Cracker by Damian Christie

I've been spending a bit of time on the Internet lately. This mightn't seem strange to most of you, but for me it's something of a change. Much like Russell, I got introduced to the Internet in the early '90s, when I was working for Victoria University student rag Salient. We had a couple of Macs hooked up to the web and despite, or perhaps because of the sloooooow nature of the exercise, the sun rose many a time to find me still sitting in that office in the bowels of the student union building, jumping from link to link to link…

Everything seemed to link to each other a lot more those days, and part of the thrill was just clicking and seeing where you'd end up. It wasn't so much what I was reading that was important, but where it was coming from. Sports results from Israel, recipes from South Africa, something in French from France; it was all the fun of having free international toll calls, but only to a specified list of fairly uninteresting people.

The prevalence of bigger, better and faster search engines has, for me at least, removed the "follow the links" approach to surfing. Most of my Internet sessions have, for the past couple of years, started with a Google search, and ended with a site derived directly from aforementioned search.

It was only recently when my employer – God bless – gave all us proles Internet access, that I realised the folly of my ways. Or perhaps lack of folly: By treating the Internet as a mere reference tool, I'd been missing the myriad of random shit out there. Ok, productivity at work is at an all time low, but personally, I'm entering a renaissance. I'm following any and every link, staying after work to surf, learning about archery clubs in Guatemala…

I'm probably preaching to the converted here, but I'm sure there are a few out there like me. I hate to admit it, but until Russell asked me to take part in www.publicaddress.net I didn't even know what a blog was. After a few weeks as a reborn cyberphile (I hope that means what I think it does) I now realise I was the only person in the world who didn't.

What's the thrust of this post then? Nothing really, which is the whole point. If you've read down to here, congratulations, you've successfully spent a few minutes rolling luxuriously in the mud of wasted time. Let this be a reminder to you, while you're rushing about from URL to URL, remember to take time to stop, drop a (metaphorical?) trip, and imagine how totally freaky it would be if you actually were the smell of roses.

Once you're on that level, check out this site… it's like whoaah! man. I'm sure the secret to life is hidden somewhere inside.

If like me, you're having problems rediscovering your surfin' mojo, here's a random site generator by my mate Nik which is a bit of fun and guaranteed to send you somewhere, well… random.

At 5.30pm today, as far as best guesstimates will allow, New Zealand's population hits four million. OK sure, it's just a statistical thing, but it marks a suitable time for reflection. It's like taking stock of your life when you turn 30, or pulling over and having a wee chat with your car when she goes round the clock, but on a national scale.

I personally think it's a bit of a shame that very little is being done to celebrate this landmark event. I can't blame Statistics New Zealand, they're not exactly known for their ability to organise a good shindig. Come to think of it, we should be praising our Department of Counting Things, as long as I can remember - which these days is a good three to four weeks - it's never had an underpants scandal, no widescreen digital TVs have turned up in the staff room, the CEO's daughter never got caught doing E deals out of the back of the company car. Rodney Hide's bold claims in early October 2002 that the Lower Hutt office's petty cash was out by 20 cents was later found to be due to a price rise in two litres of blue-top milk not being properly accounted for. The accounts lady was fired, and the embarrassing situation was never spoken of again.

Even so, if you're going to dust the cobwebs off the half a bottle of Ouzo sitting at the back of the Chief Statisticians' liquor cabinet (now mostly used to hold the company's supply of staples, from No. 10-1 M on the left to 23/24 H on the right) you'd think reaching the big four-point-oh would be a good excuse. Particularly so, given that under current projections, we're probably not going to get to five million, and almost certainly not within any of our lifetimes.

I find this situation odd at best. When I first became aware of the concept of "populations", which was roughly the same time as I started social studies at primary school, New Zealand sat around 3.3 million. To be honest, once I'd learnt that fact I tucked it away and never thought about it again until last week. If you'd asked me two weeks' ago what our population was, I would have said 3.3 million. Luckily for me, Statistics NZ is on top of its game. But I guess I always knew that the population was increasing. For years we've been told of exploding worldwide populations, overcrowding, famine, the need to find other planets to inhabit once we run out of room here.

Perhaps all this scaremongering has had an impact. Certainly we've stopped procreating with the fervour we once did; in the past 30 years our birthrate has dropped to half what it was. Despite what Peters et all might lead us to believe/fear, immigration is not a great contributor to our population growth spurt, it is 'natural' increases both in terms of higher birth rates and increased longevity that has the greatest impact in this area. Ironically it is our baby boomers, who were responsible (or at least their parents were) for our quick rise in population during the 40s and 50s, will cause our population to stagnate, as they begin to drop off in disproportionately high numbers. Statistics NZ pick our population to eventually peak at 4.81 million in 2046.

So there isn't going to be a 5 million people party, at least not while we're alive, and definitely not anytime soon. Even more excuse for us all to celebrate a bit today, and certainly for Her Majesty's faithful servants at the Department of Statistics to let their hair down, drop their grey suit pants, photocopy their arses, write rude words on their calculators and generally let rip in an office party of Bacchanal proportions, Rodney Hide be damned.

Ever noticed that since the terrible attack on seven-year old Carolina Anderson in February, there has been a new dog attack in the news almost every day? It's as though someone's spiked NZ's supply of Pedigree Meaty Bites with P, and man's long-suffering servant is giving Bill Clinton a good run for no.1 spot on the "Top 10 things unlikely to ever be described as faithful" list.

Dog ownership is regarded as something of a fundamental human right in NZ. What else is supposed to leap into the back of your station wagon, soil your quarter acre of Godzone turf and run amok at the Grey Lynn Festival? What other use could we find for all our 1.5 litre fizzy drink bottles if not filling them with water and throwing them en masse on our lawns to stop "unsightly" doggy deposits?

It's no surprise then there's been a veritable twenty-cent mixture of reactions to the package o' laws that the Government has rather hurriedly conflated ostensibly in response to the tragic defacing of a young girl. As I write, Paul Holmes is on the telly entreating people to call and give TVNZ 99 cents + GST per minute for their privilege of airing their views on the matter. When there's a Holmes poll involved, you know it must be serious (either that or our national broadcaster is in worse financial straits than I thought).

It's hard to avoid lapsing into puns, but it must be said that the new proposals represent a complete and utter dog's breakfast. Some make sense, such as microchipping and giving dog control officers greater powers to seize guilty dogs from private property. Others seem like a good idea on paper but just won't work; such as requiring dangerous breeds of dogs to be muzzled in public. Can you tell the difference between a Japanese Tosa, a Pitbull, a Bulldog, a Rottweiler and a Staffy? Do you know which of the above must now be muzzled? Are you prepared to take an errant dog owner armed with a Dogo Argentinos to task if they don't comply?

Where the laws become ridiculously onerous is not with what is to be required in public, but what is you're expected to do in your own back yard. As the proposal stands at present, dog owners will be required to fence their property by 2006. This is arguably reasonable, (and many people think it's already law anyway) but it does raise questions, particularly in regard to toy breeds. Okay, you could argue they're not real dogs, and are therefore exempt under the legislation, but that aisde, does Froufrou the bed-ridden poodle really need a six-foot high fence to stop her getting at the postie?

Where things really start to trample on private property rights (and okay, it's an ideological standpoint, but here I like to take Westpac's "it's your house and what you do in it is your business" line), you must also provide a pooch-free path to your front or back door, for anyone who chooses to use it. Hullo!! We live in dangerous times. Burglar Bill no longer wears a stripy jumper and conveniently calls round during the holidays; these days it's Home-Invader Harry - he's high on crack and toting a machine gun. If you want a dog guarding your front door, I say 'so be it'. Not to mention the fact that many of us don't have the luxury of having a front yard AND a back yard anymore, particularly in the big A, where a plague of infill housing has left us lucky to have a yard at all. Are we then required to subdivide further by sub-fencing our front yard off to allow all and sundry unfettered access? Apparently so.

What is noticeably missing from all of this latest crackdown is any talk of additional funding for more dog control officers. Unless this changes, we can expect the recalcitrant owners of dangerous dogs, who train them to be even more dangerous still and then let them roam in public sans leads, will only continue to do so. Banning further imports of dangerous breeds will only result in the inbreeding of our nation's existing Cujos and Cujettes.

Meanwhile, Mr & Mrs Law-abiding Citizen will be forced to fork out hundreds, if not thousands of dollars for additional fencing, microchipping and the like, all for a dog that was never a threat to anyone in the first place.

The public submission and select committee carry-on is taking place shortly, so if you own a dog, or plan on ever doing so, you might want to make your feelings known.
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Epilogue:

In case you were wondering, the Holmes poll: "Will new dog control laws protect us from dog attacks?" results were 497 'yes', 2036 'no'. The people have spoken, and Holmes' wage bill has been paid for another night...

I don’t know whether it’s keeping a stiff upper lip in the face of overwhelming adversity, or just plain old head-in-the-sand determination. But when the rebels are banging on the doors, everything around you is in ruins and all signs are that your reign is at an end, wouldn’t you think it might be time just to go?

It’s hard to say what it is that keeps Bill English keepin’ on. It could be something they put in the water down there in the Mainland; perhaps he actually thinks he’s making a difference – maybe it’s the love of a good woman.

One thing is becoming increasingly clear to everyone else however: Bill English’s days as Leader of the Opposition are numbered. OK, so the recent media kafuffle is probably going to amount to nothing, once again it was a slow day in the Press Gallery (and with all eyes on Iraq, when isn’t it a slow day these days), a bored Mark Sainsbury/Jane Young/Barry Soper thought ‘why don’t we revive that old leadership challenge story we’ve been using ever since the election, only this time we’ll put a date on it’. Everyone knows it’s going to happen, and any half-educated guess as to when the inevitable will take place makes it instantly newsworthy.

From the blue corner, out comes Bill English. Ambushed by the 4th Estate Ranger Batallion he thinks of an appropriate response to the rumours. “You must be forgetting what day it is today”, he drawls. It’s a safe bet, after all, the Beehive is a disorienting place at the best of times, with its identical, circular, windowless floors, no clocks on the wall, and half-price drinks at Bellamy’s. Yes, the day was April 1st. But, when you’re rating as low as Bill is, you just have to wonder who really is the April Fool.

It’s not hard to spot what the problem with English’s leadership is. The first time I interviewed English was shortly before the ’02 election. I was quietly impressed with his affable nature and his down-home charm. He had some charisma, albeit in a quiet sort of way.

After that election, and National’s humiliating defeat, which in fairness didn’t have a lot to do with English, I’ve spoken to Bill almost once a month on a variety of issues. Last week I told my producer not to bother calling him again. There’s no point.

National and English soared through the second half of last year like an eagle whose wings have been gaffer-taped together (try it, it’s more fun than shooting kittens in a barrel!) This year, Bill attempted to revive things with his “two standards of citizenship/those bloody mowww-ries” speech. Regardless of the pros or cons of the politics, at least it seemed for a second like he had something to say. We called him up.

(paraphrased for your pleasure)

ME: “So Bill, what are you going to do about the bloody Mowwww-ries?”

BILL: “Well, we’re considering formulating some policies to deal with that issue.”

ME: “Do you think we should get rid of the Maori seats in Parliament?”

BILL: “Well, it’s something we need to have an open discussion about as a nation.”

ME: “You don’t actually have any policies at all, do you?”

BILL: “It’s something we’re looking at.”

ME: “OK, yes or no, should we allow nuclear ships in our harbours?”

BILL: “I’m not going to be forced into a position just because you want me to, but it is something that, as a nation, we need to have an open discussion about….”

People don’t vote for rigorous debate, they don’t vote for committees, sub-committees, referenda, open discussions. They vote for policies, ideas, philosophies, personalities – all of which the National Party circa 2003 is sadly lacking.

Dire times indeed for the National Party. As Helen Clark noted yesterday, mirroring my own thoughts on the matter, “Really does anyone care? Nobody sees them as a viable Government.” Horse. Gate. Bolted. Closing. Add your favourite joining words.

So yes, a challenge will come. Thursday, or sometime in mid August, who knows for certain. Whether it’s Don Brash, who will surely disenfranchise whatever’s left of National’s mainstream supporters; or Gerry Brownlee, who’s… well he’s Gerry Brownlee; does it make any difference?

It’s no choice at all really, and while English is no better, at least he has the advantage of being the incumbent – as long as there’s no challenge mounted, English will just keep on keepin’ on.

As the war in Iraq turns one week old, I am ashamed to admit that I have absolutely no idea what is going on.

It's not because of a shortage of news coverage. CNN fires out updates as rapidly and with as much enthusiasm as a 16 year old losing his virginity, and the local TV and radio media has more or less given up on any local news in favour of report after mind-numbing report from embedded journalists, military strategists, defence analysts, commanders-in-chief…

This perhaps is part of the problem. Too much information with too little content. Too many towns with names that you didn't know until yesterday. Tanks bursting across the desert in the south, Turks restless in the north, a helicopter down here, a marine wounded there. While the flanking and pincer movements of the various forces are analysed to the nth degree, it's never put in any wider context. I know more about hedge funds for pork belly futures than I do about who's really doing what to whom out there in the deserts of Mesopotamia.

It seems paradoxical that in an era where a plethora of media information is so widely and freely available, both sides of the current conflict are still as busy cranking the handle of the propaganda machine as they have ever been. "News" of the war comes via our friends in the Pentagon, is disseminated via the various eager news agencies, and a split second later the report is denied publicly by the Iraqis. No surprises there, sure, but this must be the first time in the history of such conflicts where we have access to both sides of the story.

Examples to date, (and we're only in the first week, remember), include allies successfully capturing the port city of Umm Qasr, only to mysteriously continue fighting there for several days afterwards; the discovery of a camouflaged chemical weapons factory; the killing of Saddam Hussein; and today, reports of a popular uprising in Basra against the Baath regime.

More worrying than disputes over the blow-by-blow elements of the war is the increasing conjecture and apparent wild speculation coming from Washington. There's been the report that Iraq will likely use chemical weapons against its own population, then blame America for the attack. Then there's the report that stores of gas masks have been found in Iraq, apparently a smoking gun if ever there was one, pointing conclusively to the fact that where there's gas masks, there's gas…

It's odd how claims with the least substantiation are the most widely reported. Amongst claims yesterday was that the Iraqi regime had drawn a red line around Baghdad, and once it was crossed, the Republican Guard would use chemical weapons on the coalition forces. Evidence? Not so much. Still, it took a helluva lot less than six degrees of radio separation (i.e by the time it had gone from the Pentagon to Radio Pacific) before this plan was being declared a certainty, with orders leaked that had been signed by Saddam Hussein himself.

What then proceeded to scare me shitless (ref. footnote 1) – and here I sympathise with Rob O'Neill's girlie – on the basis of this supposition, George W thought it fitting to announce that if they did use chemical weapons, this would provide the right for a 'tactical' nuclear strike by way of reply. Quite how this would work, in terms of collateral damage and the like I don't know, and really would rather not think about.

Did nobody think to inform the President that somebody at the Pentagon had just made it all up?

And while we're asking the medium-sized questions:

Is anyone surprised that the coalition forces invasion is, according to Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld "going according to plan", when he admitted right at the start that the plan was completely "fluid", and thus "going accord to plan" could cover any eventuality?

How many civilian casualties were there in the coalition's numerous attempts to bomb Iraq's state TV HQ in Baghad? Will they later claim they were only trying to uphold the Geneva Convention by preventing the broadcast of allied POW's?

Don't expect any straight answers anytime soon.

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FOOTNOTES:
(1) If you really want to annoy me, use the word 'literally' to mean 'not literally', for example: "What then proceeded to literally scare me shitless…"