly unforgettable experience involved a dingy old brothel on a highway in the middle of a chillingly cold Spanish night. This, for the record, was not a desperate resort to prostitution, but rather the terrifying result of a failed hitchhike attempt. In an attempt to avoid the twenty euro cab ride from Hotel Morzabez, supposedly the “best hub from which to see Salamanca”, into the city we—ingeniously we thought at the time—decided that it would a great idea to hitchhike the twenty kilometre journey.

Setting out in the early evening, buoyed by naive optimism, we were soon to discover that no one wants to pick up Kiwis and Australians on a Spanish highway, let alone four of them. As we walked along the precariously narrow verge it grew progressively darker until we were more likely to be hit by a car than offered a ride. When finally lights in the distance punctuated the darkness, we pushed forth with renewed vigour. As we neared, however, the lights appeared distinctly neon, and it became apparent that this was more than your standard ‘hotel’.

So here we were, a group of girls standing outside a Spanish brothel, with seedy old men standing about in the carpark, miles away from any civilisation. Luckily for us, there was just one other building nearby, an old folks home, who, after I found the “we’re lost” phrase in my Spanish dictionary, kindly ordered us a taxi home, which, very ironically, still cost us twenty euro.

It’s moments like these, above any excursion you plan, or museum you visit, that constitute the real character-building stuff. Spontaneity is a wonderful thing, and although I certainly don’t recommend paying late-night visits to Spanish brothels, the best travel memories are the ones that deviate from the orthodox tourist path. They’re the ones that you learn most about your friends in, and certainly the ones that you can, at least in hindsight, laugh about. So, as much as I would love to trade these hard wooden seats for the comfort of a five-star bedroom, I look forward to the challenges of my travels to come. If I end up singing for my supper in Croatia, at least I can return home having seen a lot more, and a much more realistic picture of our world. Of all the discomfort and even danger these actions have put me in I have never ever regretted them. I think the greatest mistake anyone can make in life is to never risk making them.

VUWSA received a formal complaint following the column’s publication in the 3 May issue of Salient.

Sleep made reference in the column to “the rich kids who you might find yourself sitting next to”, and “the one’s that seem to think it’s a status boost to say they live in Weir House”.

The exec found Sleep had breached the VUWSA Code of Conduct by making negative and disrespectful comments about VUWSA members.

When asked to make a public apology for the comments made in the column, Sleep initially refused to do so.

“No, that is not something I will be doing. I am not prepared to make a public apology in Salient. I don’t see why I need to.”

Following the meeting Sleep contacted Salient to say he had “had second thoughts” and would apologise in a later issue of Salient.

Sleep did acknowledge using the stereotypes “was unacceptable” and agreed to apologise to the complainant, but only after it was suggested by the exec.

Sleep’s column was discussed in a recent select committee hearing about Roger Douglas’s Education (Freedom of Association) Amendment Bill, a bill which would introduce voluntary membership to all students’ associations.

VUWSA President Max Hardy told Salient he was disappointed that Sleep had made the comments.

“The accountability of executive members is ultimately to the students.

“VUWSA expects higher standards of ethical conduct of its Executive members that we generally expect of the general public.”

Sleep told Hardy during the investigation that he did not believe the phrases were offensive and said he was attempting to be “deliberately provocative”.

Hardy said in his report to the exec that Sleep “showed a general disrespect to the process” and “did not take the allegations seriously”.

Sleep told the exec that he accepted the misconduct finding, but disputed that he had not taken the complaint seriously.

Sleep says turning up to the meeting and talking about the complaint was enough to be seen as taking it seriously.

Exec members were concerned by Sleep’s actions following the meeting with Hardy, when he was heard laughing about the issue.

The misconduct decision does not require the exec to take any disciplinary action against Sleep.

An agreement between Salient and VUWSA means that all columns submitted by exec members are not edited by Salient, subject to libel laws, before being published.

We wouldn’t put an entire issue of Salient exclusively on the internets without providing you with a comprehensive list of where everything is, just like there is in your Sex for dummies guide. Or, fuck it, just go read the letters.

Entire issue

All articles that are in Issue 11 of Salient are tagged with the issue number and year and can be accessed here.

Cover Story

Convergence Rules, OK

Features

Illegal flower tributes
Home taping is killing music
What is the internet?

Regular Bits

Editorial
Salient Rates
Probing the punters
Faces to Deface
Letters
Puzzles
Comics:
 The Darkroom
 Study Hard
 The Ginger Chronicles
 G33K
Notices

Executive

President’s Column
Vice President (Education)
International Officer

News

2010 Budget Announcement
ConGRADulations
“Unrelated and unplanned events” to blame for Undie “disruption”
Prof picks up prize
I vaaaaant your blood
Oh dear, what can the matter be…
New Zealand’s democracy “up for sale”?
Master writers to hold Master classes
In the Week that Wasn’t: Study Confirms Vic Quad “A bit Shit”

Columns

Ask Candy Badger
Horoscopes
Nos-tal-gee-uh
That’s So Gay
Laying Down the Law
The Reverse Sweep
Sport: Countdown to the World Cup
Yo Mama Shoulda Told You This
Health
Politics with Paul
The Lyons Share
FM, BM Nius
Beer
Wine

Arts

Theatre:
 Theatre! With Uther Dean
Film:
 So bad it’s exquisite: Examining our love of hating
Books:
 Florence and Giles by John Harding
Music:
 Sleigh Bells—Treats
 The Wild Hunt—The Tallest Man on Earth
 Expo 86

Campus Security has become concerned over the number of iPods and laptop computers being reported stolen from all campuses. Most of these thefts are preventable by following some simple rules:

• Wherever you are studying, be it libraries, open spaces or computer labs do not leave these items unattended even for a minute.
• If you are using lockers to store valuable items please make sure you re-lock your locker every time you use it.

Students who work out of offices have to take particular note

• Do not leave your office unlocked while not occupied, even for a short time (coffee or printing)
• Make sure that you secure valuable items in a locked secure place while not working in your office space.

Security encourages you to report any incident or loss of property. Contact us on the emergency line 8888 or at the Security Office, Cotton Street.t

Thankyou
Bryan Ivamy
Supervisor Security

Toastmasters!

Wednesdays 12-1pm, Meeting Room 1, Student Union Building

Because communication isn’t optional, Toastmasters is a club dedicated to helping people practice public speaking in a fun and supportive environment.

Everyone – no matter what your current public speaking ability – is welcome. Come along and see what Toastmasters is all about.

Visit us online at vicuni.freetoasthost.info

Sunday Football

The search is on to find players for a new Under 21 team to compete in the Wellington Football U21 League! This opportunity is open to all interested players, from recent school leavers through to those 21 years old. This is your chance to meet new people and take part in a sport growing in popularity. We need players who are able to commit to weekly matches, played on Sundays, usually at 11am. This means you can play even if you are already in a Saturday team! Contact WellingtonU21s@gmail.com ASAP to enquire.

Wellington Youth Choir Concert

Want to swap study for swing?? Think singers are major babes? Wellington Youth Choir invites you to an American themed concert with pieces ranging from the Star Spangled Banner and Disney to gospel music and jazz!! Conducted by Isaac Stone, with solo, group and choral works.

Tuesday 8 June, 7pm. Queen Margaret College, Thorndon.

Student tickets $5 on the door. See you there!

Movie Geeks—Free movies club

Keen for a free movie? Come join us every Monday night between 5.30 -8.00pm at Student Union Hall.
Everyone is welcome and bring all your friends along!!

Light refreshments provided

Donations are also very appreciated.

This week screening is the “Black Dynamite”
For more information:
Email: moviegeeks.vuw@gmail.com

Coach Junior Football

This is your opportunity to get involved with Football in World Cup year! Waterside Karori Junior Football is looking for motivated, reliable and knowledgeable people to join their Coaches Academy. The Academy provides professional coaching training, development and support to enable you to provide coaching services to junior teams (aged 5 to 13). This is a fantastic opportunity to develop your organisational, communication and leadership skills, and to gain recognised qualifications. Help develop the sport you love, make some money and have heaps of fun. Contact juniors@wkafc.org.nz to get involved!

NEW! Student AA Meeting

Support and Anonymity Guaranteed!
Every Tuesday, 2PM
Meeting Room One of the Student Union Building
email: aameetingstudent@gmail.com

Flatmate Notice

Needing a super Flatmate!

Move in Date: 24th June

To share a small HOME in Wadestown with 2nd yr, 25 yr old Female and one awesome cat.

$115 pw + $35 pw for phone, internet and power

Looking for female, 20s, cruizy, creative and fun,

This is more of a home situation then flat, so looking for the right person!

Call/Txt 021975192

Careers and Jobs

CAREERHUB – ONE STOP SHOP to JOBS: Part time, Full time, Summer Internships, Voluntary Work. Register NOW! http://careerhub.victoria.ac.nz. Login using your Student Computing Login account.

Want to have your CV checked?

Scared of interviews?

Need a job? Summer work? Part time? Full time? Work experience?

Unsure of what to do with your degree?

…Time to visit Vic Careers or book an appointment with a Careers Consultant

Recruitment starts now! Check details on CareerHub: http://careerhub.victoria.ac.nz

Graduate Recruitment 2011 / Summer Internships 2010/11 – applications closing dates:
PKF Martin Jarvie 28 May
Orica 28 May
Unilever28 May
Honeywell 30 May
Walt Disney World 31 May
Transfield Worley 2 June
Aurecon New Zealand 2 June
Frucor 4 June
Contact 6 June
Fonterra (Science) 8 June
Mainfreight 9 June
Intergen 18 June

Queries?

Visit Vic Careers at 14 Kelburn Parade, 463-5393, careers-service@vuw.ac.nz

Running Rivers Really Rules

With winter rains coming, Vics kayak club is getting ready to go mental.

Come have a go and learn some basics like rolling at freyberg pool thursday nights at 830 and check out www.vickayakers.org

Rad as!

COMPUTER and LAPTOP REPAIR and SERVICE

Need Computer Help? I can Fix / Repair / Service / Network / Backup / Install or Upgrade your Laptop or PC. I can help with Wireless / Broadband / Training and anything computer related.

I’m located nearby at top of the Cable Car near the Met Office building or I can pickup and drop off work at Vic and am very affordable at $70/hour.

Check me out atwww.compguy.co.nzor email me on info@compguy.co.nz or call /txt Franz on 499 0098 / 021 067 3750.

The Human FM Clothing Swap

Bring in your clothes to swap on Wednesday 26th May, come back for swapping on Thursday 27th May, from 9:30am.Clothes to be dropped at Ramsey House, 8 Kelburn Parade from 9am (Wed 28th May Drop off clothing @ 8 Kelburn Parade from 9am). Looking for quality 2nd hand: t-shirts, knits, cardis, jeans, pants, accesories, bags… no shoes or undies, thanks. All left over clothes and proceeds raised will go to Wellington City Mission. For further info email studio@humanfm.co.nz

Dear Sa(y)- what’s that behind the dryer? Oh, it’s just a clump of- lient

A few questions for you:
1. Last year you had an issue printed on recycled paper, why are you not always? Cause you should, specially the sustainibility motion at the VUWSA IGM passed last week

2. @ Sarah Robson, is your hair naturally coloured that way? It’s juicy

3. Can you make Max Hardy be my boyfriend? This is why he should be:
- I would buy a blonde wig and a white dress and sing him happy birthday any time
- I think he is a babe
- We have 3 friends in common on facebook
- My cat has the same name. Coincidence? No, fate.

Much appretiated,
Ta-daaa

McDonalds… Nom…

Dearest Salient,

Be my gym buddy! The last gym buddy i had marched me off to McDonalds straight afterwards and refused to listen to my pleas of the fact that it would undo what we had just done. It was horrid.

I know i should have written this last week but i had sent in my letter too early – 10th of May Salient was the best i’ve read. It’s not just cos it was a feminist Salient, it was just simply interesting articles. Thank you. I also love Disney, so if you can throw in a few more articles now and again i would love you forever (have you ever heard Aladin whisper “take off your clothes” between background noises? it’s AWESOME)

@Pixie (stole this from Bella who i’m going to party in town with on Fridays) – if you’re going to say you’re disappointed in bad grammar, can you please read over your own letter for coherency before you slander others?

@Getting Loose with Your Mum – let’s get drunk in my flat, pretend the floor is larva, then beg my sober flatmate to take us to town. Then we’ll tell all the bouncers what pretty eyes they have (the lotus one DOES have pretty eyes!), and scare everyone with our wild dance moves. Then you should convince me that BK would actually be good for my health.

@OJB (does your name stand for Orange Juice Boy?) – my sheets are newly washed, i have some food stored in my wardrobe, and the bathroom is pretty close. When will you be over?

On the lightest note i can think of – do you know what i really like? YouTube videos about cats. They’re fantastic. You know what i don’t like? When i cross my legs and the foot that is off the ground goes numb. It’s awful. And to try and massage my foot without everyone staring in my tutorial is difficult.

Molly Flower

Fellow fan girls needed

Dear Salient,

I am not a Kiwi or New Zealander for that matter. I extremely love KPop and JPop and I find it extremely difficult to find others that share the same passsion as I am. I am deprived of friends that I can spazz with about my FAVOURITE band of all time; DONG BANG SHIN KI/TOHOSHINKI/TVXQ/DBSK. I arrived here in Wellington three moths ago and I was weeping over the idea that I can’t share my passion to any other fans. I was reading Salient just now and this idea came in my mind and I was like ‘Duh, I should do this long time ago.’

So here I am; advertising for other Cassiopeia of my DBSK/TVXQ. Please contact me at my email address: farah_prong@yahoo.com.my because I am in dire need of other Cassie that can understand me.

P/S: Please don’t forget to type in the .my or the email will bouce and yes, I am a Malaysian student here.

Thanks for reading Salient

Dear Salient,

I, on occasion, like to pick up your publication and hold it in front of my face. While the majority of the content is ignored, I have great interest in the letters you publish. Whether this interest is morbid in nature, I do not know.

In the mass of self-gratifying ego masturbation, bitching about everything and anything that no one cares about, and people whining about their lack of relationships, whilst expecting you to do something about it, there are some real gems.

In particular, is the realisation that humanity is fickle… in a good way, though. You can never know what to expect. This letter, for example, could yet digress into any of the things I just mentioned in spite.

I intend to make a habit of writing, pending a measure of the entertainment value this provides. Perhaps to spread some love, perhaps just propaganda.

But as a first order of business, I’d like to declare that I am greatly in agreement with M’s letter about hugs and paper bags. (Especially the part about hugs) And we already have colour coordination. It’s called thursdays in black. It would be nice if more people knew about it. If only there was some kind of publication that
could explain it in a short article.

As a sign of good faith, I’ll leave you all with an epigram about love. We like love, don’t we? Surely we must…

May it be
Seen in the sea
That silence is profound.

In the uproar
Surely the shore
Would rather it be drowned.

So allow me
To hear just your beat
And take me from the sound.

Yours, with cynical affection,
YYise

Yeah, we kinda shouldn’t have to translate your press release to get that. Media fail.

Dear Spelling-lient,

I am stoked to be in the same league as Milkshakes McCaff now that we’ve both been ripped out by you.

Once deciphered our press release was pretty sweet: Fee maxima are dumb and have to go if we want quality education for everyone, no matter when they enrol.

But I’m really writing because I would love to win that VicBooks voucher so I can buy myself a dictionary.

Hugs and kisses,

LOL-ren (Lauren) Brazier
Chair
Young Nats Lower North Island.

Clogs

I’m writing in support of clogs. Mine are the most comfortable shoes I own. They have superior arch support, they get me up and down the Brooklyn Hill, and they give me a much-needed extra five centimetres of height. These are all very good things. And they don’t swell up in the rain. Don’t be hatin’.

Yours,

Happy Clogger

We like you too

Dear Salient,

I just caught the bus home 2 hours too early – i actually had another 2 lectures to go too but i was far too tired because i had stayed up all night doing an assignment. Ever since beds at uni was mentioned, i can’t stop thinking about it. If only it was true i could have slept for an hour and gone to my last lectures.

Beds are a seriously good fucking idea. I’m sure the uni must have a few spare rooms dotted around the place (please don’t hurt me with your words if they don’t). The rooms would have dim lighting, no talking, and comfy couches. No couples, no kissing, and no giggling. Just for some seriously tired uni students.

I’ve once resorted to finding an empty corner in one of the buildings and having a wee nap, only to find myself being woken by about 30 students waiting next to me before their lecture, all discussing if i had died. The shame.

How do i go about proposing this idea? Ah my head hurts.. sleep time.

I like you Salient.

Lucy

There’s gonna be another letter like this?

Part 1 of 2

Had the motion sensor stopped? Even if it had, I could still hear it. The incessant beeping had burnt itself into my mind. I looked at it. No movement. It was the first time it had stopped in over 24 hours. Tears came to my eyes. I blinked them back. I needed the fluid. I was the last one left of my squad. 3 days ago, 12 of us came to this backwater hellhole. By the next sunrise, 4 were left. 27 hours later I was alone. Gardiner, Stone, Lee, Santiago Gomez Ramirez del Castile y León: All of them like hunks of flesh thrown into a grinder. My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound:

Beep.
30 metres.
Beep.
I cocked my pulse rifle.
Beep.
18.4 metres.
Beep.
Fumbling for my last flares.
Beep.
3 metres.

The motion sensor was quiet. I looked at the vents above, and saw it…

Cindi Lightballoon

PS. My male readers love bush. Ladies: let’s just keep it tidy.

Rude.

To the rude boy who replied to the notice I posted for Ashley.

Your immature, sexist, dirty texts made you look very very silly.

I don’t quite understand what you got out of telling me to “put a cock” in me.

Frankly I couldn’t think of anything less appealing.

And yes I am not beyond ringing telecom and reporting you,

nor giving your number to the police and reporting being sexually harassed.

I certainly hope you have learnt not to pry or poke in other

peoples business, nor to talk to a lady in that way again.

It saddens me to think anybody smart enough to be at university would be

stupid enough to text like this.

Think next time before you text.

Love

Sick of silly first years

How to write a personals ad

Okay so I don’t know if anybody else has happened to have noticed this but most of the adds “looking for love”, “in need of a spooning partner” or just “wanting sex” have failed epically to advertise themselves.

Point 1: It is important to note what sex you are, unless of course you swing both way, in which case you should mention this anyway.

Point 2: You should also state what gender takes your fancy. How on earth you figure you will find anyone with an add that says meer snippets about yourself is totally beyond me.

Point 3: Some form of contact details might also be helpful, the number of times there have been letters looking for normal lesbians but haven’t mentioned how to contact them is infuriating.

This is the personals etiquette. Make a note of it now and stick to it!

Oh and I am one of those normal/femme lesbians. – see how helpful that was.

And if you want you can contact me by emailing pink_pippi_19@hotmail.com

Provider of wisdom

Get the fuck off Facebook

I know this issue has already been discussed in Salient’s fine pages. However. I feel things need to restated:

If you are in the library, on the computers, do not use facebook. Seriously, bitches, please.

It is getting to the point of trimester when people actually need to get uni shit done. Oddly enough, lecturers don’t accept hand-written essays. Therefore, I, and others, need to use the aformentioned library computers to type our essays.

Thus, on Monday morning, when there is usually a fuck-off big line to use the computers, and I see you checkin’ out your mates’ Big K drunk pics on facey-b, I will no longer just death-stare at the back of your head. Now, I will either:

a) Tell you that you and your mates are all fucking mingas, and that no one wants to see your photos
b) Beat the shit out of you
c) Ask whether you actually need to “get uni shit done?”

Whether a), b) or c) gets chosen will depend on how much coffee I have had that particular morning. Also, please note, I am small and blonde and totally prepared to subvert gender-stereotypes by king hitting you with a rolled up DomPost (as an aside, mad props to the DomPost for free newspapers). However, to conlude -  don’t facebook when on the library computers.

Seriously, bitches, please.

Using Dom Posts for an approriate purposes

Ruh roh!

Dearest Salient,

I found a USB pendrive that belongs to Christina Allen today. Looks like some important assignments contained therein. If you could just put the word out to email me – macken_it@hotmail.com – if she, or one of her friends sees this (They should be able to describe it). That would be grand. Need more honest people round this place methinks.

Regards,
Thatguywiththemullet.

Kia ora

Dear Salient,
I refrain from submitting a letter which endeavours to advance my love life or to detest Joel Cosgrove, as is often the case with the charming letters to the editor. My plight is actually different, and it is that of simple congratulations. I want to thank you for putting forth the abortion issue onto  a stage that we can all debate. As a student who practices safe sex and is in a monogamous relationship, the issue of unwanted pregnancy still remains an important factor. The perception of girls who get abortions is often generalised to that of promiscuous or foolish girls, but it can, in fact, happen to any girl who engages in sexual activity; be it with contraception or otherwise. As society liberalizes it should be expected that government policy accommodates this change. If I were to get pregnant, should I chose to terminate it, I would not want to deem myself mentally unstable just so I can get the procedure. Perhaps in an idealised world we would all remain abstinent till marriage and procreation would always be the result of a loving relationship, but that is simply unrealistic in modern society. While emphasis should be placed on practicing safe sex, I think it is also important that abortions should not be the elephant in the room that we try to hide under a lampshade. In New Zealand 1 in 3 women who fall pregnant will have an abortion, so why deny the stats?
>insert pseudonym

Recycling: the way of the future

To Gaia-lient,

Ok, maybe i’m a little slow on the uptake but…WTF?! We RECYCLE now?! How freaking AWESOME is that?!

I stumbled upon my first green bin on the overbridge today and almost peed myself. I, for one, LOVE recycling in a big way and am stoked to see Vic catching on! My only question is, where are all the other bins? I drink Coke at multiple locations and can’t be coming to the overbridge every time I need to get my green on. Can we sort it out Vic and get some more green bins out there?

I’m sick of bin diving and leaving with a trolley of plastic on my way home. The Planeteers and I find The Terrace isn’t the most trolley friendly street and the train conductors tend to have a mare.

Get me some green? Please?

Love,

Linka

Another kia ora

Hello, friendlient.
Your feminist issue was a blast! The woman who wrote in about having an abortion. I love you, you should not be living your life in shame Or guilt. Your article was really moving.

Once I thought I was pregnant, ha-ha. Hiliarious story now that I think about it because I was virgin when I thought I was pregnant and hell it was the scariest experience of my life. When you think you’re pregnant your body ACTUALLY acts like it is. To the point I realised what it was like to be in that position and realised that it was more than likely that I would have had an abortion and felt exactly the same way that you do. However, I turned out not be pregnant took a pregnancy test in the highschool loos, my boyfriend said I told you so you silly girl that a bit of tumbling around on the river bank can’t get you pregnant. I believed I was the next virgin Mary. Don’t laugh at me… yeah ok I am pathetic.

Now for a fantastic poem.
My best friend.
Blonde Hair.
Pale skin.
You are a sexy dish.
Dont worry we’ll find you someone soon
Or I guess you’ll have to use a spoon!

FoxMulder

You write the crosswords then.

Hi,

If I’m correct in my reasoning, 18down in the crossword this week should have been ‘terms’.. periods and conditions.

If I’m correct again, 22across should have been ‘flare’.. that burning cut of pants.

This means the crossword was fucked, cause the words dont even match up so I can’t even finish it properly.

Wah, wah, fuckitty wah, you say, but I am a disgruntled honours student so am allowed to be pissed.

Get the fuck out of my computer labs and hallways!

With love,

Pissed Honours student

Smokin’

Dear Bully Boy/Pocahontas,

Why every smoker has the right to complain?
The media figures given of smoker’s cost on the health system are grossly exaggerated. A quick search finds that smoking-related illnesses cost the health system about $200million annually. This was in 1992, with inflation we can increase this but $1.9billion is rather extreme.

How much smokers pay in tax? Given 4.2 million NZers with a smoking prevalence of 23.5% (2006) is about 1 million smokers. Given 24c tax per cigarette excluding GST (2000) and assuming the average smoker smokes 20 a day, we get about $1.7billion annually. With increased tax since 2000 this figure is actually higher and probably greater than the $1.9billion annual cost of smoking-related illnesses given by the media.

Smokers actually pay more than there share of the health care bill. This ridiculous argument against smokers is discriminating and a blatant lie by the government and media. Governement lies influences people’s decisions and give the government the power to pursue their own agenda and take away people’s rights.

Smokers should be complaining! Everyone should be! This tax rise isn’t just an attack on smokers rights, the consequences of allowing the government this much power is terrifying and if left unchecked could lead to an attack on all NZers rights. Now, with unlimited political party funding, an attempt to shift towards a lesser democratic form of government and the use of government based, media spread lies we look like a country heading in the wrong direction.

Lots of facts

Salient personals, baby

Loooooooving

Dear Lovelient,

It seems there’s just one thing on everyones minds these days.

Getting some loving.

It’s getting rainy,

and miserable,

and stressful,

and lonely,

and everyone is craving some LOVE.

If you want some loving, let’s hang out.

You are keeeen ;)

Meet me in the quad this monday.

I’ll be there 11am – 1.30pm.

Regardless of your gender, race, height, size, religion, hotness rating, I want to meet you and love you.

You’ll know me when you see me.

Lots of love,

Loveaddict

Bachelorette

To the Salient personals, and the cute boys of Vic,

Me: 5′7, slim, brown hair, doing a BA in Humanities. Likes trees, sleeping, and nice people.

You: taller than me, good-looking, honest, and kind. You would try and make me laugh, and want to spend time with me. You are interested in thinking, and would feel extremely loser-ish for responding to this. You can get girls but are rather lazy. You’re getting cold over winter.

yellowlight@live.com

Recently, however, there has been a new breed of spam infiltrating the Salient website. What’s interesting is that it doesn’t seem to be the kind of computer-generated spam that randomly targets with irrelevant links even the most credulous of dethroned Nigerian princes would want to click. No, this is no automated spam. This is manual spam.

As Salient’s Online Editor, it’s my job to watch people argue on the internet, and make sure no hurtful things are said, and, least importantly, to mark the spam that gets through the filter. I first noticed the spam in question on a book review. The author of the comment, ‘r4 ds card’, sang praises of the book, which, being called The Most Beautiful Man in the World, it probably didn’t deserve. As you do with comments on the website, it had a link, this one taking you to a United Kingdom website. Although I didn’t like the look of the name or website, on the surface the comment seemed relevant. So I left it.

It wasn’t until more recently that I realised what was happening. Two comments in particular, both left on two travel blog posts, had some suspicious similarities: the similar jumble of letters as a name, the comment that was slightly relevant to the topic and highly agreeable—helped out by some pretty pictures—and a link to a German website. Which was weird.

This logically led me to assume that somebody was reading articles on the Salient website, getting the basic gist of an article, then leaving a comment with a link to their website which sells obscure cartridge types for the Nintendo DS. Assuming the spammer must be German, I then left a comment for them in German, telling them how pointless their venture was. Having had my say on the internet, I then rested, knowing that the spammer would see the error in his or her ways.

But the comments continued.

It was then that I took serious notice of the comments, and realised how hilarious they are. The spammer just seems to be making shit up, not even really caring if the comment really makes sense. One of the first comments appeared on a games review for Mass Effect 2:

“This one is the best multi player game of this year.Its very well designed over the previous game.They have added new campaigns,explosive new guns and deadly new me-lee weapons.This game has a lot of content to keep me interested for long time.”

To anyone who is unfamiliar with the game or not a grammar nazi, this comment wouldn’t really make you think twice. However, Lewis assures me that Mass Effect 2 has no multiplayer and no melee weapons.

Sometimes it’s like the spammer isn’t even trying at all, like in this comment left on an Editorial:

“The article posted over here is written in very nice way and it is sharing very nice and interesting information. I enjoyed reading this article and I am sure that other people will also like it.”

Taking a closer look at these comments, I found they gave links to Chinese, French, German, Italian, Dutch, British, and even Kiwi versions of the same website, which says it is based in Jersey in the Channel Islands. I also used some high-tech tools at my disposal to track down the IP addresses, which seem to originate from different computers in Mumbai and Kaul in India.

Now the thing that gets me about all these comments is that if you’re going to advertise your product, basic advertising theory or common sense or whatever will tell you that you need to advertise to your target audience. I know what Salient’s target audience is: poor students who need crosswords, comics and faces to deface. The website gets some good traffic, as Google tells us, a good portion of it coming from Alaska (hi!). This demographic, in my opinion, doesn’t quite fit completely with that of a website dedicated to selling an obscure something for a small handheld gaming device.

It’s not just why the website has been targeted that confuses me, it’s the method as well. Having some poor fellow write spam is bad enough, but making them read and also write something almost relevant and sickeningly uncontroversially agreeable and incorrect about it on top of that is too much. And how do we get to their product? Through the link you can leave on your name when commenting, which nobody looks at, on a comment that will be removed by me anyway.

So, Spammer. I know you’ll probably skim read this for keywords that you can put into a sentence and say you like, so I’ll tell you here what the deal is:

You can go on spamming this website, and I will continue to find the comments, laugh heartily at them, maybe even show my friends for extra amusement, like the time you said you read Jessy Edwards’ book (she doesn’t have one, by the way), before removing the comment.

or:

You can realise that your struggle is pointless, and maybe go spam another website, like this one or this one or this one. I’m sure their readers all like playing with small things.

What do you say?

Despite its terrible news standards, Timaru has a top shelf history. We claim the WORLD’s first powered flight with Richard Pearse; Phar Lap; the boxer Bob Fitzsimmons, who holds the Guinness World Record for the lightest Heavyweight Champion of the World; Jack Lovelock; Michael Houston; Danyon Loader; Dick Taylor; the world’s oldest Amateur Athletic Club; Colin Murdoch, inventor of the tranquiliser gun, et cetera.

Not a bad set of claims to fame as far as small towns go! But these are not what make up the quintessential Timaru experience for the 21st century school-chum: despite its illustrious history, contemporary South Canterbury has a darker side. Nefarious for a proliferate spread of STIs, Timaru is notable for having the highest chlamydia rate in New Zealand, which has the highest chlamydia rate in the world, thus making Timaru the chlamydia capital of the world!

You have to be careful when sampling the night life as, limited to three main clubs, you can either hit the Sail and Anchor and be bombarded with lame 90s music and old men wearing kilts, Barkode which mythically switches to death metal and hoodlums in Metallica t-shirts at 2am, or the crème de la crème of the Timaru town experience: The Monkey Bar. This place is notorious for risky casual hook ups, disease ridden toilets, underagers climbing in the back, and knife fights between the rival youth gangs on the dance floor.

Fortunately Timaru has more to offer than nightlife. A standard feature of any Timaruvian’s experience would be Caroline Bay (which famously featured in the video of Deja Voodoo’s hit ‘Today, Tomorrow, Timaru’) and the associated carnival. For nigh on 100 years the Caroline Bay Carnival has provided summer fun and frivolity for the citizens of Timaru, as well as a magnet attracting folk from around the country. It is always worth trying your luck on the ‘rapid spin chocolate wheel’ or checking out the Carnival Concerts at the iconic soundshell.

Timaru also has an uncanny ability to produce ridiculous slogans. For several years we had ‘touch, taste, feel Timaru’ which was altered by a local street artist to read, at the entrance to the town: ‘touch pussy, taste pussy, feel pussy’. Charming. At the moment we have ‘feel the heartbeat,’ supposedly a reference to Timaru’s place at the centre of the South Island, but it reads more like a plea for resuscitation.

None of this takes away the best part of Timaru for me though. There is something so cool about getting up in the morning and gazing at a resplendent Mt Cook whilst simultaneously unloading your troubles into the toilet. And if you don’t think that is cool then I don’t care, you can just go and ram it.

Going to a school that had a small roll surprised me at first. You couldn’t just merge into the background. There was an administrator in the office that lived close to me and would give me lifts home from school when she spotted me walking. (Thanks again Mrs Taylor!) It gave me the opportunity to be on the student council which I don’t think would have happened if I’d been at a bigger school. Thanks to being on the student council I was also the school rep for the Wairarapa Youth Council which was also fun.

When I was in Year 13 my parents bought a hostel which is on the main road. I’ll refrain from naming it for the purposes of free advertising. It has been great, and I’m actually living there now on my own, rent free. It’s literally thirty seconds away from most things. The only downside? All shops close at 5pm on weekdays, apart from supermarkets, and 1pm on Saturdays. On Sunday, apart from Coin-Save, The Warehouse and supermarkets, everything else is shut. While it was a big deal to me before at school, it’s not that much now. You grow used to it, just like you get used to commuting to Wellington each day. Before you ask, yes that does mean I get up at 5:00am and get home at 6:30pm.

Because my parents own a hostel, and because we’re so close to everything, we get all kinds of groups and visitors. Recently we had the army stay for Anzac Day which meant an early morning wake up call before the street march but, as I said, I’m used to it. We also had the Pipe Band National competition and before that Golden Shears. We have had some really great tourists come through the area normally passing through on the way to Wellington. They usually stop a couple of days. It’s always a pleasure to have them and to show small town hospitality by taking them down to the local and having a drink with them.

Overall moving from a big city to a small town isn’t that bad. It couldn’t be too bad if Jemaine Clement from Flight of the Conchords lived there—could it? (In regards to that—my Mum’s friend went to school with his mother, just saying!)

Broadwood can be found about four hours north of Auckland, or three hours south of Cape Reinga, depending a little on how many campervans you get stuck behind. There is a rugby field, two churches, a community hall, a school, an old swingbridge, a general store and a recreation centre. There are frequent community events, including pot luck dinners where the farmers get together to catch up. There is also an annual Country Fair.

I was born in Kaitaia, a slightly bigger town not far away, and grew up down a gravel road about 10 minutes out of Broadwood. I went to Play Centre in Broadwood as a child and then moved on to the school there. I met some tourists once who wanted to settle in the area and raise children. They were concerned that there may not be anything for their children to do, and asked my advice. In the 18 years I spent in Broadwood, I was never bored. As children, if my brother or sister and I got in my mum’s way she’d say “we’ve got 90 acres, go outside and play!” I used to ride my horse to Broadwood and back, and when I outgrew her, I would run there instead. The local physical education teacher would hold free fitness classes at the Recreation Centre, an old rural supplies building. The Broadwood community is pretty pro-active and applied for and were awarded grants to renovate the building and fix the leaking roof.

I feel pretty lucky having grown up in a small town and being included in a small community. Some people assume that you’ve been “sheltered” and don’t know much about the world, and I can see how they would assume this, but I could do just the same for those who’ve grown up in cities. I decided last year to move to Wellington after carefully thinking about different universities and where I wanted to live. Most of my friends moved to Auckland, but that was a bit close to home for me. Broadwood and Wellington couldn’t be much more different. I love that there are a lot of opportunities in Wellington, and that things are quite accessible. I’m not so keen on the sirens that wake me up in the early hours of the morning, but I guess it’s not that different to the bull standing outside the house and bellowing every morning at 4:30.

While nobody was injured the event has raised some serious concerns among sidewalk users. One parking meter warden was “outraged”, claiming that although they face regular abuse from drivers, they are quite adept a judging the threat level of a situation. While the hazard lights on vehicle were flashing, the warden believes this was insufficient warning that it may explode.

Another warden, who would only speak anonymously for fear of retribution, claimed that they target SUVs out of resentment of their owners’ smug consumptive lifestyles. Furthermore, they stated that most of the time the hazard lights are flashing anyway, as if they believe it will change the fact they are parked illegally. The Parking Union has led demands that would alter city bylaw to ensure wardens could safely ticket SUVs again.

“It is a loophole we are moving to close,” said a low-ranking municipal official today. One idea has been to raise meter rates in the Time Square area to try to discourage people from parking their explosive vehicles there. They hoped that this would lead to people leaving their explosive vehicles at home, and maybe biking to work instead.

However, some sectors of the public are largely resistant to such measures, saying it is another “knee jerk reaction” or just an “excuse” to gain more revenue. One source said they thought stricter signage would suffice. Another suggested a complete ban of explosive vehicles from that area, so other non-explosive vehicles could still park cheaply.

Members of the Bomb Squad are playing down the need for law change, saying the whole situation has been blown completely out of proportion. Speaking at a press conference, a representative from the Bomb Squad stated that the presence of some consumer grade fireworks, low-quality fertiliser and a BBQ gas canister is not substantial proof that the driver intended the vehicle to explode.

The White House has made a statement acknowledging this could not have been a potential terrorist attack. “We believe that it is a mere chance collection of items… media claims that it is in fact a bomb are, at best, tenuous.” The FBI is not treating it as suspicious, saying “Nobody could seriously think this shit was going to explode, could they? [laughter] Look at this fertilizer… it’s more like compost.”

Despite high-ranking scepticism, the suspect was apprehended before leaving the country for a holiday camp in Pakistan and detained on the basis of his unpaid fines. When he learned he was not being arrested on terrorism charges, but for civil infractions, the suspect was clearly distressed.

As he was led from the plane he was heard pleading with police, saying: “It was a bomb, I swear!” When asked why he would say such a thing, he admitted having watched heaps of prison dramas. “I know what happens to fresh meat like me in state prison, compared to that, Guantanamo is paradise.”

The decision was made after student numbers were predicted to reach 110 per cent of the cap funded by the Tertiary Education Commission (TEC).

The resolution means that no new students, with a few exceptions, will be granted admission to Vic for the rest of 2010.

The decision does not affect international enrolments or current students.

The resolution was passed with only VUWSA President Max Hardy, student representative Conrad Reyners, and former VUWSA President Fleur Fitzsimons voting against it.

Chancellor Ian McKinnon says the change was prompted by a considerable surge in demand and limited resources.

“The University has no further capacity for new domestic undergraduate applicants this year.”

Vice-Chancellor Pat Walsh told Salient the decision was made “with great reluctance”.

“There is no enthusiam for this decision, it was made to meet our legal obligations and to protect the interests of current students and staff.”

Walsh says “all universities are working in an environment where they must manage their enrolments as outlined in their investment plans, which are agreed to with the Tertiary Education Commission”.

“Our enrolment targets have been based on what we can achieve as an institution and to exceed those means we would not be able to cope with the additional call on teaching resources including staff workloads, space and equipment,” he says.

VUWSA President Max Hardy says the Council should not have made the decision based on the information provided.

“We had hoped the Council would see that such an unattractive decision should not have been made without first having all the appropriate information.

“It is a very difficult position for the University to be in, it was not an easy decision, therefore we were under a substantial obligation to consider this issue very carefully.”

Hardy says “the unexpected decision” will be unfair to potential students who will have been acting under an “entirely reasonable expectation that admissions would remain open.”

The University is currently implementing its plan to manage enrolment numbers in 2011 which involves new admission criteria.

The University is encouraging all potential applicants to reapply before 10 December for study in 2011.

One of the first sights I was greeted with on arrival in Morocco was a middle-aged woman in a white miniskirt and cleavage-exposing top, utterly inappropriate by even Western, let alone Moroccan standards, her skin bearing the unflattering effects of years of baking in the sun, with the fruits of an extravagant shopping spree in hand. I was filled with a sense of dread that Marrakech would prove to be one of those commercialised and soulless destinations for wealthy, ageing and yet utterly unworldly British tourists. Blissfully, this woman was but one of only a handful of her kind that I encountered, and Marrakech was exactly the opposite.

The reality of Marrakech couldn’t be further from the idyllic, romanticised summer escape. The entire city is a constant barrage on the senses. Everywhere you turn you are confronted by an intense and overwhelming conglomeration of colours, sounds, tastes and smells, certainly not all of them pleasant. Coupled with the inescapable heat and claustrophobic throng of people, Marrakech is definitely not a place for the faint hearted. The narrow streets turned into a battleground as everything from pedestrians to donkey carts fought for supremacy in the struggle just to move forward. Successfully navigating through an unlabelled labyrinth of streets, where a map was about as useful as a screen door in a submarine, was impossible—you simply had to keep walking in the hope that you might find your way out eventually.

The rude and impatient honks of motorcyclists and the shouts of “attention” as men wheeled carts containing absolutely everything imaginable had me constantly jumping out of my skin, while the lurking presence of snake charmers draping pythons across the shoulders of unsuspecting tourists was enough to put anyone on edge. Relaxation proved elusive even within the walls of our hostel, where pungent and disconcertingly unrecognisable smells managed to permeate the air, and sleep was abruptly disturbed by the calls to prayer ringing out across the city at an hour of the morning so early I had previously barely known of its existence.

If I had to use one word to describe Morocco, it would be confronting. Not in the sense that I ever felt unsafe, in fact, surprisingly I felt much safer in Morocco than I had in large metropolitan cities such as Barcelona, Madrid, or even London. Marrakech, in particular, was confronting in the sense that it forced you to really open your eyes and assess both your place in, and view of, the world. One thing that particularly struck me was the manner in which the locals could all switch effortlessly between fluent Berber, English, French and Spanish. Ironically it was on the poorest continent in the world that my university education and faltering NCEA level two French seemed most embarrassingly inadequate. It is all too easy for us English speakers to rest on our Laurels, so to speak, while in so much of the world multilingualism is the norm.

The little boys who would tug tirelessly on your arm with pleading eyes and outstretched hands represented another conundrum that we faced in Morocco. Charity, which should be one of the most pure and simple of human actions, is horribly complicated. Although I gave to those who seemed genuinely deserving, it is virtually impossible to make such distinctions, as you can be almost entirely sure that the saddest and most pitiful looking of children would be returning any money to the pockets of cunning and exploitative parents. Bartering for the beautiful leather bags or exquisite jewellery that would have fetched small fortunes in the high streets of New York seemed outright offensive, especially when our conception of affordability is so naively Western.

Those so frequently promoted slogans of World Vision, UNICEF and the likes echoed unnerving truth in the realisation that five spent Euro might to me mean the sacrifice of two unnecessary lattes, but equates to something so much more significant in the lesser privileged parts of the world. I hope that I am not an unforgivably bad person in finding, that after several days of ever-present reminders of the poverty and inequality of our world, it was easier to turn away from the begging bowls and desperate pleas than to face the internal moral questions that they inspired. To acknowledge, let alone address the problems of poverty, is incredibly confronting, and unfortunately this is a malady which seems to affect the majority of Western society, myself included.

What impression of Morocco the cleavage-barring, white-skirted lady left with I will never know, but my five days in Marrakech and Zagora were utterly mindblowing. In all its bustle, noise, relentless heat and beautiful colours it was certainly the most extraordinary place I have ever been to. Marrakech was intense almost, but not quite to the point of being unbearable. What I saw and experienced will remain vivid in my mind, and undoubtedly play upon my conscience for a long time to come. I am so thankful that I took one giant stride out of my comfort zone into the continent of Africa, but if your ideal holiday consists solely of familiar comforts and utter luxury I would certainly not recommend Morocco. In fact, I probably wouldn’t recommend travelling at all.

In this vein there a number of introductory classes in NZSL. These classes are held at lunchtime in VZ201. Each class is 45 minutes long and gives you a very small taste of what Sign Language is like. It’s a bit like having a taster of the bottle of wine without buying it. But you can buy the wine—by signing up for DEAF101.

The Deaf community is an active one in New Zealand and at last census, around 25,000 people said they used NZSL. There is also a thriving community of sign language interpreters. Unfortunately, the only qualification for interpreters is only available in Auckland. Shosh Cleary, a former Vic student, chased her desire to become an interpreter up north.

“I recently moved to Auckland to begin a Sign Language Interpreters course. Prior to this I was studying at Victoria University Wellington. I was studying Psychology, Linguistics and Sign Language,” she says.

“I was encouraged to apply for the Interpreters Course and unfortunately the only place that offered the course was in Auckland, but that came with its positives and now I have a wonderful deaf boyfriend. I’m really enjoying the course up here and the Auckland Deaf Society has been very welcoming and lots of fun.”

While the New Zealand Deaf community has been a fixture for almost as long as New Zealand has, the road to recognition for NZSL has been a rocky one. The first recorded teacher of sign language in New Zealand was Dorcas Mitchell, who taught British Sign Language (BSL) in 1868. For a long time there were specialised schools for Deaf children, and while they were focused on teaching Deaf children to speak, the social interaction gave rise to the first iteration of NZSL, which drew heavily from BSL. The new sign language was frowned in the main by the hearing teachers, but kids will be kids and it was almost impossible for the hearing teachers to stamp down on it.

This attitude towards the Deaf community abated somewhat in 1979, when the powers that be decided that they would introduce a program “Total Communication”, which had an ideology that essentially ran: communicate in anyway possible. The most recent problem that the new generation of Deaf children face is the societal move away from specialist schools, and the attempt to integrate their education into the mainstream. This has proved difficult for Deaf children who feel isolated from the children around them, and in some cases cut off from their peers. Adam Smith, a 23-year-old building apprentice, shares his experience.

“I was born full deaf and I lived in Dargaville. I started signing and trying to talk when I was 3 or 4 year old and I started school when I was 5. I was alone at school and I could only communicate with a few friends and my family. I went to KIT (Keep In Touch) Day for Deaf children. We would play around, ride horses, feed cows and sheep and talk sign with some great friendly people. When I went to high school in Hamilton I was the only one who was deaf, everyone else could hear.”

The biggest problem faced by the Deaf community is a lack of understanding. If you ever wanted to understand a little more about people just like you but you never knew it you should definitely head to one of the NZSL taster classes. When language is your only barrier you have only yourself to blame for not breaching it.

Am I the only one who finds it slightly amusing? I mean yeah it’s a tragedy and all, but seriously what did they expect? These oil tycoons run all over the world putting holes in the ground, and then are surprised when Earth starts to leak; in such spectacular fashion as well. One day you have a rig, next day you have a flaming burning mess, and the day after, a hole in the Earth which is spilling crude into the Gulf of Mexico at a rate which suggests oil scarcity is a myth.

Or maybe it’s the oil company’s reaction. Usually so cold, impassive and measured, the corporate body is watching its lifeblood drain, and they are powerless to act. They look down and see in the sea, dollar signs, floating toward the Mississippi coastline, where it will be wasted upon the wildlife. But what is truly amazing is watching a company like BP, no stranger to massive scale of operations, saying almost literally, “This is huge, we are in the shit.”

Or maybe it’s the coincidence that the week of what may turn out to be one of the largest oil spills in history occurring in the Gulf, America’s largest wind farm is finally approved off Cape Cod. It is a somewhat fitting way to usher in a new era of green energy, one which has been caught in a legislative battle for over four years. I’m sure the smoke from the controlled burns of the slick is more than a fitting replacement for fireworks.

Or it could be the continued insistence by corporate interest that they are capable of regulating themselves. That despite the economy collapsing, several mine disasters, an oil rig sinking, and a huge fuck-off oil slick threatening one of America’s most fragile ecosystems, they still rile against stricter government oversight. Of course we should trust these companies to pursue the interests of the population, the environment and their workers over maximizing profit to its fullest. What evidence do we have to suggest otherwise?

I guess the irony is as thick as the slick itself, and will continue to spread with it. I feel sorry for those who have died, and I am saddened at the adverse environmental impact this will have. But I cannot help smile and think, if only we lived by the words of the great George W. Bush: “Fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me—you can’t get fooled again.”

Where Salient takes a look at an album that was out of sync with the prevailing musical zeitgeist at the time of its release, but has managed to gain new lustre with the benefit of retrospect.

1987: Big Black – Songs About Fucking (Touch & Go)

“I think I fucked your girlfriend once / Maybe twice, I don’t remember / Then I fucked all your friends’ girlfriends / Now they hate you.”

But you didn’t really fuck her, did you Steve? Not once, not twice, not ever. And the reason you don’t really remember it very well is because IT NEVER HAPPENED.

How can I be so sure?

Because I’ve seen this.

In a weird way though, that desperately dorky-looking bum-bag encapsulates everything that was great about Big Black. Speaking bluntly, Albini and his pals were a bunch of loser no-hope nerds who were jaded about everything that was happening in music during the early-mid ‘80s. Or at least everything that was in any way unethical, pretentious, or which didn’t sound like the aural equivalent of being brutally savaged by a rabies-infected pit bull.

And just like that bum-bag, no aspect of their music was appealing (at least not in the conventional sense) because they were, in short, noise masochists, whose cheap guitars produced the same effect as biting on tinfoil: short stabbing blasts of pain. The subject matter of their songs was equally distasteful. Take ‘Colombian Necktie’, whose title literally references the practice of slashing your victim’s throat and pulling their tongue out through the gash. Its isolated opening chord sounds equally horrific. But for all their sonic and lyrical obscenity, the members of Big Black weren’t even remotely badass in any way, shape or form. They weren’t killers, rapists or thugs, just angry dudes with bad physiques who were compelled to do something a little different from their contemporaries.

And yet, you just can’t help but get a huge kick out of listening to these pathetic dorks rage about how “Sometimes you know you want to fuck somebody up / Sometimes you just want to fuck.” I guess it’s because playing the sadist can sometimes be pretty fun. With Songs About Fucking Big Black showed us why, with each song functioning as a cathartic expression of fantasy, an empowering means of escapism from both their, and our, otherwise banal forms of existence.

Upon arriving at the rally it was evident that this shindig was no minor affair. Ironically, what forewarned us we were approaching an anti-tax protest was the large presence of federally funded ambulance and police staff, there to ensure that if things got unruly no one would be hurt, and those that were would be treated quickly. The second was just as ironic—throngs of Hispanic, poor and even homeless people selling passing-by pedestrian foot traffic “Made in China” Tea Party supporters flags.

But we knew we were getting close when we saw the iconic American news vans. White, emblazoned with their media affiliations, and antenna masts standing tall in the late afternoon sky, ready to broadcast direct to America. What exactly were they to report? Surely not the event’s magnitude, because at first glance one could be fooled into thinking that a nearby building was having a fire drill. Indeed, the medium-sized crowd which milled around simmering with anger reminded me of late-night fire drills at Weir House. The difference here is the majority of people were vastly uneducated, although to their credit they were smart enough to bring chairs out with them.

Because we wanted to fit in we carried signs like all the others, with equally well-considered messages. Despite the largely non-partisan message that “I have a sign” or “Down with King George III” is trying to convey, we instantly received some hostile attention. However, a lot of people just wanted to take our picture and know our names, which I like to naively presume was to help them tag us on Facebook. Strange, though, not one notification yet. Nonetheless we smiled for the paparazzi and continued on our merry way, enquiring as to the direction of the Boston harbour.

Personally I saw this whole scenario as an opportunity. Not being an American I viewed myself as somewhat of a free agent, and my sign offered for people to “Advertise Here”, a chance to truly earn a buck off my own back and pull myself up by my bootstraps. My opportunity to promote my business to a wider audience was denied when our well-established position behind the news caster was shrouded by Tea Party members holding flags directly in front of our posters. Amidst all of this a young boy of no more than nine or ten turned to us and asked “are you… liberals?” For the first time in my life I could imagine what Voldemort must have felt like—we were the ones that must not be named. What made us feel even more ostracised was when his mother swooped in and scolded him, saying “You must not talk to communists.” Oh the indiscretions of youth.

I would like to at this point say that many people we encountered were sensible people. They believed in lower taxes, and were frustrated with the government—an opinion which is as justified as mine. The whole atmosphere was like a carnival-cum-concert. It was almost a family environment: a Christmas in the Park, except everyone was singing about tax, and not Christmas. But as always, moderation is lost to the extremes, and the enjoyment of the evening was not enhanced by the threats of physical violence made against some members of our group.

So if any of you reading this are ever approached by a firmly built white male in his late 50s, with a beard and a khaki jacket, who reeks of alcohol, threatens you openly and will only identify himself with the name “Spider”, beware, you may have stumbled into a Tea Party protest.

It is with a heavy heart, and the feelings of two nations in mind, that I tackle the elephant in the room, or more accurately, the elephant on the bus. Of course I’m not speaking of a real elephant, because even a young elephant calf would fail to fit comfortably down a bus aisle. Nor would I try to tackle a full-grown elephant—although I may try tackling a young elephant calf, that doesn’t seem too suicidal. What I am sure I can tackle is this particular elephant’s calves: they are like two great hams, bonded together through some mystical genetic process, and I cannot tear my eyes away from them.

Why can I not avert my stare? It’s certainly not that I lust after them—after all, ham to me is a summer meat, and it is winter in my neck of the woods. Nor is it because I admire them, for I can almost hear the screams of protest from its oppressed ankle. Neither can it be because of the sheer size, like the giant squid that was exhibited at Te Papa, because there is no mystery behind its scale. Certainly I cannot find the answer to this question by continuing to stare, I must look away, and I do.

That is when I notice, stuck upon the window with ordinary scotch tape, a poster. This poster is raising awareness for a walk to raise awareness about fat people.

Evidently this demographic need extra support of more than just the structural kind. While banisters may be buttressed and bolstered in anticipation of the upcoming walk for obesity, the intention of the walk itself is to provide support of an emotional variety. I have no problem with fat people walking. It will do them some good. I do not even have a problem with fat people walking to raise awareness among other fat people that they should be walking also, that is twice as good. But I do have a problem, and my problem is their problem’s problem.

Their problem is that they’re obese, and that it is a detriment to their health. That’s all there is to it. I have not a care in the world whether you eat yourself to death, especially in America, where I am not forced to pay for your healthcare. What you choose to put in your mouth is your choice. Indeed I have no right to cast dispersions against you. I spend grotesque amounts of time playing video games, existing in an alternate reality where fake conquests provide a real and tangible satisfaction. In the eyes of a fat person, that may justify scorn. But my problem is not that people are becoming so fat they are threatening to tear the fabric of time and space. What I find truly abhorrent is the people that facilitate it and make it possible for obesity to perpetuate, like the ones who put up this poster.

If I have a central thesis in life it’s that non-optimal outcomes are almost always the result of incomplete information. This statement is hardly original, but it is certainly more widely applicable than the common economic usage. Becoming obese is certainly a non-optimal outcome, and it is aided by those who are willing to feed you information to suggest otherwise. What is needed is self-control, restraint, something to break the cycle of hand-to-mouth, and that’s not going to happen when you give those with no discipline a way to escape the truth.

Why do I consider this a pressing issue? I fear that in a country where the healthy option is not the presence of nutrients but the absence of trans fats, I may be the next victim. My way of pushing back against the issue is not to let my girth grow, thus reclaiming the portion of the bus seat which is rightfully mine, but to perhaps address the root of the cause. If my trip to the South recently taught me anything it’s that man is the author of his own misfortune. Man created the Waffle House, and my All Star breakfast with bacon, eggs, hash brown, toast and waffle all for $6.99. And a certain New Zealand man was responsible for consuming the whole lot. With an appetite like that I can only assume it will be a matter of time before I eat my own words… but I hope not.

At 5.50am tomorrow I leave for Dublin for a week, returning to Leeds for a mere two days before embarking on a five-week-long adventure to Spain, Morocco, Italy and Turkey. Waiting to welcome me on return are three ominous deadlines, for essays currently nowhere near completion. Considering I certainly do not intend to lug my laptop around northern Africa, or spend warm Spanish evenings doing anything more strenuous than sipping sangria by the beach, that equates to roughly seven thousand words in, quite frankly, an impossible amount of time.

You would expect that this predicament would be enough to spur even the biggest dropkick into action. But somehow I consistently catch myself falling into the tiresome trap of flicking between my Facebook homepage, email inbox, and any other website that I find suitably distracting. Given that I spend approximately five minutes procrastinating to every few sentences typed, this does not bode well for the treacherous mountain of work amassing on my desk.

It’s so easy to sorrowfully purport that I’m “absolutely swamped with work”, which has left me “sooooo stressed”, and mourning my lack of social life. Yet I still find the time to moan about this to my friends on Facebook, not to mention refresh my homepage every five minutes to see if they’ve replied. I maintain this terrible habit despite the fact that, taking full advantage of the wonders of the information age, I receive Facebook updates via text, just in case, heaven forbid, I miss some urgent and vitally important comment on the most recent ‘photo of me’. In such an instance it is imperative that I reply immediately, which I can do, of course, on my phone.

With so much available at our very fingertips, our generation is becoming increasingly unable to fathom a world without the wonders of instant communication, a world where meaningful handwritten letters were sent via snail mail and when meetings with new friends didn’t end with “I’ll add you on Facebook.” It seems ironic that although technology has opened up this whole new world to us it leaves us glued to our sofas and laptop screens.

I hate that I can’t bring myself to concentrate on the work which I know urgently needs to be started. I loathe the fact that on beautiful spring days if I could just motivate myself to churn out those sentences faster, then I could actually have a chance to enjoy the sunshine rather than gaze longingly at it through the window. I am disgusted at my own indolence when I insist to my pleading friends that “I can’t possibly go out tonight” because I have “soooooo much work to do”, and then spend the night wallowing in self-pity having achieved virtually nothing.

Conversely, if I do decide to abandon the essay and spoil my non-existent work ethic for the sake of “just one night” of fun, I spend the night stricken with guilt and unable to tear my mind away from the assignment sitting painfully unattended and incomplete at home. I think the only thing that scares me more than contemplating how many hours, weeks, or even months of my life I have spent partaking in utterly futile time-wasting, is the fact that if there was a task sufficiently in need of avoidance, I would probably waste more time actually attempting to calculate it.

We all want to abide by the motto Carpe Diem, to seize the day and suck all the marrow out of life. We are constantly reminded of how limited and precious our time on this earth really is and we all possess dreams, hopes and aspirations. Why then, do we, time and time again, aggravatingly subjugate the pursuit of grand and honourable plans to guilt-inspiring and thoroughly unsatisfying familiar comforts?

What never fails to amuse me is the frequent “500 words down, 1500 to go!” status updates—well you could have just made it 1494 if those words had been directed towards something more productive! Imagine what we could achieve if we actually channelled all our energies into something more productive! Think of how advanced the human race could be if those mindless distractions that seem to take over our lives were replaced by the pursuit of innovation, philosophy and science. I am sure that we could all be running marathons and writing Tolkien-esque epics, if only the human mind was not so easily diverted by… “Hey, what’s that person doing over there?”

The truth is though, I am slightly unnerved by the idea of a world of constantly proactive people. Maybe it is just my attempt to justify my own laziness, but there seems something unnatural and disconcerting to me about these kinds of people. Do they ever sit down? Or stop to enjoy the solace of doing absolutely nothing, even if just for a moment? Sometimes it even seems like, amidst all the hustle and bustle of their lives, they could forget to breathe.

What a good life really needs is balance. Writing this has inspired me to make a conscious effort to always attempt to be proactive, and avoid falling into the tiresome trap of procrastination. I need to make no promises to myself in regards to relaxing more, as this is certainly a well ingrained habit. In fact, I think that I will avoid checking Facebook for an entire day after this. Who knows how long that will last, but I might take the opportunity to experience that wonderful feeling of a day well spent and without regrets.

That’s not to say that I want to live my life rushing from one place to the next and from one intensive project to another without pausing to celebrate an achievement, or to listen to the rain on the roof. Time is fleeting and we only have one chance to experience each moment, so why waste time doing the things that don’t inspire happiness, or at least fulfilment? So next time you find yourself distracted, yet again, remember that procrastination is like masturbation; in the end you’re only fucking yourself.

Coming all the way from the Netherlands, arts company De Stilje, Want… performed their work Hek (or Fence in Dutch) at Womad 2010. The comic piece, in its second year of performance, involves two civic workers who have a particular liking to a fence. It serves them as a place to sleep, exercise and even to use as a fence. Salient roving reporter David Reeves interviewed the work’s creators Harrie Verkerk and Gerard Olthaar.

David: So my first question, what does De Stilje, Want… mean? Does it have any significance to the two of you?

Garade: It actually doesn’t mean anything. Even in the Netherlands people are asking what does this mean.

Harrie: We were in a hurry to find a find a name for the press, publicity, stuff like that.

David: How many shows have you produced throughout your career?

Harrie: We have done a lot of different tent shows…

Gerard: A lot of walk-around acts…

Harrie: …and sometimes more than that by improvisation. One time at a festival, a long time ago… we made 40 new shows, from an idea on that [one] day.

Gerard: In the morning we read the papers, in the afternoon we produced it and in the evening we performed it. There was pressure, it was nice to do; creativity needs pressure.

David: Where did the idea come from for Hek?

Gerard: I don’t think that you can deduct where exactly an idea comes from. We retired for about five days in the French Mountains, I think about four years ago, and we wrote down some ideas. We had perhaps three main ones and this was the best. Because what we like is the fence is like furniture of the street, everybody knows what it is, and we just try to do some usual things with that.

Harrie: People ask us also, sometimes, “Where are the toilets?”, “Where is the main stage?” And stuff like that. We like that, as if [our act] is something normal.

Gerade: We wore the uniforms of the workers of the city, that makes it natural, and sometimes also having the emblem of the city. For example, in Belgium we wore the colours of the city and when people passed by it was a very entertaining situation. In saying that, however, we are not trying to do a satire, nor to ridicule those who actually are workers—if anything we are ridiculing ourselves.

David: Even though it is rather short, is your performance very exhausting?

Gerade: Our history—actually we are a group that has existed nearly 25 years—before we started off doing our performances in a tent, actually a very small tent, doing one-minute shows. That kind of performance we turned into a continuous, three-hour show. [Hek] we only perform twice in a day, for 40 minutes [at a time] and it’s more exhausting than the three hours.

Harrie: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Gerade: It is physically demanding, but also very hard to maintain that mental concentration since we are trying to react on the things that are around us and the situations that we encounter.

David: So it’s very creatively challenging, also?

Harrie: Yeah, yeah, yeah. But maybe not for the audience.

Gerade: It looks like we are doing nothing, and we aren’t actually doing much at all. Nevertheless it is still really difficult for us.

Harrie: The last two times we had several different acts. We skip one of them now which is more physically demanding, so now it’s less exhausting. It’s all because of variation.

David: How long will you keep going with your career as performers?

Gerade: Until we fall dead.

Harrie: We will probably have a fence on our grave.

Gerade: It’s funny. When we made the decision to continue after a three-year break, we said we would do it for another five years. Then we had one stop after the five years. It then came to the point that if one of us stops, we all stop. Then another left, so the three of us who were remaining, we all looked at each other and said, we [would] continue. Then another and we said we [would] continue, then we were the only two, and now we don’t say for how long. The older you are the nicer the act.

David: Anyway, I think that is all time we have left, so thank you very much.

Harrie: Yeah, thank you.

Gerade: Thank you, thank you.

Where Salient takes a look at an album that was out of sync with the prevailing musical zeitgeist at the time of its release, but has managed to gain new lustre with the benefit of retrospect.

2008: Moscow Olympics – Cut the World (Lavender Recordings)

Few genres can be as thankless for bands to enter into as shoegaze. After all, it’s widely accepted that My Bloody Valentine perfected the form with Loveless back in ‘91, effectively rendering the efforts of all future wannabe shoegazers an exercise in futility by default. And that’s where Moscow Olympics come in. With 2008’s Cut the World this unheralded Filipino outfit created perhaps the finest post-Loveless shoegaze album, almost two decades after the genre was supposed to have run out of breath.

Paradoxically, Moscow Olympics’ success is largely down to their ditching of the obligatory Kevin Shields fuzz tone, opting instead for a clean, New Order-inspired, fast strum, ably supported by airy keyboards and melodic bass leads. It makes for a delightful dream-pop template, and in 7 songs spread concisely over 28 minutes there isn’t a single wasted note. Sure, you could call it an anachronism, but Cut the World is so flawless that to ignore it would be the far graver crime.

When you can empathise with the words from the infamous Vogels commercial, you really do know you’re a Kiwi at heart. It’s funny the things you miss when you’re overseas, and thus far the search for those deliciously wholegrain loaves of bread has been utterly futile. Not only this, but when the Marmite tastes different, and Weetbix and ‘Weetabix’, one is keenly reminded that home is half a world away.

As I sit in a tacky and exorbitantly priced internet café in a gloomy, wet Manchester, I’m realising that travel is so much about drawing parallels between countries. Every new city I see, I can’t help but see elements of Wellington, and here in Manchester for the day, the weather is what unfortunately comes to mind. When mingling with other international students, comparing countries is always a conversation starter, with the Germans championing the comparative friendliness and hospitality of the British, and Kiwis and Aussies finding solidarity in moaning about the cold!

Then there are the quirky British customs that I still haven’t—and don’t think I ever will quite manage to grasp. I’m constantly baffled by the use of “Ya right?” as a greeting, even though I’ve been assured that it’s their equivalent to “How are you?” Caught off guard time and time again, I wonder if I look lost, sick, or what I’ve done to warrant this concern. Similarly, I still smile at phrases such as “He was well fit,” which I am far too terrified to say myself, because I feel they would sound conversation-stoppingly awkward falling from a Kiwi tongue.

The fact is, that as much as you try to escape the trappings of a predictable lifestyle and seek the excitement of new cities, countries and even continents, we simply cannot avoid the reminders of how small the world really is. It seems that no matter where you are in the world, some things will always remain the same. Drunken students will undoubtedly abandon their stilettos and any sense of dignity as they stumble into McDonald’s at the end of a big night out, and find solace in Starbucks coffee the next morning. We love to hate the faces of commercialisation, the neon Ms that harshly illuminate quaint cobbled streets or intrude into picturesque landscapes. We want to pretend that McDonald’s isn’t the first thing we see when we land in Amsterdam airport because it seems only to detract from the quintessential cultural experience that we seek, and yet there must be something still keeping them in business.

Australians, I have discovered, are a particularly infectious plague upon European cities. It wouldn’t seem unfathomable to believe our nearest neighbours are attempting to take over the world when you encounter them at every second pub. What makes this even worse is when people ask what part of Australia you’re from, or when Australians themselves welcome you to their troop, insisting that “you’re virtually Australian yourself”. In fact, I’m becoming increasingly concerned that I might return to New Zealand in July, with not a British, but an Australian accent, I spend so much time with them! Yesterday I was shocked to catch myself myself pronouncing ‘hostel’ “hostelle” yesterday, something which I have long laughed at my Australian friends about.

Fun though it is to play up Kiwi-Australian rivalry, there is an undeniable bond between us down-under folk. Living so far away from everywhere in the South Pacific seems to have instilled in us some rampant taste for adventure and an insatiable desire to travel. More and more as I notice distinctive Aussie behaviours, I’ve come to realise that I exhibit many of them myself. It seems ironic how it took listening to an Australian tour guide in Amsterdam to recognise that our voices do rise at the end of sentences. Travelling to new places is really a striking, and often quite scary look in the mirror! So while I will always chastise people in mock horror for calling me Australian, I appreciate that the misconception is understandable, if not quite forgivable.

I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact that I’ve been in England for over a month already, time has simply flown. I arrived here, like so many others undertaking their “big OE” with an escapee-type mentality, proud of my Kiwi heritage but desperate to try everything as new, ‘foreign’ and even overwhelming as possible. My experiences thus far have certainly brought all the fun and excitement that I anticipated, but bring truth to something a wise friend once told me: “When you go to these places, it is often the people you don’t expect to meet that become your best friends, and the things you don’t expect to do or see that become the most memorable.”

A red rose, a bottle of champagne and a private capsule in the London Eye. Surely this is the proposal of every girl’s dreams. Slightly less cliché than the Eiffel Tower and yet still charmingly romantic, this English gentleman had perfected the equation. To his credit, he simply could have not avoided the only diminishing factor in this whole delightful scene: an on-looking entourage of jealous and longingly gazing women. Yes, maybe it was a fatal mistake for six single girls to travel to London for Valentine’s Day. Couples seemed to crop up on every corner, and at every park bench we caught snapshots of seemingly idyllic lives of Burberry scarves and black taxis. Londoners have a classic beauty, as if somehow the city endows them with an almost aura-like quality that we mere outsiders can never hope to possess.

It seems at this point as though I should reveal some rude, ugly and commercial side to this urban paradise. If my good old BA has taught me anything, it is to be fundamentally cautious of praising something unreservedly, and critical analysis has, essay after essay, been drummed firmly into my psyche. But try as I might to find flaws with this fairytale city, I remained beautifully oblivious to them, instead being lost in all the fantasy and romance of Enid Blyton, Harry Potter and Love Actually. It is easy to see how London has become a muse for so many an artist as you scan a grey horizon punctuated by the buildings that tell a history like no other.

London has a strange magic. Who would have ever thought that a place blanketed in constant fog, and a river, which until just a few years ago was officially ‘dead’ could be so solidified in our imaginations. I feel like I am falling into disgustingly cliché territory here, but I am honest when I admit that London filled me with the fluttering sense of excitement and wonder that makes your heart swell. From the alluring smell of roasted nuts from street stalls, to the fireplaces of quaint British pubs, from the rows of red lanterns for Chinese New Year, to the buskers in the underground, London is the disease of the hopeless romantic, and the utter embodiment of dreams.

Having completely abandoned any sense of journalistic dignity in my wistful ramblings, it seems fitting therefore to say, without exaggeration that, as the snow began to fall in Hyde Park, where a single pink blossom tree provided a delicate sprinkle of colour against a backdrop of grey, we six single girls simultaneously fell in love with London. Paris may be the city of love, but London made the most wonderful valentine.

The United States, a huge place with huge buildings, huge cities, huge people… but very ordinary-sized sidewalks. In a country where economies of scale has led to creations of bewildering proportions, and sometimes unnecessary extravagance, one with a left-hand bias cannot help but feel niggled on the sidewalk.

Before I embarked upon my American odyssey I envisaged a fast society, where the loose morals of the individual are matched only by the conservative nature of politics. I could safely assume that my reliance on reason and logic would at some point in time bring me into conflict with right-orientated natives. What I did not foresee was where my battle with the ‘right’ would begin: on the footpath.

The sidewalk is many things: a place of business, or of entertainment; an area for recreation, or solicitation. This is only a surface view of the pavement, however, because its intricacies go unobserved every day. Next time you walk along a busy footpath, look around you. See how seamless its function is, how natural its ebb and flow. It is an organic and dynamic system that we take for granted every day, governed by its own set of rules, its own social contract. By stepping out our door we become unsuspecting participants in the great scheme of pedestrianism.

The truth of all this I only realised when I was forced to take a walk on the right side of life. The US Citizens’ right bias informs not only their political judgement, but the side of the footpath they walk on. It is most unnerving, and creates an inexplicable sense of uneasiness when the usually unconscious act of walking is somehow upset. While I walk I like to perform other actions simultaneously, such as eating, texting, or even thinking. To make this possible I, like any other person, regress to relying on cultural assumptions… like which side of the pavement to use. By entering in my desired coordinates I can take my hands off the controls and do other things. I auto-pilot; but in a world where everyone else’s auto-pilot is set to the right side of the sidewalk, turning your own is a dangerous luxury.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to turn down a chance to dance. I would rather keep it to the clubs, however, where the environment is made more amicable by booze and beats, rather than on the sidewalk, where the situation is awkward and frustrating. The amount of times I’ve just wanted to turn the corner, or cut inside someone, in a fashion that is perfectly predictable to someone with a left-hand bias, and ended up engaged in something akin to the Bird of Paradise’s mating dance is maddening.

There you go America, you have managed to displease me in the most banal manner. You have forced me to walk manually. Consciously considering the very act itself, but in doing so I have opened my eyes to the world around me. So I forgive you, because of what you have taught me, what you doth reveal!

What have I observed, what lessons have I learned? I have learned that the footpath is society’s great equaliser; it is a return to the state of nature. The Wall Street banker who has spent all day robbing the middle class will in turn be robed by a pauper with no health insurance but very flash Reeboks. The impoverished homeless will survive off the change given by those who will vote against tax increases facilitating social development. Its loose cobblestones will stub toes of any colour, and men of all religion shall curse aloud with the searing pain. The walking stick will surmount the step the mobility scooter succumbed to, and dignity will defeat the segway at every turn. How can anyone stay angry for long at such a cultural daisy cutter?

As much as the day-to-day battle of getting from A to B is complicated by the right-hand bias of my fellow pedestrians, I will never give it up. Indeed, the beauty is no one can give up it up even if they wanted to. People from all walks of life are at some point bound to walk the same walk, along the sidewalk.

The annoyance of bumping into or dancing with my fellow pedestrians is by far outweighed by the insight it has given me. I never realised the simple act of walking on cement, brick, or even asphalt pavement held so much meaning. For those who have to this moment taken the footpath for granted, no longer live in ignorance, I set you free. Next time you stand on the threshold, bow low to the ground and kiss, much like the Pope. Bless this sacred social artefact. The two-metre paved strip of social equality.

Cutting hard-earned summer holidays two months short for the dark and wintery English city of Leeds hardly seems like any student’s proverbial “cup of tea”. And yet I found myself boarding flight Emirates EK407 to Dubai on 19 January, accompanied only by an unfinished summer school research essay, a stomach full of nerves and a suitcase full of the warmest clothes I could lay my hands on. I was about to embark on the biggest and scariest adventure of my life thus far, a six-month long student exchange.

After working like a packhorse over the last few weeks my bank account was in unprecedentedly good condition and Auckland put on a stunner of a day to send me off. No amount of thermal underwear purchases or seemingly bottomless piles of visa application forms, however, could have prepared me for what was waiting for me a twenty-nine hour flight away.

After finally arriving, jetlagged and in need of a decent shower at Bodington Hall, where I was but one of 1200 residents, I soon realised I was in for the quintessential first-year experience all over again. Leeds is undoubtedly and unashamedly a student city and it seems everyone is here to escape the bondages of home, whether it be metropolitan London or the far reaches of Cornwall. Leeds is the habitat of the archetypal rebel youth, a flock of first-year fledglings anxious to escape the parental nest and test their livers to the absolute limit.

They certainly breed them resilient here. Wellingtonians seem to pale in comparison to our pasty English counterparts as girls don barely anything and brave the often sub-zero conditions night after night. Certainly a cider or two does warm the belly, but these students seem to have an unfathomable ability to make first-year Kiwis seem like a bunch of tea-sipping fireside knitters. Or maybe that’s my memory faltering in old age (certainly not helped by current drinking habits).

Upon arrival I was shocked to discover a church converted into a night club, proclaiming its regular Monday “Midnight Mass”, complete with DJ behind the pulpit, while Tuesday offered any array of clubs from the wonderfully tacky Tiger, Tiger to the appropriately atmospheric Space. Wednesday night sees massive queues outside Mission, and on Thursday the entire student body seems desperate to throng to the suffocatingly sardined Tequila. Friday is reserved for feel-good 90s pop music at the Student Union’s decidedly Kumara-esque Fruiti, and Sunday the self-explanatory Carnage.

If strobe lights and loud music aren’t your thing there’s always the legendary Otley Run, an historic pub crawl involving eighteen pubs (and an equal amount of drinks), and outrageous costumes which fall into various states of disrepair en route from the city’s outskirts to the university. Any night of the week is fair game, while Saturday night (reserved for locals at the clubs) is a rare opportunity for recovery. And somehow, amidst all of this one must force themselves to remember student loans require that drinking sessions be punctuated occasionally by the unfamiliar event of class attendance.

Ordering takeaways after yet another night of below-par hostel food is another familiar feature of the first year experience. Mashed potatoes replace Weir House’s rice as the staple diet, generously dolloped onto your plate, while baked beans seem an appropriate side dish at any meal. The only thing conspicuous in its absence is the student’s saviour, the toast machine. There’s no evidence of the infamous first year five here though, which maybe has something to do the unseasonably minimal clothing!

It would be easy to bemoan swapping the beaches and barbeques of Kiwi summer for a far less tropical alternative, but these complaints are small fry in the scheme of things. It would be similarly easy to occupy the moral high ground as a ‘mature’, and ’sophisticated’ third year among all this first-year frivolity. But, although this might sound as tacky and cliché as an O-week 60s party at the Kumara, this exchange has taught me to embrace everything that comes my way.

Sure, my old age and wisdom may mean that I’ve discovered this foreign concept of time management, and I need a little more sleep than before, but so far this experience has been filled with all the excitement and fun of my Weir House days. What’s more, I think I’ve caught the travel bug, an ailment which may be hard to cure, and one I’ve heard is contagious. So next time you tire of trudging all the way up Adams Terrace to class, consider travelling thousands of miles for next semester.

It’s certainly a decision I’ll never regret.

Education Minister Anne Tolley has had the tertiary education portfolio taken off her hands in a cabinet reshuffle by John Key this week.

Steven Joyce would take over as Minister of Tertiary Education, reportedly to allow Tolley more time to focus on the implementation of the controversial national standards for literacy and numeracy in primary schools.

The announcement marks the end of the ‘Great Tolley Hunt’, a quest embarked upon by student media outlets across the country in a bid to get Tolley to respond to requests for comment.

Tolley’s lack of engagement with students on tertiary education issues, and her reluctance to talk to student media, did little to instill students’ confidence in the minister.

Craccum reported that Tolley failed to keep an appointment with 2009 NZUSA Co-Presidents Sophia Blair and Jordan King in March last year.

Tolley was also criticised for using a helicopter to get a bird’s eye view of Auckland University of Technology’s (AUT) multiple campuses during a visit to the university.

Tolley was scheduled to speak at a VUWSA Student Representative Council (SRC) meeting in early October, but cancelled her appearance.

Tolley gave one interview with student media—Otago University’s Critic—during her time as the Minister of Tertiary Education. Salient pursued Tolley for an interview in late 2009, only to have the request declined.

Former Craccum co-Editor Matthew Harnett was wearing his infamous Anne Tolley “M.I.A.” t-shirt when he was informed of the reallocation of the tertiary education portfolio.

“The tears rolled down my cheeks and fell onto her face,” Harnett said.

Former Salient Editor Jackson James Wood expressed dissatisfaction with Tolley’s inadequate efforts to engage with students via mime.

“Her repeated efforts to avoid student media made her a silent, yet deadly enemy.”

A number of cuts were made across the tertiary education sector in 2009, including funding for night classes, the removal of consumer price index adjustments for funding to tertiary institutions, the disestablishment of the capital investment fund and the removal of the Step-Up and Bonded Merit scholarships.

Student politicians, refusing to comment on Tolley’s performance as Minister of Tertiary Education, have told Salient they are looking forward to working constructively with Joyce.

“We look forward to Steven being more willing to engage directly with students than his predecessor,” VUWSA President Max Hardy said.

Jack and the Beanstalk had the traditional panto story, with characters developed from commedia dell’ arte. Jack is in love with Jill, but since she’s a princess, and his family owns nothing but a cow, Jill’s dad (the King—played by the local primary school teacher who always sings the loudest in assembly) won’t hear of them getting married, unless Jack can slay the giant (voiced by an ex-RSC actor) who lives in the clouds about the village. Jack’s not really sure how to do this (he’s not particularly bright, his brother Tom could probably have done it in a blink of an eye) but luckily, when he is out trying to sell the family cow in order to feed his family, he runs into an old crone who offers him three beans for the cow. Seems a pretty poor deal, but she promises him that they are magic. Jack takes a gamble, gives the woman the cow and takes the beans home, much to the upset of his mother (the pantomime dame). One of the beans grows into a giant beanstalk. Jack climbs it, kills the giant and comes home to marry Jill. And the suspicious magic bean woman turns out to be a fairy (and when she’s off stage, the host of radio Leicester).

Jack was okay but my favourite character was Tom, the lesser known brother to Jack. He was played by the guy who was Buttons last year in Cinderella. Personally, I don’t know what Jill was thinking. Tom is the one who’s had my nieces and me singing his theme tune ever since. That’s how it tends to go in these shows, though. The lovers are pretty to look at but tend to be a bit of a bore.

It’s unclear what the moral of this panto was. If strangers offer to swap you magic beans for your family’s life source, you should trust them? If two guys sing “we’re bad, we’re bad, we’re really really bad. We’re bad!” every time they enter or exit the room, you probably shouldn’t trust them? I don’t know, but I’m going to go with Tom’s lesson about pantomime: “Come on, you can talk back. You’re not watching television.” Right on.

Technically the party is not illegal, you can drink on the trains at any time of day, and judging from the frequency of buskers, playing loud music is alright too; but on the other hand, it has potential to become a riot. It wasn’t long before news got out through the crowds that police were somewhere among us, but the ever efficient Germans had a back-up plan and we walked a few paces down into the underground station and the circle train party became an underground train party. We followed the music we liked into a carriage, we danced, eventually we all got out; and then the police shut us in the underground station for a bit. There was pushing. There was shouting. The trains were held up for a while, but it was all very amiable really.

The Facebook groups says “it crashed under its own popularity” and perhaps that is the best way to describe it. But when you have 1 604 members of your Facebook group, you can’t really help but find the police stop it before it gets anywhere. But hey, the ride got me as far as a street of clubs on a Saturday night, and I laughed more than I do on my daily train rides. It does make me wonder though, why we all grizzle about how unpleasant packed public transport is. I reckon we could make rush hour “party hour “in Wellington. Just hook your ipod up to some speakers in your back pack (though if I buy that golden hand bag with built in speakers I saw the other day, I’ll bring it) and bring a couple of beers on the KP. Twud easily lighten the grind up the hill at the end of the day.

William Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus is very much the work of a young writer. Brash, bloody and full of life. It madly flings its plot of murder, madness and men based pies across the stage with an energy that cannot help but be infectious. It is a play almost made for the young and hungry to stage. So, it is with very good luck that the very young and very hungry Long Cloud Youth Theatre Company are responsible for Wellington’s latest production.

Long Cloud prove themselves time and time again to be an impressive and talented bunch of young performers. There is a sense of unity and focus in their work that puts some professional productions to shame. I have come to expect such high standards from their work that it feels odd when you come across a case such as Titus. Now, let me get this straight, Titus is good. Big, warm, solid good. That nice elemental good which is a while away from great but further from any kind of disappointment. But, I expect better than good from Long Cloud. It is a sure sign of their talents that good, well, just isn’t good enough.

The work has its share of strengths – acting is energetic and Andrew Foster’s design of hanging dolls and epic sheets is inspired and beautiful. What really drags Titus down from Long Cloud’s usual glorious heights are issues that plague every young production of the bard. One never gets a real sense that the cast understand the rhythms of the verse and there are even some deadly moments where it becomes somewhat apparent that the performers don’t fully understand what they are saying which risk the production becoming, for the first time in Long Cloud history, boring.

These things can be excused of course. Long Cloud is, at the end of the day, about giving these talented young’uns the chance to stretch their muscles and learn from their mistakes and one cannot doubt that they along with their fearless leaders Willem Wassenaar and Sophie Roberts will learn from this and grow Titus into something truly wonderful.

Titus Andronicus
Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Willem Wassenaar
With Joe Dekkers-Reihana, Liffey Jacobson-Wright, Anthony Young, Anna Harcourt, Alisha Tyson, Estere Dalton, Vanessa Cullen, Johanna Cosgrove, Michael Boyes, Robert Hartley, Felix Borthwick, Tai Berdinner-Blades and Hayden Frost.

At Wellington Performing Arts Centre
4 – 7 December 2009

If you ask a classical musician/aficionado about German music, they might tell you about greats such as Haydn, Beethoven, Wagner, Bach and Mozart—German music has a very prestigious history. But if you ask the next guy you see wearing jandals and surfer shorts about German music, and—provided he isn’t also carrying a sousaphone—he will probably say: “There’s this band Rammstein*, I think they’re German eh bro?” Yeah they’re German. I’m sensing this is probably about the peak of this review’s intelligence right here, so I’m just going to add that I heard they once did a show wearing nothing but giant diapers, and descended onto the stage from a giant uterus.

Rammstein. This industrial metal band doesn’t really fit in with the list of aforementioned German musicians that non-Germans have heard of. Nevertheless I was quite excited when Jackson handed me their new CD, Liebe Ist Für Alle Da (Love Is There For Everyone). The excitement turned out to be not so great, however, when I quickly realised that I had for some reason mistaken it for Metallica. But it’s still cool, because they’re German, and I speak German, you know?

I’m not so familiar with their older stuff, but I’ve noticed a lot of people know their song ‘Du hast’. “Du,” they usually tell me, “Du hast. Du hast mich…” I then interrupt them with an explanation on how the German verbs to have and to hate both conjugate to the same word in the second person singular, and how the song exploits this.

I’ve never quite managed to finish my explanation.

Truth be told, I started listening to Rammstein when I started learning German. I got Reise, Reise first and Rosenrot sometime later. When I could actually understand German I came back to them and was a bit shocked—and impressed—at some of the lyrics that had been floating in my head without meaning so long ago.

In Reise, Reise there is a song inspired by an infamous cannibalism case in Germany (‘Mein Teil’—’My Part’), and an awesome and quite chilling modernisation of Goethe’s dark romanticism poem Der Erlenkönig (‘Dalai Lama’). Rosenrot has a song about a boy who plays with fire and gets brutally burned (‘Hilf Mir’—’Help Me’), and another song about a mob eagerly encouraging a man to kill himself by jumping off a high bridge (‘Spring’—’Jump’). Their songs aren’t without substance, something I actually admire about them.

Rammstein branches out linguistically every now and then, offering songs in English, Russian and Spanish, and often mixing it with German. Because of complicated metaphor I’m about to use, now is a good time to mention that the word on the street is that Rammstein isn’t as popular in Germany as they probably are outside of it.

So I think on this new album, the song ‘Pussy’ is quite representative of Rammstein as a whole. It has the shock value, language mixing, and perhaps also represents their relative unpopularity in Germany:

You’ve got a Pussy I have a Dick ah
So what’s the problem let’s do it quick
So take me now before it’s too late
Life’s too short so I can’t wait
So take me now oh don’t you see
I can’t get laid in Germany
Too short too tall doesn’t matter one size fits all
Zu groß zu klein der Schlagbaum sollte oben sein (Too big too small, the toll bar should be on top)
Schönes Fräulein Lust auf mehr (Pretty lady hungry for more)
Blitzkrieg mit dem Fleischgewehr (Blitzkrieg with the meat gun)

It’s not all sex and death though. Well, it is mostly, but I’ve always found a few gems in each album. ‘Dalai Lama’ still sends shivers down my spine, and ‘Benzin’ makes me want to burn things. From a few listens, opener ‘Rammlied’ (‘Ramm-song’) and the album’s namesake ‘Liebe Ist Für Alle Da’ (‘Love Is There For Everyone’) stand out quite a bit, but I think special mention should go to the closer ‘Roter Sand’ (‘Red Sand’), a brilliantly sung ballad about a dying man, shot by a rival for his lover:

Eine Liebe ein Versprechen (One love, one promise)
Sagt ich komm zurück zu dir (Said I’d come back to you)
Nun ich muss es leider brechen (Now I must sadly break it)
Seine Kugel steckt in mir (His bullet is stuck in me)

Eine Liebe zwei Pistolen (One love, two pistols)
Eine zielt mir ins Gesicht (One aimed at my face)
Er sagt ich hätte dich gestohlen (He says I stole you)
Dass du mich liebst weiß er nicht (He doesn’t know that you love me)

Roter Sand und zwei Patronen (Red sand and two rounds)
Eine stirbt im Pulverkuss (One dies in gunpowder’s kiss)
Die zweite soll ihr Ziel nicht schonen (The second shall not spare its target)
Steckt jetzt tief in meiner Brust (Now stuck deep in my breast)

Ultimately, if you don’t speak German, then you probably won’t get as much out of this album, but I’m all for the broadening of cultural horizons. For a rock band they sound really good though, and have definitely maintained a distinctive sound across their albums. So if you don’t mind that the only song you’ll understand much of is a song about pussy, or you’re a budding fan, then I’d recommend you give this album a listen.

Now I’ll leave you with some food for thought from their song ‘Haifisch’ (‘Shark’).

Und der Haifisch der hat Tränen (And the shark, it has tears)
Und die laufen vom Gesicht (And they flow from its face)
Doch der Haifisch lebt im Wasser (But the shark lives in water)
So die Tränen sieht man nicht (So you don’t see the tears)

In der Tiefe ist es einsam (In the deep it’s lonely)
Und so manche Zähre fließt (And so some tears flow)
Und so kommt es dass das Wasser (And so it is that the water)
In den Meeren salzig ist (In the seas is salty)

*He’ll probably pronounce it ram-steen.

VUWSA President Jasmine Freemantle has confirmed that the motion, “That VUWSA actively supports the Education (Freedom of Association) Amendment Bill,” is void following yesterday’s Student Representative Council (SRC) meeting.

Freemantle told Salient this morning (Thursday) that the VUWSA solicitor “has confirmed that the motion was void.

“The meeting was closed, and as outlined in the constitution, could not be reopened.”

Freemantle also said the SRC meeting planned for this Friday will be postponed.

A motion has been passed that has seen it become VUWSA policy to “actively support” Roger Douglas’ Education (Freedom of Association) Amendment Bill.

The motion, “that VUWSA actively supports the Education (Freedom of Association) Amendment Bill”, was passed by a majority of ten votes at Wednesday’s Student Representative Council (SRC) meeting.

“The passing of this motion is a significant breakthrough for the many students who feel that VUWSA is not receptive to or representative of their views,” ACT on Campus Vice President Peter McCaffrey said.

The SRC had been called to discuss the recently released Tertiary Education Strategy (TES), as well as the voluntary student membership (VSM) issue.

The meeting has been described by some students as a “clusterfuck”.

It took 40 minutes for the one motion to be passed, as a number of “stalling tactics”, including multiple quorum counts and points of order, were employed by parties on both sides of the VSM debate.

The motion, which was supported by members of ACT on Campus, Young National, as well as a number of politically unaffiliated students, was finally passed with a vote of 45–35.

At one point the meeting was deemed closed because it was claimed quorum was not met. The meeting continued regardless under a new Chair, Hugh McCaffrey (who is of no relation to Peter). Once it was confirmed the required quorum of 50 was reached following yet another count of hands, the meeting was properly resumed.

“It was the biggest SRC I’ve seen in my four years at university, and yet they claimed that they didn’t have quorum, because it wasn’t the right kind of people who showed up,” Peter McCaffrey said.

Peter McCaffrey says there were multiple procedural problems with the meeting.

“VUWSA had no idea of its own rules, and the rules they knew they deliberately ignored.”

As well as the age-old quorum issues, Peter McCaffrey said motions were allowed in the middle of votes, and speakers continually interrupted the meeting’s proceedings.

Alex Sorenson, President of the Massey Wellington Students’ Association, who was also present at the SRC said that the meeting “was hijacked by one group of people and both sides of the debate were fuelled by emotion.”

This “muddied the procedural functionality of the meeting,” she said.

Clandestine SRC breaks rules

It has been brought to Salient’s attention that VUWSA will hold another SRC meeting this Friday at 11am in the Mount Street Bar.

Notification of the SRC meeting was placed on the VUWSA noticeboard on Wednesday afternoon. [Photographic evidence to the right. JJW]

The notice says that the meeting will be held “pursuant to part IV s. 2 (3-4) of the VUWSA Constitution.”

However, part IV s. 2 (4) of the VUWSA Constitution says that “such special meeting shall be held no sooner than three (3) office days and not later than ten (10) office days after the date of receipt of a requisition [for a meeting], or resolution by the executive.”

Fewer than 48 hours will have passed between the notification of the SRC, and the meeting actually being held, directly contravening the procedures outlined in the constitution.

Comment was still being sought from VUWSA President Jasmine Freemantle at the time of publication.

Stay tuned for more updates.

We like to think 2009 has been a great year, but has it been the best year? And if you were to make an all-star Salient team from the 00s, who’d be on it?

Let’s say you had to choose:

- An editor
- A news editor
- A designer
- Two feature writers
- Two unpaid news writers
- A music writer, a film writer, and a theatre writer
- Three columnists
- Two cartoonists

Who’d you choose? Would Appleton edge out Wood? Would Nippert kick Holm in the shins? Would Brunswick kick the Darkoom down the street?

And for comedy’s sake, what wacky VUWSA President would you have this crack team reporting on?