I found a great DVD treasure the other day, and was compelled to buy it (I knew that if I didn't, Brent would divorce me). It's called Tom Jones: Classic RnB & Funk, and it is both wonderful and horrifying all at once. Since it's a fairly shoddy, piecemeal sort of release, I'm having to do a lot of guessing - it has no original dates on it and each song appears to be cobbled from a different show - perhaps his NBC variety series? There are giant stylised 'TJ' banners everywhere, anyway. The songlist is great, and weird, and cool. A disco funk version of 'We Can Work it Out' with Chaka Khan? Whew. Plus some nifty package mislabelling - track 11 says it's Bowie's 'Fame' (!!!), but naturally the actual song is Irene Cara's 'Theme from Fame'. Most bizarre duet: Isaac Hayes, wearing a relaxed mini-kimono, singing 'Don't Let Go' with Tom, who is outlandishly garbed in one of many sequinned bolero jackets and tiny *tiny* doubleknit polyester trousers. This is clearly at the height of Square Middle America's Disco Obsession, circa 1980, and it doesn't have much to do with the obnoxious elitism of Studio 54. The most wondrous element, however, is Tom's wee band of backup dancers, who are totally Solid Gold - their entire repertoire consists of high kicks and back bends and the 'here are our butts' twirl, and some deeply foolish person told them to pretend to be the back-up *singers* too. Now, I am fairly certain that there are not many skinny white professional disco dancers with Farrah flips who can also sing just like Martha Wash as they bop around the stage. Correct me if I'm wrong here, but I'm willing to bet that some large African-American sistah backstage was doing the *real* 'rolling on the river' during 'Proud Mary'. Tom should be ashamed of himself! Well, mainly for those bolero jackets and the poodle hair, actually. That's the *real*, quite glorious crime...

OK, back to wackiness. What was I thinking with all that contemplative bullshit? ;) Warning: do not follow the link I am about to post if a) you are at work and people are likely to recognise ascii penises attached to little cats or b) you are going to have nightmares for the rest of your life because you listened to the bizarre Japanese nursery rhyme-song that accompanies the film of said ascii penises. God, Japanese culture is weird. Bless them!

My web time at the moment is particularly cursory - no inane surfing for me! Being around my mother makes me achieve household and personal things, not through guilt but because she has such a vague, fluffy *determinedness*. She always seems slightly confused and at the same time on some kind of important, albeit slow-moving, mission that I feel I have to be a part of. She's so funny.

One of the many things to be thrilled about in New Zealand: repeats of Fat Albert on the Cartoon Network. Hey hey hey! (By the way, it seems somehow *wrong* that NZ has a Cartoon Network! When I left four years ago there were five public channels and three Sky channels - now the programme guide goes up to 100 and I am able to switch back and forth between E!, classic music videos and ad-free film noir on MGM. God, in 1989 we got our *third* public channel and it was this giant deal. I remember it distinctly. My entire childhood was spent switching between One and Two. And I always found something to watch in the one or two hours I had allotted to me per day... does that seem draconian to my US readers, a time limit on telly? I'm inclined toward it for my own kids, if I ever have any. And bedtime at 7pm sharp. I'm such an old fart in disguise, aren't I?)

We went to Piha yesterday (nearly running out of petrol, but that's another story of retardedness with which I won't bore you) and I was once again bowled over by how glorious this place looks. Brent calls the bush prehistoric-looking, dense with giant ferns and strange plants. He's right, but I don't find it scary - we don't have anything that bites! Coming down the clifftop road to the beach the view is utterly magnificent, and almost completely unspoiled. Twenty minutes from my mother's nice little suburb there's *this*. Hard to fathom.

Alex just moved and says he finds his blog one of the few elements of continuity. I know what he means!

In New Zealand, the first thing you notice is how clear the air is. Everything looks about 30% crisper than it does anywhere else. When you breathe it seems cool and refreshing, even in the city. I mentioned this to a very nice fellow Kiwi on the plane who gave me her window seat for the plane landing, and she unromantically replied 'oh, it's probably the lack of ozone from that big hole over Antarctica'. Snickering at that thankfully stopped me from crying like a child at the sight of Waiheke Island and Papatoetoe. It's so green, though. It's the greenest, clearest place. Even mud seems... healthy, somehow.

Still adjusting to being far away from anything momentous on the world stage. Funny to feel 'safe' again. Also feel like a percentage of me is missing without Brent here. Every time I'm away from him for longer than a day I swear I'll never do it again. It sucks. I miss Shamaloo, too.Worried about finding jobs. So glad to see my mum and Grandad and everyone, though. Nervous but I think this will turn out well for us. I hope.

Very philosophical today. Back to wackiness later, promise!