who ya gonna call?
Iraena Asher's mum furious blood not exacted on release of PCA report into daughter's disappearance. I have aroha* for her mum & whanau, yet I don't blame the cops. IIRC, Iraena who suffered mood disorders, had been boozing & taking drugs. She made 111 call (emergencies only if life/property immediately threatened) & wandered away from house providing refuge. Hate to sound callous, but imo she's a victim of her own stupidity.
Never underestimate the sheer brainlessness of: (1) Women (2) Maoris (3) Beautiful people, who often live charmed lives expending minimal cognitive effort as people trip over themselves, eager to help & please. Growing up around Maori women, I recognise Iraena's profile: garden variety drunken ditz, spinning from one dizzy adventure to the next. An aspiring model, with narcissism well developed; a good-time party girl cum attention-hog diva, demanding adoration, pity or rescuing. Perhaps this time, a frolic too far?
Who's to blame for her disappearance? Hard to say, but surely not the police - who aren't baby-sitters & treated her phonecall full of semi-incoherent mutterings of feeling unsafe - and no names or details of specific threats - with due diligence it deserved. A drunk, stoned chick in the city rings cops & tells them she's scared... Doesn't sound like an 'emergency' to me. No wonder she's become MSM's darling mythic tragic heroine: pretty, innocent, vulnerable, mysteriously vanishes, and perfect victim foil for big bad boys in blue, whom the NZPA hate for some reason. Sorry, Asher family, I truly feel for your loss. But your anger at the cops, understandable during grief, is misplaced.
Please, please, please a million times! "Aroha" means 'sadness' or 'condolences'; at best 'empathy' - but NOT 'love'. Drives me croizey when translated as 'lurrrv'. Especially "Arohanui" (lot's of love). No, no, no! "Arohanui" means something like, "most deepest heartfelt sympathies". When you say "arohanui" to someone, you're actually saying, "oh my goodness, I feel so terribly sad for you!" or similar.
(just my little personal linguistic hang-up of the week - had to get off chest)
More dumb Maoris
My family. Have been disgusted at own whanau (sisters & cousins) and their hell brats, whilst visiting intensive care at hospital recently. They just let their kids loose, running 'round the joint causing havoc & commotion. Had to growl them HEAPS, much to their clueless parents' dismay. Was reminded of all that recent PC crap being forced on Fire Brigades about appropriate Maori protocol at death sites. Was terribly ashamed of whanau, because imo, the IC unit is itself (sadly) often a 'death site' - a place where souls depart - even the waiting rooms assume a sombre character as nervous families await progress updates & receive terrible news.
My whanau are Maoris, no doubt about it, yet were happy to laugh, throw rugby balls and let children run amok amongst other visitors grievously worried about critically injured patients. Where was this putative, culturally appropriate, Maori respect for death, I wondered? When the nurses complained the kids were pressing all the buttons in the lifts [which coulda been tragic in emergency], I hit the roof with family-sized tantrum. How can parents be so mindlessly irresponsible as to turn ICU into a playground for unattended kids? All this talk about Emergency Services needing to be more sensitive to Maori death customs rings pretty hollow to me, having witnessed own whanau's behaviour at a 'death scene' this week. The truth is that death is always tragic - in every culture. And Maoris, imo, should have no special rights nor exemptions when dying or killed in public.
The dumbest Maori of all
Yes, that would be me. Oops, I've done it again and fallen madly in (unrequited) love with Object of Insane Desire. I can withstand All of the disordering passions, except l'Amour. Public vilification? Not a problem! National humiliation? Barely a shrug of indifference! Murderous rage? Oh, how drearily ordinary! All endured with stoic detatchment, ruthlessly suppressed with steely self-will. But one tiny little prick of Cupid's arrow and I fall to pieces. I hate myself for being this weak. My aching Achilles' soul...
Two years ago, developed fixation on OID, a regular commuter on my train home. Several disastrous flirting attempts & one unequivocal rejection later, after mustering courage to declaim romantic interest, I decided -- as a wannabe right-winger -- not to blame anyone but self & resolved to take full responsibility for my crap life. So, amending travel schedule to avoid OID, & after much prayer, meditation & affirmations (plus many sessions of alcohol therapy) I finally regained sanity & grip on rampaging heart. And life was fine...
...until today. Hopping aboard late train & who should I encounter? That's right, OID in the flesh. Swear I heard strains of Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto upon recognition. Face fevered with sweat, heart pounding and free falling feeling in stomach, to my terrified astonishment, realised I'm still smitten - & will have to go through all that turmoil again. I'm particularly bad at falling in love, even by my usual obsessive-compulsive standards. Feel a complete idiot, turning 40 next year & behaving like besotted teenager. All I can think about is OID, and it's tormenting. Love truly is a heartache; like toothache or earache, a constant throbbing pain, intruding into thoughts & dominating consciousness, spoiling everday life. I Hate being in Love. So, if ANYONE has a cure for love-sickness... please, please advise!
Enough blogging for the evening! Time to relax and start dreaming of you-know-who...