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David Harcourt
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Posted: 5 Jan 2010 03:18 am |
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Once upon a time there was a woman named Susan Boyle.
She looked as if someone had just used her to clean a drainage pipe, but she amazed the world by her ability to sing.
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David Harcourt
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| Joined: | 12 Jul 2006 |
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| Posts: | 1074 |
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Posted: 5 Jan 2010 03:23 am |
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Once upon a time there was a Jewish American playwright and intellectual named Arthur Miller.
In 1956 he married once of the most beautiful women in the world, a gorgeous (but intensely non-Jewish) starlet named Marilyn Monroe.
Marilyn was beautiful but she was as dumb as a bowl of beetroot.
Miller's friends must have asked themselves:
"What was he thinking?"
By 1961 Miller may have been asking himself the same question, as he and Monroe divorced that year.
Miller went on to write a play, After the Fall, in which he gave his own, highly tendentious, view of the marriage.
Some thought this was the behaviour of a nasty little rat since (a) Monroe was dead by that stage, and therefore not in a position to defend herself, and (b) Miller had pursued Monroe, rather than contrariwise, and it was therefore wrong for him to criticise her for failing to live up to his ludicrous expectations. (We may be completely confident that he failed to live up to hers.)
Artie Miller, American hero:
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David Harcourt
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| Posts: | 1074 |
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Posted: 5 Jan 2010 03:26 am |
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Once upon a time there was a woman named Janet Frame.
She looked as if someone had just used her to clean a drainage pipe.
Then she amazed the world by her ability to write the most wonderful prose.
Frame - ultimately able to resist the remorseless forces tending towards mediocrity in New Zealand:
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David Harcourt
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Posted: 5 Jan 2010 03:31 am |
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Once upon a time there was a gorgeous starlet named Marilyn Monroe.
She was one of the most beautiful women in the world.
In 1956 she married an American playwright named Arthur Miller.
Arthur Miller was so ugly he could stop slow traffic by looking at it.
Marilyn's friends must have asked themselves:
"What was she thinking?"
Monroe - too easily flattered and seduced, by a long procession of third rate no-hopers:
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David Harcourt
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Posted: 5 Jan 2010 03:36 am |
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Once there was a gifted poet named Fleur Adcock.
In 1962 she married Barry Crump, a writer of low-brow but very popular novels about fictitious adventures in the New Zealand bush.
Barry Crump made a living out of anti-intellectualism, and was so ugly he could stop slow traffic by looking at it.
Fleur's friends must have asked themselves:
"What was she thinking?"
It seems that Fleur started asking herself the same question almost immediately, because she and Crump were divorced in 1963.
Adcock - bad prose and good poetry didn't mix:
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David Harcourt
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Posted: 5 Jan 2010 03:43 am |
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Once there was a writer named Barry Crump, whose low-brow novels about fictitious adventures in the New Zealand bush were very popular.
In 1962 he married a poet named Fleur Adcock.
Adcock was quite nice looking but (a) brainy and (b) emphatically a product of the middle class.
Crump's friends must have asked themselves:
"What was he thinking?"
It seems that Crump soon started asking himself the same question, because he and Adcock divorced in 1963.
Crump - what on earth did he and Adcock talk about, one wonders?
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David Harcourt
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Posted: 7 Jan 2010 06:29 pm |
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Once there was an Israeli tennis player named Shahar Peer.
At a tournament in Auckland, chanting demonstrators accused her of having "blood on her hands" because of the actions of Israeli soldiers during the most recent occupation of Gaza.
Peer played no part in that occupation, and had no other connection with it. She does not go through the world arguing that her government is without blame.
Nevertheless, in BizarroWorld demonstrators can persuade themselves that the persecution of such a person is a right and proper thing to do.
Were a New Zealand sportsperson to be harassed by demonstrators in another country because of past action by a New Zealand government, this would be regarded as unfair and wrong. It would be seen, rightly, as the behaviour of cowards and bullies.
In BizarroWorld, it is the action of heroes. Men like John Minto, who is not a coward or a bully. At least, not in BizarroWorld, he isn't.
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David Harcourt
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Posted: 7 Jan 2010 06:41 pm |
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Japan's whaling industry, and the Japanese Government's defence of this revolting activity, is enough to make one despair of that country and its strange, tortured inhabitants. (But we have been here before, between 1931 and 1945.)
But the actions of protesters against Japanese whaling are so ridiculously over the top as to almost make one begin to sympathise with the whalers.
In due course, I predict, it will emerge that the fault for the collision earlier this week lay not with the Japanese vessel, as the protesters allege, but with both vessels, and perhaps not even equally. I shall not be surprised to learn that, on balance, the greater proportion of the blame lay with the protestors, who recklessly threw themselves into harm's way.
But we shall see. Meanwhile, in BizarroWorld, it is entirely right and proper to risk lives to make your argument in a way which - let's face it - merely serves to reinforce the prejudices of those against whom you are protesting, and to further alienate a government which we should be trying to persuade, not coerce.
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David Harcourt
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Posted: 27 Feb 2010 01:28 am |
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Imagine, if you can, the kind of earthquake which is inevitably going to hit Wellington, my home town, one day.
The last major earthquake here was in 1855. You can still see the faultline quite clearly. I am typing this about 60 metres from the faultline, sitting in the ground floor of a building which would probably fall down in a high wind, let alone a major earthquake.
Apparently, the next major earthquake here is long overdue. Suppose for a moment that you were caught up in a calamity of that kind and left, isolated, for several days, dependent for your survival on the stocks of food and water on hand.
I can imagine this. Can you?
I ask this because the members of my family have just brought to me from our emergency kit - that which we will rely on for our survival in the case of a major earthquake - three cans of sweet corn. They say that they will not eat the contents, ever, no matter what the circumstances.
Me, I like sweet corn, but I wouldn't have to like it to be prepared to eat it, if that's what was going to keep me alive.
I have the three cans of sweet corn before me now. I have been looking at them, marvelling at the fact that my family would rather die than eat sweet corn.
Give me anything except sweet corn, or give me death!
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