After helping gatecrash Back Benches with a bus last night and hearing Madame UNICEF speak, as well as a spread in Bryce Edwards' Daily Political Digest today, I understand child poverty is back in the headlines. Talk of mandatory warning schemes and so forth. Might I add a cautionary warning.
Beware of witch hunts. Remember Peter Ellis and the Christchurch Creche thing. Remember borstals, when the state tried to parent better than the irresponsible parents and bred "the gangs" by accident. Be wary of helicopter parents and Soccer Mums, lest we screw the kids up with Thomas the Fascist Tank Engine philosophies and instil some kind of quadruple reverse psychological bluff on them which ends up throwing them into a new realm of life skills deficit.
Showing posts with label Soccer Mums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Soccer Mums. Show all posts
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Safety Nazis uber alles
# Schools get the right to search all students for drugs, even if there has been no drug problem at the school. Privacy is for terrorists!
# Lest one's child learns responsibility or self-confidence without the loud wopping sound from the helicopter soccer mums and control freak dads, track and trace your child with software!
# Sean Plunket looks at the rules of engagement in the contemporary school playground!
# While the children are treated like infants, the adults are getting infantilised too. Tariana Turia wants to restrict tobacco packaging fonts and colours because, as every smoker knows, we judge a pouch by its cover.
# Auckland Safety Nazis think they can ban smoking in regional parks. Attempts at enforcing this edict is not recommended as being told to fuck off might offend.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Pants
I used to be a bit of a bike nut. It had nothing to do with fitness but with freedom. When I was biking, I was not at home. I could concentrate on the immediate worries, which were few. I knew where I stood, so to speak. And for all their faults, none of my six parents ever grounded me. Freedom was a bike ride away.
Happiness was a Sunday afternoon biking. The banks of the Manawatu River with fresh batteries in the Walkman was the best, but any compass point would do. The Esplanade was interwoven with a braid of dirt tracks. That was always a good place to start. Right past the Lido swimming pools, the mini-golf, the micro-railway towards Dittmer Drive? Nice native bush back there, fantails and everything.
Left was always more interesting. Under the bridge, the one that isn't there any more. Concrete arches like a Loch Ness monster. Choice of the Lagoon path or the back of the Teachers' College. Past the Murder House, the golf course and the cement works. Before you'd know it, I'd be halfway to Ashhurst, stopped only by the track dying out behind the market gardeners and gang headquarters.
As far as I know, no-one in particular made these paths. They were formed from common usage and not a great pool of money.
Then there was the river. That thing had a life of its own. If a path had gone on too much further upriver, it would have had to stop at the Manawatu Gorge. It might look piddly in summer, but the history of the river's winter potential is carved in that canyon. Only the insanest of crazy cyclists, PE teachers and the like, dared to bike through that chasm of stone with the main traffic back then.
I saw few fishers or swimmers along the banks of the river. Even in the middle of summer, practically no-one dared dipping in the steady river chill. Fishermen had better kai half an hour down Himitangi way. Adults didn't bike back then, preferring to work out their miseries on tenderising the steak or the missus, depending on their sex. There were a few walkers, but jogging hadn't caught on yet either. For a time, there was just me and the river, the hills, the sky and everything else.
The bike became part of me. In town, I had worked out a way of avoiding having to slow down at those pesky overlapped metal bars that pedestrians are supposed to zigzag through on walkways. I'd half dismount and skim under the bar at cruising speed. I wasn't the fastest though. That was proved when I came third to last in a mini-triathalon, narrowly beating an asthmatic albino and the octogenarian nana.
Cycling in Wellington took a bit of getting used to. Out Island Bay way, cycling was more weekend thing than mode of transport. The bus was a more reliable, weather-proof and less suicidal transport than biking to work. Things got trickier on moving into Thorndon. By far the quickest way to work was to bike along the motorway to the Terrace off-ramp. As this was usually about dawn and not having lights on the bike to attract traffic cops, I got away with it.
In my many many hours of cycling, I had not got myself killed once. Or even maimed, for that matter. Grazes, hell yes. Embedded gravel, you betcha. One thing you learn quickly when biking is how to fall. Landing on your brain is not recommended and best avoided.
Bolger's National government did something catastrophic and stupid in the 90s. It actually did two huge Transport cock-ups, the other being the merging of the police with the traffic cops. But that was mainly a budget thing. It became compulsory to wear an approved bike helmet. From henceforth, all cyclists regardless of age must strangle themselves with the strap of an uncomfortable polystyrene hat that would magically protect them from death. All the fun had gone out of biking, and after one too many helmet fines in 1995, I got off the bike forever.
Tragedy, fat fucks and fashion crimes. That's the price of bike helmets. Last year's death of a traffic safety cop sort of summed it up in the tragic irony department. All those Soccer Mum traffic jams at schools can largely be blamed on the death of popular childhood cycling. And the sartorial infringement award goes to this post, which conjures up the unholy image of Karl du Fresne in bike pants. No-one should have to experience these things.
So, in some sense, I understand the potential of a bike track from north to south. It won't affect trade agreements, as it is difficult to describe the project as protectionism. It would separate the traffic flows, allowing a non-helmet environment (no narks or cops), whilst keeping latex shrink-wrapped junk from distracting or terrorising innocent bystanders. There's also the tourism potential as well as providing a designated route for people fundraising for charities or walking a hikoi.
But is it really worth $50 million borrowed dollars? Or as Cactus Kate more accurately calls it, $100 million? I'm doing my utter best to avoid complete cynicism, but I'd want to see more of a business plan before such a scheme is purchased.
Then there's the obvious solution. Rip up the Main Trunk Line on uneconomical parts of the route to cut funding costs. I mean, we already own it and everything. Rearranging sunk costs and paper write downs are cheaper than borrowing. Rip up the rail to pay for the path. In fact, you could probably get volunteers to rip it up, saving you even more. Much the same was done with the old Fell railway line, the Rimutaka Incline, which is now very popular with the cyclists and walkers.
Happiness was a Sunday afternoon biking. The banks of the Manawatu River with fresh batteries in the Walkman was the best, but any compass point would do. The Esplanade was interwoven with a braid of dirt tracks. That was always a good place to start. Right past the Lido swimming pools, the mini-golf, the micro-railway towards Dittmer Drive? Nice native bush back there, fantails and everything.
Left was always more interesting. Under the bridge, the one that isn't there any more. Concrete arches like a Loch Ness monster. Choice of the Lagoon path or the back of the Teachers' College. Past the Murder House, the golf course and the cement works. Before you'd know it, I'd be halfway to Ashhurst, stopped only by the track dying out behind the market gardeners and gang headquarters.
As far as I know, no-one in particular made these paths. They were formed from common usage and not a great pool of money.
Then there was the river. That thing had a life of its own. If a path had gone on too much further upriver, it would have had to stop at the Manawatu Gorge. It might look piddly in summer, but the history of the river's winter potential is carved in that canyon. Only the insanest of crazy cyclists, PE teachers and the like, dared to bike through that chasm of stone with the main traffic back then.
I saw few fishers or swimmers along the banks of the river. Even in the middle of summer, practically no-one dared dipping in the steady river chill. Fishermen had better kai half an hour down Himitangi way. Adults didn't bike back then, preferring to work out their miseries on tenderising the steak or the missus, depending on their sex. There were a few walkers, but jogging hadn't caught on yet either. For a time, there was just me and the river, the hills, the sky and everything else.
The bike became part of me. In town, I had worked out a way of avoiding having to slow down at those pesky overlapped metal bars that pedestrians are supposed to zigzag through on walkways. I'd half dismount and skim under the bar at cruising speed. I wasn't the fastest though. That was proved when I came third to last in a mini-triathalon, narrowly beating an asthmatic albino and the octogenarian nana.
Cycling in Wellington took a bit of getting used to. Out Island Bay way, cycling was more weekend thing than mode of transport. The bus was a more reliable, weather-proof and less suicidal transport than biking to work. Things got trickier on moving into Thorndon. By far the quickest way to work was to bike along the motorway to the Terrace off-ramp. As this was usually about dawn and not having lights on the bike to attract traffic cops, I got away with it.
In my many many hours of cycling, I had not got myself killed once. Or even maimed, for that matter. Grazes, hell yes. Embedded gravel, you betcha. One thing you learn quickly when biking is how to fall. Landing on your brain is not recommended and best avoided.
Bolger's National government did something catastrophic and stupid in the 90s. It actually did two huge Transport cock-ups, the other being the merging of the police with the traffic cops. But that was mainly a budget thing. It became compulsory to wear an approved bike helmet. From henceforth, all cyclists regardless of age must strangle themselves with the strap of an uncomfortable polystyrene hat that would magically protect them from death. All the fun had gone out of biking, and after one too many helmet fines in 1995, I got off the bike forever.
Tragedy, fat fucks and fashion crimes. That's the price of bike helmets. Last year's death of a traffic safety cop sort of summed it up in the tragic irony department. All those Soccer Mum traffic jams at schools can largely be blamed on the death of popular childhood cycling. And the sartorial infringement award goes to this post, which conjures up the unholy image of Karl du Fresne in bike pants. No-one should have to experience these things.
So, in some sense, I understand the potential of a bike track from north to south. It won't affect trade agreements, as it is difficult to describe the project as protectionism. It would separate the traffic flows, allowing a non-helmet environment (no narks or cops), whilst keeping latex shrink-wrapped junk from distracting or terrorising innocent bystanders. There's also the tourism potential as well as providing a designated route for people fundraising for charities or walking a hikoi.
But is it really worth $50 million borrowed dollars? Or as Cactus Kate more accurately calls it, $100 million? I'm doing my utter best to avoid complete cynicism, but I'd want to see more of a business plan before such a scheme is purchased.
Then there's the obvious solution. Rip up the Main Trunk Line on uneconomical parts of the route to cut funding costs. I mean, we already own it and everything. Rearranging sunk costs and paper write downs are cheaper than borrowing. Rip up the rail to pay for the path. In fact, you could probably get volunteers to rip it up, saving you even more. Much the same was done with the old Fell railway line, the Rimutaka Incline, which is now very popular with the cyclists and walkers.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
TVNZ is lactose intolerant
Earlier today, I was having a chortle at British expense reading about this new CD featuring old songs that the BBC has banned. Not included is Split Enz's Six Months in a Leaky Boat, which was banned during the Falklands War. Thank Dagg we live in liberal old NZ. OK, the old control freaks at the New Zealand Broadcasting Corporation were something else, but times have changed:
On the subject of child censorship, it may be a good time to highlight that almost half of UK kids are banned from climbing trees as parents think it is too dangerous:
As a junior employee in the record purchasing section at the New Zealand Broadcasting Corporation in Wellington, my first job was to gouge a nail across the tracks of the B-side of the Ray Charles single "Hit the road. Jack". Censorship and concepts of "safe" records were an over riding pre-occupation of the establishment back then, although it has to be said the "The Danger Zone", the B side was less threatening than "Hit the road, Jack".Or rather, times haven't changed, they have twisted. Steven at Spare Room points out that TVNZ have banned a music video by soul band Hot Grits. No sex, violence, nudity or dry humping. Just a bunch of kids drinking milk:
On the subject of child censorship, it may be a good time to highlight that almost half of UK kids are banned from climbing trees as parents think it is too dangerous:
Play England, which says it promotes free play opportunities, insists that parents "constantly wrapping children in cotton wool" can harm the children's development. The poll found showed 51% of children aged 7-12 were not allowed to climb a tree without adult supervision, with 49% stopped from climbing trees altogether because it was considered too dangerous
...It found children's experiences of adventure are confined to designated areas such as playgrounds (56%), their homes (48%) or theme parks (44%).
Little wonder the little buggers are bored. There are calls over in Blighty for parents to please neglect their kids, leaving them to make their own fun.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Why OSH thinking is counterproductive
In the midst of hygiene upselling, we are bullied into buying antibacterial agents to ensure everything is clean. Who could take the ad with the hippy sneezing on the shopping trolley seriously? Soccer Mums, that's who.
Dave Allen once commented on fly spray: " 'Kills 99 percent of household bugs!', they say. What effect does it have on the 1 percent it doesn't kill? Feeds them? Makes them stronger? We're going to end up with superflies, invulnerable superbugs with the strength of a thousand ordinary bugs." Or something like that. Only now are scientists being able to demonstrate what comedians have observed for years. (Hat Tip BB)
Dave Allen once commented on fly spray: " 'Kills 99 percent of household bugs!', they say. What effect does it have on the 1 percent it doesn't kill? Feeds them? Makes them stronger? We're going to end up with superflies, invulnerable superbugs with the strength of a thousand ordinary bugs." Or something like that. Only now are scientists being able to demonstrate what comedians have observed for years. (Hat Tip BB)
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
In the Zone
Now, let me get this straight. School has resumed and the car wars have started. Due to school zoning, most kids are local. WTF with the cars then? Seriously, I do not get it.
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