Cracker by Damian Christie

I've been struggling to get excited about much on the political front for the past few weeks, which is quite unlike me. Then I read this piece by the always-worth-a-look Sarah @ Leto and something clicked.

It’s like a giant vat of porridge someone forgot to add the salt to, left to go cold and gluggy on the stovetop, with only journalists and politicians under the illusion that it’s actually edible…The Government plods along, neither brilliant nor dreadful. The fringe parties continue to mistake half-baked ideas for actual policy, and National seems caught up in a collective delusion that they’re all at a 1950’s boys' boarding school.

I'm trying to work out exactly why this is, I mean, it's not as though there's nothing to be interested in. We've got two MPs facing criminal charges, one of them may even lose his seat as a result. We've got the huge unresolved issue of the seabed and foreshore and resultant Maori protests. Despite a ban on recording the hui, someone managed to capture Trevor Mallard being reprimanded for shouting over people on a marae yesterday. You ain't in Parliament now, buddy.

The end of the GE moratorium hangs like a dark cloud, and Grannies Against Genetics (GAG) are whipping their tops off in Parliament, much to the disgust of Brian Le Gros, who claimed it was his idea all along. In a year we may be all eating Blinky the Fish; the Greens are less than happy, but Jeanette Fitzsimons says they will continue to work with and support Labour on policies they agree upon.

And I think this is part of my disillusionment. Politics is a game, and it's no fun when there's no chance of an upset. That's why the Warriors vs the Raiders was so much fun to watch on the weekend – it came right down to the wire – whereas watching the All Blacks trounce Japan in the world cup rates up there with Edwards at Large on the interestometer. Ok, that's not fair, even an All Blacks whitewash is more interesting than Edwards. Have you ever noticed how much he looks like a pickled person? Scary.

[I've been trying to find an image of what pickled people look like so you too could marvel at the resemblance, but all I've managed to find are pantyhose fetish websites. Gotta love the 'net. If anyone can find a link, please mail me. For those who don't know, they're people made out of stuffed stockings, the features sewn in. They look a lot like Brian Edwards…]

Anyhoo. I interviewed Peter Dunne a week ago, and again marveled at how utterly inoffensive this man can be. We were discussing smoking, and surprise of surprises, he's calling for a "common sense" solution. I asked him if he ever felt the Government were taking the piss. I mean, they can ignore the Greens about GE, and know that United will support them. They can ignore United about smoking, and the Greens will provide the votes they need. The fact that the Greens and United are about as likely to agree on anything as Gordon Copeland is to share a J with Nandor is exactly where the Government's strength lies. Dunne said, predictably, "that's MMP."

And therein lies the source of my ennui. As it stands, the Government just can't lose. But they're not even using their enviable position to conduct some despotic campaign of Machivellian tyranny (smoking and smacking notwithstanding). At least that would be interesting.

Thank God the rugby's coming.

Oh, and by the by, while I'm talking about television, Mike King's show is clearly going to be worse than the debut might have suggested. Much like Winston Peters, Rodney Hide managed to be funnier than the so-called (a term I generally hate, reserved as it is for people who write letters to the editor of The Listener) comedian host. King also seems to think that it's more interesting if he gets his interviewees involved in little skits. It isn't. I shan't be watching again.

Finishing on a positive, a few congratulations are in order:

To all the winners of the b.net awards, particularly Te Awanui from Nesian Mystic, who kindly offered me 'a place to crash' should I ever need one – an unusual but nonetheless welcome token of gratitude for an article I'd written a while back.

To Hayley Westenra, who would have to be the sweetest person I've ever had the pleasure to interview, and who is currently sitting at number 8 on the main British charts, and number 1 on the classical charts, with the fastest selling classical release of all time, her new album, er, Pure.

And finally to Jeremy Wells, bFM host, regular sports contributor on my show and bloody decent bloke, despite having too much to drink to continue his co-hosting duties with me at the awards on Friday night, who has apparently been voted sexiest New Zealander in the 2003 Durex Sex Survey. Which I guess makes me a little sexy by association. Or not.

Over the past couple of months I've been trying to see a pattern emerge in what Those Who Know best at TVNZ are up to. Increasingly, I get the feeling that I've been staring at what I thought was a Magic Eye picture, only to find it's nothing but a wallpaper sample. In the case of Edwards At Large, rather tatty old wallpaper, nicotine-stained, bubbling and cracking, yet still asserting there's nothing wrong with it, nothing at all, in fact it's far superior to all those newfangled varieties on the market.

I realise that of the various programmes to have been introduced, removed and otherwise fiddled with of late, some come under the jurisdiction of Bill Ralston as head of News & Current Affairs, while others fit under general programming. But when Brian Edwards interviews Rodney Hide, and Mike King asks Winston Peters about the foreshore issue, is the distinction a valid one?

Only this morning did I get to see for myself the Ralston Effect on Breakfast. I used to quite enjoy the Hosking-Hawkesby combo, taking turns to interview, sharing the duties, even areas where one was clearly more qualified to comment (e.g Hosking on sport) were delegated to the other, often with humorous results. And then there was the banter. No doubt this drove some people mad, including it would seem, Bill Ralston, but for me it worked. Mike hassled Kate for asking a stupid question, Kate hassled Mike for being an old fuddy-duddy, they laughed, we laughed.

This morning, Bill needn't have feared, no-one was in any danger of laughing or otherwise enjoying themselves. Kate read the news with all the joy of the protagonist in a Kafka novel. Hosking and Hawkesby's ten second crosses are conducted via a video screen, as if to prevent the transfer of any warmth between the two. In case the low-rating TelstraClear Business wasn't compelling enough at 6.30am, "highlights" from the show now also apparently bear repeating at 8.15am. Joe Bennett, the 'humorous social commentator' from Christchurch, has wisely decided not to break rank, and ensures the programme remains as dry as a Canterbury Nor'wester.

I only saw a little of Mike King's new show last night – I was interested to see him interview Winston Peters, and couldn't have cared a jot to see Shortland Street's Karl Burnett. TV2 celebs interviewing other TV2 celebs on a TV2 programme, it's all a bit Strassman Ungloved, really. The cloned Late Show set is a bad idea, serving as it does to highlight the many ways in which Mike King is not David Letterman. Like Russell, I'll wait and see – to an extent – but at the same time, if TVNZ feel it's fit to broadcast, then it's fit to comment on.

His interviewing technique certainly needs some work, and last night it was only Winston's charisma that carried the segment. That, and the sheer disbelief at watching the New Zealand First leader do his Asian takeaway shop owner impersonation – surely valuable footage for someone come the next election.

Pam's gone, Richard Long is counting the days, Edwards will hopefully soon be literally 'at large', and the cane seems to be extending from stage left towards Hosking and Hawkesby. An end to TVNZ's problems? So what's the solution? Much like the English/Brash dilemma, are we left with the inevitable conclusion that Simon Dallow and Mike King are to be the answer to our broadcasting woes? Oh dear.

I'm often concerned if, God forbid, I ever make it into a position of public notoriety, what random details from my past will come out to haunt me. In a vain attempt to stave this off, I try to wear many of my embarrassments on my sleeve. Click the "About Damian Christie" link to the right of this column if you haven't already, they're largely listed there.

Yes, I worked for Act. Not for political reasons mind; I was never a member of its youth wing, "Prebble's Rebels". The fact that such a phrase can be uttered without irony, let alone screen printed and worn across one's chest still leaves me dumbfounded. No, I was much more interested in the game of politics, the sort of drug that Hunter S Thompson experienced in on the campaign trail with Nixon, more exhilarating than almost any synthetic alternative. It's the thing that has you setting your alarm to go off at 6am just so you can hear Morning Report in its entirety, drifting in and out of sleep, fitfully dreaming of Tuku Morgan in his underwear.

Correct, I did some time as a waterbed salesman. Not too many people can answer a phone "Waterbrothers Waterbeds and Supertan Sunbeds" as well as this blogger. There aren't many with my special touch when it comes to rouching leatherette across a king-size frame, or setting a car stereo into the headboard for that extra touch of class.

That's right, I was 'Doctor Love', Pete Sinclair's sidekick on Lovesongs to Midnight. "Come on in, the music's fine..." - 'nuff said.

But none of these earlier incarnations of Yours Truly are likely to prevent my inevitable appointment to the bench of the Supreme Court of the People's Democratic Republic of Aotearoa. No, it's the more intimate moments you have to watch out for, as Arnold Schwarzenegger is finding out in the race for the Governorship of California.

What's telling is that Schwarzenegger has been a very public figure for more than two decades now. Blockbuster movies, restaurant chains, bad catch phrases, a Kennedy clan wife, he's up there with Pepsi in the recognition stakes. If there were some huge secret about Arnie, you think we'd know it by now. But no, not until things get political

Ironically, it's what the Republican candidate has said publicly that has tripped him up, rather than anything hidden. In an interview given in 1977 for men's magazine, Oui, Schwarzenegger made several candid admissions that don’t sit well with his elephantine brothers. He was speaking at a time when the body-building doco Pumping Iron was doing the rounds, when he was 29, the same age I am now. Arnie talked openly of smoking cannabis, group sex, penis size, you know, the standard interview subjects…

Reading the 1977 interview, I find it hard to be particularly shocked. It was the 70s, he was a young man in peak physical condition, highly sought after by men and women alike. He wouldn't have been the first person to have a cavalier attitude towards sex, or to have 'experimented' with marijuana. If he were a Democrat candidate, perhaps it wouldn't matter so much. Clinton got two terms as President – a prospect that is looking increasingly unlikely for George Dubbya, who seems destined to suffer the same fate as his father, and for largely the same reasons.

Thanks to the Internet, our words increasingly have the ability to come back and bite us on the bum. Words and their echoes, scanned, cached and mirrored, sit on any number of servers around the world like sleeper terrorist cells, poised to strike when you're least prepared. It's a timely reminder to think before you go posting to all and sundry, for now and forever. I'm just glad I never admitted to sharing that spliff on Parliament steps…

Sometimes you've just got to wonder.

There's been an avalanche on the Turoa skifield of Mt Ruapehu. The avalanche was set off intentionally by the Turoa Skifield company, to test the stability of the upper slopes.

According to Chris Thrupp, the company's area manager, the avalanche then "built momentum." He sounded surprised. Now I'm no avalanche expert, and I'm certainly not as qualified in such matters as the skifield company, but isn't this how avalanches generally work?

I could be wrong, but all those times my grandmother dragged me along to see such films as The Adventures of the Wilderness Family, (cool poster, thanks Matt) for whom avalanches were a daily threat, not once did I see an avalanche start, then kind of give up halfway. The Little Avalanche that Couldn't, if you will. Anyway, let's be grateful that no-one was hurt, shall we?

One avalanche that seems remarkably controlled by comparison is the Opposition's release in Parliament of papers allegedly withheld from the "full disclosure" ordered by the PM. First there were four documents, now Bill English has stated in Parliament that in fact there were 184 documents, albeit not all from the PM's department. Helen Clark has responded that she only learnt of this yesterday, but it looks increasingly as though this avalanche is not going to slow to a trickle, nor be without its casualties.

I heard Jeanette Fitzsimons being interviewed by Linda Clark this morning, and have to admit I was impressed, particularly when compared with the way the Prime Minister has been handling herself of late. Ok, the Herald obviously had something to prove by turning it into a front page pull quote yesterday, but Helen's "I sometimes wonder whether I'm a victim of my own success as a popular and competent Prime Minister" line just isn't something one should say out loud. Similarly, referring to oneself as "the Prime Minister" is all well and good in the privacy of one's own bedroom, but please…

I'm still trying to determine whether leaving Minister Boo-boo in charge of the Environment portfolio, and hence the GE issue, shows reckless stupidity or supreme genius. When Helen Clark says she doesn't remember something, our eyes narrow with doubt. When Marian Hobbs says she doesn't remember something, it's just another day in the Beehive. The revelation on Friday that she never read Nicky Hager's book – despite criticising it – or other papers on the GM corn issue because she didn't want to suffer "contamination of memory" to me beggars belief. Here we have a cabinet minister admitting she can't assimilate information from both sides of an issue without it causing a cerebral short circuit. And we're paying this person!? I'd like to see Theresa Gattung last a week at Telecom after making such an admission.

Truly, some people are even beyond the help of Brian Edwards, including, it would seem, Edwards himself. I always feels dirty watching someone in a public position use it to push a personal agenda, after watching Edwards try (and fail) to take on Act's Rodney Hide, I needed a bath. Talk about a thinly veiled agenda. As Hide puts it: “Dr Edwards also trained me on how to handle a crotchety old interviewer coaxing you to defame their wife on their state-funded show so that they can sue you."

Well, Edwards seems to have got what's coming to him. Rather than he or his wife being able to launch a defamation suit, it's Rodney Hide who has complained to the Broadcasting Standards Authority about the programme. Who's smug now? According to Hide, Edwards failed to be either balanced or impartial. Well duh. If, like me, you missed the original interview, the kind folk at Act have been doing their bit to increase Edwards' dire ratings (again, failing) by making the segment available on their website. It's not quite Hill -v- Pilger, but it's worth a look.

Over the past two weeks there has been unprecedented virus activity on the Net. Have you been hit by the Blaster or SoBig? Somehow I remain unscathed, something of a miracle considering I regularly trawl the outer reaches of the Interweb and I haven't updated my virus software since it expired a year or so ago. A virus of sorts itself, every few days Norton pops up on my screen reminding me that I haven't updated and telling me it'll see me again soon.

One scourge that none of us can protect ourselves from, it would seem, is having stupid friends. Harsh, perhaps? Ok, maybe gullible is more apt. And no, they didn't take the word 'gullible' out of the dictionary, so don't send me that email. But every couple of days I receive yet another email pleading "forward this to everyone!" Whether it's offering some sort of benefit, from the tangible 'trip to Disneyland', to the less tangible 'lifetime of luck with the ladies'; threatening bad luck by breaking the chain; or warning of a virus that doesn't exist, I get them all. Yesterday it was a small girl, Kelsey Brook Jones, 'missing since 1999', whose photo is being cyber-plastered around the world. A quick Google reveals that if she was ever missing, she was found a couple of hours later. Hiding in a tree, or some such.

The trouble I have with these email chain hoaxes, and their cellular text equivalents (forward this to 10 people and it'll cost you $2!), is that there seems to be no end in sight. You'd think the old 'once bitten, twice shy' aphorism would apply, but it doesn't, and it's the same friends who fall victim time and time again. Eventually even they spot a pattern, but then just don't care "Oh, well it's worth a go, you never know…" No, you never do, it would seem.

The current rumours regarding a ubiquitous Auckland celeb bleaching her anus are another good example of when crap gets credence. Now, I'm not close with the celeb in question, nor, unlike every person I talk to, do I claim to have a friend who goes to the same (clearly gossipy) beautician. I have no source whatsoever on this. And yet it took all of five minutes of surfing to figure out, at least with all the certainly I need, that it's a bunch of er, arse.

It appears the same rumours plagued American actress (and partner of Jack Nicholson) Lara Flynn Boyle. These rumours, apparently started by this piece in 2000, culminated in an article by Simon Doonan in the New York Observer, canonising Boyle as the "official Internet patron saint of anus-bleaching." A well-written blog deconstructing these claims, and in fact the whole mythical practice, can be found here. The Antipodean version of this myth has – not surprisingly – found its way onto Jonathan Martin's website, truly the place where style meets substance.

In matters such as these, the Internet is just as often helpful for what it doesn't say, as what it does. A quick search on the topic du jour shows the only relevant links are all about speculation as to who does and doesn't do it. There is no massive list of clinics offering this service, no DIY tips, no alt.rec.anal.bleach newsgroups, and thankfully, a complete lack of before and after pics. Ergo, this is not a valid practice. It just don't happen. No free case of Veuve Cliquot by forwarding this to a thousand people.

Finally, before you close this page, click on the magical 'link' button below and email it to everyone in your address book. I guarantee their lives will be the better for it. Try it. It's worth a go – you never know…