Misty Morning, Grafton Bridge

Metamorphosising

2010-01-06T14:42:00.002+13:00

As the sun sets slowly in the west and we bid a fond farewell to the last decade, so too do I say goodbye to this blog.

Fret not, Misty Morning, Grafton Bridge will live on in a new, almost identical form over here. So those interested in staying in touch be sure to update your records.

The new blog may have a little broader scope if I can find the time this year to continue updating.

Feel free to pass the new address along.

Nga mihi nui o Te Tau Hou. See you on the other side.

"A child is like a poison missile you aim at the Future"

2009-12-11T10:32:00.003+13:00

- Warren Ellis

Bean has been the unlucky recipient of two weaponized virus attacks care of the angels with dirty faces down at his daycare. They came within days of each other and lasted weeks. It was not a pretty sight and I'm sure the little one wouldn't have enjoyed the event being visually documented for posterity.

He's all better now, so I'll have some snaps and stories to go up again soon, I'm sure.

Until then, courage.

Little Ghost, Little Ghost

2009-11-03T11:29:00.002+13:00

Halloween kind of crept up on us this year, occasions requiring costumes are usually treated with a fair amount of effort (see: Max, Cthulu) but when Friday the 30th rolled around and Bean needed an outfit for his daycare spooktacular we were caught quite unawares.

Luckily Mama is fairly handy with a needle and thread and managed to MacGyver up an adorable little ghost number, post haste. The real trick to a good ghost costume is to not have it look like a Klansman's getup, which I think she nailed, look how cute:

Later that night Bean, Uncle Pert and I hit the Halloween Living Wage protest, in which zombie workers rose up to demand fair pay, vampire bosses were burnt at the stake, and The Monster Mash was blasted ad nauseum. Good times.

Picture kindly stolen with no permission whatsoever from Resistance Photography.

Here's the White Stripes playing Bean's theme for the night:

Zoo Trip

2009-11-02T11:00:00.004+13:00

On the Labour Weekend break I took a trip down to Wellington to attend Punkfest, an annual three-day music event. It was good to get out of Auckland for the first time in far too long, though the experience did confirm the nagging suspicion I've had in the back of my mind for sometime; I'm getting old and can't do stupid things for quite such extended periods of time any more. Not without some naps, anyhow.

It was also the first time I had been away from Hunter for such a period, which left me feeling quite odd for a good portion of the time. Luckily he was having a better time than I was, he went with his Mama and Grandparents for his first ever trip to the zoo, which looked a little something like this:

Superbean is Super

2009-10-22T16:19:00.001+13:00

So long, Dee.

2009-10-16T12:16:00.005+13:00

Last week saw the departure of Hunter's very favourite daycare buddy, Dee, back to South Africa. A sad day indeed as Hunter had formed a very affectionate bond with Dee and he will miss her very much.

Hopefully we shall see her again some day. Good luck on the rest of your journey, Dee.

Attempts to console Bean with a trip to visit the pigeons...

...soon took a rather overpopulated turn for the worse.

Playtime with Auntie Steph makes everything better though.

I love this photo, the way he's holding that jar says it's about to go through somebody's window. And that grin says he's getting away with it, too.

Unmistakable family resemblance.

This is Bean's mouse, MausMaus. He rides it around like a flying marsupial out of Dante's Inferno. It goes really well on the hardwood floor.

More coherent things later. If you're lucky.

Visitations

2009-10-01T15:47:00.003+13:00

As promised, some photos of the aforementioned visit. They aren't of the candid or interesting variety, but rather those dull group shots that nobody except (some) of the people in the picture would possibly be interested in. *sigh* old people. Enjoy!

I could have sworn we had more than this inflicted upon us, we were posing for a damn age. They must be on other cameras I guess, if we're really super lucky maybe they will make their way onto here too at some stage.

Bean and the Family Stone

2009-09-29T11:42:00.006+13:00

This past weekend Hunter had a lovely visit with a few members of his extended family that, due to geography and circumstance, he doesn't see all that often. While the reason for the assembly was unfortunate (an illness in the family) I was glad Bean got to catch up with his Grandparents, Great Aunt, and Great Grandmother, and they all certainly seemed appropriately charmed by the wee one's antics (which I will hopefully have photos of soon).

Watching Hunter react to his relatives was an interesting experience, especially when he reacted in ways I hadn't expected. Bean isn't traditionally very shy around people, there's usually a steady stream of comings and goings in his Mama's and my respective communities, so he is well used to being around different people. It was odd, then, to see him react with a degree of trepidation to his Great Grandmother's embrace, she being the very picture of sweet, matronly affection.

This, of course, meant nothing at all to Bean. It was unlikely that he remembered their sole meeting in the past, he without the evolved headmeats to appreciate her obvious Great Grandmotherly qualities. Being the classy lady she is, his Great Grandmother took the toddler's impudence in stride, clearly taking great pleasure in his little smile regardless of who might be holding him.

For some strange reason that had seemed, on a stupidly instinctual level, wrong to me, like the arbitrary language of the extended family should have been imprinted fundamentally on the infant's slowly developing mind, an innate sense of Great Whatever emanating from these people that were otherwise relative strangers to the young boy. Of course that is a fully ridiculous thought, but it did get me wondering what, if any, conception of 'family' Hunter might possibly have.

When he first came into our lives I think it was pretty clear, in a rather painful way: Bean needed breastfeeding above all else and that was provided by his Mama, a singular, instant, and powerful connection between the pair that took me a long time to stop feeling jealous and inadequate about. It was a huge struggle to develop a close, day-to-day relationship with Hunter that wasn't coloured by how immediately accessible a breast was, but we got there eventually.

I could assume that by doing so I am now automatically figured as 'family' in the little guy's mind, but I doubt that would make any more sense than thinking it strange that he didn't automatically register his Great Grandmother as such. I'm sure there are some that would argue that the concept of family is etched in our DNA somewhere, but if that's true I doubt we favour any one particular organization (Mum+Dad+Baby=Family, for example) over any of the others, inherently.

Take the way we might imagine Hunter seeing the people in his life; is there any reason to believe that he sees those close friends of mine, who are a constant caring presence in his and my day-to-day existence, as a subordinate relationship to one based on blood? Not to look at him, that's for sure. Watching Hunter interact with the world, as yet unmolested by preconceived notions and societal norms (well, as much as that's ever possible), it seems to lend credence to the idea of 'chosen family', that blood relations aren't afforded any kind of mythical primacy over equally caring and supportive friends in one's life.

At any rate, biological imperative notwithstanding, I'm certainly thankful Hunter has so many different, wonderful people in his life, regardless of whether he sees them every day or once in a blue moon. If you're ever in the area please don't hesitate to get in contact, we would both love to catch up with anyone who would care to do the same, whether you're family one way or the infinite others.

Picdump

2009-09-11T10:44:00.004+12:00

Bean is sick (again) with a slight cold, so he hasn't really been up to much of great interest recently. He's almost all better though, so I'll probably have something more substantial to report over the weekend. Until then, pics:

Just Another of those 365

2009-09-08T13:50:00.002+12:00

Last week marked my second 'Father's Day' as a Dad and, to my immortal pride, Hunter completely ignored the occasion once again. I have nothing but the deepest of apathy for any of these silly greeting card holidays (in fact my little family went out for lunch and I bought Bean's Mama a meal, take that 'Father's Day').

The way I see it, I'm at least half responsible for bringing that little man, kicking and screaming all the way, into this horrible, grubby world so it's my job to forever try and make that up to him. You don't expect a parade for just doing your job.

Sentiments perhaps a little out of step with most? That might not be too surprising considering where I fit in with the Fatherhood stats issued by Statistics New Zealand for the occasion:

The average age of fathers of new babies is 33 years, but one in 100 babies has a father aged 50 years or over.
Not even close.

Today's newborn babies have fathers who are, on average, four years older than their own fathers were when they were born.
Nope again.

Fathers with children aged under a year old manage with 42 minutes less sleep than the average of 8.5 hours.
Well, that one is true enough, though I tend to manage on a whole lot less.

To coincide with those super-fun-happy-time statistics, the OECD have also just released their Doing Better for Children report that examines the well-being of children over the globe, and little old New Zealand doesn't do so terribly well:

Material conditions for Kiwi kids are relatively poor. Average family incomes are low by OECD standards and child poverty rates are high. The number of New Zealand children who lack a key set of educational possessions is above the OECD median.

In terms of child health, New Zealand has the highest rates of suicide in the OECD for youth aged 15-19. Overall child mortality is also higher than the OECD average. Immunisation rates are poor for measles (second worst in the OECD) and whooping cough (fifth worst in the OECD).

New Zealand spends less than the OECD average on young children and much less than it does on older children. Spending more on young children is more likely to generate positive changes and, indeed, is likely to be fairer for the more disadvantaged children. based on international evidence, the OECD concludes that New Zealand should spend considerably more on younger disadvantaged children. Equally, the New Zealand Government should ensure that current high rates of spending on older children are much more effective in meeting the needs of the disadvantaged amongst them.

Go on and take a day off to pat yourself on the back if you really want, but don't waste too much time on the hallmark-enforced self-aggrandising, we clearly have a lot of work to do.

Mic check.

2009-09-02T10:48:00.003+12:00

Well, cam check. Just a couple of shots to make sure I haven't cocked up any part of the process of using this new camera:

Alright, signal's coming through. More soon.

Technical Difficulties

2009-08-27T10:48:00.004+12:00

Well, that was anticlimactic. Just as my spirits were freshly lifted and I was ready to plow back into the chronicles of Bean, my digital camera decided to commit suicide. Drag. So, while we pause for a brief but triumphant reprieve as I sort out a replacement, enjoy these slightly older but hitherto unblogged Bean snaps:

Rumors of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

2009-08-05T11:51:00.004+12:00

I recently received a phone call from a worried relative who thought some great unpleasantness must have befallen me since I hadn't updated this blog in, gosh, a very long time. And fair enough too, as this is how a great many people outside my direct social circle keep tabs on me, so to you all I'm ever so sorry to have worried you.

Truth is something relatively unpleasant did befall me, but not in the life-threatening sense, more in the time-to-sort-out-your-shambles-of-a-life sense. And so sort it out I did, which required a diverting of surplus time and energy that would usually have gone towards updating this here digi-biography. But I'm back to full power now, if not full organization, and will commence with the semi-regular missives on Bean's comings and goings.

For now, bullet point development updates:

Bean now spews forth a dictionary of nonsense-speak, with a liberal sprinkling of 'Mama' and 'Dada' thrown into the mix.
He also now identifies the correct figures as Mama and Dada, respectively.
He's got four big ol' teeth, two up top, two downtown, all front and center. There's a fifth on the way.
He's walking now. Started off stringing a few ambitious steps together, refined his stroll to a more manageable width, and can now shuffle about freely like a mad little penguin.

More later. Like I said, I'll try and keep on top of this blog but if it does go quiet again you can check the following net spots before calling the cops to report my disappearance:

My Facebook page.
Bean's Facebook page.
My seldom used Twitter account.
My Gaming Blog.
My (somewhat neglected) Work Blog.
Or just email me at adrian_hatwell(at)hotmail.com

Party

2009-06-15T11:59:00.010+12:00

On Friday the 12th of June it was Hunter Slammy's 1st Birthday. He had a steady stream of visitors throughout the day and hosted a fantastic party throughout the night.

Bean was greeted by a lounge full of balloons when he first awoke, which thrilled him to no end. He seemed to really enjoy the sensation of being able to push things around on a grand scale, kicking the balloons all over the room.

His Mama handmade a dozen beautiful stuffed birds for the little man, presented to him in a pink bucket.

He loved the birds, but as tends to be the case it was the packaging that got the most attention.

He was also gifted a wooden flute (purportedly from our cat, Skelly) which he wasted no time in sussing out. After a few seconds of inquisitive chewing he was soon hip to the fact that blowing into the thing made a shrill noise. Which just happens to be his favourite kind of noise.

I bought Bean an authentic miniature bomber jacket for his birthday. It's a little big for him but it still looks damn warm.

To further add to Hunter's playtime cacophany he recieved a rowd butterfly keyboard from his great granddad, and this neat little musical tree ball slide thingy from his great grandmothers...

... Pip and Rae.

Here is the party boy with Liz, who dropped in during the day to deliver presents (superhero toys!) and returned later in the night for the costume party dressed as Death.

Bean finally got his hands on the classic hammer and peg toy set as well as a carton of crazy eggs, care of...

Granddad David and Gandma Jo. Bean is a big fan of the hammer, but he's already found much more interesting things to hit than pegs (the cat is less a fan of the hammer).

Here's the little man in his outfit for the night's party, Max from Where the Wild Things Are.

And here's the adorable costume with customary crown. King of the Wild Things, suits him pretty well.

Here's the little skinhead modeling a very cozy looking kitted hat care of his Aunty Genevieve.

Cut to a little later in the night and Bean is partying with his Auntie Steph and Tim, from whom he received a rather snazzy pair of bumblebee shoes. Steph knows how much I love Kiwiana.

This delicious morsel is the cake lovingly crafted by Mama. Apple sauce and dark chocolate, nom.

His Royal Highness is practically overcome by the spectacle, he may not have been able to blow out the candles...

...but he certainly made short work of the cake itself.

I was a little disappointing by how completely unperturbed he was by my terrifying Cthulu costume, but I guess a good cake can make you brave.

Other hearty revelers with the gumption to dress up included Callum as the crime fighting Spirit, and Nicole as the tea-obsessed Mad Hatter (though that was certainly not tea in her teapot). Excellent job guys.

Not pictured, thanks to my crappy camera dying on me, are Lucy and Pert who came dressed in fantastic Where's Wally costumes. I do, however, have this picture of the rather amazing amount of balls they gifted to Bean for his Birthday.

Nick didn't manage a costume, but that didn't stop him stealing a hat and drinking all my whiskey. He's lucky Hunter Slammy is rather fond of his Uncle Nick.

It was a great day and Bean was practically buzzing with excitement the whole time. He was very, very spoilt so thanks to everyone who came along or sent through their love remotely, you made Hunter's day (not to mention his parents').

Phew, that's year one down, can't be too many more until he's basically looking after himself, right?

Hikoi

2009-06-05T14:40:00.003+12:00

On the 25th of May a giant assemblage of citizens converged at the bottom of Queen St and marched to Town Hall to protest the government's current plans to transform Auckland into a less-representative 'super city'. Despite the horrible weather, Bean made an appearance.

The turnout was amazing, with a diverse range of activist groups turning up along with many individual citizens troubled by the fact that their democratic rights had, once again, been railroaded.

Some nice old lady gave Bean a helium filled balloon to hold, which fascinated him to no end. His favourite thing to do was whip it about frantically, hitting passers by indiscriminately in the face.

I closed my store for a little longer than I should have in order to join the ranks; Hikoi-ing is slow business so I wasn't able to stick around for the full length of the stretch. Apparently the mood stayed energetic and friendly throughout, with lots of chanting and song into the afternoon.

It was an inspiring display and I was glad to be there, even if participation by so many diverse groups meant the Hikoi's over-riding demands were less unified (some were there to secure Maori representation within the new system, others opposed the creation of the 'super city' entirely, etc.).

While the government’s proud tradition of completely ignoring its people's demands will no doubt continue unimpeded despite all this, at least if Bean ends up inheriting this diversity-suppressing, community-crushing legacy we now have photographic evidence that we tried.

So, So Busy...

2009-05-21T11:35:00.005+12:00

Have some pictures:

Don't forget Bean's Birthday next month, see y'all there.

Soon...

2009-05-05T13:05:00.002+12:00

Bean is almost a year old, that's difficult to believe.

We are going to be celebrating on the day of his birthday, Friday 12th June, and everybody is invited.

During the day his Beanship will be receiving guests, fraternizing with his baby comrades, and accepting tributes. If anyone would like to come along for a hug and a bit of a play please do (gifts really not necessary, Beano has so much stuff).

Later that night, once his royal oneness has gone to bed, we will continue to celebrate Bean's anniversary in a manner befitting responsible adults. This shall be known as the real party, it will be of the dress-up variety (theme: books), and it shall be hearty and rambunctious, as Bean would want it. Again, all welcome.

Mama has started a Facebook event for the party, as she is want to do, RSVP there if you feel the need.

Hope to see you all soon.

Kill Your TV (Except Sometimes)

2009-04-29T11:56:00.002+12:00

I like to watch TV with Bean on weekend mornings; the regular television programs are all terrible so we tend to watch DVDs. I don't think television has as crippling effect on children as many like to make out, but I'm only really comfortable encouraging the little guy to watch if the program is something I'm in control of.

During the weekdays I'm usually rushing around in an attempt to be as marginally late for work as possible, during this period Mama has taken to switching the TV on and plonking Bean down in front of it while she... well, I'm not really sure what she gets up to. This particular strategy has exposed me, in my most vulnerable early morning hours, to far more children's programming than anyone could possibly tolerate.

It's actually staggering how bad the quality of this stuff is, if it's not tailor-made to sell your kids some useless junk it's squawking down at them as if they were simpering idiots rather than capable beings developing at an inconceivably fast rate. There is one I like though.

Yo Gabba Gabba! (a title derived from the Ramones famous Gabba Gabba Hey! chant) is a particularly insane kids show in which a troupe of monsters (and a robot) are lead by futuristically retro DJ Lance Rock in all sorts of song and dance shenanigans. Unlike most of the insipidly butchered nursery rhymes of children's programming, however, the songs are fantastic, often performed by special guest bands that don't suck at all.

Today I caught one of my favourite modern ska/reggae bands, The Aggrolites, ditching their usual tough-guy image to perform an upbeat ode to the nutritional value of the banana. Check it out:

The Aggrolites - Banana (Yo Gabba Gabba!)

Previously we had Elijah Wood (heavily medicated, it would seem) teach a mind-blowing dance routine known as The Puppet Master:

elijah wood yo gabba gabba

And they even featured an animated episode in which a cartoon version of Alex Desert from the trad ska band Hepcat taught kids the virtue of picking up after themselves (though you have to be at least a little familiar with ska music to get the gag):

Yo Gabba Gabba! - Pick It Up (GOGO13)

Good times indeed, if that's brain washing then I willingly submit.

Yes in 09

2009-04-27T12:28:00.002+12:00

In the coming months New Zealanders are going to be asked what they think of current child laws via a postal ballot referendum.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. We won’t be asked what we think of current child protection laws, we will be asked “Should a smack as part of good parental correction be a criminal offence in New Zealand?” It’s a question divisively phrased to generate a ‘no’ vote as common sense. It is a misleading, irrelevant question that doesn’t address the issues behind 2007’s child discipline law at all.

A ‘yes’ vote in the upcoming referendum is a vote for positive parenting, child protection, and opposition to institutionalised violence. Challengers of the law would have us believe that it isn’t working, that good parents are being arrested in droves for nothing more than practicing sensible discipline on their children. This, as anyone with even a tenuous connection to the real world will tell you, simply isn’t true.

The law is there to ensure that what might be considered ‘acceptable physical discipline’ doesn’t degenerate into physical abuse. Institutions like Unicef, Plunket, Save the Children, and Bernardos deal with the reality of violence towards children on a daily basis, they understand the prevalence of such problems within New Zealand, and they support a ‘yes’ vote.

Physical punishment as a tool for teaching children discipline is not an effective or positive way to help children learn, it is the method of cowards and bullies. New Zealand as a culture has a grave problem with violence; it is tolerated, accepted, encouraged, and fetishised within our national character. If we teach our children that violence is an acceptable response to situations we do not like then is it really so shocking when they grow up to beat their partners, assault people who are different, or react to situations with unjustifiable force?

The facts are clear and readily accessible, and the human faces behind the statistics are all too easy to find. If opponents of the current law insist on wasting thousands of taxpayer dollars to undermine the rights of children with their underhanded referendum question then the least we can do is send them a resounding middle finger in response. Educate yourself on the issue, spread the word, and vote to help those who can’t help themselves.

More Beean

2009-04-15T10:08:00.006+12:00

As promised, here's a few more shots of Hunter in his ridiculously cute Bee costume. Only a couple, however, because for some reason that's all Mama deemed fit to take.

Apparently he was the best dressed there, which isn't really anything to be proud of since we just bought the costume the day before, but you take what you can get, right?

As a consolation for so few Bee photos I offer to you instead; Park Day.

We live just around the corner from Auckland's Domain, a big park area with lots of fun stuff for Hunter to toy around with.

For example, he can eat daises there. Excellent.

It also gives him a lot more space to crawl about and explore than our apartment, which he very much enjoys.

There's also a nice pond there filled with ducks and great nasty geese, Hunter was a little hesitant about the birds to begin with.

But trepidation gave way to curiosity and he was soon barking orders at them in his weird little language.

It's tricky keeping him outside on a nice day because he's really not supposed to have much exposure to direct sunlight at all. We usually slather him up in lotion before he goes out but I'm pretty sure he eats most of that.

He has become insatiably curious lately, he loves the tactile feel of different surfaces. He was completely memerised by the mossy bark on this big old tree.

Bonus Photos:

Bean at a food court.

And Bean as a coal miner.

OK, that's it for now. I might do a proper post with words and everything later at a less hectic date. If such a thing still exists.

Beean

2009-04-09T11:47:00.004+12:00

I just received a cell phone picture (via the internet, as my phone is the model they invented right after the car phone) that I thought intolerably cute, and wanted to share.

Hunter is off at his first costume party, hosted by Uptown Kids Daycare today. I didn't get to see him off because I had stupid work, so Mama (Edit: sorry, that was Grandmother) zapped me this picture of him in his Bee outfit.

Aww. The costume originally came with a lacy skirt thing, apparently the face my father pulled upon hearing that was comedy gold. Old people are funny. Anyway, Bean destroyed the skirt but he still looks pretty darn gorgeous I think. Better quality pictures to come once I get home and raid the camera.

Sickness Super Combo

2009-03-31T12:45:00.003+13:00

Poor Bean, he's been through the wringer lately. They say the younglings have to suffer through every bug and ailment under the sun in order to beef up their developing immune system, but at the rate Hunter is picking up illnesses he's going to have the constitution of Captain Marvel by age 2.

Upon being exposed to the grubby little rabble at his new day care (which he adores) Hunter has picked up a litany of coughs and sniffles, the latest of which lead to a fitful loss off his well learned sleeping routine.

The restlessness caused by that disruption lead to the little man attempting his daring cot escape, as detailed previously, resulting in a brief hospital stay.

And just to really put the boot in, whilst gumming all the interesting new toys in the hospital's waiting area Bean managed to pick up a nasty stomach bug. For the next week his tumultuous little tummy was violently expelling its contents in any and all directions possible. This was unquestionably gross, and upset the wee man to no end.

Worse still, the disgusting little bastard gave the sickness to me! So I've been sitting life out for the last few days, desperately replacing depleted resources, and watching that smug little man roll about feeling oh so much better.

To even things up I spread the Bean-plague to a few unsuspecting friends, but everybody is pretty much on the mend now, thankfully.

On to the next horrible disease, I guess.

A Portrait of the Escape Artist as a Young Man

2009-03-24T10:38:00.003+13:00

While it is not this publication's desire to cause alarm within the public, we feel it our journalistic duty to report the truth in an unabridged and timely manner. It is with grave concern that we now inform you that the master criminal and escape artist extraordinaire, Hunter Beandini broke free from custody last night.

His jailers report that early last night, while the young outlaw was assumed to be sleeping, Beandini was in reality hatching a cunning escape plan. Piling his standard-issue bedding high in the corner of his cot, the lithe rapscallion ascended the walls of his quarters and dropped painfully to the ground below.

Dutiful and responsible as ever, the naive guards took his pitiful yelps to be genuine suffering, shuttling the miniature grifter off to the nearest medical facilities.

Little did they expect Beandini was completely unharmed, the stunt merely a beguiling ruse to once again return to the general population, disappearing into the bustle of new toys and nubile young nurses offered by the hospital. It took Prison authorities 4 long hours before they could retrieve the prodigious swindler and return him to his incarceration.

It is not yet known if any member of the public fell victim to the criminal's many treacheries during his flight, nor were the prison staff able to offer much assurance that we are safe from repeat attempts. One guard issued the following statement:

"We are doing everything in our power to ensure such an escape doesn't happen again, though what can we do in the face of such masterful trickery? Greasing the cot and/or installing a series of large metal spikes are some of the ideas we are batting around presently."

More as the story develops.

The Beancave

2009-03-18T12:31:00.007+13:00

I'm going to chalk the lapse in posting up to technical problems. That's a lie though.

Finally committing to a self-settling routine we have Hunter sleeping in his own room now. It was quite a battle (and still is some days) but we left him to cry for so long that his automatic-sleeping switch finally got flipped and he can now nap out in his cot without having an aneurysm. Most nights he puts up a few minutes of fuss and then sleeps blissfully for a large chunk of the night.

His room (formerly my room) is quite neat, but we haven't really finished setting it up. Initially we had planned on painting it some kind of baby-appropriate colour, but then decided painting was both expensive and boring. Instead we are aiming to cover his walls in as many stimulating trinkets of interest as possible.

Basically we want his room to be covered in things given to or made for Hunter by the people that love him, which is better than a lame coat of paint. The following is some of what we have up on the walls thus far, but we still want much more. Anyone that would like to gift something for Hunter's wall - it doesn't matter if it’s not traditionally a wall-mounted thing - please get in touch, we would love as many people as possible to contribute.

His Auntie Mariko Rainbow painted this colourful twin set specifically for Bean’s wall. Upon hearing about Project Beancave Mariko's natural hippy creativity was jolted into effect, and the result is a dazzling interpretation of the creatures found both around the world and deep within the subconscious.

In the top left is a picture taken by our horrifically talented artist friend Mhairi-clare featuring myself as a heavy-drinking, disgruntled carnie. The shoot took forever, but it was worth it seeing the beautiful, blown-up photographs she produced.

In the top right is a special piece produced by Uncle Paulie, another ridiculously talented artist. Stencilled meerkats featured rather heavily in one of is past exhibitions, but this piece he whipped up especially for Bean. And it's absolutely adorable.

Below that is one of Mama's many cross-stitch pieces, her chosen outlet of creativity these days. Lots of her work has a geek theme, this one features a Nintendo Wii remote and nunchuck attachment arranged in a big heart shape, with the words "Wii Belong Together" in the centre. Tragically awesome.

This is a picture of my main contribution, a collection of colourful 7-inch records in picture sleeves. Not terrifically creative I'll admit, but considering the amount of time spent tracking down these somewhat rare artefacts it's no slouch effort. Featuring some of my (and therefore Bean's) favourite bands; The Specials, The Pogues, The Clash, The Cramps, and Madness. More to come, funds permitting.

Up the top here we have another of Mama's deliciously geeky cross-stitch designs, this time melding two uber-dorky references together. The words read, "Instead of shooting where I was, you should have shot where I was going to be", sound advice for any Space Invaders player, but also a quote from a videogame-themed episode of the greatest cartoon of all time, Futurama.

Below that we have a dubious entry. This is a hastily written note that I wrapped in Christmas paper explaining to Hunter that I did in fact have a gift for him, it just hadn't arrived yet. At least he had something to open on the 25th. This monument to my own disorganised parenting style was never meant to be enshrined on his wall, that was his devilish Mama's doing. I'm confident it will come down.

Here we have one of Mama's less-than-subtle political cross-stitch designs, a female symbol depicting a defiant raised fist with the words 'Fuck Patriarchy' underneath. Crass? Yes. Awesome? Even Yes-er. Ironically the piece is surrounded by two of the galaxy's most badass patriarchs, Darth Vader and Darth Maul. I believe they are filled with bubble bath.

We have some other kind donations that have yet to be displayed on the wall, but rest assured I will post them here when that gets sorted. But we still want more! If you would like something for Hunter to remember you by affixed to his wall then please do get in contact. It can be anything; a painting, a photo, a letter, a poem, an item of clothing, a guitar pick, a limb, a postcard, a poster, sheet music, an ashtray, a dense single-act play; whatever you like. Send it up and we'll find a way to get it on his wall.

Take care all.

For Ma

2009-03-07T12:29:00.002+13:00

Out and About

2009-02-19T11:26:00.007+13:00

Being constrained to a single indoor locale for long periods of time can wreak psychological havoc; I know I get horrible cabin fever working from my basement office 9-5 like a great big citizen square, and I imagine it's doubly frustrating for a house-bound infant that can't even articulate her protest beyond uncontrollable shrieks. So we try and get Hunter out of the house as much as possible.

He has had a rather full social calendar these last few weeks, please forgive any chronological errors as I relate them, my memory isn't in top shape.

Eating avocado, the Bean way

Some friends of ours, an unruly mob of Goths in fact, have recently moved to our lovely suburb of Grafton, and so we headed to the local park for a picnic to celebrate the bolstering of the Grafton Massive.

Bean loves romping about in the grass, shoving as much of it in his mouth before one of his killjoy folks comes to fish it out, so parks delight him. Picnics become a tad problematic with his newfound mobility as he does his level best to get up in our oily sun-dried tomatoes and hummus. In their pure form I don't think there's any reason he couldn't eat stuff like that, but considering all the crap that's no doubt been added to it I think its best kept away from his developing system. No problem with it destroying my own, though.

Chilling in Outhwite Park

It was a lovely afternoon until a big hairy crazy man decided to wander past and scream obscenities at me relentlessly. I do have a habit of offending people, but I truly have no idea what that guy's problem was. Anyone living around our area is fairly well used to dealing with the criminally insane, but throwing an infant into the mix made everyone uneasy. So we left promptly after his verbal assault.

We also attended the Auckland Lantern Festival, as we do most years, to celebrate the Chinese New Year. Much like the Diwali festival, the event attracts a staggering amount of punters. It's great to see the city embracing cultural events, but the sheer numbers can get a little intimidating, especially when trying to navigate with a stroller.

Bean quickly learns all the good stuff is on the top

As per usual the place was packed with big pretty lanterns, fantastic food stalls, and cheap useless crap to buy. The ornate lanterns hanging from the tree branches in Albert Park particularly captivated Hunter, but as his usual bedtime slipped further away he began to lose his cool. Still, you can't exactly appreciate the displays' glowing appeal during the day, so it was well worth it.

Finding friends for Bean to hang out with hasn't been easy, since both Mama and I are significantly younger than most of the parents we have encountered there aren't many in our circle who can provide defacto kinship for Hunter. Plus most people think we're a bit weird. Mama did manage to discover this rather nifty social network site Mums On Top, which has put her in contact with some other mothers that aren't from entirely different planets than our own.

Bean and his badass gang loitering in the park

The sprawling Domain down the road from our flat recently played host to a meet-up of Internet Mamas and their brood. Hunter got to roll about aimlessly with a few new playmates, which I'm told he enjoyed greatly (unfortunately I was working at the time).

The Auckland Museum also resides in the Domain so Mama took the opportunity to try a little osmosis-based learning on Hunter. The Museum currently has one of the largest, most well preserved dinosaur skeletons yet discovered on display, a T-Rex named Sue. The little guy was apparently very excited to meet the prehistoric husk, but who wouldn't be I guess.

Kind of hard to tell, but that's a giant dinosaur bone

Ever the popular location for these sunny seasons, The Domain later served as the green for the Justice for Palestine soccer tournament. We had intended on going along to support the event, and technically did I guess. However, when we arrived there was little action (half-time or something I guess) and the heat was just unbearably oppressive. After about 2 minutes of political solidarity we decided to hoof it for cooler climes.

The beginning of March marks the start of the University year and Mama is all signed up to continue her degree. For Hunter this means enrolment in a Daycare facility. Our initial research on such establishments turned up harrowing results. Not only were these tiny child-prisons sterile, impersonal, over-attended, and under-staffed, but they were also all booked out by crazy parents who had reserved spots before their kids were even womb-bound.

Gamecube, Bean's got good taste

As fortune would have it, after much fruitless searching, we came across a place that both met our criteria perfectly and wasn't completely booked up for the next 12 years. Apparently the kind of anal-retentive parents that raise kids who become accountants or advertising executives don't like the notion of children having fun, their own space, or ability to express themselves - so there was still space for Hunter at Uptown Kids.

After getting through the paperwork Mama took me along to meet the absolutely lovely staff working there. They showed us around the place, explaining their approach to childcare as we went, and by the end of it I was kind of jealous that I couldn't stay there. Once we get Hunter used to being apart from his Mama (which they do over a series of transition appointments) I'm sure he will adore that place.

It's a good thing you're cute, because you can't spell worth a damn

Beano also got to meet a few more members of his supporting cast recently; his Great Auntie Denise and Great Uncle Greg (whom he had met in Hamilton previously) came up to visit for a day, and his... no, I don't think I can figure out the wording for the relationship, but fantastic couple Paul and Anne also popped in with their newborn Ender. It was lovely to see everyone, and if there's anyone else across that great Internet sea that would like to arrange some face-time with Mr. Hunter, please let me know.

I grow bored with typing now, go live your lives.

Cherry front-carrier as designed by Mama

Still Alive

2009-02-04T10:51:00.003+13:00

It's been a while, huh? I don't really have an excuse, I haven't been any busier than usual or tragically injured, so lets just chalk it up to general ennui.

Hunter has developed some major mobility ability of late. His drawn out and frustrating pre-crawling gestation period has finally passed and the little guy is officially tearing up the living room. Along with being able to motor about on all fours Bean has also become proficient at pulling himself up on furniture to facilitate fake standing.

Apparently there is a little contention among those annoying parent types as to how early a baby should be supporting her own weight with the legs. The argument goes that the wee ones' bones are very soft mid-development and if weight is applied too early things will go horribly wrong. I don't buy it though; it's not as if we are dragging Hunter to his feet for our own entertainment, it’s neigh impossible to stop the little guy getting up on it. I really doubt he would be quite so keen if it felt like his bones were exploding.

We are also in the process of helping Bean adjust to sleeping in his own room. At first it was all long, rowdy nights that weren't doing anyone any favours, but he is slowly becoming more accustomed to sleeping in his own crib. And he loves his room -- the decorations for which I must remember to post about in some future entry.

If anyone feels like kicking it with Hunter in the near future the following are some of his planned outings. Please feel free to tag along:

Auckland Lantern Festival: Feb 6-8, Albert Park. Haven't picked a day yet but if I had to guess we will probably head along on the Friday.

Justice for Palestine Soccer Tournament, Feb 15 from 11:00 am to 6:00 pm, Auckland Domain. I'm not traditionally a sports fan but there will be food and wares and hopefully sun, with all money raised going to the Palestinian aid effort.

And on a non-Hunter note:

Propagandhi, Feb 12, The Studio. Canada's most outspoken band of commie vegan heretics are finally doing a New Zealand show. And pretty cheap too. You should come!

Days of Future Past

2009-01-14T11:37:00.003+13:00

Bean's Auntie Lucy asked me to post about what it is I want for the little guy in his future, but to be honest I haven't really given that very much thought. Sure, I wonder what he will turn out like and all that jazz, how my decisions will impact him, but as far as any real projection of his life in the future goes I really don't have any.

There are important attributes that I truly hope I (or anyone) can teach him, somehow, and also plenty of traits of mine that I hope to Lord Xenu he does not inherit.

I really hope Hunter picks up the ability to think critically and independently. The amount of information we have access to and are bombarded with increases exponentially by the day, even today there's just far too much for anyone to process; who knows what it will be like when Hunter grows up. I hope he picks up the skills never to be inundated and overwhelmed by the glut, because wading through our culture of excess and finding the small, hidden pockets of worth is one of my all time favourite things to do. I would hate that he missed out on that.

I hope he can find a few good people that he can call family; I don't know what I would ever do without my crew. There's no point in wishing that he develops the supernatural wisdom to weed out the snakes and avoid the mistakes we have all made in the past, because that's all part of it. But I hope he at least gets half as lucky on that front as I did.

If there was some way of ensuring he didn't have certain parts of me within him - that he had better self-discipline, more patience, is never forced to understand addiction, and had a greater capacity for forgiveness - then I would do it in a heartbeat. But there isn't, so at least he'll have someone who understands all those shortcomings very, very well.

Most of all (and most clichéd) I just hope he is free. Free to be happy, free to make his own decisions, free from the imposition of others values and systems of thought, free to struggle where he (or anyone else) isn't free. I can only do so much to make that happen, but hopefully I can help arm him with the tools to do the rest himself.

That's about it, nothing particularly original or enlightening. Sorry I don't have some vivid imagining of how Hunter's life might pan out, but this is such an unstable world I wouldn't know where to begin. Maybe as a post-apocalyptic intergalactic grey market courier. Yeah, that will do.

You're so Pretty When You're Angry

2009-01-09T11:18:00.004+13:00

I don't know when it happened, but at some point I became the exact type of parent I didn't want to be. I know there's nothing wrong with adoring your kid, but I didn't want to be one of those parents that pushed that adoration onto others. I know too well that most babies, to eyes not their parents', look like shaved monkeys, and I have no interest in awkwardly forcing other people to lie about that. Maybe it's because there are always so many people around fawning (in seemingly genuine fashion) over little Hunter that I lost my bearings. I don't know, either way there's no excuse for it really. I entered Hunter in a beauty contest.

Now, now, it's not as bad as it sounds. It's not one of those creepy dressed up like weirdly sexualized mini-slut, face-stapled, Vaseline smile, win-or-you-get-the-jug-chord type of things. You may recall, those of you who have been with us since day one, that the first piece of clothing I got for little Bean, before he had arrived, was a little green Billy Bragg onesie featuring a Joe Strummer stencil. This came from a very cool website called Baby Wit; it was their beauty contest.

They asked customers to send in pictures of their kids rocking the Baby Wit gear, and they were going to pick their favourites to receive some free stuff. Being a big fan of free stuff I submitted the following:

Bean was just a day old at that point and a little bit yellow due to his jaundice. Even so, the little dreamboat took out runner up place and won himself an organic fleece hat. Unfortunately I neglected to tell the nice people that he was no longer one day old but rather a bonny seven months, and so the prize they sent is far too small. Oops.

So if anyone is in need of a rather lovely hat for their infant drop me a line. And not to worry, we will just win something even better next time, imagine the damage this devastating little bombshell would do to the competition now. Yeah, no pressure at all.

Of oh so Many Christmases

2009-01-02T10:27:00.007+13:00

Starting in November with our trip down to Hamilton and lurching through until a few days after Boxing Day, the festive season just refused to lay down and die in '08. In total we ended up having four different Christmas celebrations, which is certainly well beyond the pale for someone who thinks just the one is far too much. Still, we were well fed and little Bean had many tributes heaped upon him, so I can't protest too loudly.

Bean enjoying his new moose Christmas present.

The too-early pseudo-Christmas in Hamilton aside, our first Yuletide jaunt was when we were invited to lunch with Bean's granddad (Mama's Dad) ahead of time as they were trekking down south for the main event.

Hunter has quickly developed a talent for ripping through wrapping.

It was an absurdly hot day, but Hunter didn't mind at all; he had real carpet to roll around on (a far cry from our dirty old, worn-bald flooring at home) and a whole heap of gifts from the family; chief among them a giant stuffed caterpillar with the alphabet on its side, which Hunter loves. An oversize novelty toy to cram into our already suffocatingly packed apartment, cheers guys!

The giant Spell-erpillar, in the fuzzy flesh.

Later that week my folks popped in for an impromptu gift giving session, with some wonderful wooden blocks for Hunter. While he's not yet up to playing with them in the intended manner the rest of us are certainly enjoying using them to spell out inappropriate words.

Hunter and his Grandmother raving it up on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve saw us truck off to Hunter's Grandmother's place (Mama's mama) for a bit of a bash. The place was packed with people I mostly didn't know, but they all fawned over Hunter and there was plenty of wine to go around, so things stayed nicely festive.

Jolly Jumping results in rather a lot of drool.

Getting his gift a little ahead of time, Hunter was permitted to play in his brand new 'jolly-jumper' (a spring-supported harness that affixes to a door frame, which lets him bounce up and down on his own) that night, to entertain the troops. He was a little beguiled by the apparatus at first, but was soon grinning manically as he bobbled about -- jumping is pretty much his favourite thing to do these days.

Our staggeringly awesome Justice Tree.

We stayed the night there and did the Christmas Day gift unwrapping in the morning before returning home where I quickly retreated into a book, desperately wishing for the rest of the day to pass me by promptly; I'd had my fill of Merry Christmases.

Bean doing his best Paulie impersonation.

There was still one to come though, an event referred to as 'Real Christmas' in which our crew gather together on the nearest convenient date for us all (this time December 27th) and eat fine vegan cuisine, drink the cheapest stuff we can get our hands on, and generally make fools of ourselves.

Chum on the drums at Real Christmas.

Throughout the year I have been trying to hone my meager cooking skills, and Real Christmas was an opportunity for me to put them to the test. Based loosely on the feast I prepared the previous year I managed to serve up a relatively competent version of the following meal:

Me Metaling it up on Guitar.

Creamy Asparagus Soup
Sizzling Santas in Blankets (quartered vege sausages wrapped in sundried tomatoes and grilled)
Creamy Mushroom Puffs
Almond Broccoli with Garlic sauce
Sesame Roasted Potatoes
Nut Roast with sage and red wine stuffing and mushroom gravy

Mama spits some ill rhymes for our band 'The Party'.

People seemed to dig it and there was definitely enough food to go around. In between eating and drinking the day was peppered with enthusiastic attempts at becoming the worlds worst Rock and Roll group with my Christmas gift, the video game Rock Band. While the neighbours might not have enjoyed the racket, Hunter was certainly entertained by all the trashing and banging.

Neither Lucy nor Bean are appreciative of our avant-garde musical style.

All told the Christmas Season was (like most of this year) hectic but worthwhile, even for a Grinch like me. I hope everyone had a killer New Year's and good luck with all your ridiculous resolutions. I'll be hoping for an '09 that's a little less stressful and terrifying; somehow we made it through, here's to just as much dumb luck this year.

Bean lays down some backing vox for The Party's first single.

Passion is a Fashion pt 2

2008-12-29T15:43:00.007+13:00

As promised, the rest of Bean's sweet new threads.

The last bunch were mainly music oriented, so the next couple are to balance out the geek quotient. The picture here isn't great (aside from having a super cute kid in it) but the image is homage to Prince's Purple Rain, but with Batgirl perched on the purple motorbike instead of His Royal Badness. Compare and contrast:

It should be noted all images are shamelessly stolen, this one from the talented Cliff Chiang, and the rightful owners will see not a cent from me. Ha.

This next one is the cover image for an issue of one of the greatest American comic book series ever written, Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon's Preacher. The story is a fantastic road trip across modern day America in which a scrappy lapsed preacher, his outlaw girlfriend, and an alcoholic Irish vampire attempt to track down God and ask him, rather sternly, just why Earth is such a crappy place.

Finally, we have a very simple design paying tribute to Trojan Records, the British label that brought such fantastic Jamaican music to the rest of the world as Desmond Dekker, Jimmy Cliff, Delroy Wilson, and Dennis Brown. And it has absolutely nothing to do with condoms.

That's the lot so far, I have a bunch of other designs planned but if and when I get around to making them is not for us mere mortals to know.

Next episode: Christmas merriment.

Zombie Bean says Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T14:08:00.003+13:00

Happy Holidays, all.

Passion is a Fashion pt 1

2008-12-16T11:37:00.005+13:00

There are a few places where you can pick up some fairly awesome baby clothes (and whole lot more where you can pick up some tragically cheesy baby clothes masquerading as awesome) but none of them are exactly cheap. So I figured I would make my own righteous baby clothes with cheap blank shirts and iron-on transfer paper. It's a fairly ghetto way of doing it (I'm hoping to get around to some DIY screen printing eventually) but they turned out pretty good, I think.

This first one pays homage to Tom Waits, musician, poet, actor, artist, and my own personal Jesus. If you don't know Mr. Waits' incredible, surreal, jangly, undefinable music yet I suggest you get acquainted quick smart. Be it his early days as a crooner, gin-soaked honky tony Island days, or his later surrealist mash-ups, I've never met a person that didn't dig at least some of the man's work. Bean certainly likes it.

The photo is a little small to see the detail on the shirt, but it has this image printed on it:

If Tom Waits is Jesus then Shane MacGowan is, I dunno, Batman. Lead singer of the Pogues, drinker, philanderer, winner of the Guinness Book of World Records worst teeth award, Shane is the very definition of lovable rogue. I certainly hope I get to see him sing live before he kicks the bucket (which can't be far off) he's the last of the true romantics.

This one came out particularly well, and that the image focuses on those ghastly chompers of his is just brilliant.

While Bob Marley merch is a dime a dozen in any old clothing shop I wanted to pay homage to a slightly less merchandized but no less deserving reggae leader, Peter Tosh. Even if you're not into Roots music you no doubt know a fair few of Tosh's hits, though sadly it's probably through bastardized advertisement jingles. The prophet was a true Jamaican treasure, and the story goes that after he was shot dead in a gang robbery his killer was convicted following the shortest jury deliberation in the nation's history. Because he was a national treasure.

Again you can't really see the detail of the image in that photo, but it looks a little something like this:

This next one looks the best of the lot, I think, just because the image works so well on the lovely blue colour of the shirt.

A parody of the classic Obama Hope image used in the presidential campaign, tis image substitutes the president elect for Marvel comics' most badass pot riveted villain, Dr. Doom. Here's what the original image looked like for those who have been living in a hole:

The following is probably my second favourite; it depicts the Ska Girl logo created for the fantastic 80's ska band The English Beat. The image has since, along with The Specials' Walt Jabsco, come to represent ska culture as a whole. Plus it's just plain cool (so much so that I have a very similar shirt myself.)

Again, for the sake of detail, the original image:

I whipped up a couple more but don't yet have photos of them, so that will have to be part two.

0.5

2008-12-12T11:28:00.003+13:00

Today Beanie is half. The past six month's have gone by so fast it's hard to fathom; it seems like just the other day I was awkwardly trying to break the news to my nearest and dearest.

It certainly hasn't been easy but I couldn't really imagine my life any other way at this point. I would like to say I'm getting the hang of this parenting gig, but it would be a total lie. Just when I think I'm finally on top of things the little guy just goes and develops some new quirk for me to be hopeless at dealing with.

Even so, here are a few things that I've learned in the past half year that I would like to tell my 6-months-ago self:

You don't need half the crap they want to sell you. This is a general rule for all things in life, but no matter how savvy a consumer you may be, when there's a baby on the way it's hard not to panic and feel the need to buy every little bit of baby rubbish on the market, just to have your bases covered. You do not need it. Even a lot of the big things that you might take as a given are not strictly necessary depending on how you plan on doing your thing. If you take some time to really asses what function a product provides, and consider alternative ways of achieving that you quickly find creative, inexpensive, less wasteful ways of filling a need.

You don't have room for half the crap they want to sell you. Had I been given the above advice then this would not have been an issue, but as it transpired I spent anxious months saving my meager wages, pouring over websites, and buying up every little thing I thought the kid would need. Not only did a lot of it turn out to be unnecessary, but it now sits taking up huge amounts of space in our flat of which there is precious little. You doubly don't need it.

There's nothing like a baby to bring out people's generosity. No matter how cynical your view of the human race might be, have yourself a kid and watch people pour affection and generosity in your direction. We were sent love, well wishes, and gifts from all over the show, it was an overwhelming task to even keep track of it all. Thank you to everyone who was thinking of us, I know I've not yet been able to thank everyone personally but I will continue to make my way slowly through that list, and we appreciate your kindness so very much.

You're always doing it wrong. There are a lot of different schools of thought on how best to raise a kid, and no matter which way you decide to go there will always be plenty of people around to tell you you're wrong. They are usually ignorant pains in the ass. Educate yourself, be open to suggestions, see what works for different kinds of people, love your kid, don't let the bastards grind you down. This is advice I am giving to my present-day self also, someday I hope I'll learn it.

I must get around to building that device. The one that slows time to a more reasonable pace.

Sure, it changes everything, but not as much as you think. There is no part of my life that has remained unchanged since I had Bean, and that's the big scary shock that hits people when they are expecting. But it's not the mortal wound to your old life that it's often made out to be. If a perennial slacker like me can learn to manage his time just a little better in order to try and fit in everything and everyone I care about, then pretty much anyone can.

Time and space to yourself is precious. Don't take that for granted.

Kids are great motivators. Whether it's because I'm trying to be someone Bean can be proud of, or trying to get things done before he gets old enough to make it impossible, or am just stubbornly trying to prove it can be done even though I'm young, poor, hopeless, and have a kid: Hunter has, in one way of another, motivated me to do many things I would probably have kept on the 'meaning to do' list forever otherwise.

Hunter is awesome. There's just no getting around it. You're all jealous, admit it.

Happy half-birthday, Bean-o! If you could stop growing up quite so fast that would be great, otherwise continue as you were; it's a fine job you're doing.

Once More Into the Breach

2008-12-09T12:17:00.004+13:00

Mama, Bean and I travelled back to my hometown of Hamilton a few weeks back in order to circumvent the whole Christmas gathering thing (which I don't do - I've worked the last five Christmas Days, usually by choice.) We stayed with my folks and invited members of the extended family to meet Hunter for the first time. Despite being hosted in the squalid backwards cesspool that I had so happily left behind (the town that is, not my parents house; that's quite fancy) the occasion was not overly excruciating.

Bean and Nana Val

The guests of honour were the matriarchs of both sides of the family, Nana Val and Grandma Bloss. It was their first time meeting their great grandchild and both seemed suitably smitten.

Bean and Grandma Bloss

Representing the Hunt clan were my wayfaring cousins Loren and Katie who I had not seen in far, far too long, and my Uncle Greg. It was lovely to catch up with them.

The Whole Fam Damnily

I was super excited to introduce Bean to my dogs too; I hadn't seen Arnie and Austin in the longest time. The big golden retrievers were a bit intimidating for the little man, especially their boisterous barking, but he eventually mellowed to their presence. Of course he had met scatty little Maddy before, and with the surly old ginger cat Scamp thrown into the mix Hunter was almost surrounded by more animals than humans. Which is always awesome.

Our crew outside my old room

My Mother prepared a delicious feast for us all (considerately catering to us pain in the ass vegetarians) and the day unrevealed in vintage summery fashion. Of course you can't call it a night until someone has drank far more than they should have and made an ass of themselves; thanks for the entertainment, sis.

Mama and Bean

I then continued my long-standing tradition of terrible decisions and went out to town with some friends that night; it just so happened to be the night that some idiot monkey rugby team beat some other idiot monkey rugby team and the entire town seemed to have lost their minds over it. It took remarkably little time for the jerks, thugs, and sycophants to remind me why I was so desperate to leave Hamilton in the first place.

Bean and I backed by the folks' palatial view

All told it was a successful first road trip for Mr. Hunter, one rewarded with good food and great company, I'm sure he very much enjoyed meeting everybody. We'll just make sure the next meet-up takes place somewhere a little less fanatical...

Grandma Bloss, Bean and I

Solid

2008-12-05T14:00:00.005+13:00

There are a number of pressing things I should be attending to right now rather than posting this, but here's a milestone I thought y'all might dig. Presented for your consideration: a photo series of Bean's first solid(ish) food.

That's delectable lukewarm cooked apple purée he's wolfing down there. The doctor told us to expect him not to care for the taste of it initially, as it would be so foreign to him, and to just try and persist with the feeding until he gets used to it. The little guy couldn't get enough from the second we dangled it in front of him, he destroyed that entire bowl and still seemed to want more! Where do they find these doctors?

And for the record that is categorically not my Jilly Cooper book in the background.

Cashed out on Culture

2008-11-27T12:04:00.005+13:00

I never get sick of starting a post by apologizing for not posting in such a long time. As stated by the harpy in the comment section of last post, we have had a rather eventful interim. I won't be regaling you with tales of suspense and horror regarding our Hamilton trip this post, as the photos (of which there were certainly many) currently reside on other cameras. Once I get them sent my way I'll give you all the play by play (well, a heavily sanitized version at least.) For now; the events previous to.

On the 15th of November Bean had his first cultural experience that didn't involve movies, comic books, or video games - y'know, proper culture. We attended the opening day of the Finicky art exhibition by one Paul McLeod. While getting a little art up you is a noble endeavour in any instance, this was an especially grand occasion as Paul McLeod just so happens to be known as Uncle Paulie to our whānau.

Paul's work is amazingly cool (yes, that is the depth of my critical lexicon when it comes to this kind of thing) and we were all so unspeakably proud to see it hanging in the gallery (though I'm prouder still to have instances of it sprayed around our neighbourhood.) It's hard to tell just how much Hunter enjoyed the works, but he certainly basked in the attention from those gathered at the event.

I'm really no good at describing art in a way that isn't woefully superficial, so you should just head to Paul's website to get a proper look at his work, it's frightfully wonderful. It would be remiss not to also mention that Mama had something on display at the event; she whipped up an absolutely insane amount of mini-cupcakes to feed the punters. They were a big hit, and we were still snacking on the surplus for days to come.

Once we had been subtly shown the exit by the gallery's staff after having done our best to get through the bottles of free wine on offer we decided to take Bean to the local beach. This was the wee guy's first experience with the ocean and the scope of things left his little mind a tad boggled.

It was a lovely day and the prospect of a quick paddle in the cooling waves was a welcome one. Mama propped Hunter up so that the waves would gently lap at his feet. While he made no immediate protest, the sensation didn't exactly fill him with glee either. Confusion seemed to be the reigning feeling as his little feet sunk from view into the wet sand.

Feeling we had probably blown his mind enough for one day we decided to lug the salty sea dog back to shore, and as he gazed back at the beach he began to grin and giggle uncontrollably. I guess he enjoyed himself more than is wide, anxious eyes conveyed.

Ever since becoming a Dad I've been chomping at the bit to take Hunter to a playground. I've been a huge playground enthusiast even before having a kid and looked forward to the possibility of not being met with fearful apprehension by the parents supervising their own children - Bean was my ticket to playground legitimacy. Obviously he's not really old enough to enjoy rich and rewarding experiences a bountiful playground offers, but there was time enough for a quick jaunt down the slide before having to leave.

I am super proud that Hunter's first art gallery experience was courtesy of his ridiculously talented Uncle Paulie (he has since already had his second, in which I basically stood around getting the pram in the way of preening hipsters diligently attempting to appear unaffectedly cool and well read... ick) and I'm sure there will be many more to come; Paul is well on his way to fame, fortune, and decadent artistic debauchery.

Tune in next time, once the photographic evidence has been properly collated (that's your cue snap-happy family members, email that stuff to me) for Hunter's first road trip, first exposure to *shudder* Hamilton, and first hugs and kisses from many members of the family.

Ragnarok Boogaloo Beatdown

2008-11-11T10:25:00.004+13:00

So, after election results that had anyone not super-rich or completely masochistic sobbing quietly into their whiskey glass, we are transmitting again. Loud and proud as ever, regrouped for three years of struggle. Nothing new for trash like us.

Being that it was Bean's first election we figured we had better show him what proper democracy looks like. So we stocked up on booze, fired up the barbecue an invited our friends from across the political spectrum. Drinking, eating, with a little bit of voting squeezed into the middle; apparently true democracy looks very similar to any other weekend.

Most people had better things to do than help educate an eager young mind on the workings of our nation first-hand, but those that did show up made a good show of it. So cheers to all the politically conscious revellers, Hunter seemed to really enjoy himself.

Obviously the next day was a bit of a downer, due in equal part to the election results and copious amounts of alcohol, so it was a pretty subdued Sunday. But Bean digs those too.

I don't know why but I never ended up blogging about taking Hunter to Armageddon last month. For those that don't know, Armageddon is our massive annual geek festival. Comics, videogames, celebrities, cosplay, wrestling, anime, anything and everything dorky from up and down the country packs out the Aotea convention centre for Labour weekend. It has been pretty commercially oriented of the last bunch of years, ditching much of the real culture, but we felt it important to Bean's development as a budding young geek all the same.

I mention it now because I'm pretty sure his nerdy conditioning is starting to pay off. Every weekend morning I sit down with Hunter and watch episodes of Batman: The Animated Series on DVD. We've almost made it through all four seasons. Initially he wasn't too interested, it's quite a dark cartoon and his attention quickly wandered. These days he seems so much more attentive, often sitting still for an entire disc worth of episodes (and he loves the Joker, always elicits a grin.)

Of course we don't want to encourage him to surrender his little mind to television, that's just a weekend thing, celebrating my not having to immediately leave the house in the morning. One thing we had always planned on adding to our crew in order to stimulate the little one's mind was a pet, everyone in the Grafton Massive loves animals - despite varying degrees of allergy - and we figured once we had the hang of running a kid we would sort out a friend for him.

The situation sorted itself out, however, when a beautiful white cat suddenly found itself with no place to go. As so many do, the little waif found her way to us and has now been assimilated into our little community. Skeletor (or Skeli to her nearest and dearest) is six months old, a little ahead of Hunter (who is five months tomorrow) and absolutely full of insane energy.

Hunter has been around a fair amount of dogs in close proximity by way of visits from both grandmothers and their little companions. He's caught glimpses of cats before too, of course, but he has never really had the chance to share space with one. Although wary of the critter to begin with, both parties now seem fascinated and respectful of each other. The beginning of a beautiful friendship and a lasting love of animals, hopefully.

By now you should all probably have the odds sorted on your picks for Bean's first word, it seems as though it will be coming any day now. Until then, take care of yourselves and we shall check back in soon.

A bit of administration stuff; it's great that people are using the comments section to shoot the breeze, but anyone dropping racist shit will be promptly bounced, I don't care who you are. Is that really want you want Hunter to see if and when he revisits this blog? Just a friendly heads up.

Change

2008-11-06T11:23:00.005+13:00

I was born during the Reagan Administration, an American legacy that cast a pall over global politics lasting well beyond that presidency. It ushered in an era of neoliberal globalization, destructive foreign policy, a domestic policy of social inequality, and the rise of a brutish, dim, intolerant national character.

It was an era that, for the last eight years, had culminated in the most hellish, corrupt, immoral, untrustworthy administration that America had ever seen. It seemed that no matter what right headed, socially conscious, moral people did nothing could make an impact on the bigoted, selfish, violent era that had dominated since 1981. Until now.

America has elected their first black President. A President that has promised to end America's dedication to the ignorant destruction of the planet, to end an unjust war, to establish a practical plan to eliminate nuclear weapons, to shut down state run torture camps, to make a realistic contribution to fighting extreme global poverty, to end trade deals based on exploitation of the poor and destruction of the environment, to acknowledge and take action to end crimes against humanity commit across the globe. To act like a leader of his people. That's one hell of a job he's set for himself.

I can't remember any significant event in global politics that has ever inspired me to feel hopeful. Being politically aware and active has always been an exercise in resistance, criticism, and defence. I literally have no idea what having a good man in power is supposed to feel like, closest I've come is an unhealthy addiction to The West Wing. Lets hope we are all about to learn first-hand.

A world where corporate greed trumped human needs, poverty ran rampant, war was a permanent thing, where people didn't have the common sense not to destroy or deplete the resources they needed to survive, where the racist, sexist, homophobic, violent voice was always the loudest, where living in fear seemed like an acceptable model for freedom - to have Hunter grow up knowing all this as just a bizarre footnote in history seems like an absurd, impossible dream. But for the first time in my lifetime it seems like an absurd, impossible dream that might actually be worth dreaming.

Too bad it looks so grim on the local front, huh? Oh well, courage.

Photo Dump

2008-11-04T10:44:00.005+13:00

There sure were a lot of words in that last post. Lets go with pictures this time:

Paulie and Bean (wearing his grossly inaccurate 'Mum Rocks' shirt,) watching something very involving on television. Probably America's Next Top Model.

One of Mama's patented internet-ready self-portraits. What can I say, she gets bored.

Here's Bean ruining a perfectly lovely photo with Lucy. He's learning fast.

That's one hell of a forehead, he's got a bit of a Charles Xavier thing going on there.

This is Hunter's treasured friend Divine (named after the original Pink Flamingo) He loves nothing more than a good cuddle before trying to stuff her in his mouth.

He also devours literature; here he is attempting to chew through his weird scrunchy animal book.

He's really got the hang of smiling and laughing now, there's nary a minute he's not doing one or other.

Unless, of course, he is fleeing in terror from the giant DVD wall of doom!

As you can see in the background out place is pretty much a multicoloured pit of strewn plaything 24/7 (though I'm pretty sure I still have more toys than he does.)

Jump over to Hunter's Flickr page for more images.

The War in Retrospect

2008-10-23T12:25:00.006+13:00

Last night while preparing dinner I got a call from my Nan, not a wholly unprecedented event but still rather rare. She had seen a promo on television for a news segment investigating an unconventional schooling program called Tihoi. For those who don’t know, Tihoi is a dank little burg in the middle of the North Island. An unremarkable place until you stumble upon a complex that could easily be mistaken for a small cult. This is the Tihoi Venture School; a place where the 4th formers attending expensive St. Pauls Collegiate in Hamilton get sent for a half-year program in ‘becoming a man’.

The reason my Nan thought that this was worth bringing to my attention is because when I was 14 I attended Tihoi; although in the circles I now run it is inappropriately known as Nazi Death-Camp. I did not enjoy my odyssey of self-discovery and made no secret of the fact. While TV One’s coverage of the place was little more than a glorified ad for the school rather than actual reporting, the sights and faces did bring back a lot of memories.

Predictably, the TV spot focused on a bunch of grinning boys pontificating on just how valuable they already feel their Tihoi experience had been, how lucky they are to have had the opportunity, and (in vintage St. Pauls fashion) just how much better than everyone else the venture has made them. These are not uncommon sentiments for the leavers of Tihoi to espouse, in my intake I was one of a very few who were not toeing that company line by the end. If you talked to these kids a little earlier, however, the story would have been very different (though perhaps pointing a camera at them would still obscure it.)

I’ve related my Tihoi experiences on numerous occasions to anyone who was curious, sparing none of the grizzly details. The television segment showed very little beyond a bunch of wholesome teens mucking in, running about the place, basking in each other’s comradery, and just letting their manliness swing about all over the show. Even with the smiley, sweaty public face stamped over the footage there was stuff in there that made the uninitiated think twice. Upon seeing a kid tossed into a freezing river at some ungodly time in the morning Mama, who has heard all my war stories numerous times, turned to me and said “wait, they actually throw you in the river?”

Yeah they do. They do a lot worse than that too. I guess she, and probably anyone else listening, had assumed I’d painted the picture with my usual penchant for hyperbole. After all, why would any sane person put up with all the stuff I had bitched about? Well, the truth is - despite what the mud-stained talking heads might have you believe - they didn’t put up with it. Most of them didn’t, anyway. At least not initially. Kids broke down, tried to run away, injured themselves, pleaded to come home, or just suffered in silence. A good time was not had by most. Those that did enjoy it, well, they were pretty easy to pick out; they usually stood a few feet above the rest of us.

I wasn’t a very physical kid back then, didn’t much care for nature or health, and can’t say there was much in the Tihoi curriculum that had instant appeal to me. You might think that looking back now, with my vegetarian diet, environmental outlook, activist tendencies, and general predisposition towards self-reliance and communal co-operation that I might see the Tihoi experience as one of the roots of who I am now. I don’t. Because the fact is despite their ‘great outdoors’ and ‘social development’ rhetoric that was never what Tihoi was about. Sure, the setup would have been the perfect opportunity to instill in kids an appreciation for our limited resources, an awareness of the ecological damage we inflict, a drive to live a less corporate-reliant life, and an experience in mutual aid over competition. But that’s not what the camp was there to do.

The Tihoi Venture School was there to make you a man. Because a man is something you need to be made into. You might think there are infinite different examples of what a man might be, you might think that every way of experiencing life has value regardless of how different it is to your own. Hell, you might not even think that being a man is really that important as to how you define yourself. But according to Tihoi Venture School you would be wrong. There is a singular vision of how a young man should develop and if you diverge from it you will be punished until you get it right.

The reason so many people hated Tihoi when they first started is because they came from a life where, most likely, they were exposed to a wide variety of different people living life on their own terms. Even in a rather insulated community like St. Pauls it was impossible to be completely removed from people of other cultures, classes, races, orientations, genders, affiliations. When you cut all that away, restrict experience to such an incestuous sample group – 14 year-old, usually wealthy, usually white, males – it can be a uniquely disorienting and troubling experience. Those that don’t find it so have the benefit of already fitting more closely the mold that the school promoted; they were already big, capable of and willing to physically intimidate those that don’t fit until they do.

So don’t mistake those ginning idiot faces trotting so gaily across your television for healthy, adjusted young men that faced adversity and overcame. They didn’t learn to coexist with others, they didn’t learn hidden special truths about themselves, and they didn’t rise above. They were beaten until they broke, until the only way to continue was to convince yourself that you were finally becoming a Tihoi Man, and that it was what you wanted all along.

Want proof? Go and track down almost anyone who has been out of Tihoi for a few years. They will have completely shed any and every positive attribute that TV One’s ridiculous little program ascribed to the school’s influence, because they went back into the world and had to re-learn that there isn’t just one singular way of being, and that excelling at your chosen (or coerced path) doesn’t make you better than anyone else. The more thoroughly they have learned this lesson - the more thoroughly they have un-learned Tihoi - then the happier, healthier, and more loving person they tend to be (in my experience.)

Or, y’know, maybe they just became bitter angry husks of a person like me. Ha ha ha. I’ve been thinking about education a lot lately with little Hunter in mind, and I think I did take away a very valuable lesson from Tihoi; that it represents the absolutely worst, most unnatural way to do things, no matter how many trees you surround it with. So thanks for the heads-up Nan, it was good to get that fresh in my head, for Hunter’s sake.

Ok, naval-gazing over, you may return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Weekendstravaganza

2008-10-20T11:35:00.004+13:00

Would you look at that, another post with less than a week since the last. Truly these must be the End times.

Hunter had himself a very busy weekend, with lots of comings and goings, meeting new people, and falling asleep in exotic locales.

On saturday Mama, Paulie, Bean and I headed to Parnell to help raise money for Plunket. Mama had arranged a bouncy castle to rope in unsuspecting kids as they passed by, naturally their parents followed swiftly behind, never suspecting for a second that we were abut to mug them for charity. Actually, with some of the looks Paul and I got I think a few of them did suspect we were going to mug them, but I'm sure the charity bit came as a complete surprise. Parnell is so provincial.

Pedestrians weren't the only ones somewhat wary of these weird looking strangers in their midst. Deciding I had earned a break I snatched up Hunter and took him for a quick bounce on the inflatable castle. While he has rocking ear-to-ear smiles, the other children cleared off the attraction right quick. I tried a little diplomacy by appealing to their leader, a fiery redhead with an attitude problem. This met with abject failure as, rather than being delighted to meet Hunter, she decided that I had actually kidnapped her younger brother, dressed him up in my own silly clothes, and was now trying to pass him off as my own. She wasn't having a bar of that carry on.

Personal clashes and mistaken abductions aside, the morning went rather well and everyone involved seemed quite happy with the amount of money that was raised. Plus, there was an Irish pub right next door, so how poorly could that possibly go?

Being surrounded by hyper-efficient parents and the cast of 'Lord of the Flies' didn't seem to faze Bean at all, he was more than happy with all the hustle and bustle. Which is fortunate, as the evening would provide him with even more; a crew of our nearest and dearest descended upon the apartment to help me celebrate my Birthday in the usual, messy fashion. Hunter didn't quite make it through till 6 AM like some of us, but he put in a good effort nonetheless. Thanks to everyone who turned up or sent their well wishes remotely, I love you all.

Sunday didn't provide quite the amount of recovery time I had hoped, but the choice between a little more sleep or a free birthday breakfast on my Ma wasn't a very hard one.

Sunday night was the conclusion of the Diwali festival of Lights that was being publicly celebrate down at Auckland's viaduct harbour. We bundled Bean up in his pram and Mama, Nick and I headed down to partake of the revelry. Naturally we forgot to bring our camera, but the place was absolutely packed, you had to fight tooth and nail to get anywhere near the various stalls of delicious Indian food. There was dancing, intricate costumes, lovely decorations, and a very very good turnout for the bash. I really love these old religious festivals that get hijacked into a general celebration of culture for everyone to attend. Moan as I do about Auckland, its early closing, and its myopic inhabitants, it's not too hard to see why I stick around on nights like that.

After such a busy weekend you might expect the little guy to be pretty subdued today, but such an assumption would only reveal your ignorance of the inhuman energy reserves of babies. He's still raring to go, so I'm sure I'll have more tales of adventure and debauchery in no time. Until then, take care!

P.S. My peeps still in Aotearoa, it seems there is an election happening soon. Go and enroll to vote right now if you haven't already, there's less than a month to go!!! (There's a quiz you can take that tests how well you know the MMP system. The questions are all ridiculously easy but 88% of the people that took the quiz couldn't answer them all. That's just scary. Smart people, please remember to vote!)

Catch Up

2008-10-16T11:06:00.004+13:00

OK so, yeah, there's been a period of sustained radio silence around these parts. Again. But give me a break, I'm really lazy, you all know this.

The exciting adventures of our Whānau have been fairly few and far between, but let's see what my rapidly decaying memory can recall.

Hunter went toe-to-toe with the dread vaccinations once again, with much the same results as last time. While he seemed angrier about the imposition than last time, he also recovered a lot quicker this time. So his penchant for remembering the horrible things his parents do to him is increasing (oh no) but his ability to tough it out through said indignities is also on the rise (yay.) I'm still not crazy about the whole vaccination idea, but also not un-crazy enough about it to actually object. And yes, it does chafe a little to straddle the fence like that.
Beanie's developing at the rate of a replicant, I swear he's about three times the size he was just months ago. His fine motor skills now compel him to reach out wildly in order to jam things into his mouth, rather than just waiting for them to foolishly drift into his grasp as was the previous strategy.

He is also eager as all hell to stand, if you grab both of his hands he will instantly start kicking himself into an upright position using your grip for balance. For a while there he seemed to have gotten things all out of order; he lost interest in trying to roll, skipped right over crawling, and wanted only to stand up like a real human. Recently, however, he has rediscovered the indulgent joys of rolling, and is well on his way to a full back-to-stomach manoeuvre.

The little man's vocal skills have also improved exponentially. He's now laying down phat gurgles with an 80% success rate, and I believe that qualifies as 'ill', at least from a technical standpoint. He strings his weird little exclamations together in repetitive sentences of stressed consonants, and throwing out that many attempts must improve your chances of getting at least one word right pretty soon. And considering the kinds of things he overhears at our place, that first word should be a doozy.

Aside from Hunter's internal journey into full-fledged being, there hasn't been a lot of moving and shaking going on. It was lovely to have my cousin from Australia drop in on her tour of the most boring towns Aotearoa has to offer, though I hear she got quite the earful upon getting home having failed to take any pictures of Hunter. Sorry, hon.

We are currently in the birthday glut of the calendar, the bizarre phenomenon wherein most of our friends and acquaintances seem to have been born in the same couple of months. While its not easy on the old bank account it does make for a handful of reasons to have a good time. Earlier this month Nick and I managed to get enough cash together to buy Lucy a ticket to see Michael Franti and Spearhead for her birthday, which was really just a thinly disguised way of making sure that we got to go too. It was a truly fantastic night, easily in my top 5 shows of all time, despite having to protect an inhumanly drunk Nick from predatory older reggae housewives. Lucy got a big sweaty hug from Mr. Franti at the end of the show, that's going to be a hard present to top next year.

Bean's Grandmother Andrea is going in for some rather unpleasant hospital business today, so our thoughts are with her for the inevitable speedy recovery.

And finally, if any one is in the neighbourhood this Saturday come on down to the park whose name I have completely forgotten and will edit in later, because Mama, Paulie and I will be manning a bouncy castle and dabbling in a little face painting for the little Plunket droogies. So come on down, bring young ones, or just your lovely self; it may very well be the last time Plunket asks Mama to do anything once they see the scumbags she's enlisted to help.

Well, keep watching the skies and I'll be in touch with you all soon. Especial digital love transmissions to our friends and families abroad, I hope we see you again in the not too distant future and take care of yourselves out in this crazy world.

Bookshelf du Bean

2008-10-03T11:19:00.003+13:00

Finding good books is never easy; the gems are always awash in a sea of drivel. It takes time, patience, and, when all else fails, the ability judge a book by its cover. I've devoted larger chunks of my life to the endeavour than I'm comfortable admitting. But finding good children’s books takes the whole frustrating game to a new level - I had always been vaguely aware that stuff targeted at kids was generally patronizing, insulting, and often outright offensive, but you can't really imagine the magnitude of the problem until you start rummaging through the shelves.

Hunter's parents will not be satisfied until his bookcase is overflowing with bountiful literature, uber nerds that we are, but finding quality kid's yarns has taken longer than we expected. Still, we've gathered a respectable pool of titles, and I shall share those with you now:

There was never a doubt in my mind what Hunter's first book would be, and as luck would have it I didn't have to go far to procure it. Knowing my affinity for the great Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are, a dear friend had gifted me a copy of the book a few year's back. And so the volume became a legacy piece, from her to me to Bean as the cornerstone of his library.

The dreamy, run-on sentences of this monster mash tale perfectly compliment the surreal, beautiful illustrations. Sendak's crazy, hodge-podge beasties strike that perfect balance between scary and ridiculous. Such a lovely book, and the most fun you can have with your wolf suit on. I'm very much looking forward (in a cautious way) to seeing what Spike Jonze does with the upcoming movie adaptation.

The second addition to the shelf was also a no-brainer, though in truth it's only half ticked off the list. Robert Munsch's The Paper Bag Princess is a fantastic slap in the face of all those stodgy old princess tales, or at least it's supposed to be. My copy, ordered from Amazon.com, arrived with all its pages inexplicably out of order, with some omitted entirely. So in my version Princess Elizabeth's tale takes on a jarring, non-linear character, sort of the ultimate post-modern fairy tale I guess. Though not really what I was after.

I will have to get a better copy, because the story of a badass Princess who marches about naked, bests a dragon with her trickery, rescues her not-so-charming prince, and then kicks him to the curb for being an ass is essential reading for any kid. Strong female characters are hard to come by, in children's literature doubly so; but it's important to me that Bean identifies with both genders and doesn't marginalize the female experience just because he's a male.

The third book I picked up for Hunter was renowned Japanese artist Yoshitomo Nara's first children's book, The Lonesome Puppy. Nara-san's pop art usually features very cute children brandishing small weapons or placed in some other decidedly non-cute context, which I think is a sort of comment on innocence in an aggressive, ugly world (but, y'know, I just made that up.) At any rate, his work is really gorgeous so I jumped at the chance to pick up his kiddies book, sight unseen.

The gamble paid off, the story is lovely and the art is just magnificent. The tale is about a dog that is so big, towering above the globe, that nobody can see him. The puppy is sad at being so singularly huge that the little people go about their lives without even considering his existence. That changes one day when I small girl happens upon his foot and determines to climb high enough to meet the dog. The concepts are delightful abstract, fuelling the imagination and suggesting boundary-defying ideas of empowerment. Plus it's really pretty.

Next came The Wolves in the Wall. Being a big sci-fi and fantasy nerd, Neil Gaiman is one of my absolute favourite living authors. His wonderful comic books and novels knitting ancient mythology innovatively into the modern fabric are completely enchanting. Some of his young adult projects have been made into neat films (Mirror Mask, Stardust) but his children's storybooks are something else.
The Wolves in the Wall is the tale of young Lucy who, fittingly, believes there to be a cadre of wolves living the walls of her house. An unobservant family dismisses her worries until the wolves escape their wallpapered prison and take over the house. Homeless and hapless, the family give in to despair, except for the young girl who decides to take back her abode from the mischievous wolves. I read a bunch of reviews from uppity Christians complaining that the wonderfully impressionistic art by Dave McKean was too scary and had traumatised their poor little Jesus freaks for life. Naturally, I had to have it.

I was so impressed by Wolves in the Wall (it also received rave reviews from child literature expert Nick,) that I rushed out to get Gaiman and McKean's other kiddie opus, The Day I Swapped my Dad for Two Goldfish. It's a little lighter than Wolves but no less endearing. As the title suggests, fathers are swapped for fish and, at the behest of an unimpressed mother, un-swapped with great difficulty. The stories are lively and imaginative, but it's McKean's stunning art that truly makes these books unique.

There's an ever-expanding list of interesting titles yet to be picked up, but that's all I've managed so far. A super big thank you to the Hylton clan for their generous voucher gift that made a chunk of this possible, love you guys. Mama has purchased and procured a few titles of her own, but I'll let her tell you about those if she so chooses. He's also very generously been given some wonderful books, both old and new, from his Grandparents so humble as it may be, Hunter's collection is nothing to be sneezed at.

Hopefully coming soon: Woody Guthrie: Poet of the People, a cool looking bio about the folk singer; Shake, Rattle & Roll: The Founding Father's of Rock & Roll, essential rockabilly education; D'Aulaires' Book of Norse Myths, because you can never have too much mythology; Oscar Wilde's Stories for Children, kiddie corruption by the master; Lives of Writers: Comedies, Tragedies (and what their Neighbours Though), there doesn't seem to be many kids books about writers an the Lives of... series is supposedly very good; As much Dr. Seus as I can carry; Hey Kidz! Buy this Book, an interesting text to help children deal with overwhelming corporate advertising; The Adventures of Tintin: Breaking Free, a cheeky anarchist retelling of the classic Tintin adventures.

Happy Birthday Mama!

2008-09-24T12:07:00.013+12:00

Mama turns 22 today. Birthdays with our crew are usually a mix of bitching about getting older and giddy excitement about getting presents. I think this year, though, the aging aspect isn't quite so dramatic because it's quite hard not to feel old all the time when lugging around a child. (Yeah, yeah, I'm sure that sounds hilarious to some of you fossils out there, but you must remember that I was never meant to grow up.) Still, that's a pretty big item ticked off the bucket list rather early in the game, right?

Bean got Mama a sewing machine for her birthday, which was really quite thoughtful of him. It's a bit fancy and is going to take some learning, but considering how into her crafty stuff Mama is these days it should be an invaluable addition to her arsenal. Not being anywhere near as considerate or generous as Hunter, I made do with a gift of comics, records, and cross-stitch paraphernalia. More treaties to come tonight and at the party on Saturday I suspect.

Slow, boring days otherwise, so let's just make do with some new pictures, shall we?

Here we have Bean getting a little European with a bare chest look, a cheeky hint of bubbles forming at the mouth; this look is all the rage in Paris presently.

This is one of my all-time favourites, even if Hunter does have a completely bewildered look about him (just wish I would remember to take those ugly time stamps off the camera.)

I don't know what he's looking at off camera, but he seems to be filled with a mix of delight and mistrust. So it's probably Nick.

For whatever reason we seem to have decided to dress our kid up like Blossom. He gets 10,000 po-mo points for referencing a show that ended over a decade before he was born.

This is Hunter in his bouncy thing. Sometimes it elicits yelps of joy from the little guy, as above, but mostly it just seems to piss him off - I don't think he likes to be strapped down (and fair enough.)

When simulated by his many brightly coloured toys, Hunter's eyes will bludge wide and his movements take on a frantic twitching quality, as though experiencing a seizure that he's really enjoying. This state has earned him the sub-nickname Crack Bean, because it's never too early to teach your kids about drugs.

Her name is spoken in whispered tones late at night, most believe her to be little more than an urban myth, but here I have photographic evidence of Hunter's enigmatic Aunty Steph. Also pictured; Lucy, who constantly complains that there are no photos of her on my blog.

A hard day of being waited on hand and foot really takes a lot out of you it would seem, what with all the feeding, pooping, and gurgling.

...and a big ol' close up to go out on. Not really sure what the crazy little guy is doing there, but he sure does look cute.

That's it, nothing more for you here ya vultures, go home to your friends and families. If anyone is in the vicinity tonight, stop by our place for a birthday drink; otherwise we will see you on Saturday for the party proper, yes? And for those not catching up, take care y'all.

Standing in the Shadows

2008-09-18T10:32:00.008+12:00

Mr. Hunter hasn't been up to anything especially noteworthy of late, mostly just quietly connecting neural links and staring at his hands a lot. The little guy seems to have come to grips with this whole existing thing and spends his days basking in it. He's growing really damn fast; his unfortunately named Moses Basket is about to burst at the seams so we're on the brink of moving him into a crib... as soon as we get one.

Last weekend Hunter attended his first (sort of) film festival, Terrible-fest - We screened a collection of four of the trashiest looking New Releases of that month for an intimate audience of drunken friends. When I told a friend of mine that I had a baby his first comment was 'Congratulations, I expect him to have developed a full appreciation of zombie films by age five.' Those unlucky enough to know me well will be fully aware of my passion for all things cinematically undead; so it's appropriate enough that Bean have his first experience of the shuffling menace at an early age. While I would have preferred to show him the classics first, I suppose they can wait until such time that he might remember the slightest thing about them. For now two thoroughly atrocious zombie flicks (and a pair of hideous alien films) will have to do.

Mama is currently shaking the bucket on Plunket's behalf; their annual appeal is just kicking off so it's all volunteering hands on deck. She's hawking raffle tickets at $2 a pop which could win you all kinds of fantastic prizes that I've completely forgotten about, so if you've got some shrapnel to offload keep her in mind (or you can just donate online, but Mama would much rather have the kudos.)

The appeal's theme this time around is 'Be a Superhero', which I dig because I'm a total geek. So I'll be doing a little panhandling next month on the 18th to help raise whatever we can. I can't overstate how amazingly great Plunket have been to us: If you haven't had a kid it might be a little hard to imagine just how completely and utterly overwhelming the experience is from one second to the next, simply having a place exist where people know what they're doing and are happy to help is about the biggest blessing your addled new parent mind could conjure. They say it takes a village to raise a child, in our times Plunket is most of that village. Get in contact if you think you could spare some time to do some collecting or whatever else.

It's been a rough week, a lot of drama I don't feel like tainting this blog with and none of it relevant to Bean, who has just been an amazingly good kid of late. Here's hoping for less stressful times to come, everyone take care.

P.S. ZOMG!! Michael Franti is coming to New Zealand next month! I hope I can get the scratch together for a ticket, he and his band are truly fantastic. Check out their new album 'All Rebel Rockers' if you're so inclined, it's great.

Mama's Boy

2008-09-11T11:51:00.007+12:00

I said I was going to post more often and then I up and disappeared for over a week; and I bet you were foolish enough to believe me, too.

We attempted to force a new milestone upon Bean the other day, with poor-to-disastrous results. While he can be a rowdy, contentious little man, Hunter is actually a pretty chilled out baby; it's all juts bluster and attention seeking (insert obligatory Winston Peters reference here,) he seldom seems to get genuinely upset.

Naive fools that we are, we took his relaxed predisposition to mean that perhaps the little guy was up to his first night of being babysat. He'd had plenty of time without his mother in the past and never seemed too perturbed when it was juts he and I, so when our friend Pat's 30th birthday celebration rolled around we figured we would flick Bean to (not-Grandma) Andrea and go make some mischief for the night.

All seemed to go swimmingly for the first half a pint; we were relaxing at Galbraith's Ale House, talking to other grown ups about proper grown up things, and generally enjoying ourselves. Half way through my first delicious Grafton Porter, however, we get a call from Andrea almost inaudible above the cacophonous screams of Hunter in the background. Crap.

We raced back home (thanks Luce) to discover the little guy bawling inconsolably for no readily apparent reason. Evidently he had been fine for a spell, but upon casting about the room and not seeing or hearing his Mama he launched into a Tasmanian Devil-like fit. The diagnosis was confirmed when Mama reached down and picked the little guy up; instant silence. Oh well, maybe later on down the road.

As your television, radio, billboards, street posters, internet, and hovering blimps probably informed you, it was recently Father's Day. It's not the kind of made up day of consumer-bration that I usually go in for, but Hunter was too young to know any better I guess. He wrote me a lovely card (inexplicably emblazoned with 'To a Wonderful Son"?) and bought me a nice new addition to my collection of Star Wars stuff that I really don't need (I already have way more toys than he does.) Mandated event aside, it was a lovely warm Sunday and we spent the day strolling about town and eating well, it was just what I needed.

We don't have a great deal of excitement lined up for the coming weekend; Lucy has invited us to hang at her new abode if the weather is ok, and I'm going to attempt to attend my first show since the little man arrived (Missing Teeth's final show - boo! Though 9.5 years isn't too shabby.) Since we can't leave Beanie with a sitter yet, Mama has very kindly volunteered to watch him while I go have fun, boasting that she's seen Missing Teeth play way more times than I have anyway. So everyone should come to that and hang out, because who knows when I'll get out again.

For now I bid you farewell (or shall I first make up some more lies about swearing to post more often?)

The Bean Chronicles

2008-09-03T17:19:00.000+12:00

Hunter has been quite busy in recent weeks, which means I have, by default, also been quite busy and so some of these events went completely un-blogged. C'est la vie, we can catch up now.

The little man had his first round of immunization jabs a few weeks back. After reading up on the whole immunization debate I found that I had not really landed on one side or the other in the argument - at least not passionately enough to object to Mama's plans. While I'm not entirely sure it was/is the right way to go, it does not seem to have had any immediate negative effects of Das Bean, except for causing him to make this face for a good 48 or so hours:

Hunter also had his first party a little while back, thrown by Andrea (I was going to say 'his Grandmother', but none of the grandparents have decided what they want to be called for fear of sounding old, narcissistic lot.) Some of the more traditional attendees had delusions of this being some kind of christening *chuckle* or 'naming ceremony'. Apparently 'it's just a party' doesn't fly for some people.

But just a party it was, and a pretty decent one too - lots of booze and filled with people I didn't know at all. Andrea assures us that she was familiar with almost everyone there though, so that's nice.

Unfortunately Hunter wasn't in the party mood, overwhelmed almost instantly by the swell of well-meaning unfamiliar faces, he quickly descended into full-on spazz mode. Whisked away to an unoccupied bedroom, he spent the duration calming down, feeding, and sleeping. This left much of the revelers without a child to coo over (although I think some of them mistook another baby that had turned up for the child they were supposed to be celebrating.) Most were easily consoled with drink and food and promptly forgot why they had come in the first place.

On the whole it was very successful first party for everyone but Hunter. He's got the memory of a goldfish though, so I sincerely doubt this will colour him against festivities in the long run; we'll give it another shot down the road. You're all invited.

Last weekend Hunter also attended his first protest; a march down Queen Street as a show of solidarity for those arrested in 'Operation Eight', the ridiculous terror raids of October 15th last year. While the attempted charges under the terror act had to be dropped due to sheer absurdity, many people don't realize that those wrongfully arrested are still far from free - unable to abuse our reactionary terror laws, the police are now attempting to charge 20 indigenous and peace activists with arms charges; an achingly slow process that began on Monday.

(photos via Indymedia)

The march went well enough, a decent turn out with no trouble from either protester or police. I'm sure the event succeeded, to some degree, in its intended goal - to raise awareness and show support. But being there amidst the chants and hyperbolic speeches it was hard not to feel a little detached. The same old faces were there; hagged old Socialists handing out their crude propaganda and Big Daddy Minto barking on about ninjas (?) and 'police states' (as the cops helpfully made sure no one got hit by traffic as we marched.) It all felt so old and tired.

There were glimmers of the new buried under all that old timey bluster, however. Some of the younger Tūhoe supporters brought a great deal of energy to the party; so impassioned was their whooping that it seemed positively out of place amongst the drowsy '2-4-6-8' sloganeering of the shuffling SWO warhorses. There were also a bunch of young purple-clad anarchist kids (from Radical Youth I guess,) who brought along my absolute favourite part favour of the day; the wheelie bin sound system:

More of that, I say; action should be as much a celebration as it is a duty.

Finally, on the Sunday Hunter attended his first craft show. The inaugural Kraft Bomb seemed an incredible success - a handful of wonderful vendors crammed into a small room at Grey Lynn Community Center were completely swamped by attendees. We arrived at what was apparently a bit of a quiet spell and it was still nigh impossible to move. Mama bought herself a very swanky apron with pistols stitched on the pockets - I was hanging out for cupcakes but they sold out within 45 minutes of opening. Damn.

Well done to the lovely City for organizing the show, it's going to be a reoccurring thing so come by and check it out on the last Sunday of every month.

Now you're pretty much up to date; good for you. I'll try to stay on top of posting a little more often to avoid monster posts like this in future. Thanks for coming, take care now.

Camera Obscura

2008-09-01T12:54:00.012+12:00

My digital camera has finally been returned from the dread swamp Hamilton (thanks Dad,) so we now return you to your regular scheduled viewing (rather than obscure Coppola musical soundtrack images I dig up to inject colour into otherwise bland prose.) Check out ye olde Flickr for more images of Bean in action or, for those averse to links, here's some I prepared earlier:

Lame is as Lame does

2008-08-27T11:19:00.002+12:00

For reasons I'm proud to be completely unable to explain, Mama has started a Facebook account for Hunter. So if you're the social network type you can go and befriend him, post messages to him, and wait for his Mama to answer them pretending to be him. *sigh*

One from the Heart

2008-08-25T13:53:00.002+12:00

That image has nothing to do with this post, I just think it's a cool film with a great soundtrack that no one ever seems to like. Heathens. This isn't a whole sappy thing either, so don't worry.

Did you know that something like 85% of babies are born with a heart murmur? Of course you didn't, because your not morbidly obsessed with birth defects, but that's the figure folks. Where's your intelligent design now, huh? Even though most of those turn out to be completely benign , what kind of benevolent deity wants to freak out new parents like that?

So Bean had a heart murmur. We were so busy with the giving of the birth, the zapping of the jaundice, and the projecting of the vomit that we didn't even know. It should be pointed out that this wasn't neglect on our part; while doctors can tell just by listening to a kid whether or not their heart's a bit screwy, they thought it best not to trouble us with the news - almost all babies lose the murmur within 24 hours.

"Almost all." Heh, yeah; guess who didn't. A few weeks on and the lovely Doctor Stephanie felt that we should probably know our kiddo's love muscle was making more of a racket than is generally preferred. Apparently there are all kinds of heart murmurs that mean different things, from the very common pediatric innocent murmur to late diastolic murmurs which are, to hear it told, no fun at all. The longer the little one's heart stays rowdy, the more likely it is to be one of the nastier murmurs and need surgery.

After a few weeks of close observation and some scans in those wonderful toys the hospital like to keep around it was ascertained that Bean's murmur, though still audible, would have no adverse affect on his development through to adulthood. He was growing well, eating well, depriving his parents of sleep well; all the hallmarks of a good sprog.

So in the end it wasn't so much a medical catastrophe as a case of Hunter being his father's son; a little more vocal than anyone really wants, but harmless in the end.

Yup, he's just fine, see for yourselves:

Gifted

2008-08-19T10:42:00.007+12:00

A lot of you are probably wondering by now 'is Hunter a super-genius?' Well yes, yes he is.

According to one of those horrible, schmaltzy, pandering baby websites Bean's set of 'skills' at two months of age (which he hit last Thursday,) put him firmly in the 'advanced' column. No doubt they've set this up so that pretty much every baby falls into the 'advanced' column, to make idiot parents giddily happy and keep their click-rate up, but I don't mind being an idiot parent for now.

While holding his head steady and supporting weight on his legs might be accomplished steps for a little one, I'm a bigger fan of the traits he's picked up that might not mark him as a genuis, per se, but are nonetheless much more endearing at my end.

Cool things Hunter can do now:

Smile heaps. He has a really good smile, it's ganna get him out of a lot of trouble.

Roll over. He can't exactly do this on command, but he's always giving the old college try. It usually looks like he's trying desperately to break his own neck, but he's pulled it off a couple of times. It scares the living snot out of him when he does succeed too, which tickles me.

Make a textbook fart noise with his mouth. The classics never go out of fashion.

Make almost-words. He gurgles away like a little drunk and occasionally bursts out with an unintelligible exclamation. It's not exactly an absorbing dialog just yet, sure, but it's as close to talking as anything Sylvester Stallone ever managed.

Groove on it. Little guy's got rhythm, that's a fact. He's a big fan on the bass-heavy ska, reggae, and soul tracks. Good thing too, 'cause he would be voted off the island if he didn't dig that stuff. He bobs his head and kicks along with a big stupid grin on his face; awesome to the max.

Oh yes, he's destined to either destroy or save the world, not a doubt in my mind. No pressure, you little Rhodes Scholar, you.

Ok, I Lied.

2008-08-13T15:46:00.005+12:00

I do have a couple of recent pictures of Bean but I wasn't sure I wanted to post them. I have this problem when I'm never really sure how cruel is too cruel, but these are too awesomely grotesque to remain unseen. Still, if he grows up and stabs me with a rusty shovel for this, I'm blaming you all.

I don't really understand how it happens, but they say that if you watch very carefully on a clear, cool night when the full moon is at its highest you can see a perfectly normal little fleshling...

... transform into a hideous, lecherous drunk...

... and, after puking on the nicest car in the immediate area, pass out in a puddle of his own fluids...

Hahahaha, truly awful. He looks just like me after a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Sorry Bean, someday you'll understand it's genetically wired into every parent to just not care whether they humiliate and debase their offspring.

What's in a Name?

2008-08-06T21:28:00.011+12:00

Hmmm, awful quite around here, huh? I should probably do something about that.

Mr. Hunter is coming along rather well indeed, he's grown so much in such a short time it's crazy. Unfortunately I don't have any new photos to share, they're all on my camera which my mother has nicked off with (accidentally, to hear her tell it) down to Hamilton. So you'll have to make do with something else, you ungrateful bunch.

As I hope you've gathered by this point, we chose to name our kid Hunter. They say that picking a name is a really difficult task - we've all seen terrible TV shows where the couple spend the whole episode shooting down each other's ideas - but it was pretty easy for us. While 'what would I do if I had a kid' wasn't something I had ever given a lot of thought to, the one thing I did have sorted was that I'd name her or him after one of my heroes, and it just happens that Hunter S. Thompson had the best first name (sorry Joe, Bill.)

If you don't know who Hunter Thompson is then shame on you. There are so many people (most notably himself) that have done fantastic jobs of explaining how important and all-around awesome he was that I'm not even going to bother trying. I named my kid after him, what more do you want?

I wasn't really sure if everybody else would be as down with the name as myself, and I worried that I might have to argue my point; the last thing I wanted the name to signify was undue aggravation and conflict. Luckily, almost serendipitously, both Hunter's Mama and Lucy - probably the two people whose opinions matter the most to me - had the very same idea; 'Hunter'. I hadn't prompted the agreement, I'd never spoken a word about possible names; they both just reached the very same conclusion on their own, I suppose lead by my slavish devotion to the author. Cool, huh?

Fewer of you probably know Hunter's middle name, though it's easily the more important of the two as far as Mama and I are concerned. I'm not a big fan of middle names, never really saw the point, but with Hunter being born so close to the death of someone so dear it was basically inevitable that he would inherit the name.

They say you should never meet your heroes, and as much as I worshiped the good Dr. Thompson I always had a feeling that it was good advice; he did kill himself after all. But there are other types of heroes that you have to meet, they enter your life and you just can't deny their influence, because they are so much like what you want to be. That was Slammy.

I didn't get to know him as well as Mama, the disease took him way too soon, but it was impossible to meet Slammy, even briefly, and not fall in love. I remember the first time I ever saw him, he parked his hulking frame on the end of my couch and the guy intimidated the living hell out of me. Until he started talking that is; all night he would joke and tell stories and listen and make everyone feel as if he couldn't possibly be happier being anywhere else.

Mama has heaps of great stories about him, maybe she'll share something in the comments section, she was lucky enough to know him far longer than me. I hope we can be good enough parents that Hunter comes to embody even some of Slammy's characteristics; he was one big-hearted, punk-rocking, nazi-stomping, vodka-drinking, son-of-a-bitch and he is dearly missed.

Hunter's last name has a bit of mystique to it too, but not in quite such a personal way. I think hyphenated surnames are pretty cool with the right name combo, but either Partington-Hatwell or Hatwell-Partington is just way too long and unwieldy. Mama agreed, but if we were to chose just one then we were going to have at least half of Bean's extended family somewhat pissed off; quite the dilemma. We toyed with just inventing a last name for the little guy but ditched that after none of us could come up with anything that wouldn't get him either thrown out public places or lynched.

So we decided to give him two last names; either Hatwell or Partington (but not both at once) to be used however he sees fit. That'll probably cause troubles for him later on when he runs into one bureaucratic machine or other, but whatever doesn't kill you, right? We did need to submit a single name to register his birth unfortunately, so we flipped a coin and scribbled down one variation of the hyphenated mega-name. Which variation was it? You'll never know, not that it matters anyhow, who cares what The Man thinks he's called.

So there you go; that's what's in a name. Exhausting stuff.

Holy Books

2008-07-18T11:43:00.011+12:00

When I first found out there was a baby on the way (after I had become partially functional again) I approached the situation in much the same way I approach most of life's experiences; I read absolutely anything I can get my hands on in lieu of actually experiencing things for myself. That way I can sit back and rattle off any information I managed to remember as if I were some kind of expert when in fact I've really got less than no idea what I'm on about. Faking it; my quick-fix solution to almost all of life's little dilemmas.

Not this one however. There exists, in book form and online, an unending library of writing on pregnancy, birth, and early childhood. It's all very similar, vaguely patronizing, way too schmaltzy, and very clearly aimed at people who in no way resemble me. I still read it all, but it really didn't make me feel any more comfortable in my situation, which is usually the desired effect of exhaustive research. There were, however, a few anomalies; a small collection of interesting works that did end up being of help one way or another. I thought I'd share those with you.

My Mother Wears Combat Boots by Jessica Mills

This book's tagline is 'A parenting book for the rest of us,' and after reading publication after publication aimed at some kind of mid-30s, happily coupled, well-to-do, go-getting young executive yuppie-type scum, I was beginning to desperately wonder if there really was a 'rest of us' at all. Fears that a child would inevitably transform my endearingly chaotic life into an unbearable parade of nuclear familial bullshit were mercifully put to rest by the amazing Jessica Mills.

A musician in a handful of bands, including Anarcho-Ska outfit Citizen Fish - a personal favourite of mine - Jessica's book is half personal journal and half practical guide, making it both a gripping read and a truly useful resource in the trenches. She chronicles with brutal honesty and beautiful exuberance train-hopping cross-country trips, regular punk rock shows, a commitment to social activism, and a healthy personal life, all with her new baby along for the ride.

Coming after books concerned with how baby is going to effect your rise to upper-management and trading the Porsche in for a family-mobile, this positive account of raising a child in a life that actually resembled my own was true medicine for my panicked, rapidly collapsing mind.

You can pick it up from local co-op non-profit bookshop Katipo.

Baby's First 100 Days by Margaret Stephenson-Meere

This tiny little book might just be the most useful 80 pages I ever read. Nothing fancy here, just descriptions of what your baby is doing, why, and what to do when it happens. This is something that should come with your baby, like out of the womb, it's that necessary. Because, and I know I've said it before, no one tells you what to do!

It does get a bit spiritually wanky with chakras-this and Noah's Ark-that, but a little misguided (and oddly schizophrenic) nonsense is a small price to pay for realizing you're jamming a nipple in your kid's face when what she really wants is sleep.

The kindly ones at Plunket can hook you up with this book, support them; they're good folk.

The Future Generation by China Martens

Something of a companion piece to Jessica Mills' book, this is a collection of 16 years of radical parenting zines. As such it doesn't function quite like a how-to guide but more a collection of individual experiences and reflections. The book retains the idiosyncratic character of personal zine, complete with terrific black-and-white photocopied art, and is infused with political ideals and personal action - a great read whether you're having a kid or not.

It can be ordered direct from AK Press.

Slam by Nick Hornby

OK, so this isn't a parenting guide or anything like that, it's just a regular novel. But I love Nick Hornby and I stumbled across this book at a particularly important time. When I was still suffering under the heavy shock of discovering I was having a child I noticed that a rather weird (and at the time quite annoying) phenomena started to occur; no matter where I looked everything had suddenly and simultaneously become about babies. The TV shows I watched, the conversations I overheard, the films I went to see, the commercials on the radio, the news, the net - where just weeks ago all this stuff with which I filled my life had been completely bereft of infants, suddenly they were everywhere.

This may well have all been in my mind (though I did have a friend mentioned they had observed it too... I guess it's only there when you're looking - or trying not to in my case,) but it was pissing the hell out of me. This baby was happening, it was inevitable, and I had accepted that - but I didn't want to have to think about it all the time. In fact not at all would have been ideal, but certainly not when I'm doing all the stuff that usually makes me happiest.

Obviously, that is a mentality only a true jackass could sustain and I needed it kicked right out of my head - which is where Slam comes in. I picked the book up at a second-hand book store because I'm a big fan of the author and it was cheap. Little did I know that the story was all about some stupid 16-year-old who accidentally knocks up his girlfriend (the blurb on the back made no mention of this - it was all cryptic stuff about Tony Hawk - or else I wouldn't have picked it up!) Still, by the time I realized the story was basically about me (while I'm a little older than the main character I've never considered my maturity to have exceeded the level of a 16-year-old,) I had committed to the book.

Now, in Hornby-terms I'd like to think of myself as more of a Rob Gordon, but for the few weeks it took me to stop acting like a total jerk about my situation I was definitely more of a confused, angry, scared young Sam Jones. It's kind of embarrassing for this English major to admit that this wee Young Adults book helped clear things up for me, but screw it, I love Nick Hornby.

So there you have it, there's probably a load of other decent books on the subject out there but those are the ones that offered me a little something to hold on to. Check them out if you're at all interested because, lets face it, reading is for nerds and nerds rule (man, what am I going to do if my son ends up a sports fan?)

More News from Nowhere

2008-07-12T10:51:00.003+12:00

Very little time for blogging at the moment, not only am I adjusting my home life to a 24/7 cabaret of bodily fluids and frenzied crying turned to 11, but work just got bumped up a notch too; I'm now managing my store on a 9-5 schedule just like a real person. I feel like such a bloody citizen. With my magazine stuff on top of that it's kind of hard to even find time to pass out.

Yet still you hunger for my wisdom, and so I comply. Hunter's new favourite thing is puking. In a strange coincidence, puking has also recently become one of both Mama's and my least favourite things. It was particularly distressing when the doctor floated the idea that the little guy's vomiting might have gone beyond mere recreation; that some kind of evil stomach thingy might be stopping the nourishing breast juice from getting where it needed going.

The only solution to that particular quagmire would have been a surgical procedure that would leave a gigantic (though admittedly very tough looking) scar down the baby's stomach. Y'know, like what you filthy meat-eaters do to pigs and the like.

Luckily Hunter rode that wave of spewtilation out and is back to throwing up a regular amount (which is still, like, a lot.) But damned if those doctors don't have an uncanny ability to make you feel both incredibly helpless and terrified all at once... really makes one wish they hadn't quit smoking.

We are due our last midwife visit on Monday, which will be sad because Anne is amazingly cool; and I'm not just saying that because she basically told us our baby is a super-genius possessing disproportionate strength and a smile like a switchblade (I may be paraphrasing.) I'll probably report back on how that milestone goes, but for now- back to the grind.

Happy (hypothetical) Birthday!

2008-07-04T16:51:00.001+12:00

In a neat and orderly world, Hunter would have been born today. Of course, in a grubby and thoroughly unimpressive world he is three weeks old today.

I imagine it to be inevitable that, some time down the road, our Hunter will meet with this dark Hunter from an alternate reality in which things happen perversely as planned, engaging in grim battle. Who would win this meta-fracas I couldn't say but the struggle would no doubt ring through the hallows of time at least as dramatically as the culminating scene in Time Cop (and if we're being totally honest, our Hunter is probably dark Hunter.)

Anyway, here's what Hunter managed to achieve in his three bonus weeks in the world:

Listened to the greatest album ever recorded, The Clash's London Calling, at the impressionable age of 0 years, 0 months, 0 days, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds old.
Watched his first television show (on DVD of course, no nasty subliminal advertisements for him yet;) the pilot episode of 'Firefly' - he's already a brown coat for life.
Went on a bus three times; never anywhere exciting but, y'know, baby steps.
Projectile vomited an impressive distance.
Visited the comic book shop, hell yeah!
Was instructed on the finer differences between skanking and moshing (he didn't really get it, but these things take practice.)
Invested a hefty chunk of time in mirror gazing.
Went for a trip to the soul-crushing supermarket and made it out alive.

With all this experience under his belt due to an unholy early arrival, I figure alternate-reality Hunter will be well and truly on the back foot when the time comes. Happy shoulda bin Birthday, wee man!

Sleep is for the Weak

2008-07-02T14:05:00.004+12:00

As our cliffhanger teased last installment, faithful viewer, week 2 in Hunter-land went a little smoother. The again, Robert Downy Jr.'s career path was smoother than our first week, so that's not saying a great deal.

Hospital visits ceased - which was fantastic because we weren't really making any friends over there - but that's not to say the Hunter had slacked off on finding ways to make us worry. An infected finger led to course of antibiotics, which has quite possibly led to thrush. It also made one of Hunter's favorite pastimes - jamming fingers in mouth - rather inconvenient, as neither the caustic cream or bug-ridden rotting flesh are considered particularly good for a burgeoning digestive system. Still, he struggles on.

While we clearly remain in the remedial class as far as parent school goes, we are slowly getting the hang of handling this little monster. He's down to waking up just once or twice on a good night, gradually accepting that his bed is for sleeping in, and timing his feeding and purging to a lose schedule. Bare in mind, of course, that this progress exists entirely in my head and to the casual onlooker our parenting style still probably resembles the rearing equivalent of freestyle jazz interrupted by retarded thrash music.

Still, when one considers the little devil isn't even supposed to have been born yet I figure he's gotta be at least a little ahead of the curve - listening to good tunes, being waited on hand and foot, and being passed from one adoring on-looker to the next has got to beat a few more weeks cramped up in the womb.

Tune in next time when we sing songs of praise to the gods of Plunket, defeat the nefarious arch-villain Nappy Rash, and make fun of other people's uglier babies! Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

First Week like Fire

2008-06-25T19:54:00.006+12:00

Man, they sure don't give you a lot to go on. A matter of minutes after Mr. Hunter arrived the hospital was already showing us the door, two nights in partially subsidized Birthcare and then its out on the streets. That's rough on a Dickens-like level.

And they don't tell you what to do, y'know? Not even a few little hints. So it's hardly surprising that little Bean (a nickname we gave the baby because... well, because our brains are all messed up on adoration and sleep deprivation,) spent about as much time in the hospital as he did at home in his first week.

First he was having trouble feeding; being a little premature his mouth was on the small side, and being a little clueless we had no idea what went where. No food led to crying, crying led to sheer bedlam, that led to hospital.

The next day, I don't know, something else happened and we ended up back in hospital, this time with the little man under some big badass lights to toast some jaundice out of his system. I don't remember exactly why jaundice is so bad, but it does make his skin go all yellow, so it was as much an aesthetic decision as anything.

In the following days they brought us back a bunch of times for the same stuff - details escape in the madness of it all - but two things became glaringly obvious: The staff at Starship children's hospital are saint-like wonderful medi-gods & the staff at the regular hospital are a bunch of pricks. Unfair blanket statements, I know, but screw it; it's my blog, and anyone so inept and unpleasant as to motivate a worried mother and possibly ailing child to pack up and flee the ward at 3AM deserves whatever they get.

Hunter's second week of being seems to be shaping up a lot better, everyone's finding their groove (and hopefully a little more sleep.) The chorus of 'don't worry, it gets better' might not have been filthy lies after all.

Tales from the Birth Canal

2008-06-21T14:21:00.006+12:00

We had agreed upon doing this pregnancy as natural and non-invasive as possible, which is of course a hell of a lot easier for me to commit to than Mama. The actual birth ended up being basically the polar opposite of what we were aiming for, but any birth you can walk away from, right?

We turned up a little early for the table we had booked only to find it had been snatched by some North Shore ponce enduring some kind 'emergency'. Bollocks, but we can adapt. Kicking back in some empty prep room for hours as the nurses periodically flit in and out organizing one thing or other, Mama endured not even a flutter of contraction.

When we finally did manage to grab someone's prolonged attention a nurse wheeled in a machine that monitors baby's mojo. We got a particularly fancy version of this machine that can actually detect two heartbeats at once, spiffy huh? Why would we need such extravagance, you might ask; because, as the nurse dutifully informs us, we're having twins. 'Wait, what? This is your second time giving birth, isn't it?' Good to know we're working with professionals here. Identity mix-ups notwithstanding, things proceed smoothly if slowly for the next handful of hours.

Hooked up to an IV drip, Mama got loaded up with some kind of juice that is supposed to kick-start her contractions – only it doesn’t work. The midwives were forced to keep banging up the dosage hour after hour while Mama just lay about, cool as a cat. When the juice level finally reached demigod proportions the cogs started to spin – boy, how they span. Because the process is being brought on suddenly, Mama's body didn’t have the gentle lead up which allows the brain to get all happy off endorphins, as a result the contractions come like the fury of God.

After a few hours of valiant struggle our organic hero submits to an epidural; after which it's all groggy naps and dopey smiles for the next few hours. With mercifully little mucking about baby starts to make an exit about 12PM and is sucking air come 12:29PM.

Not an ideal process, but considering the complications everything went surprisingly well. The professionalism and irrepressible joviality of all the midwives that took up our little challenge simply cannot be overstated, thanks to you all.

More on Hunter's first turbulent week later, once my shaking and nervous ticks die down a little.

Only Anarchists are Pretty

2008-06-15T19:31:00.006+12:00

No time for writing, but click the image for more photos of Hunter's big debut.

Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing...

2008-06-15T14:47:00.003+12:00

Hunter.

Born 12:29 PM June 12th 2008. Baby and Mama are both well, too tired for details right now. Just bathe in his radiant awesomeness until I get back.

Go Time

2008-06-11T17:34:00.000+12:00

Apparently the lovely doctor we talked with yesterday was new to the hospital and hadn't really come to terms with how things work there yet. Rather than tell as "go home and chill" what she actually meant was "we're probably going to have to induce labour tomorrow."

We went to see a (slightly more seasoned) doctor today who gave us the news. Because Mama's waters have already broken there's a very real risk of infection for both her and the the baby, a risk that grows exponentially the longer we wait for labour to kick in naturally. Ideally we would have liked to have done this with as little interference as possible, but it seemed incredibly foolish to jeopardize anyone for that ideal. It will no doubt be incredibly useful to get used to the fact that things are not going to go the way we plan them.

So, 7:30 PM we kick off the show. They managed to slot us in because someone delivered their kid early. That's right, we only just managed to swing a reservation. Maybe if I had slipped the duty nurse a $20 we could have got a delivery room by the window.

Wish us luck, huh?

Pop

2008-06-10T14:38:00.000+12:00

Years of avidly viewing crap television and movies had led me to believe that the breaking of a pregnant woman's waters was a cataclysmic call-to-panic in which chaotic hilarity ensued. This turned out not to be the case.

About three weeks ahead of his due date and a few days shy of what is generally considered 'full term', our wee man started making grumblings abut getting out. With the eponymous water breakage happening at some inconvenient time during the night at which no decent person can really be bothered stirring, Mama decided to wait until morning to give the hospital a heads up. The occasion was so not momentous, all it really required was a casual stroll down the road with time to stop for quiche.

The doctors do tell us this means baby is on his way, though no contractions yet. We'll be going back tomorrow and keeping an eye out for fever signs, but as we live right next door they saw no reason we couldn't just head home.

So it's a thrilling night of Veronica Mars for us, waters be damned.

Hola

2008-06-09T17:47:00.000+12:00

Welcome to my new blog. Before we begin please note; this will in no way be an exciting experience, please keep any and all expectations relatively low. Rather, this blog is a way of keeping in touch with everyone I may not have a chance to, time and travel being restricted with my brand spanking new son on the way. So this'll be a place to dump any of my general comings and goings that have even the most remote chance of being of interest to anyone, at all.

Odds are if you're here you probably know me, for better or worse, please do feel free to leave comments or contact me by email. If you're looking for someone to pay to write things for you and have somehow found yourself on this weird little site instead, might I suggest looking over here instead. If you're some complete stranger, well, that's cool too.

Anyway, I have no idea what is going to end up here, if anything, but friends and family please stay tuned - you know me, this half-assed attempt is about the best I'm likely to manage by way of staying in contact.

That's all for now, signing out.