I’m still amazed at how this publication has grown. What started out as me just trying to keep my minimal band of friends together, by offering them the option to stay at home or try something new, has risen from a couple of paragraphs using Yahoo’s colourful fonts to people paying me to wear their brand of shoes, and me out at functions 7 days a week.

Blaze hair salon, in Newmarket, had their grand opening last Wednesday. I got there after a semi embarrassing, non-invited wander into a Stella McCartney launch at Adidas (nice champagne though, thank you guys). With a warm glow on I dove into the Herald Theatre for some clever improvised comedy, then shimmied to the Powerstation to see Salmonella Dub impress a crowd that included Mr Dizzee “the” Rascal himself.

More unique comedy with Michael Jones started Thursday night. Chapel’s LBD (little black dress) party pulled a nice number but waiting 30min to get served a drink moved me on quickly to Pasha (gee this place has blossomed since Roimata took over as Manager) for their Insideout monthly get together. Highlife Deluxe at Pontoon was the main event, and when I arrived it appeared that this was the case for most of Auckland. A slickly run event at a fantastic venue, that attracted an attractive crowd. I spoke to the organiser upon exiting saying “Man, you’ve done it again, nice chunk of spending money when you hit Thailand on the weekend”. He just smiled and agreed.

ANZAC day’s a curly one, it’s very necessary to remember, but can the bars please stay open. Judging by the crowd pleading to get in outside, Pony Club was the only decent place with the lights on. Avoiding this I was taken in through the keg loading portal and feeling quite important I walked in through the bar service zone. The commotion outside could have been due to the public holiday that had begun 4 hours prior, but a more realistic explanation was that the band Korn, rapper Dizzee Rascal and 50 Cent’s entourage were in the house.

Fragile Friday came and went but not before I attended my first dance party held to remember those that fell in battle at Gallipolli. Poppies and camouflage ruled this roost. Half had thoughtfully dressed for the occasion, and the two dance areas kept pounding away well after I departed.

I know a lot of people, so my real friends are varied. I was in bed Saturday morning and decided to have a few over that afternoon. I sent 93 texts and 22 emails, of which I got 85 responses with 19 saying they would pop over (note to self, give people more than 8 hours warning if you decide to have a gathering at your place). At the height of the soiree there were 14 people in my living room, many meeting for the first time. A retired cheerleader, an exotic car enthusiast, a real estate agent, a graphic designer, a travel agent, an alcohol national brand manager etc. Numbers were exchanged and deals were struck, it was quite a colourful few hours.

We convoyed to The Kingslander to see DJ Karn Hall and Sample Gee mix. Gathering momentum we swooped by a house party to gather troops. Had a pit-stop at The Sanctuary to bid Jolyon farewell, then bopped till we dropped at Forte witnessing Dougal Swift’s maiden headlining dj set.

Again SpyBar’s pull was too great and I was down there with the usual crew. And like usual I somehow managed to destroy my camera. On the bright side I didn’t lose it, so I have some pix to show this week.

Deciding to save $20 I ran to the after party. The rain didn’t bother me, but the early morning jogger passing me did. I caught up, and challenged him to a race to the bridge (some 80 metres away). My legs were like the road runner’s and I won by a whisker. I peeled off laughing and hid out of sight behind a large pole gasping for breath.

I made it to the after party and the next one, before I was rescued by a noble cousin and taken home for pizza and a movie.

I felt OK the following day so went along to Juice TV Live at SkyCity, a genius piece of event management. From 5 – 11pm a host of top line NZ bands performed for 30 minutes a piece. For the 15 minute slot allowed for each to set up the audience exited the auditorium, were encouraged to drink, and were treated to another group (or solo artist) in the foyer. Anika Moa stood out for me, her honesty, comedy and of course wondrous voice left me stunned. The band Goldenhorse did too, their obvious distaste for having to play evident and they left before time.

So here we have it, issue 97 complete. Keep spreading the word about this guide and get out there, join me, and have some pure fun!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJWxBwgxoGM.

I’ll keep this week’s blog short as I know you’re all very busy, and because I had quite a dry week, alcoholically speaking.  My week was filled though with quite bizarre arty movies, such as “You, the Living”, and inspirational ones like “Run, Fat Boy, Run”. I caught some stage shows too; with the Auckland International Comedy Festival launching on Thursday the options were bountiful. “Loser” shone out. 6 youthful talented actors had us clutching our bellies in rapturous laughter for 90 minutes. We selected the elevated front row to watch proceedings and one member of our group was a little red-faced as she’d neglected to slip into underwear before leaving the house, and her skirt was quite the opposite of long. I’m sure I saw one eagle eyed actor cotton-on.

My sober self was timid about going to First Class at Flight Lounge on Friday after the show, but peer pressure always works and I found it very interesting. Many thought I was sick, in my seemingly sedated state, but I was merely observing the activities of others. Karn Hall played a delightful warm-up set till midnight and it was those tunes that held me there for so long. Cam Robertson took over at 12 and my attention wandered to the promo girls and the exit.

I went ballistic at the gym Saturday morning, taking my life’s frustrations out in the form of sweat and going for a personal bench-press record (that I nearly achieved). Satisfyingly completing some stocked-up household chores came next, then a pleasure craft trip over to Stonyridge Vineyard for Miss Universe NZ pre-judging. It had been stressed in the party promotions that it was NOT a dance party (like the venue recently has become famous for), and it wasn’t. But after the 12 beauties had drifted up and down the red carpet in 3 different outfits, we were all ready for some pacey beats. The vineyard owner was against the idea, but, like me, is easily swayed by lovely ladies, and the funky sounds began to emanate, as did our Saturday night smiles.

The journey back was like a Laurel and Hardy flick. The boat’s staff just watched from their quarters keeping their “tut tuts” to themselves. We splintered after docking. I nipped off to SkyCity to see Tony Lee, the aggressive R18, stone cold Steve Austin wrestler look-alike, hypnotist. He stressed he’d done over 5000 shows like this one, and it showed; no improvisation here.

We couldn’t sit still for any longer and bailed 1hr into the show; besides it was fast approaching pumpkin time. Trotting back to the car we did a Superman outfit upgrade and zig-zagged to SpyBar for Club Luxury.

It was never my intention to stay for so long. Bar Retro, 4:20 Club, Ink and Space Bar were all on my “to do” list, but the tunes were soooo gooood and people soooo friendly. Kudos to Jolyon Petch for his killer set, this was supposed to be his final DJ appearance before heading back to Cyprus, but I have a sneaky suspicion he’ll be back behind the decks before his flight boards.

So at 6am it was out to the airport to pick up some weary traveller friends of mine. The texts flowed in with info on ostentatious after parties, but I politely fended them off and headed for Mickey D’s and home and some Earl Grey.

It was priceless receiving updates from those still up from the previous night. I was jealous, but I knew I’d be the one feeling bouncy come Monday, not them. So instead of nursing a pounding head, bruises and the exasperation of lost personal items courtesy of the past 24hr’s escapades, I went out to Coco Club for a Cuban party celebrating Havana Rum. The Pernod Ricard team put on a neat event. A makeshift clothesline wove its way up the alleyway 2m above us with op shop clothes attached. Butch brollies with comfy deckchairs beneath splayed close to the metres of meaty South American cuisine, that was cooked before us by native pros.

Inside Coco the focus was on sampling cocktails. Oddly the one I liked the least had just come 4th in the world at the crème de la crème of alcohol concoction awards, its base flavour coming from an expensive mashed up cigar. Some awards and spot prizes were distributed. I was not one of the lucky ones.
 
I’d met all the contestants the previous day on Waiheke so I thought what the hell on the way home, and stopped in at The Novotel Hotel in Ellerslie to see the crowning of Miss Universe NZ. Proceedings were predictably running late but just before the bewitching hour Miss Horowhenua, Samantha Powell (my fave), was crowned; all in all a fine way to wind up a weekend. Feeling jovial I welcomed Monday.

It came quickly. Post work it was gym time, I lasted 35min before a high kick threw me writhing to the floor, yet another injury, adding to my list of ailments that so far include 2 fractured ribs, bronchitis and a deaf right ear. I weazled to the shower, the car, then to The Basement (formerly The Silo Theatre) for George FM’s photographic exhibition (the show must go on whatever the weather).

I’ve been to about 100 art exhibition openings, and this was like none of them, so I stayed a while, chatting to industry friends and enjoying the complimentary Tiger beer. Red lights ruled the zone, Dean Campbell dominated the decks and Jodi, the George FM representative, coaxed us all to text vote for what we thought the best photo was. I went for #7, a drunk lady pretending to drive a full-sized fire truck.

Slightly numbed by beer, but still in agony, I drove to Northcote for sympathy and a succulent meal with my overseas comrades.

Jamie Bowen’s comedy gig on Tuesday, “Bowen Arrow”, was definitely not what the doctor ordered; it was too funny. My aches and pains went into overdrive, after 5 minutes, eyes bellowing, body taut and teeth seared I was cursing the little blighter. I had to switch off and think of fluffy clouds and playful puppies to calm down enabling me stay in the room. I know that 100% R&R for a week would no doubt cure me, but then all my other phobias and issues would ignite, I can’t win really, so best just keep doing what I do best aye? 

I’d say the vast majority of you knew it was my birthday party last Saturday. I got a bunch of my fave party friends together, boarded a bus and cruised around some interesting spots. Everyone got on very well, too well in one particular case, but I’ll go into that in detail once I tell you about what else went down earlier in the week.

My weekend spanned 5 days last week with Monday and Tuesday being my downtime. Still feeling firmly fragile after the previous week’s Jerry Springer-like happenings, I wasn’t quite my outgoing self. This meant I observed activities from the non-alcoholic shadows, and what funny goings on there were.

The slightly-slutty Brass Magazine was relaunched at Pony on Wednesday. “Foxy ladies and podgy older guys” about summed it up, from one established photographer present. I was as sober as a shipwrecked sailor so stayed to bid hello to a few key people then made haste.

If nothing changes, then nothing changes, so I tried Ponsonby last Thursday: SPQR for tapas and mean merlot, Orchid for chilling and tuning into DJ Philippa on the decks, then next door to The Ponsonby Social Club (PSC), the area’s latest bar. Ploughing through the 15m crammed, no-roofed smoking passageway to get in was not an ideal start. This opened out into a minimal living-room style room with a bar. It was so minimal that the guy’s loos had 2 pokey porcelain bowls, and that’s all. It will be flavour of the month, maybe two, before settling down to what I predict to be steady good business for years to come. 

I like Sing-Sing at Pony, perhaps I’m mildly addicted, so I scampered downtown to the so often tried, tested and proven. New manager Dan has taken over Ivan’s abandoned reigns with strength, and is keeping it poppin’n’boppin. There aren’t many reliable fun spots on Thursdays in our city of sails, but rain or shine Pony Club stays true and a good goer. So a fun Thursday schedule could read; Meet friends after work in Ponsonby till 9, downtown to Pasha till 11, duck into Pony till 1 for some good times, then shake it down at Spy till 3ish….always remembering that it’s a “school night” and you’ve used all the plausible sick day excuses.

Friday was another eye-popper. After 2 contrasting, yet equally sad, leaving parties (bye bye Alyssia and Vanessa) I ascended the red carpet to Opium, for the KidsCan Charitable Trust 70’s themed gala, named “Studio 42”. I’d been asked to co-DJ with long-time friend OB1 and not wanting to disappoint I’d gone to some lengths to prepare, dusting off all the old 12 inches and researching current trends.

Studio B’s hit dance track “I See Girls”, was indicative of the whole evening. I don’t know where these girls normally hang out but it’s definitely nowhere near my usual haunts. Sex in the City had come to my town and my jaw was struck. The cocktails were downed at a frenetic pace and mingling turned into interaction, which turned into “Your place or mine?” Again I stayed off the drink, trying to focus on the job at hand. It was a tough crowd but we pulled the 6 hour set off with only minor hitches, ending with a good hour of dance party remixes.

Hats off to Dai Henwood for his unconventional, yet successful, stripper auctioneering method. The steamy nipple rub clinched $7000 for the last lot, a date with celebrity host Jason Lewis (Samantha’s toy-boy called Smith, from Sex in the City), and a Raymond Weil “Nabucco” timepiece. Also, kudos to NZ’s gossip queen and columnist, Bridget Saunders, who outlasted the vast majority and was seen dancing to Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” at 2am, still clutching a cocktail and equally jovial friends.

Everything had gone according to plan, apart from a couple of key attendees pulling out at the 11th hour, so all I had to do was turn up to Easy Tiger at 1pm and wait for the games to begin. At 2.30pm 80 of my friends and I boarded “Zues”, a lovely specimen of a party bus. Our destination: the “LionZone”, brewery giant Lion Nathan’s corporate hosting area, deep in the heart of the Lion complex. Covers band “The Neons” (catch them at Bar Retro’s new 80’s night launch this Saturday) played while we all got to know each other a little better. By the time their last song, “Mr Brightside” by The Killers, struck all of us were moshing in the streaming sun, sunglasses drawn.

Brendon, our driver, knew all the short-cuts, so we killed 10 minutes by stopping at an exposed (to the general public) park in Henderson. Vicky-Lee took entertainment into her own hands and quickly made friends with the local BMX boys and Barbie toting girls (you’ll have to see the youtube footage to see what I mean).

I’ve had a long association with Babich Wines, so I thought I’d take my large posse out there for some sampling and it was here that the kissing fiesta ignited.

By the time we’d reached the second to last stop, MOTAT – the transport museum, one of my longest friends, and most celibate (due to exceptionally high standards), had already pashed 5 girls. It was rampant, girls with girls, friends with friends, randoms with randoms, then swap time. One lucky newly formed couple even snuck away to the top floor of the bus and bonded.

DJ OB1 got the dance floor firing inside the ancient villa, and Sample Gee consolidated the middle stages, while Dougal Swift and super special guest Steve Hill brought us home. All while the team from Drumline gave us a sterling lesson in party percussion, and Paul Shanta, and fellow fire boys, flipped flames like Greek Gods.

At 11pm we all swooped in on Forte, to join a few hundred more and celebrate the closing stages of my 32nd birthday and one of the most amazing days of my life. But these are all just words, you really have to see the footage to believe the hilarities. Email me now if you’re keen, and I’ll send you a link.

It was a while in the making but this Saturday night at Forte is my 32nd birthday party. Everyone who receives my weekly guide is welcome, just RSVP to me (if you haven’t already) and I’ll pop you, and your guests, on the door-list.

Thursday started like any other, an autumn nip in the air, office duties and then it got really rather good. I was dined at lunch by a dashing young star at a restaurant I’d wanted to attend ever since moving here, and then the only love of my life came to mine for nibbles and vino. Others stopped by and things became heated (in a good way).

We convoyed to town. First stop, Pasha for Remix Magazine’s soiree to celebrate their autumn edition. My theory that any party will be a goody if you get the right mix of people, tested true once again. Elevated spirits were universally rampant.

The cornerstone of almost all my nights out came into play next. “Shake” at SpyBar got humming about 12 and was going nuts by the time Suz and I had a mild tiff and moved to quieter quarters to resolve things.

The next day saw events unfold that were worthy of a Jerry Springer episode. Let’s just say I have no idea how to stage successful relationships with women. So Friday was quite dark, and I couldn’t wait for it to end. When Saturday finally unfurled I was relieved and free of a common, alcohol created, splitting head-ache: things were looking up. Body Attack at Les Mills sorted some frustrations, and crystal counselling from educated friends dealt with more.

I think there’s an unwritten rule about boat parties; something like: you will always have a blast no matter what. Saturday night at 20:10 one Fullers ferry, with half its seats ripped out, set sail with 300 people in its belly. I hadn’t been to a party and known fewer people in almost 3 years, so for the first 2 hours I immersed myself in CC & D and sharpened my observational skills. I was prime candidate for the “Oldest Person on the Vessel” award. Most were barely of school leaving age so comparing them to me at that age was a hoot. It was plain to see also that many had stocked up on party pills before the recent ban, as some actions and words appeared to be inhuman.

With 2 hours to go the music got me going. Andy Crump, back-to-back with Rich Carey saw the gaps on the dancefloor fill, and when DJ Shaveer took over for the final set and played continuous apt anthem remixes, I didn’t want it to end.

It did. At midnight we made the short walk to Seba for Mint. The contrast in attendees was vivid and welcome. The Disco Diva’s had the crowd glowing on our arrival, and when Sample Gee took the helm the party vibe went into overdrive. Some guy had a t-shirt with “Who the hell is Sample Gee” on the front of it. If there was anyone there who didn’t know who he was at the start of his set, by 3am they sure did. Mint’s on the first Saturday of every month for the foreseeable future. If you missed this one, and you like retro house and great times, come along on May 3rd.

The concept of 2 cherished interests of mine amalgamating caught my eye, and I had to see it in person. A’tracked is a new bimonthly dance party at 4:20 on K’ Rd. It takes in electronic music and contemporary art.  Again the crowd demographic was marked, and again welcome. Skilled abstract art dotted the walls; by the looks of things half were sold which is always good. The thing that really caught my eye was the visuals. One of the promoters is a well travelled vixen who loves taking photos, so behind the DJ on a large screen weren’t the usual psycadelic bright colours and morphing mind-bending images, instead ticking over were hundreds of captivating, professional-looking pictures of the world, adding to the event’s existing sophistication.

It felt like another long weekend, probably because of the clocks going back an hour. Eek winter’s round the corner (great if you’re an elk or ice sculptor, terrible if you’re like me and love everything that summer stands for). The only plus about this clock adjustment is that the Red Bull Daylight Savings party is on at Grey Lynn Park.

Stupidly we arrived an hour late so the party was already swarming. We circled a bit before settling down somewhere near the middle. It was brilliant to see everyone on form, relaxed and enjoying the few final rays of summer heat.

The event was over at 5.30pm; far too soon. My saying of “Always go while the going’s good” could have taken a back seat just this once, I was having a ball. An after party in close proximity was the only answer. Once located, we were greeted by Reuben, an 8 year old adorable Golden Retriever, and ushered in by some fun guide getters. The hospitality was faultless. When the mozzies began to nip we took cover in the hot tub on the deck. On the way back to find the car we couldn’t turn down one more party invitation and I was extra eager when I found out it was at 19 Chamberlain St. I’d lived there for a year when I first came to town, so was interested to see the changes. One flatmate from my time still existed, and the colours had all altered, but it was still the same old loveable pad that could tell many tales of illicit escapades.

The second to last stop was Malt Bar, the official after party for the Grey Lynn Park gig. We stayed for one and caught up with some familiar happy faces. A couple of NRL Warriors players, fresh from a timely win a couple of hours earlier, were downing some cold celebratories. I didn’t know their names but they looked established and famous.

Winding down, I was dropped off in the Beaumont Quarter at a friend’s apartment to see the end of Grey’s Anatomy, have a night cap, and catch up on the goss. I did most of the talking, but did find out that my host had been banned from SpyBar for a month the previous night for being lippy to the owner. When will she ever learn 

My large rollercoaster weekend ended with a warming cup of Earl Grey, and me laughing at my abnormally social cat who loves chasing shadows.

I turned 32 last Friday (the big party’s on April 12th, RSVP your name to me if you’d like to come) and the bars above all came to the party and looked after my friends and me royally.

Before all that though was Duran Duran at Vector on Wednesday, that was kicked off by a party at Dougal’s. Duran sang all the classics but with a modern edge. I danced the entire time and loved it. The industry moguls beside me were unimpressed with the sound, lighting, set-up, songs and artists and stormed off early, leaving me more room to party.

Guy Cater (master hypnotist) rode into town for a live show at The Kingslander on Thursday night. For 3 hours he had people eating out of his had. James Bond impersonators, horse jockeys, x-ray glasses it was all going down. At the same time down on Princes Wharf, Pasha was launching its molecular mixology cocktails; taste-ridden and really really good-looking. They are so intricate you can only buy them at certain times (due to the time needed to compile them). Picture bath gel balls of sweet coloured nectar effortlessly floating in a laden cocktail glass; very classy indeed.

Friday started with me rising early and seeing that I’d already missed 5 calls (3 from Mum and Dad). I raced downstairs and tore strips off the presents I’d been painstakingly hoarding. A nice array of handy, thoughtful goodies stood before me. Breakfast outdoors in Ponsonby with one of my oldest/bestest friends, Ree, followed. Then probably the most perfect lunch I’ve ever had, on the balcony at Vivace, where bubbles, conversation and flirtation gushed for 2 hours. We then went in search for an outfit for the evening’s gallivant. Trying a few, we chose an orange number from Man, on High St where the service was perfect, leaving me wanting more – could this day ever go wrong?

A sobering drive out to the airport to fetch my visiting sister put things back into perspective, and let me know clearly that this was “just another day” to the rest of Auckland. With the pick-up done it was full steam ahead to Pasha to launch into party mode. Over the next few hours around 20 friends came to join in, and on the way to the next port of call Auckland’s one and only gossip queen, Bridget Saunders and her photo-man Sam, stopped for a chat.  She was very chatty and complimentary. I was stunned and thankful.

Our jovial troop walked all over town visiting haunts that have looked after me over the past couple of years. We ended at my most frequented spot, Spy, where I almost lost another camera, but this time a friend saw my folly and swept in to rectify the fault. The day stayed magic right through till the following morning.

Feeling less than favourable I ventured to the steep slopes of Basque Park, in Newton, for the annual organic Phoenix Festival. It was full when I arrived, with people from all demographics chilling in the piercing sun, and packed when my sunburnt, stumbling self left, as Kora belted out idyllic sounds to the shimmering crowd. The image that stands prominently with me is oddly, 2 grown kitted-out men, one a cowboy, the other an Indian, playfully frolicking amongst the peeps on their hobby-horses trying to capture one another.

Later on Saturday night I headed to Split Enz.  History Never Repeats was their final song, Shark Attack their first. They had 3 funky fluro backdrops, white suits and boarded the stage as one in an all-encompassing giant glob of glistening gold material. It was their last show of their 4 gig world tour of NZ, and they were well worth the $97 (pressie from the sis). The audience was a bit bizarre (but yet so is the band, so it makes sense), definitely middle-class to blue-collar and not experienced concert goers. Etiquette was all up the wok, and about half stayed seated for the duration.

Pony looked promising when we ducked down, but my accomplice was feeling extremely under the weather, so I abandoned planned visits to the Hed Kandi and Oxygen dance parties, and cared for the ailing sibling. I am told though that Asta rebounded well from past party flops to host Hed Kandi DJ’s Jack McCord and Steve Divine who went into orbit with the pumping crowd following suit. And Oxygen, after a minor technical glitch at midnight, went on to see blinding sets from internationals Ehren Stowers and Simon Patterson. I saw video footage of this party and regret not going for even 30 minutes; the visuals were world class and the uplifting tunes coupled with smiling faces looked like heavenly bliss.  That’s cool though as I had a hang-over free Sunday. I wandered the Takapuna Markets, my favourite Auckland bazaar, all morning, then moved on to show the sis Devonport’s sights before stopping for an early lunch at The Esplanade. The 45min trek to the airport was bearable, the goodbye was tough, but she’ll be back before long I feel sure.

This left me just enough time to visit George FM’s Free Parking #5 in Herne Bay. Arriving at 4ish I ran into some friends that’d been up from the previous night, they were in pretty good shape considering what they’d obviously been through. The masses were happy-go-lucky and enjoying the beats being laid down by the GFM boys. Dancing barefoot to funky tunes, a cold beer firmly in grasp, with friends among trees is one of my favourite pastimes. I just need more opportunities.

Monday was a mare. I had another prang in the Primera. Anyone got a spare silver front bumper? Third party insurance just doesn’t cut it for me anymore. Luckily the evening was filled with laughter as I watched a cheesy DVD with a fun friend, eating more than my share of full-fat buttered pop-corn and ending the reign of my lucky last Easter egg.