There's a hole in my heart that goes all the way to China

Actually that's not true. I did know a guy once with a hole in his heart. We had to go and visit him in hospital when I was in primary school. His name was Phillip.

There is also a hole in the gas main, and now, because holes seem to love company, there are two large holes in the bottom of The Terrace where people are looking for the hole in the gas main. If you look closely in the above photo of said holes, you can see the obligatory guy standing around with his hands in his pockets. I wonder what level of job satisfaction that role delivers.

Oh, the carnage.

Here at One Moment Caller we like to carry ourselves with the utmost of poise and dignity at all times. And we very nearly manage this at all times.

Except maybe when we ride our bike to work, with new shoes and cleats for our clipless pedals, that make it really quite tricky to unclip our feet when we get to a traffic light, which may make us fall over in front of a small crowd waiting to cross the road.

Tinks 0. New shoes 1.

Street Art continued...

I had a really fun discussion on the weekend about the validity of street art, and its balance between the illicit tagging and the exhibited stencil ends of the spectrum, and where the New Zealand, and particularly Wellington blend sits.

While we've got our very own Misery and Mephisto Jones making some pretty clever statements and developing recognisable styles, they seem to have been repdily elevated to the gallery (maybe not so much the gallery as the canvas on a cafe or clothes shop wall). We seem to be lacking the buy-in from the wider community that it is a valid art form. Witness Melbourne's city-wide embrace of stencil and managed grafitti. Or Banksy's sustained efforts in delivering high-brow messages through a lo-brow medium. But then we have a whole seedy undebelly of society who view it only as a self-branding exercise, making no point other than they were there.

Maybe the stage is perfectly set for a considered showcase of street art, to position it apart form the mundane tagging that councils are poised to come down hard on.

More about Nick.

I'm pretty sure this is a picture of my alter-ego Nick. On a date with Paris Hilton.
It's funny - you'd think I'd remember something like that. They must be slipping me drugs.

Hi. I'm Nick.

Please excuse my tardiness. I've been hibernating, hosting, and hiding behind everyday life.

In breaking news, apparently I have an alter-ego. Named Nick. I don't know too much about Nick yet, but was introduced by someone to two fellow bloggers (one Rose and one David Cauchi) last night as Nick. I'll keep you posted as I find out more - he sounds quite intriguing. I suspect he's a lot like me, only taller.

Inspired

A whole bunch of my friends have done cool things lately - one has taken her clothing label to the world, another is behind a big rock-climbing venture in Wanaka, another has set up a successful consultancy, and a couple more have taken their businesses to the next level. It's been lots of fun helping out a couple of them where I can, but I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't be plotting to take over the world in my own small way as well...

Watch this space. Maybe.

If you lived here, you'd be home by now

You know in those home mags you buy that often have a Before and After photo sequence showing Dick and Jane's inner city pad as the heaving cesspit they bought it as, and now as the architectural beacon of the Western World, swathed in wall-to-wall Italian furniture, showcasing the latest in lighting and decor...

I'd like to say this is the After shot of my apartment. But renovations haven't started yet. But they will. Oh yes they will.

But sadly no, it's actually the Sydney pad of a good friend. Lucky bastard (said with love, of course). Who said minimalism can't be cosy?

1,000 words

I've just discovered those DIY photo mini-labs in camera shops, where you can plug in your memory card and print whatever you like. I could even use it - which was nice, because beyond computers and software, which I spend all day coaxing into making things look pretty, I suspect I'm becoming a bit of a tech-luddite. I don't have an MP3 player, signing up to Bloglines confused the hell out of me, my cellphone does nothing more that make and receive calls, and my home computer is coming up 5 years old.

I like to think of it as a a form of considered tech-minimalism.