KEY POINTS:
These are spooky times. At the last parliamentary elections we had the Exclusive Brethren trying to secretly infiltrate themselves into the political process. Now we have the Hare Krishnas popping up on the business card of Auckland mayoral hopeful Steve Crow. Open www.asitis.com, the website listed
on his campaign business card and up pops an image of His Divine Grace Swami Prabhupada, founder of the Hare Krishna movement and remarkable lookalike of our very own Sex Swami, Steve Crow.
The page is headed with a promise of "pleasure secrets revealed", which seems appropriate for a man in Mr Crow's special trade. Could it be, we have the chance to elect as our next mayor, the reincarnation of the great hippy cult leader? How world class that would be. Imagine our bureaucrats and councillors in yellow robes and plastic sandals and waif-like. Imagine, no more cream buns and sausage rolls at council meetings.
"Oh my God," was Swami Steve's reaction, "what are you talking about?" He pulled out his card and gasped. It was a "Freudian slip" that no one had noticed until now. His real site, he says, is www.asitis.co.nz. But can we be sure?
Talking Freudian mysteries. Why is it that Auckland theatre-goers can no longer survive an hour without the need to suckle or slurp. It's not as though anyone is about to succumb from dehydration. Scientists tell us that humans can survive without a drink passing their lips for five or six days.
But tell that to the two grown-ups I sat near on Saturday night at Auckland Theatre Company's latest production My Name is Gary Cooper. The lights had hardly dimmed when out came a plastic water bottle and the pair took turns, passing it back and forth, to nurse away like unsettled babes. Admittedly, the play was set in sultry Samoa and California, but the theatre itself was not that hot!
Across town at the Steely Dan concert, Sally James of Ponsonby was observing the same phenomena. "Rather than a concert venue, the Vector Arena is more like a very large pub," she wrote in yesterday's Herald. "There was constant movement, with punters going for drinks throughout the performance. Is the arena for enjoying music or just another place to sell as much alcohol as possible?"
A few days earlier, music critic William Dart, at a concert by the New Zealand String Quartet at the Hopetoun Alpha, noted that "finger food and wine were available (which made for an unexpected and unfortunate percussive moment during Mozart, when a wine-glass toppled on the hard wooden floor.)"
Meanwhile, at the Edge you have attendants in the bars offering concert-goers cheap plastic doggy bag-type receptacles, about the size of a hospital urine bottle, into which to pour their interval dregs - and/or top ups - so they can take them back into the Town Hall or Aotea Theatre for the second half.
You've got to hand it to Edge chief executive Greg Innes, he doesn't give up easily. He first tried to launch this "innovation" in the dying months of last century and got a giant boo from users for his efforts. Only 15 per cent wanted the right to drink through Beethoven's 5th compared to 76 per cent who were against. The opposition came from both the high and low brow Edge users. As result, the experiment was quietly shelved.
Now the project has been quietly dusted down again, I'm sure a new poll would produce similar results. If we want to slurp away on a glass of wine and nibble nuts while listening to our Shostakovich, we can do it listening to a CD at home. When we go to a live performance though, we don't want to be distracted by sipping neighbours. As I said when Mr Innes first bruited the idea, I'd be happy to support it, if it was restricted to me only, because I'm the only person I know I can trust not to disturb myself, or to kick my wine glass over in the middle of the slow movement.
A cyclist colleague suggests the solution might be for venues to hire out cyclist bladders - backpack affairs with a little drinking hose attached. I think he was joking. Alternatively, there's always the intravenous drip.
