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It was May, it was wet, it was overcast and cool, I was leaving LA, beginning my journey, searching for Zane Grey’s America. My bright yellow Land Rover Defender 90 was sitting in Venice outside my friend David’s house, hooked behind was my brand new 22’ CCD Airstream Trailer. Silver, sleek and my home for however long I wanted to travel. I had yet to read ‘My Travels with Charlie’ but had read ‘Blue Highways’.
And so here I was, all fired up, cameras, action and on the road with Kiri my dog, Pakeha my Land Rover and Pearl, aka, Zane Grey, my trailer. I was about to join the snowbirds, the trailer trash, the drop outs, the drop ins, and all those who somehow fit in between. On the road. I had completed 8 trips the previous year, exploratory trips shoe horned between projects, a week here, a week there. Big Sur, Utah, Arizona, Morro Bay. An exciting concept. Now I was heading East, into the West. I spent hours reading westerns as a kid, Zane Grey, Max Brand and a few select others. Intellectually lazy? Who cares, not me. I had arrived at this point of my life by bloody hard and totally focussed work. I know I paid a price with that focus but today, I am comfortable in that I followed my own path. Since the age of 13 I had been earning an income and spending the money I earned. At 18 I had a bespoke tailor, at age 34 I had paid off my house, owned a 32’ Yacht, a Farm, a Range Rover, a large vintage wine cellar and travelled to Europe with my wife and daughter. Otherwise, why the hell would I have worked that hard for 47 years not to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Why leave it to retirement? I arrived in New York with a few thousand dollars and a great reel of my work and no clue as to how good I was or if I would even be accepted. But as Ed Hilary was wont to say "Nothing venture, Nothing win". And so no, today I don’t have a million dollars, no I don’t have a big savings account or even a share portfolio, I simply have the proceeds of my Venice House sale that the government and the real estate agents hadn’t kept. They certainly hadn’t worked for it, that is for sure. And I have my self.
May 2004, the anniversary of me arriving in America exactly 18 years before. The previous year, my 60th, my birthday present was my wife telling me “I have rented an apartment in the marina and I am moving out next Saturday.” Merde!
Anyhow, I digress, New York City, big city, bright lights. It’s where I finally found acceptance, 1985 I visited for the first time, fell in love, moved there in 1987, it’s where I began to find my self. That child buried beneath a murky mound of self doubt, anger, frustration and a very good dose of, what I now see as, melancholy. Thank god for melancholy. Recently I found an article covering the condition in the New York Times. Where I had also found an article on broken heart syndrome. Just after my wife left whom I had married at City Hall on St Patrick’s day. New York, New York.
I have much to be grateful for living in and loving the City and finding love beneath her voluptuous skirts. Madison Avenue, TriBeCa, SoHo, the West Village, the Lower East Side. My playground. But the lure of Hollywood pulled me away after 3 years only to have me flying back for project after project, usually on the overnight red eye. I like to say I lived at Venice Beach but worked in New York City, which is pretty much how it was. Most of my clients and work came from there. Very loyal clients.
And so here I was, about to drive East but not as far as the Big Apple. Halfway I guess or maybe a third, my plan was open. Simply leave LA and drive the 10 Freeway East. The American West was calling and yet as I hopped in the car and drove away from my dear friends I felt a sense of incompletion. Now I need to say at this point that for all my life intuition has been my guide, when I have stopped long enough to listen, when I have paid attention, when I have trusted. It got me to New York to start with, it got me married in New York, to a truly beautiful woman, it guided me in my work, at least when I was able to let go and allowed the creative juices to flow. Yep, it served me well and now years later it was trying to get my attention and I was definitely listening as I drove around and around Venice wondering what the hell was going on. Finally I pulled over in Culver City, just before I hit the 405 Freeway which would take me to the 10. I parked outside a hole in the wall Mexican Restaurant, sat inside, ate a satisfying breakfast of eggs over easy and hash browns with a bottomless cup of excellent coffee and reflected with out getting too deep. Oh well I thought, this is it, hit the road Dickie and I left, climbed in Pakeha, that was the number plate and started her up with the anticipation of, this is really it, it’s time, the big adventure, the beginning of the rest of my . . . when a horn broke through my thoughts and a black SUV drove into the parking spot in front of me. My friend Jose stepped out and I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Jose Pomposo is a young man, now 23, who I began mentoring in 1993, just after I had bought my brand new bright yellow Land Rover. I met him via the Fullfillment Fund, the premier mentoring program in California. He became the son I never had, I guess that is the best way I can put it. All my assistants over the years also became the sons I never had. Doug, James, Robbie, John, Paul, Pierson. Yep all my assistants were males, all my producers females. A clear divide. I keep in touch with them all as they continue to write to me. I love it, I feel blessed that I could pass on my craft, my knowledge and my inspiration. Jose was special. Mexican American, first generation, his parents became friends, his sisters became friends. Mind you, in LA it is hard not to have a relationship with Latinos. LA would not function without them. Some treated well, many treated badly. Our housekeeper, gardener, handy man, builders, all Mexicans. Illegal? Personally I didn’t give a shit because they were people, trustworthy, loyal, hardworking people. They became our extended family. With Jose I had no idea what I was doing, if it worked, if it didn’t. I had to trust what others told me. After all, our cultures were worlds apart. Mine from Scotland and New Zealand, his from the indigenous people of Southern Mexico. His parents spoke very little English and yet their courtesy toward my wife and me would put many 5th generation new Zealand families to shame. We became guests at their parties where no one spoke English and we were the only white skinned people present. We never felt different. And their food was awesome. So Jose and me, we became buddies. We hung out, we talked, I introduced him to some of my beliefs, he told me his story. We were seen by the Fund as one of the success stories. From my point of view I felt I didn’t have a great deal to offer but then that was my own upbringing and so we stumbled through the years together. I stood firm when his family was threatened by gangs, his older brother was in jail. We laughed, cried, explored. It was great for me as I like to believe it was great for him. I got him back running, we won medals in 5 and 10K road races. And here I was about to leave LA and here he was, to say goodbye. We hugged and caught up. He told me a story which was the best going away present I could have dreamed of. He told me what our mentoring parnership meant to him. He told me about his new girlfriend and how she wanted to know all about me and asked Jose what it was that he got from me and Jose simply said “Richard taught me to reach for the stars and showed me how to get there.” Bloody hell, I lost it. If I do no other thing in my life that will be enough. Inspiring another human being to be the best they can be. And so in sharing this with you I am going to dedicate my Zane Grey project to Jose Pomposo, Jose Jnr or Junior as his parents called him. Be it a book, a photographic collection, a film, or all the above, after all, I do have all the material and I do have the time. I don’t want to work at an income producing job, I have done 52 years of income, it is time for me. To share, to tell my story, to explore my own creative process and if I get it right, then, and only then, it may inspire another 13 year old, somewhere out there in the world that life is worth living, yes it is scary and no there are no answers, simply more questions. Living each day as it presents itself, trusting in the process and having faith in whatever you choose to believe. And I will know that trusting my intuition in May 2005, I got to receive a priceless gift, the gift of acceptance, of love, of respect. Thank you Jose.
I look down at the tools at the bottom of the page and see I have written 1640 word which equates to 3.5 pages. And so to finish up, I quote from a New York Times article on writing;
“The journalist and novelist Tom Fleming recalled writing advice from Fulton Oursler, for whom he worked at Reader's Digest: "How do you write a book? … Four pages a day."
And so I missed by 3 lines, tomorrow I may achieve four pages or one or none but the words are there, I simply need to allow them to escape on the page. Talk soon. Thanks for listening.

And so it's two years since I landed back in New Zealand, some 42 years in the Real and New Worlds.
You may be wondering, what it is like here after some 20 years in Australia and then 20 years in America.
I did not become an Australian citizen but I did become a US citizen while retaining my NZ one. That, to me, sums up my OS ( OverSeas ) experience.
I have been told or it has been suggested, that moving to the Wairarapa region of NZ was a big mistake and that I would have been more comfortable in Wellington or Westport or even Matakana, be that as it may, I am here.
A small community in the rural back blocks of NZ. I bought a house over the Internet, that is the simple reason.
That I also bought a vineyard, albeit run down, is part of the more complex reasons I am here. It served me well.
To work outdoor, physically, solidly, for my first year back was a god send as left to my own resources, I doubt if I would have made it.
This was not an easy country to return to for me.
I have been on the World Stage for a long time, very comfortable with the life style I created, and, even though I was challenged, and at times fell, I always managed, with the help of friends, to get back up and moving forward in my life.
In this part of New Zealand, a challenging 90 minute drive to the nearest city of Wellington, it has been very difficult for me. I totally own that. The friends and fellowship I enjoyed in America had to be rebuilt all over again and with a total
population of 40 odd thousand, spread over a large river valley, it has not been easy.
However, restore the Vineyard I did, managing to harvest an excellent vintage of whites and reds. That was 2006.
2007 was a whole new ball of wax.
The vineyard was sold, the wine produced and resting well.
But me, well I came face to face with my self. The real Richard. The Richard I thought I had taken on the road 42 years ago, the Richard who traveled, learned a craft and practiced in Sydney, Hong Kong, New York, London and Hollywood.
The Richard I came back to was the one left behind, the Richard who was bruised and somewhat emotionally battered from childhood, the fearful child, the silent one. And so began a year of living dangerously.
Learning to own my voice, learning to speak up, speak out. I started my own Radio Show, I started filming, photographing, writing. My subject being my experiences.
What I saw, what I felt, what I actually experienced and it took a whole 12 months to come to a place of something like comfort and acceptance. And then, November 2007, I revisited the US, to see if I had made a mistake.
To see what it was about America that originally pulled me across the Pacific.
I spent close to a month in LA and the Central Californian Coast.
I absorbed friends, the creative energy of at least 25 Art Galleries, I browsed book stores, Hennessy & Ingalls, et al.
I bought very little stuff. I browsed Samy's Camera, caught up with my many friends and fellowship. I attended a friend’s Movie Premier. I absorbed, absorbed, absorbed. Not for me ‘The Old Country’. England and the English have no attraction for me. Europe yes, Scotland maybe, The US of A most definitely.
I had become, over 20 years, an American. I felt accepted, simply as I was. One amongst many.
And so New Zealand was viewed, rightly or wrongly through the eyes of an American. I was, literally, 'A Stranger in a Strange Land'.
The main challenge I have found was that I was left to look at myself, the child that left, the reasons I left, not easy, not at all.
To wake up to myself every day, challenged to take the next step forward, every single day. The Winter was particularly harsh, I found it difficult to get comfortable, I shifted my bedroom 3 times, my house, while interesting was not designed with winter in mind.
Living in a country town where the cafes close at 4PM, where the main street is empty at 5PM and television doesn't reflect anything of New Zealand, added to my sense of displacement. I have little history to fall back on in this town where family history is everything.
I wasn't into Rugby, Racing or Religion when I left, nothing has changed for me today.
I enjoy the path less traveled, however, this was testing me to the max.
Even my children in Australia were critical of my discussion of anything American.
As were many of my new friends. But I have stood my ground, become known as argumentative, outspoken, 'mulish' even, by one person I have never even met.
As a child it was that "little boys are seen but not heard".
Fuck that.
Passive aggressive women were the bane of my existence, today I have a choice.
Of course being around that atmosphere I absorbed the same passive aggressive patterns. But now, now I get to let them go, bloody hell, it's not easy. Hence I speak my mind and take a bruising.
But I would rather live singly and happy than be fodder for female gene machines. Yes, it can be that challenging.
Today, the 29th January 2008.
A New Year.
A broken shoulder.
The next step.
To create a body of work of which I can be both proud and discerning. To practice my filmmaking, my photography and my writing. And more especially, my humanity. Films, Exhibitions, Publications. That is my dream today.
For that I need help. For that I need discipline. For that I need an audience.
Is it at all possible?
Well let me simply say that I am going to give it my best shot, it will not be for a lack of trying. And for that I need loving, strong and consistent support. I cannot achieve anything in isolation. That was my downfall as a child, as an adult
I get to do it with a different attitude, one of gratitude. Maybe even, humility!
For that I have many, many friends to thanks, pardon me if I miss you;
Robert, David W, David E, Dan H, Dan M, Bob, Bruce, Jack, Catalina, Natalija, Amo, Geoff, Seth, Jonathan, Shash, Rosemary, Vi, Leslie, Christy, Erik, Barbara, Tony/Dan/Marge - RIP, Don, Mike, John, and many, many more, whose names I will add as I remember them.
I am going to end this while I take a break and go to physio for my shoulder, I will continue, as always, love, Richard.

In my career I have learned a thing or two, or so I believe.
First and foremost I have learned to pay attention. Now this may seem trite but in Film Editing it is essential as clients expect me, demand of me, that I be paying attention. It is lack of attention when a project turns to custard. That has happened to me and boy, did I learn the hard way.
This is no where more expected/demanded than in America, New York in particular. New York is home to Madison Avenue, the Mt. Everest of Advertising. When I moved from Sydney to New York I both worked and lived on Madison Avenue. In the 80’s editing companies enjoyed long and steady relationships with Ad Agencies, editors with agency producers to be precise. I guess, that to say editors were ‘owned’ by agencies wasn’t far from the truth. Case in point, Denis Hayes Editing was the editing company of choice for BBD&O. It was hard for me to break that bond and I was fortunate to be fed bones by producers who wanted to break free of the cycle. It took miniscule steps to conquer the mountain, just like everest. The pressure of Madison Avenue was intense, especially for an outsider, with writers and art directors just waiting for me to screw up so they could go to their producer or creative director and howl, “ see, we should have stuck with so and so.” In spite of this the teachers and experiences I enjoyed in Sydney really came to my rescue. I was simply a damned good film editor and I would take the edit, the music and sound design to places the creative team weren’t expecting. It was a great deal of fun and at the same time, bloody scary. On a couple of very memorable occasions I was hired to ‘rescue’ spots. One, for a giant Asian electronics company, the client was about to walk, the agency had shot a very high profile spot with one of the all time great directors from London, the London Symphony had recorded an amazing piece of music and the Creative Director was in despair. I was asked if I would be interested in giving it a shot as the Agency was about to lose the account. Of course I took it, it was a great challenge in my first months in New York. I simply asked that I get a completely new set of dailies, I didn’t want to see what had been done to date and I worked alone. I said give me three days. On the Monday I invited them over and they were deadly quiet. They asked me where I had got scenes from, they hadn’t seen them before. Well, one thing I learned early on in my career is you watch, and I mean sit and watch every single frame that has been shot. I never bought in to Directors circled takes or directors story boards as the be all and end all. Many Editors are simply frustrated Directors. In my experience many Directors have tunnel vision as to what constitutes a good or bad take and it is often tied up with their experiences on set. They didn’t like the talent, they didn’t like this or that. An editor is a new pair of glasses on a film. A good editor will/can breath life into a story. That alone can make all the difference. Needless to say the agency didn’t change one single frame of my edit, the client loved the spot and it went on to win a Clio.
It is kind of funny that the larger, more complex the project the more comfortable I felt. A ‘small’ 30 second spot seemed to take more pressure, more focus to make work. I guess there were more eyes on less and so the pressure was all the more intense. In the late 80’s early 90’s, experienced producers were being let go, fired, from agencies and juniors were being shoved into senior positions and while that can be admirable for the junior it meant that all that great senior experience went out the window and the work suffered. All in the name of saving a buck or two.
That is why I love the internet. When I first started editing on computers it became obvious that much about the way business was done was going to change. More edits, faster turn around and, not without a certain irony, higher costs. In my business models, I have always tried to find the most creative, most cost effective and efficient way to do business and most of the time, not always, but most of the time, succeeded. Much of it was about reading the script very carefully, about making sure the clients brief was clear. Many New York editors seemed to pay no attention to pre-production. I think it shocked clients when I asked if I could attend pre-pro meetings with the Agency and Client. In this way there were no surprises and the Creative team seemed shocked when the edit went so easily, they would say “boy, you really did listen to what we wanted” and that is what they got with some cream on top. That was possibly the biggest strength to my arsenal. Listening to what clients really wanted and delivering with some extra energy. That could be a totally out of left field music track or type design. Having worked with the best creative directors in Australia certainly helped me in New York where the pressure is enormous.
My style of editing also fitted New York well at that time. Pure story telling learned from the likes of Ray Lawrence, Fred Schepisi, Richard McCarthy and Tony Williams.
I learned that it was all about the story; the rest was simply window dressing. I sat with the Directors as we viewd every single take and it became a process of elimination and trying different performances.
I have edited over 5000 commercials, a couple of features, a few docs and music videos. All round the world, for a variety of clients and products. My beginnings in Sydney were pretty damned humble and I thought I was pretty damned slow, that I would never get it. I am totally grateful for a great teacher in John Hoskins at Ross Wood Productions. Having never studied film, the school of hard knocks was my battlefield. It took me four years, from starting out, to being accepted as a competent freelancer. I opened my own company at 28 and never looked back. I spent 20 years editing in Sydney, 20 in America. I arrived back in NZ last year. I spent 2006 restoring a Vineyard and now, having been there and done that, I am back to film and photography. Now I get to live my ‘New Zealand Period’.
Recently, reflecting on my experiences, I was asked, “What had the greatest impact?”
As a child my father taught me composition and color, in Australia I worked closely with directors, long and at times suffering, intimate relationships. In America, I worked closely with the few directors who allowed to edit their own work. Mainly I worked with writers and art directors. I learned equally from them all. I was given a great deal of autonomy in my craft, which pissed of not a few American editors. Who is this 'Johnny Come Lately' who walks into New York like he owns the place and, gets access to the best work?
Good question, how the hell did that happen? I am somewhat bemused to this day. I considered myself, unfairly, as a hick from the sticks. I actually happen to be bloody good at what I do, I am a passionate storyteller and it shows. I also had a damned good reel and was willing to walk Madison Avenue knocking on doors. One of my first projects, American Express, the South American launch, paired me with English Director David Mallet, who looked after me like I was his only son, he demanded not only the best for me but also, from me, a great learning curve to the wonderful world of American Advertising. It is certainly not for the faint hearted.
I was asked about equipment recently and have to say I have never had a problem embracing new technology. In Sydney I started on Moviola and Intercine, in New York, KEM and Steenbeck.
I only ever edited one project tape to tape, and swore off it for life.
I continued on film until 1995.
Avid came along about the same time as Bill Clinton. I was now living and editing in Venice Beach. Hollywood thought I was nuts, Clinton’s people pursued my people; for me to cut the inaugural film and I blinked. I was only just learning AVID, I was terrified, they wanted an immediate answer, I had work up to my eyeballs and I blinked.
I often wonder what direction my life would have taken if . . . but life is not about ‘IF’.
Being a story teller meant that I could ‘read’ a script, read beyond the words and bring a different slant to the project. With Range Rover, as soon as I saw the script out of New York I simply knew I had to edit the project. A great creative team, a great director. It was up to the producer, she thought the creative director and I would be a great ‘fit’ even though we never met. Anyhow they shot in White sands New Mexico, the Director spent 30 minutes between flights giving me his input, the Agency returned to New York and I edited in Hollywood. 3 days later they all descended on my editing room, sat behind me after the introductions, I ran the piece 3 times, the creative director, Roy Grace, jumped up, clapped his hands and said “that’s it”. And it was, they didn’t change a frame, it won best Automotive Award at the Clios and a raft of other Statues. They became good clients. There were no effects, no manipulation of images. It was well written dialogue, well directed and shot, the talent was amazing, they also won awards. The music I created myself and the agency spent thousands re-creating the track, exactly as I had made it.
Editing is editing, story telling is the same. Special effects can work for projects which are conceived with that in mind. To my way of thinking and editing, if effects are needed to make a spot work then there is a problem, usually with the editor I might add. It seems that many editors simply want to play and that is NOT what the business of editing is all about, be it Advertising or Feature Films. It’s bums on seats. Which comes back to the story telling. The great Ads, the great Movies, are simply great stories, great writing well conceived, well produced; as I have said anything else is just window dressing. It prevents the audience from getting the message. It is one of the biggest turn offs with audiences today. All the flash and noise is simply that but it’s like a Big Mac, afterwards there is no lasting satisfaction, no memory, no ‘story’ to chew over, so to speak.
When the Internet came upon us mere mortals in the early 90’s it was, to me especially with my love of technology, a god send. Here I could react and interact, with and to clients, faster and better. Mostly better but not always. Anyhow it enabled me to do more for less. Clients in New York, San Francisco, Minneapolis had budgets that when bid seemed very tight, of course afterwards, in the post process, they would find a great deal more money, it was a long time before I woke to that. Don’t you just love America. Anyhow, the internet opened pipe lines of communications that suited the Film Biz to a T. Client stayed home, I lived and worked in LA, rather than overnighting edits on cassettes we were able to output edits, make compressed files and hit send. With Apple’s Final Cut Pro it became easier, I could compress directly from the editing timeline and send directly over the internet from the same computer. This saved clients heaps. Travelling, accommodation, entertainment and it also allowed them to be at the Agency working on the next project. Of course that didn’t suite all clients but it did save a shit load of money that could go into the project. When I arrived back in New Zealand I had this mythology that NZ was way ahead of the rest of the World, in just about anything, it is if you listen to those who have never worked overseas for any length of time ?
The reality is somewhat different.
Just recently I was asked to edit a spot for a US client and the download of material was fine, the editing was a piece of cake, I found a world class AfterEffects artist in Masterton and we worked together to produce a spot that really excited the clients. Sending even highly compressed files seemed to take forever, this was simply for the approval process. On approval we tried to send a file for Air. Ouch! 22 hours it took. I watched the speed of the ‘broadband’ as it chugged away. It would have been better for me to get on a plane and hand deliver. New Zealand has a problem and it is not going away anytime soon. We need to be connected to the World. I am not Peter Jackson, I do not have that muscle, that visibility. For all the governments pontificating about expats returning and how New Zealand needs them, well here is the bad news, New Zealand is a sick, sick society in so many areas that it is less than what it was, certainly less than when I left years ago. There are many, many truly great New Zealanders in the Film and Ad business but guess what, they often live and work overseas. For those who live here, to compete with the world, for that is what it is all about, competition, we need the right tools and governments, over time, have simply allowed the infrastructure to crumble, much like the recent bridge failure in Minneapolis.
I was recently asked if MTV style film making has effected audiences. In a word, yes. The attention span of young people today is a major issue, mind you I was a classic daydreamer as a kid and so Film Editing with it’s fine parameters became the ideal environment for me. MTV style programming, whilst not totally to blame, must share some of it. I see teenagers walking the streets of New Zealand heads down, text-ing. Bloody hell, what have we done. We have stopped ‘paying attention’ to life and to all the great things that exist in New Zealand.
I digress.
I don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘Classic’ editing. Go back in history, Abel Gance’s Napoleon, used all the tricks in the book. The great America graphic designer, Saul Bass, used all the tricks in the book, when the subject matter called for it. Otherwise don’t screw with the concept. What is needed today, is clear, clean communication, which gets back to the basic ability to tell a story. If a story calls for FX then so be it, but those Films/Ads, in my experience, don’t have the longevity. Ads I edited 30 years ago in Sydney hold up with today’s, they were simply well written, well executed by people who knew and practiced their craft. They also had, dare I say, an emotional quotient. That is something Americans came to me for, the emotion I seemed to be able to squeeze out of a combination of image and sound. I am not talking about schmaltz, I am talking about real emotion, the real guts of any communication, where people are moved. That to me is the mother load.
One of my first AVID projects was a biggie; huge is a better description. CAA had walked over McCann Erikson for the Coke account and Hollywood A Directors were the rage. I was selected by Dick Donner of Lethal Weapon/Superman fame to be HIS editor and I loved every single terrifying moment of it. Richard Donner and his team became my family for an intense period of time and I had a ball. Michael Kamen flew in from London, his assistant set up a keyboard behind me, Michael would sail in like Essa Peka does today with the LA Philharmonic, and simply gesture “play”, he knocked out a tune, everyone smiled, done deal and off he flew to London. It was a fun time. Then Apple Computers bought out a software company and launched Final Cut Pro. I was the first commercial editor on the face of the planet to use it as my editing tool. I loved it. I could work from home and email edits all over the Country. We had faster Internet than exists in NZ but that is another story ?. I would take my laptop with FCP installed, set up on location, take a video split from the Video Assist, record to hard drive and, during takes, be overwhelmed by creatives wanting immediate edits. It was wild and I loved it.
I remember when AVID first appeared at NAB in Vegas; I belatedly flew in from New York, staying in a fleapit motel. and at AVID’s stand was dismayed by the quality of AVR1. My clients were Singapore Airlines and Coca Cola and my Directors were the best of the best; they demanded the best of the best and there was no way I was going to work on a system where I was editing highly pixilated images. That night I wrote a widely published article explaining why I wouldn’t be working on an AVID any day soon. I guess that is why I turned down the Clinton film; they wanted me to edit on AVID. Thanks but no thanks, too bloody scary. I did pay a price though, I missed work where producers demanded AVID editing.
Then, just before I left the US, I became a US Citizen, just before that my wife left to ‘find’ herself ?. Then I landed Dogma 17, aka American Reunion. I had built a Studio in Venice and the film landed in my lap.
It was a life saving experience and I loved every moment of it as they gave me carte blanche; that was what I requested and they also gave me an Associate Producer credit. Very cool.
In my Venice studio, on a very powerful FCP System, I edited for close on 3 months and then walked the producers through my own post process, dumping out YUV to DVCam, into Flame/Inferno for online color correct and title design, then out to Digi Beta and onto Digital Intermediate at Photo Kem in Burbank, the first Answer Print scared the shit out of me, what have I done I thought; they said, as only Americans can, “we’ll get it right”. True enough and the next print was amazing, we held the premier at the ArcLight in Hollywood and now it has become a small cult hit across America. After that I sold up, went exploring the American West for two years and now I am in New Zealand, wondering what the hell have I done. Time will tell I guess.

Jeez, finally, Obama no less, someone, anyone, is willing to see the truth of the al Qaeda links, yes, Pakistan, yes, Afghanistan, no to Iraq, no to Iran. So what the hell were we doing attacking Iraq, sure Sadly Insane was insane as are all power driven dictators, Cheney included along with his pet Chihuahua, Bush. The British fox terrier didn’t help except, as foxies do, hang onto the Bush coat tails. As for Australia’s Howard, I guess mixed breeds aren’t much good to anyone, throw them an occasional bone I guess, like a free trade agreement.
So now we have an American Senator, no not Boxer, not Clinton, no not McCain, but a true African American, a true voice of the middle class, one who doesn’t open his mouth to win votes, well not in the manner of the Senator from New York. Hilary, I sort of knew Bill and you are no Bill Clinton. Why, his chasing cheap skirt seems downright civilized when compared to Rummey, Cheney & Co. Maybe you need to take an Arab American of Color as a ‘friend’, really alienate the right and totally galvanize the left. You are sure fucking up royally as you are. Go Obama, go to Pakistan, then get rid of the Middle East weapons deals, put the military industrial complex out of business and put the money into the education, the health care system and the infrastructure of America. America Heal Thy Self.
Surely, if we can create an in space early warning, pre-emptive, missile shield, we can cure hunger, poverty and all that boring stuff that just won’t go away by itself. Oh, and while we are at it, pull the plug on all the despot dictators around the world, become self sufficient in energy and gee, shucks, we could truly “have a nice day!” Cheers folks.

. . . and so to the weekend.

Today I found out that this winter is a cold one, a great deal colder than last year, last year i had a project to occupy my time, my Vineyard. It kept me focussed, busy and tired. So when I went to bed I went to sleep. Not that I don't sleep easily today, I do but it is those moments just before and just after the sleep that create chaos with my mind. That is when flight or fight become options. Cabin Fever. The saving grace for me, today at least, is the internet where I can explore, communicate and waste time, which I do. However the art I find is the stimulus I need when it's not available on the ground. Interesting. The dilemma is, live cheaply in the Country and crave creative liaisons or live in the City, struggle to pay the rent but be totally sated with imagery and creative expression. Interesting huh! Well I find it so. Not that I am giving up on New Zealand as that, to a degree, would be giving up on myself. I have too much energy and too many ideas for that and yet, I struggle. I am not alone, it is the path of the spiritual warrior I have heard it said and that rings true today. I don't need an answer, these are simply my thoughts, out aloud.
Maybe it IS a cry for help but is that so bad. To have reached the limits of my abilities to find answers, where can I go but to scream aloud, HELP!
In times gone by, a few hundreds and thousands of years ago, it was common for the rabbis to go out into the desert and scream into the silence, "HELP!" How can I get help if I don't ask, if I don't express my frustration. What is the alternative, silence, depression, despair? Or worse?
Nah, not today, today I will simply cry out into the Blogosphere, "HELP!"
And then let it go. Cheers.

"You put your camera around your neck along with putting on your shoes, and there it is, an appendage of the body that shares your life with you. The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera." - Dorothea Lange

It’s 4 10 AM, in the morning, Saturday the 15th july 2007 by the Pakeha calendar. What is it by Maori? Matariki, New Year has just passed and so I have no idea and I am filled with regret that I do not know. I can’t even speak their language. They speak mine after all.
This morning I am experimenting. I had a dream that woke me half an hour ago and I woke and wrote in my journal. I gave it a brief interpretation, maybe I was accurate, maybe I was off the map. Anyhow I then turned off the light and lay back as if to go gently into the sleep I had woken from. But no. I was lying with thougfhts, ideas bubbling from me as though from a spring. I was about to reach for my journal and I thought NO, try something totally new for me. Get up, put this in my computer and post it to my blog. This is new. What does it mean, it does not have to mean anything. I have a radio show every Friday evening at 5 PM, that was yesterday. It starts to feel, at this time of day, like a waste of energy and also money as I pay for the air time myself. What sponsor would want to pay for my rambling thoughts whereas on my Blog it simply doesn’t matter if anyone reads it or not. The possibility and the potential is vastly more powerful. My Blog costs me 30 bucks a month, my radio show about 140 a months. A no brainer as you can see. Well at least that is what I see at this hour. Now I need to be clear here. I did not wake with an obsession, I woke with a dream. A vivid clear and powerful dream.
I was living in a small house in the city, which I did in Los Angeles before I relocated to New Zealand. 4 years ago, almost exactly, my wife came home from work, sat down and over coffee told me she had rented an apartment and was moving out the following Saturday, that is what I remember. Boy was I pissed. Did I tell her I was pissed? No, I did not, I could not. I simply didn’t trust my male genes. This is a legacy of growing up in a passive aggressive home and a passive aggressive society. A society at odds with it’s self. Maori, the 900 year traditional inhabitants of Aotearoa New Zealand and the European Pakeha population, johnny come latleys of some 200 years. An uneasy settlement. These two societies are still at odds. Policies in play seek to water down, to take from Maori. Maori have fought back, found their voice and found their power, much like it took my wife leaving abruptly for me to find mine. I took a lover after my wife and I divorced. My wife remarried quickly, filling the void I would guess as an alcoholic takes the first drink and then can’t help himself, taking another andf another, feeding the addiction. But I digress because surely as I re-read this that is what I did when the first sexy east coast red head came along ?
I have not re-married. I did propose to the crazy redhead though. In a sense I am alone, apart from my dog and cat. Passive aggressive companions I guess and smile at the thought as they are also my salvation or at least a calming balm. I continue to digress ?.
I am alone with my thoughts, I am alone with the universe. I embrace the sun as the true source of my life. Without the sun I cannot live, simple really. Morally speaking I need a entity which guides and comforts me, a power far greater than myself I guess. I don’t guess, I know. I accept. In this regard man created the concept of God. Maori see the earth as Mama and the sky, the heavens, as Papa. Many indigenous, native peoples of the world see, embrace, this as a similar belief. There is a commonality. I believe, me/we as Pakeha cling to the man created god in our controling fashion believing we can make God our own. I guess we strive, until we believe otherwise, that we are stiving to become God, how arrogant is that. I am man, period. To me God is simply my soul, that which connects and repells me from others. The connection is good, the repelling is evil. Simple really. Simplistic and naieve maybe, but so be it. This is my time, my words, my Blog. So, to embrace others is good to reject them, even those we perceive as having hurt us, is not good, it is destructive to both me and them. The desert fathers, the source of our ‘religion’, believed that we cannot live good lives while rejecting those we see as evil. Good and evil is in me, in all of us. Accept it or not. It is a daily and sometime hourly battle to balance one with the other. I am both challenged and encouraged by myself and others, sometimes to the degree that I cannot tell the difference. That is what is meant by ‘getting a life’. Getting real. Reality as against fantasy. Fantasy is for Hollywood. Metaphor, now metaphor is vasdtly different from fantasy. Metaphor is in the gospels, in Tolkein, in Jung.
So, at 4:34 AM Pacific daylight time, except it’s pitch black, what am I trying to say. I have no idea, I am simply sharing what is within me. Vomitting on the page some would say. Crazy, possibly, but surely this is far better than to simply store my thoughts and thinking and carry it into my day. Letting it escape in my innapropriate interaction with and toward others. We all have a story to tell. Today we have television that tells Hollywood influenced stories that have no real meaning in a day to day hand to mouth real world, junk food for the masses I would say. Maybe this will help another, wherever, whoever, become aware that they have the freedom to think and share, without making others wrong or right. To share my story and where I am coming from in the early hours of a Saturday.
This is far different than what I experienced as a child. As a kid it was said that little boys were to be seen and not heard. That little girls were sugar and spice and everything nice. BUT, yes, today we know that sugar and spice, when consumed to excess can be harmful. For some people even a little sugar is harmful ? Go figure. What have we done, what have I done to my self with some of the poisonous ramblings of my ancestors. It is time for Pakeha to look to Maori, embrace and accept Maori as we would have them embrace and accept our beliefs in the belief that we would/could/should save them from themselves. Bloody hell. What were my ancestors thinking? 300 years ago it was the English subduing the Scots, now it is the English trying, continuing, to supress the Maori. It didn’t work with the Scots and it won’t work with the Maori. Long live the Clans and long live the Whanau, iwi, Maoritanga, whatever. I am trying to get my head around this, what seems to me, a foreign language. I guess after 41 years out in the real world it does seem like a foreign language.
Because I was rejected by my wife I do not need to reject all women? There are loose parallels here that maybe I am not quite making clear but, for gods sake, it’s 4:42 AM in the morning and I should be in bed in a deep sleep fighting for my share of the bed with my dog and cat show ?. The early hours of my waking day and here I am trying to write these ideas out of myself so that I may curl up with my electric blanket in this bloody cold Roger Walker designed house, energy inefficient to the inth degree, sorry Roger, but someone has to tell it as it is. I love the design but not the execution, and not it’s place, in the South Pacific, in the middle of winter. Mind you I do refer to it as Whare Rakau or Tree House of House of the Forest or something.
So where am I?
Deleting the last paragraph I wrote as I found myself taking back what I had written, sheesh, that’s more of the same. Back to bed now, push the animals aside and dream on. Amen.

A buffet sure to leave you hungry
Arts & Letters Daily delivers best ideas at high speeds

Robert Fulford
National Post

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Among the most unlikely residents of Christchurch, a New Zealand city of 414,000, is a philosophy professor whose work reaches every corner of the planet, a man Time magazine described as one of the most influential media personalities anywhere. Denis Dutton, born in Los Angeles 63 years ago, sits down at his computer every day and carefully begins explaining the world to itself through Arts & Letters Daily, a great intellectual magazine that could have existed at no previous moment in history.

In online jargon, Arts & Letters Daily is an aggregator, meaning it pulls together material from many sources. But its fans know it's much more than that. It's both a daily reminder of the riches available in the publications of the world and a map to finding those riches.

Since 1998, A & LD has been searching tirelessly for online articles that should be known everywhere, providing the links that make it possible for us to put them on our screens with a single mouse-click. The editors show a god-like way to find, in the most obscure places, material that pleases, surprises and stimulates their readers. Apparently not a sparrow falls, intellectually speaking, without their knowledge.

They carry brief introductions that have a way of making every article sound essential. Dutton's style of summarizing is all his own: "Science does not follow a clear road to truth; better is the idea of a meandering river in flood and drought ..."

A & LD's reach keeps growing broader. More than ever, it sends us to marvellous publications of which some of us have never previously heard -- Logos Journal, for instance, or Physicstoday.org, or The New Atlantis: A Journal of Technology and Society.

If it has a political tendency, it's libertarian, which at least a couple of my readers have criticized as conservative. My feeling is that its openness to new thinking is the opposite of conservatism.

The other day, in just one of the three columns that make up its front page, A & LD sent us to articles on globalization (how much is too much?), the political fading of Europe, the failure of Canada to create superhero comics (that was by Jeet Heer, well known in these pages), the fresh popularity of atheism (perhaps eventually " The Atheist's Bible will be found in every hotel room"), Shakespeare as the first great generalizer in English, the insane popularity of expensive weddings, the chances for real democracy in India and the surprising longevity of Goth styles among the young.

In the way the editors defy space and time, it's a uniquely 21st-century enterprise. Dutton's managing editor, Tran Huu Dung, is an economist at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio, 13,846 km from Christchurch as the crow flies. When it's 8 p.m. on Wednesday night in Dayton, it's noon on Thursday in Christchurch. (The editorial meetings must be murder.) Even their relationship began digitally: Dutton hired Dung when he knew him only through e-mail.

The occasional appearance of a piece by me on A & LD produces celebration around my house. It's like winning a prize. Besides, it brings unexpected responses from faraway places, such as Argentina or Korea. Sometimes, it even attracts a few words from old lefty friends who would never read me in print because they're so crazed by politics that they fear mental exposure to a "right-wing" (shudder) newspaper like the Post.

A piece I wrote about A & LD five years ago has been mentioned to me by more readers than anything else I've written in the Post. Some readers just want me to remind them of the Web address (www.aldaily.com)because "something happened" to their computer (how well I know what that means); they've lost it and don't know how to find it again. An impressive number say something like "that column was the best thing you've ever done for me." I know what they mean. A&LD is so pleasant that it can become part of one's life in a few weeks. It can be addictive, even dangerously so. It's my home page, and often I read it first thing in the morning; but on days when there's difficult work to be done, I exercise virtuous restraint and postpone even glancing at it till afternoon. It can be a guilty pleasure, happily consuming hours while deadlines loom.

A writer in The Times once remarked, "Arts & Letters Daily satisfies your intellectual cravings like an expert sommelier at the swankest restaurant in town." That's dead wrong. The idea of satisfaction misses the point. Daniel Bell said that a book is not a meal; it should not satisfy us but make us hungry for more books. The best article works in the same way.

Intellectuals like to believe they exist on a plane of serene detachment, where issues of fashion are ignored, no one worries about keeping up with the cultural news, and certainly no one cares which ideas are hot and which are limping sadly off the stage, spent or discredited.

A & LD embodies another view. Its elegant design resembles the little papers that were passed around in 18th-century London coffee houses, sometimes called "the penny university" because you could read all the news if you paid a penny for coffee. (A & LD is cheaper.)

Dutton treats even the most serious thinking as news and proudly displays a motto borrowed from Seneca: Veritas odit moras, meaning "Truth hates delay." Born out of a depressingly slow university world where books sometimes take four years to go through the press, A & LD delivers the best thinking at the highest speed.

Dutton loves the intellectually eccentric -- he gleefully tells us about a Marxist critique of basketball, for instance. But as he says, he hopes mainly to focus on subjects that count. He sees the encounter between Islam and the West as one essential theme. "We need deeper, better thinking and better analysis, to understand this great cultural moment," he remarked a couple of years ago. On that topic, he chooses material so well that he can enrich even those who think they know it well.

A & LD does for ideas what the Bloomberg service does for commerce. It watches developments, sorts things out, tells you what you need to know. It doesn't produce the profits Bloomberg brings in, but over time its ability to make connections may turn out to be even more important than the stock market.

© National Post 2007

"Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of the morning. The light did him harm, but not so much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad." Kingsley Amis.

Some mornings, sometimes are just too challenging for me, it's that simple.
So when I read this piece in Arts & Letters Daily I simply had to share it.
1:55 AM is a good time to wake, dreaming of directors I have worked with, it happened this morning.
Why? How the hell would I know. This particular director was one of my favorites, we worked many years together.
Closely. We were regarded as a team, the A team I might add.
I edited everything he shot over an 8 year period, all except his features.
Now there's the rub and that is what came to me early this morning.
If I can tell great stories via television commercials, which I can, why not trust me over 90 minutes.
I remeber the editor on the aussie director's, who WILL remain nameless, first full length film sharing that he wondered why I was not editing the film,
as the director, name not mentioned, talked about me all the time. Mmmmmm! Maybe it says more about me than him. What is it about features, the editing thereof, that scares the b'jesus out of me, fear. Fear of failure, more likely fear of success. Those bloody gremlins that linger and lurk and in the early hours wake me out of my complacent comfortableness and have me stewing all over again. It's not that all my dreams are bad, they are usually positive and quite entertaining and very, very real. Best sellers? I think not. I watched Bob Giraldi's movie "Dinner Hour" a wonderful homage to food, restaurants, italians and 'Queens'. Bob was another director I have worked with, one who fascinates me as he was/is larger than life and has an appetite that far, far exceeds mine. Not just for food but for his work ethic. Now I am a hard worker and focussed to a fault but Bob, he is truly amazing, I love him in that regard, always striving for the best. Like my Aussie Director friend, a true craftsman.
He certainly helped me win an award or two. They both did. Many Directors did. I love editing but have, I must admit, been in awe or intimidated by, Directors. I would love to work with Director on a feature, not in Hollywood but anywhere else. There I have said it, I would love to edt a movie. Ah well, such is life, such are the lessons to be learned, even at 1:55 AM. Damn!

Just some of my thoughts as I wait and wait and . . .

‘Internet for Dummies’ by the Labour Party of Aotearoa New Zealand.

As I write this letter on my laptop I am keeping a close eye on my desktop computer. I have a window open on my desktop, the software program running is Yummy FTP, I am watching grass grow, New Zealand style.
Last week I was asked if I would edit a television commercial for the United States, a previous client from my 20 years of living and working in New York and Los Angeles. Of course I said yes, never thinking I would rue the day in taking on an American project. Now, back in New Zealand I live a few miles down the road from a certain world class director, Lord of the Rings, si vous ples! That is where the similarities end.
I have edited over 5000 Television commercials all round the world. He has edited a handfull of movies, albeit good ones.
I relocated to New Zealand, land of my birth, in 2006. After a year of restoring a Vineyard I returned to Film Editing. The break of 3 years was well worth it and now I am back in love with film/video. And so flash forward to my recent foray into the American market. It was great for my ego to be asked to edit for the US of A. 20 years of NY and LA was very good for my creativity.
Last Friday I received the material from my US clients, downloaded, edited, all within 1 hour. Yep a 30 sec TVC, downloaded, edited to a final locked edit in 1 hour. Then, fortune of fortunes, I found A.J. An artist living in the Wairarapa who does great film effects work and teaches locally. We worked well together. I gave him a file of the edit. He spent 22 hours designing and producing type effects, titles for the film. We then sent a 1 MB Digital Video file to the client in Reno Nevada. He loved it, “elegant” he said, “just as I expected” he said. “Great!” I replied and prepared to ship the finished project off to the wilds of the American West, which is where Reno is sited.
Oh boy, we hit a road block. That is when the shit truly hit the fan.
It’s called the New Zealand Government and Telecom road block.
Who ever let these clowns dictate/determine internet policy for us lowly Kiwis, who have international reputations and experience and wish to add to the Kiwi experience by sharing what we have learned.
What I am saying in a nut shell is that the material we down loaded in 5 minutes is now taking 22 hours, not minutes my friends but 22 time wasting hours to sent back to America.
So, I ask a very simple question.
Is the Internet that Peter Jackson uses, different from the Internet that is available to me?
Bloody right mate.
I look at the Hi Def screen of my desk top computer, yep, 1.05 gig is being uploaded from my FTP site to their FTP site, wait for it, at the rivetting, grass growing speed of 15.5 KB/s.
To all who say that New Zealand is a leader in technology, that New Zealand has access to the World, that the Government embraces ex-pat kiwis and wants them to bring their expertise back to New Zealand, I say a simple “B.U.L.L. BLOODY. S.H.I.T.
I rest my case.


“ Labour is a National Disgrace”
“If I thought Labour was going to be this painful I would have had an abortion”
“New Zealand has been in Labour long enough.”
‘Internet for Dummies’ was wriiten by the current Prime Minister.

If I were just curious, it would be very hard to say to someone, “I want to come to your house and have you talk to me and tell me the story of your life.” I mean people are going to say, “You’re crazy.” Plus they’re going to keep mighty guarded. But the camera is a kind of license. A lot of people, they want to be paid that much attention and that’s a reasonable kind of attention to be paid.
– Diane Arbus


I have re-discovered, within myself, a love of imagery and of story telling. This is what I grew up with, this is what I dreamed as a child. I found images in words, people, places and things. I have spent the last 35 plus years exploring that as a profession and creating 30 second and 60 second stories, it's called film editing and I was fortunate that advertising provided me with the opportunities and means to truly indulge myself. I edited over 5000 television commercials in that 35 years, from Sydney to Singapore, Melbourne to Mexico City, Hong Kong to New York and Los Angeles to London. I edited major campaigns for Mastercard, American Express, Ford, General Motors, The Saturn Car Company, Singapore Airlines, Cathay Pacific, Weber Grills, Coca Cola, Land Rover/Range Rover and many, many more that I can remember but would bore both you and me to tears if I listed the lot. Also my fingers would be no good for a week. So here I am back in the land of my birth, not what I completely consider my home, or homeland, that is and always will be America. That is where I found myself, that is where I was first accepted, both for myself and for my craft as a film editor. . . . To be continued.

So now, tonight I am back from a trip over the hill to Wellington the capitol of New Zealand and city of my birth. Today I met with a group of creatives who relit my creative fires and gave me hope for my life here in the Antipodes. I interacted with similar minds and came away smiling. It was food for my soul and was reminded that at heart and mind I am a creative being and to allow that to wither and die would be against everything I believe in life . . . once more, this will be continued.

Well, long time since I wrote here, I have written in my journals and on the foggy windscreen of my car, I have even written an email or two but nothing here for a while. I had HUGE plans to do a 1 Year report card on living in New Zealand but that year came and went and well, you know, old news is no news. So my excuse is, I have been BUSY! Yep, earning my first New Zealand film dollars for 40 years, Merde! I am just coming off an historical Doc for ARATOI, the local Art Gallery. I have been busy filming, videoing actually, shooting a storm with my still cameras, destroyed my Leica, I thought they were meant to last a lifetime. Great camera but this last week it died. 2 Years old and it's dead as a dodo. I survived though, that's the good news. But my new Nikon, the D200, which I don't like, is going fine. I think I am going to sell it and all it's lenses and invest in a really good Leica, become a one camera man. I like that Idea. Simple is good/god. Whatever.
So here I am, just got back from a trip over the hill to Wellington, meetings, a gallery viewing and took my bitch to the beach. She loves that.
So, I will write longer soon, promise, honest Injun, at least THEY never broke a Treaty. Cheers mates, Richard & Kiri & Amigo.

Investing in New Zealand, a great opportunity
by William J. Buechler* (U.S.)
For Forbes.com
October 2006

It's true. Sometimes we humans can't see the proverbial forest when we stare at the trees.

I recently had the marvelous opportunity to make a due diligence trip to New Zealand in order to confirm my vision of the investment opportunities I perceived to exist there.

To my surprise, I continually experienced a strange, yet pervasive, lack of optimism for the future of New Zealand and a lack of confidence in business and the economy. For lack of a better term, it might be called "The New Zealand Blues."

These feelings might best be summed up by a statement made by a government minister during a business meeting I attended in Wellington. Imagine my surprise when, in the midst of a talk, he declared, "We must always remember, we are a small and isolated country."

To my dismay, a quick review of the meeting room revealed a number of heads nodding in agreement. Perhaps, if I lived in New Zealand, I might agree.

But I don't live in New Zealand, and I don't agree.

As an outsider looking in, I realize that New Zealand might be considered a small country on a relative basis compared with the U.S. or Australia---but not compared to Ireland and Israel, which, by the way, are fine examples of strong economies built out of the technology revolution. (I wonder if the Irish and Israelis perceive their countries as "small"?)

But I am sure about this: New Zealand is no longer truly an isolated country. After all, with technology-driven globalisation changing the way we are all connected, the country really is only a mouse-click away from anywhere on this planet. My perspective is only bolstered by the inevitable improvements in both technology and transportation that the future will bring. Where are those supersonic jets at Mach 7 when you need them? (As an aside, I am absolutely sure that 80 years ago, someone stood on the shores at Waikiki Beachat Honolulu,Hawaii, and declared, "We must all remember that people may not want to invest here; we are too small and isolated.")

Perhaps the observations of an outsider looking in might merit consideration for those contemplating investing in New Zealand. In my eyes, New Zealandis a stunningly beautiful and natural resource-rich country with:

a democratic, largely energy self-reliant, law-abiding society
an investor and business friendly legal environment
an undervalued, under-owned and under-appreciated stock market, which rewards shareholders with high-dividend yields.
To those of us who like to examine the downside, don't worry---outside investors can also see the "warts" and the "blemishes". For investors from other countries, there is always the currency risk (or reward, depending on one's viewpoint on the future direction of the New Zealanddollar).

Investors certainly should be concerned that the political leaders in New Zealandmay misunderstand the needs of maintaining efficient capital markets while failing to grasp that strong economies generally go hand-in-hand with strong capital markets. (Why does it always seem to be so difficult for politicians to understand that less means more when it comes to lowering taxes and thereby increasing revenue?) And, of course, as we all know, something completely random can always go wrong with any investment.

But, let's put these ole' "New Zealand Blues" aside.

It's time to step back for a second, count the blessings and move forward. A country that is essentially energy self-reliant in a world that is desperate for energy: How wonderful is that? As for other issues that plague the U.S., like immigration: Let's just say that New Zealand has plenty of room for the best and the brightest.

For international investors looking at countries in which to invest, those considering New Zealand can find comfort in knowing that they don't have to worry about waking up some morning to find their assets have just been confiscated by the local government. As for leadership and vision, the Kiwis have it, although getting everyone to share that vision will be the next progressive step for them.

Why couldn't New Zealand become the technology center of the South Pacific? The vision will come. I'm sure of it. The business men and women I met during my visit were unfailingly bright and motivated. Investing and capital markets infrastructure? The New Zealand Stock Exchange is small but growing and eager to provide a ways and means for investors from New Zealandand abroad to invest in the country's future.

One of the reasons these marvelous investment opportunities exist in New Zealandis simple. It's not easy to invest there---yet! However, once an investor has mastered the nuances of placing money in New Zealand, they will find that the New Zealand Stock Exchange itself sponsors five highly successful exchange traded funds, or ETFs.

The two most popular are the SmartTENZ and the SmartMIDZ. The SmartTENZ tracks the performance of the NZX 10 Index, which covers ten of New Zealandâ??s largest listed companies as ranked by market capitalization. The current dividend yield of the SmartTENZ as of June 30, 2006 was an extraordinary 8.34%! As of June 30, 2006, the current yield of the SmartMIDZ was 5.25%---not bad for a fund whose objective is to track the performance of the NZX Mid-Cap Index and also possesses a three-year annualized rate of return of 18.61%.

For those investors who may be unable or unwilling to invest directly in New Zealand, there are several attractive companies that also trade in the United States. Telecom Corp of New Zealand is an interesting turn around situation which provides a nice, fat 5.2% dividend yield. Telecom New Zealandhas recently unveiled plans to sell its yellow pages unit which could bring as much as NZ 1.5 billion in proceeds. Speculation abounds that the proceeds could be used for a massive share buyback program. Another stock of interest is the Australia & New Zealand Banking Group, which has an impressive business model and an equally appetizing 4.2% payout.

As other investors from around the world realize the opportunities and advantages of investing in New Zealand, new money from these outside investors -- both retail and institutional -- will flow to New Zealand in amounts well beyond anything experienced in the past and will serve as the catalyst that jumpstarts an economic boom in New Zealand that will simply defy current expectations.

At least that's the way I see it, as an outside investor looking in.

*William J. Buechler is founder and president of Barclay Partners Asset Management , LLC in La Jolla,Calif.

Article credit - Forbes

Alan Morris, Ad Man, “Mo”, R.I.P.
I got a phone call from Alan sometime in the early 70’s, he and his buddy/partner, had an idea and wanted me to help out, and did. I had a new company, they had a new company. We sat ‘round a table in a tiny room in a tiny terrace house on the border of Paddington and Rushcutters Bay, it was a Round Table, which seemed appropriate in light of the legends they became. Mo had a pad and Jo a guitar, or was it the other way round? Who the fuck knows, all I know is that I thought they were pretty neat and I wanted to be a part of whatever they were doing and so we did some ads together, Labour Party maybe, for ‘Nifty’ Nev maybe. A used car salesman if ever I met one. Anyhow, we became reasonable friends, I say reasonable as I had a major issue with booze, grew up with it’s effects, and they enjoyed a drop, so I never really qualified in the OZ Ad Biz as an ‘Arsetrarlyan’. I had Kiwi Films for christsake, nothing Australian about that, today I have the kiwicafe.com, stick with what you know, with who you are I guess. Works for me. But there is Alan, born joker, dies on April Fool’s day, a touch of Bryce Courteny’s son in that one. ‘April Fool’s Child’.
Mo had a great grin, Jo had a great gut. They grew their biz, I escaped OZ, first to New York, then Hollywood called, I answered and now, back in my homeland. So where is Mo in all of this. He had a profound effect on me. I have been fortunate to have enjoyed some great mentors over the years. Alan was one, Ray Lawrence certainly qualifies, and Jackie Huie, Bryce Courtenay, Steve Horn, Bob Giraldi, Roy Grace and others. The reference he wrote didn’t harm me in new York, that’s for sure. Mo had a great run, I have had a great run, Mo is dead, I am not and what the hell do I take from that today? Well, for starters, it aint over till it’s over, i’m not retired till I’m called, or till I’m dead. I have learned a lot, I have a lot to learn, I certainly don’t have a lot, two countries, two wives, two kids will do that to a man, thank god. It’s all worthwhile. Working with Mo and Jo made me a better film editor, a better person, they made me smile, they made me work hard and I had no problem with that, still don’t. But now Mo is dead. My first assistant Karl is dead, no one talks of how he died, that’s a bloody tradgedy. If we don’t learn from death then when and what the hell do we learn. So many OZ and YANK Ad men are dead, one’s I worked with, I just keep on going. I sometimes wonder, “was I passionate enough”. In my own way I can definitely say yes. We all die. I hope I get called without a great deal of fuss. No lingering. So for Alan, I guess I will simply light the barbie, buy some prawns, and chuck them on and down a Coopers or two. Couldn’t stand Fosters. The McDonald’s of beer. But I could stand Mo. Cheers mate.

I just now put down East of Eden and I have to say, Steinbeck was a fucking great writer, ( I had to use the F word because I was simply lost for words ) one of the best I have read and this book was like a truly great meal, perfectly prepared, cooked and presented with the purest of ingredients, simply enough. No need for desert.


“Do you remember when you read us the sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis and we argued about them?”
“I do indeed. And that’s a long time ago.”

“Ten years nearly,” said Lee. “Well, the story bit deeply into me and I went into it word for word. The more I thought about the story, the more profound it became to me. Then I compared the translations we have—and they were fairly close. There was only one place that bothered me. The King James version says this—it is when Jehovah has asked Cain why he is angry. Jehovah says, ‘If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.’ It was the ‘thou shalt’ that struck me, because it was a promise that Cain would conquer sin.”

Samuel nodded. “And his children didn’t do it entirely,” he said.

Lee sipped his coffee. “Then I got a copy of the American Standard Bible. It was very new then. And it was different in this passage. It says, ‘Do thou rule over him.’ Now this is very different. This is not a promise, it is an order. And I began to stew about it. I wondered what the original word of the original writer had been that these very different translations could be made.”

Samuel put his palms down on the table and leaned forward and the old young light came into his eyes. “Lee,” he said, “don’t tell me you studied Hebrew!”

Lee said, “I’m going to tell you. And it’s a fairly long story. Will you have a touch of ng-ka-py?”

“You mean the drink that tastes of good rotten apples?”

“Yes. I can talk better with it.”

“Maybe I can listen better,” said Samuel.

While Lee went to the kitchen Samuel asked, “Adam, did you know about this?”

“No,” said Adam. “He didn’t tell me. Maybe I wasn’t listening.”

Lee came back with his stone bottle and three little porcelain cups so thin and delicate that the light shone through them. “Dlinkee Chinee fashion,” he said and poured the almost black liquor. “There’s a lot of wormwood in this. It’s quite a drink,” he said. “Has about the same effect as absinthe if you drink enough of it.”

Samuel sipped the drink. “I want to know why you were so interested,” he said.

“Well, it seemed to me that the man who could conceive this great story would know exactly what he wanted to say and there would be no confusion in his statement.”

“You say ‘the man.’ Do you then not think this is a divine book written by the inky finger of God?”

“I think the mind that could think this story was a curiously divine mind. We have had a few such minds in China too.”

“I just wanted to know,” said Samuel. “You’re not a Presbyterian after all.”

“I told you I was getting more Chinese. Well, to go on, I went to San Francisco to the headquarters of our family association. Do you know about them? Our great families have centers where any member can get help or give it. The Lee family is very large. It takes care of its own.”

“I have heard of them,” said Samuel.

“You mean Chinee hatchet man fightee Tong war over slave girl?”

“I guess so.”

“It’s a little different from that, really,” said Lee. “I went there because in our family there are a number of ancient reverend gentlemen who are great scholars. They are thinkers in exactness. A man may spend many years pondering a sentence of the scholar you call Confucius. I thought there might be experts in meaning who could advise me.

“They are fine old men. They smoke their two pipes of opium in the afternoon and it rests and sharpens them, and they sit through the night and their minds are wonderful. I guess no other people have been able to use opium well.”

Lee dampened his tongue in the black brew. “I respectfully submitted my problem to one of these sages, read him the story, and told him what I understood from it. The next night four of them met and called me in. We discussed the story all night long.”

Lee laughed. “I guess it’s funny,” he said. “I know I wouldn’t dare tell it to many people. Can you imagine four old gentlemen, the youngest is over ninety now, taking on the study of Hebrew? They engaged a learned rabbi. They took to the study as though they were children. Exercise books, grammar, vocabulary, simple sentences. You should see Hebrew written in Chinese ink with a brush! The right to left didn’t bother them as much as it would you, since we write up to down. Oh, they were perfectionists! They went to the root of the matter.”

“And you?” said Samuel.

“I went along with them, marveling at the beauty of their proud clean brains. I began to love my race, and for the first time I wanted to be Chinese. Every two weeks I went to a meeting with them, and in my room here I covered pages with writing. I bought every known Hebrew dictionary. But the old gentlemen were always ahead of me. It wasn’t long before they were ahead of our rabbi; he brought a colleague in. Mr. Hamilton, you should have sat through some of those nights of argument and discussion. The questions, the inspection, oh, the lovely thinking—the beautiful thinking.

“After two years we felt that we could approach your sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis. My old gentlemen felt that these words were very important too—‘Thou shalt’ and ‘Do thou.’ And this was the gold from our mining: ‘Thou mayest.’ ‘Thou mayest rule over sin.’ The old gentlemen smiled and nodded and felt the years were well spent. It brought them out of their Chinese shells too, and right now they are studying Greek.”

Samuel said, “It’s a fantastic story. And I’ve tried to follow and maybe I’ve missed somewhere. Why is this word so important?”

Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?”

“Ah!” said Lee. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” Lee’s voice was a chant of triumph.

Adam said, “Do you believe that, Lee?”

“Yes, I do. Yes, I do. It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, ‘I couldn’t help it; the way was set.’ But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make honey. There’s no godliness there. And do you know, those old gentlemen who were sliding gently down to death are too interested to die now?”

Adam said, “Do you mean these Chinese men believe the Old Testament?”

Lee said, “These old men believe a true story, and they know a true story when they hear it. They are critics of truth. They know that these sixteen verses are a history of humankind in any age or culture or race. They do not believe a man writes fifteen and three-quarter verses of truth and tells a lie with one verb. Confucius tells men how they should live to have good and successful lives. But this—this is a ladder to climb to the stars.” Lee’s eyes shone. “You can never lose that. It cuts the feet from under weakness and cowardliness and laziness.”

Adam said, “I don’t see how you could cook and raise the boys and take care of me and still do all this.”

“Neither do I,” said Lee. “But I take my two pipes in the afternoon, no more and no less, like the elders. And I feel that I am a man. And I feel that a man is a very important thing—maybe more important than a star. This is not theology. I have no bent toward gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed— because ‘Thou mayest.’”

What a glorious day here in New Zealand. Autumn is about to be on us and the changing of the trees and the intense blue of the sky are quite something, reminds me of parts of Southern California and the Mid Coast around Morro Bay.
It’s coming on planting season, the air gets cooler and the rains start and I don’t have to drain the rivers to nurture my new trees. Practicing ecological responsibility. The way I was able to use the seasons in LA to create an interesting garden there without needing to water or mow lawns.
My recent trip to Queensland in Australia gave me a potent reminder of climate change and change it is. I observed truck after truck after truckload of water tanks. They are the new acquisitions. Drought is really hurting Australia and changing the landscape in ways that are here to stay. I can only hope that the States and the Developers along the Rio Grande and the Colorado wake up real soon, like this week. A tragedy that is already happening. As I travelled through Southern California, Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico, I couldn’t quite register that so much new development was taking place in the American West when there is a dwindling supply of water.
No water, we die, period!
Golf courses and gated retirement communities that will surely end up like Anasazi ruins, only quicker.

The ceiling of my bedroom is all glass and so, at night, I can lie in bed and absorb the stars and then, when the day begins, the sun streams on the trees and I have a green blue vista to daydream to.
Today is such a day, a slow start, as yesterday I spent a long day shooting out at the beach, the famous Castlepoint Beach Races. Horse races on the beach. This race meeting is well over 100 years old and was the main entertainment of the local farmers. The beach is a long crescent that curves north from a dramatic rock outcrop on which the local lighthouse sits and flashes warnings to passing freighters. Many sailing ships didn’t make it past here and ruins are clearly visible nearly 140 years later. Castlepoint is some 65 kilometers east from where I live and is a very challenging drive. Narrow, winding roads and crazy mothers in other cars all deciding they need to race every inch of the way. Anyhow we left home at 5 am and were there just in time for sunrise and were able to get a choice spot parked on the beach, first in best dressed, where I set up my cameras. What a great day, horses thundering along the sand and the crowd yelling screaming and drinking. Oh yeah, they drink, it took much work, tolerance mainly, on my part to accept that these good looking, well dressed, obviously affluent kiwis drink as if there is no tomorrow. I was especially saddend by the young women boozing away, the guys, they have grown with that culture from their parents but the women, it appears, to me at least, as a sad new and rather desperate trend. Who knows, maybe they want to be accepted by the blokes, bloody hell what a waste.
however, I managed to deal with it, had a great day and left before the rush of traffic.
I never realized how natural it is for a horse to gallop along a beach, it is actually easier on the horse than racing on turf and many New Zealand trainers gallop their thoroughbreds on beaches. It’s also good for curing injuries. I grew up working on the Totalisator at country races in Hawkes Bay and loved it, it felt so damned grown up and sophisticated. After all Horseracing is the sport of Kings and Kiwi Sheep farmers, many who are far wealthier than Kings, love their horses. Castlepoint Station, where the races take place, is now owned by an American family from New York. A station, by the way, is a farm in New Zealand.
All in all it's been quite a week, Friday evening I had my first radio show, went well I am told . Kiwi Café on Air, KCoA. An eclectic blend of my experience, strength and hope I guess punctuated with some very unusual and fun music and musings on life and love and the loss thereof. I actually enjoyed myself, wasn’t as terrified as I thought I would be and the station manager hoped I would be around for many years. Shades of Jean Shepherd, thanks David. I played music from Zappa to Ry Cooder and beyond, I even sang a bit, don’t laugh, I don’t sing, Dick doesn’t do Voice. But I managed to bumble some humming along with Marianne Faithfull as she sang Envy from The Seven Deadly Sins. She is certainly well qualified to perform Sloth, Pride, Anger, Gluttony, Lust, Covetousness and Envy. I sat in on a concert of hers at the Blue Note in New York in the late 80’s and she was fucking amazing, a voice tempered by whisky, smoke and sex. Sometimes it works sometimes it destroys, with her it possible achieved both but I sure as hell enjoyed her performance, in the days when the club was filled with smoke and I had yet to learn it wasn’t good for my health. Oh well, something’s take longer than others, that was then and this is now, yeehah! This radio gig is going to be my regular Friday night activity and it is going to be interesting to see how it evolves. As i’m sponsoring my own program, for fun and for free as they say, I can do what I want, say what I want, well, within Kiwi Censorship guidelines, they have no concept of free Speech in KiwiLand.
And, for this coming week, I have my US Taxes to get done, sheesh, and two speeches to deliver to local Lions Clubs, never done that before. Talking about ‘Return of the ExPat’ at one and ‘Searching for Zane Grey’s America’ at the other. I am trying to get a slide show together but it is challenging me more that I would have liked, it will get done, all will be well and life will go on, amen.
So all in all life is going well, I am filled with gratitude that I am where I am, doing what I am doing, with out the need to totally know why I am doing it. Living the mystery of life I guess. So there I be, there you be and I can see you wishing you could come and visit, well you are more than welcome, the food is good, the company tolerable, the scenery different and the wine drinkable ? and I know all is well with the world.
I love you all, talk soon, Richard.

Ps, by the way I drove in a Bentley W12 Twin Turbo this week, bloody hell, we went from 24 Litres per 100 KM to 98 Litres per 100 KM, 0 to 100 KPH in 4. something seconds, and, I live to smile about it, what a glorious treat, thanks Bob.

I loved this article and wish to share it with my friends, you may have already read it, you may know Dan, you may not.
I consider him one of the most beautiful people I have ever been blessed to meet. Enjoy.

March 4, 2007
Music
A Brush With Death, and an Album Is Born

By JENNIFER BLEYER
WHEN Marc Black got the call saying that his friend Dan Mountain had suffered a stroke, his first thought was, “Yeah, but it’ll be O.K.”

But it was not O.K., and there began the story of how Mr. Black, a 57-year-old musician from Katonah, wrote 13 songs in four days — songs that would fill an album recorded with a little help from friends and associates like Art Garfunkel, the renowned rock drummer Steve Gadd and John Sebastian, formerly of the Lovin’ Spoonful.

Mr. Black is a sturdy man with graying hair and crow’s-feet who has played the same Guild acoustic guitar for nearly 40 years. (“I’m monogamous when it comes to guitars,” he said with a grin.) In 1967, he was in a group called the Blades of Grass — “one of those squishy pop bands,” he called it — that had a top 40 hit with a song called “Happy.”

As a student at Colgate University, he partook in the psychedelic and spiritual searching of the era, and although he left school with a contract with RCA Records, he eventually abandoned the ruthless music business to live in Woodstock, where he sold firewood, plowed snow and played in a popular local band.

In 1989, he and his wife, Susan, and their two sons moved to their current home in Katonah.

Mr. Black met Mr. Mountain, a successful advertising writer from Venice, Calif., in the early 1990s, when Mr. Black was composing music for television commercials. The two became friends, and whenever Mr. Black visited Los Angeles, they would meet for drinks and talk about sports, music and their creative lives.

“He always wanted to do a project with me outside advertising, and we didn’t know what it would take for that to happen,” Mr. Black said, sitting amid Tibetan bells, an African marimba and other exotic instruments in the soundproof recording studio that he had built in the barn behind his house.

Then came the stroke in June of 2003. Mr. Mountain, then 58, fell into a coma. “The doctors all said there was no chance of meaningful survival,” Mr. Black recalled.

After three weeks, Mr. Mountain’s wife, Dorothy, decided to remove him from life support and take him home to die with hospice care. Hours after the life support was removed, Mr. Mountain regained consciousness and began to speak. He spent the remainder of the summer in a rehabilitation hospital, and Mr. Black flew out to visit.

“I spent maybe three, four hours, a couple of different days,” Mr. Black said. “He was so damaged.”

But Mr. Black was also struck by some interesting things his friend muttered that seemed, in an esoteric way, to reflect on his near-death experience: “He said ‘Mark, when you get back, you never get back to where you’ve been. You get back to where you’re going.’ I said, ‘Oh man, what a sentiment.’ And I encouraged him to write.”

Mr. Mountain wrote poetry as he recovered, and the following year, Mr. Black returned to California to set the poems to music. They worked in a makeshift studio in the Mountains’ dining room. “We sat across from each other, and he would hand me these poems,” Mr. Black said. “Each one looked too simple to be anything, but would sweep me away. I’d write a song within an hour.”

Mr. Black returned East and recorded an album of the songs at the Clubhouse studio in Rhinebeck. “Stroke of Genius,” released last summer, features Art Garfunkel on the song “These Days” and the gospel group the Dixie Hummingbirds on “Let ’Im Go,” as well as musicians Mr. Black has been playing with since his Woodstock days.

Mr. Black, whose work has been lauded by the National Stroke Association, also made a documentary film about Mr. Mountain’s story that will be shown on March 11 at the Westchester County Film Festival (City Center 15: Cinema De Lux, 19 Mamaroneck Avenue, White Plains).

Mr. Black says it’s a sign of the times. As baby boomers age, he thinks that more and more among his generation of pioneers will reflect on their mortality and existence in creative ways. “You always make art from the junk that’s lying around,” he said. “We also make music from the mental junk that’s lying around. Now it’s these feelings about aging and impermanence. This is what’s happening.”

That was in 2003.
Back then I learned about pain, I was hit from all sides, I learned it was not all about me.
Friends, wives, families, they all experience pain, every day of the week, every hour of the day. I have learned, over the years and from many, many experiences, not all bad, that life is good, life is precious, indeed life is beautiful but that Life, God, Universal Spirit, whatever you are comfortable with, does indeed have a glorious sense of humor. Dan's wife, the beautiful Dorothy held onto her faith, she shared that faith, it infected some and challenged others, we all prayed. We held a vigil at Venice Beach, Dan's Higher Power, call him Fred or whatever you wish, answered the call.
As I sat with Dan during his dark days and then his light days I learned so much about the human spirit and the concept that it's not over until it's over. 10 years ago I experienced a nanno second of that darkness, I can only imagine how it affected those I loved.
Dan and I talked of working on a project together for years, we finally landed an advertising campaign and came together in a creative collaboration, I got to know Dan at a far deeper level than previously. As we were about to shoot and as I was about to 'celebrate' my birthday Dan was hit by his stroke. Man makes plans and God laughs. Needless to say, we did not complete the project together, Dan didn't attend my 'celebration' and my life partner decided to leave our marriage. They say that God doesn't give us more than we can handle. Bloody hell God, you have a totally warped and wonderfully wicked sense of humor.
I was challenged by Dan's stroke, I will not lie. I was challenged by Dorothy's faith and I was challenged by Dan's recovery. But I held fast to my own faith, my own belief in an entity far greater than I. Dan and I had lunch together every Friday. It was my gift to Dan and Dan's gift to me. God only knows what we talked about, sometimes we were silent. Sometimes I had to quickly leave, emotional overload. I cooked a Thanksgiving Turkey for the Mountain Clan in 2004. I felt at home, I felt loved, I felt part of a large and wonderful family in ways I never did as a child. We can choose our friends if not our family. How true. Today I try and have lunch with Dan every week as before, today however, it is via the internet. I have a precious photo of Dan, Dorothy and Me and I smile everytime I see it. I have the album Stroke of Genius, I love playing it. I cannot wait to see the Documentary. Dan is one of those rare men that I truly love and as I continue to forgive My Self and my Father's abuse, of me as a child, I am amazed at the men in my life who I truly hold dear. They are my true friends. Dan M, Dan H, David W, David E, Robert V, Geoff W, Barry E, Marvin S, Godfrey P, et al, thank you dudes.
This past week I spent 10 wonderful days with my daughters in Queensland Australia, I had lunch on my final day with both daughters and my 'first' ex. It was very, very pleasant and I can see, just a glimpse as yet, as to how I could enjoy true female friends as I enjoy my male ones. It is not easy. Acceptance, trust and vulnerability for starters I guess. My childhood models were but imperfect human beings, as I am. It takes time, work and willingness. Also, as Dorothy Mountain has so beautifully shown me, it takes faith.
And so I share another part of my journey as I sit here in New Zealand.
I am reminded, in reading the Dan Mountain NY Times article that it is not about me, it is about Dan.
It is also about life, and living. It's about love. For without his courage, beauty and love, none of this would be possible. Amen.

I am sitting at home, Saturday night, no hot date, no date period!

I am listening to local Arrow FM Wairarapa’s only Community Access Radio, very good music, and eclectic to a T.
I have just watched a Movie after a full day of Farmers Market, Fellowship, Cooking and more. Yep, Saturday Night in the country.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a letter to the editor of the local newspaper and much to my surprise it got published verbatim. I had looked for it, egoic as any one after all, but could not find it and then, today I was in my local café, Java House and one of the locals mentioned she had read it and what a great article it was. Mmmm! People do read the paper; people do read what I write. What I write does have an effect. In the article, which is one back from this on my Blog I mention the fact that I am starting a Radio Program. Yep. Film Editor, Photographer, Philosopher. Well, why the hell not, bloody hell I may become famous, maybe Hollywood will come calling, make a reality show of an ex-pat Kiwi who returns home and turns the country inside out. Bugger, now I need an Agent. A new suit, or are suits still passé? New jeans. Maybe the jean company, REPLAY of course, would become my sponsor, Land Rover will supply a shiny new DEF90, Airstream a Trailer for my location studio. I will fly Emirates, no more Air New Zealand; they are becoming based in FIJI! Merde! Who would play me in the Movie, Tom, he’s short, like me. Gene Hackman, he looks like me so I have been told or was it me like he, oh well. So where was I, oh yes, the Hollywood Movie deal. I’m also an American citizen so maybe Arnold would take me as his running mat