What is the medical name for chickenpox? In Maori legend, who was Tumatauenga? Which instruments did Antonio Stradivari produce? St Petersburg, Russia is adjacent to which water body? In the oil industry, what is the tower called which hoists drill pipes?

It’s was questions like these that led my team in NZ’s Biggest Quiz Night to carry the wooden spoon. Had they been more along the lines of; what is the legal drinking age in Sudan? Name the Auckland inner city night spot that has a permanently installed green laser light show? Which internationally renowned DJ is often referred to as “God”? In what decade was Wild Turkey bourbon first barrelled? True or False, the party island of Ibiza is one of the Balearic Islands? We would have stood a chance. (The answers are at the bottom…)

Possible culprits stormed my mind when I saw my smashed car windows last Thursday morning. Nothing was snatched and I wasn’t overly fazed, but the hectic hassle rearranging my life drove me wild. The two main suspects have since been ruled out, so I’m looking for leads.
 
I have a habit (that needs to be tweaked) of rushing into things, but when you are given a body pampering pack you’d think it was all for the body wouldn’t you? So here I am merrily spraying myself bi-daily, for a good week, with what I thought was a sexy scented body spray, before an astute friend starts spraying it randomly around the room. I question the act and am informed that she’s merely using the product for what it was intended. I’d been dousing myself in “A delicious fragrance mist to spritz bed linen and furnishings”. This immediately explained the alien red spot skin irritation that had been priority one concern for me.
 
With the car fixed and skin back to its normal consistency, I lined up some parties on Friday and started knocking them off. We began at mine with vodka, poured more ways than there are petrol price hikes, lounging in the spa. Zipped across town to Mr Vintage’s t-shirt showroom for “Funnel Friday” (they have a beer funnel that you mark your name on when you complete the stated task). We danced, played a variety of ball games and louted about. Fearing property damage, I took the troops around the corner to Denim Bar for their Jager party. 5 – 10 shots later I found myself kicking David Knot off the decks and trying my hand at a profession I used to be good at.
 
Gay Willy’s leaving party at Opium was fun for a look. A few hundred men, and a handful of ladies bopped about. I found the Drum & Bass hard to get jiggy to so we tried 4:20 for A’trackd (a techno party combined with an art show and affordable drinks).
 
With a different DJ/dancefoor layout and heightened marketing, the night was twice as good as last time and again all the art sold before closing. In the club below hip-hop group Dam Native showed up and off, with energy, quality and colour. Rolling down hill we struck an unfamiliarly empty SpyBar, so u-turned it back up to K’Rd to finish the night off at Ink & Coherent.
 
I spent Saturday in my pyjamas, after a brief incognitoed unwanted drive to McD’s, Bakers Delight and Video Ezy. At 4pm an unwanted visitor came knocking, plied me with merlot and helped me get presentable in time to meet my team at NZ’s Biggest Quiz Night. The organisers were hoping to break the world record of 1566 quiz participants; they missed by a few hundred. Our team of guide-getters started well, but faded as attention spans lapsed, and our intelligence was brought into question by the quiz mistress Jackie Clarke when she said; “And Party Marty United brings up the rear. Perhaps you guys should do a little less partying”.
 
I tried for almost an hour to tie the damn thing, then gave up and went for the velcro option. Dressing for the red carpet makes you feel so good. I turned up at the Sky City Convention Centre well rested, brimming with enthusiasm and a pocket full of freshly made business cards. There are 16 Lewisham awards (rewarding the hospitality sector) and they were rattled out within an hour (extra applause given for one sentence acceptance speeches). The schmoozing afterwards at Toto’s was priceless, I had an esteemed guide that pointed me in the right direction; I told my story a dozen times, exchanged cards and made valuable future contacts.
 
Heard of Buizel? I hadn’t until a few days ago. I try and have Monday evenings “off”, so this last one I spent having a drawing competition. My opponent was 6 years old, small and with missing teeth but the little guy had years of Pokemon experience. Buizel looks like a chipmunk on crack, but I’m told it’s really quite talented and its finned tail propels it at sonic speeds. I lost the competition, thanks to a biased judge, but there was a happy ending.
 
I just love the movies; I go at least once a week. On Tuesday I went to see the premier of the latest Kiwi flick “The Last Magic Show”. The best bit was meeting the 10 guide-getters who won tickets and brought their guests, some I knew, others I’m glad I now do. You see due to technical difficulties I didn’t get to even enter the theatre, my patience was not a virtue and after an hour standing in the foyer I called it quits, favouring a good friends birthday dinner at La Bocca before coming back to the office to write this.
 
Answers 1: Varicella, The God of War, Violins, The Gulf of Finland, Derrek.
Answers 2: None, it’s illegal, Forte, Paul Van Dyk, 1850’s, True.

I’ve had quite a bit of alone time recently. Re-watching my top 10 rom coms from my DVD collection over the weekend highlighted this. The line most vivid was from Bridget Jones. “My next major relationship will be with a bottle of wine”. I so see her point.

Welcome to issue 100, yeehaa, finally! Some of you would have got the first one (it’s a shocker, kindergarten styles), others will be a whole lot newer to the thread. This weekend then I’ll be out in turbo-charged force sucking up as much fun times as I can muster. Please join me for a shot at any bar you see me at.

It was a vitamin B saturated week in the city of sails, you could almost count the clouds on one hand, and seeing as I worship sun I often found myself with eyes wide shut, clothed and reclined, dreaming up pathways that will take me to my maiden million.

Two statements that I continually remind myself of are that, “If nothing changes, then nothing changes”, and “Everything’s as it should be”. Motivating me to take fresh opportunities as they arise and remain calm when life seems quite befuddled. But the one I live my life by, “It’s always happy hour”, still stands as my favourite by far.

Moving in different circles last week led me to 2 fine art exhibition openings. One looked as if it’d been whipped up that day, the other a 7th form student’s trigonometry assignment, but both with worthy merits and people willing to purchase.  I had my first bite of the populated Ponsonby food hall, that had more options and surprises than Willie Wonka’s factory. My feet got frisky for a slice of salsa dancing at Safari Lounge, where almost all the girls were skilled Latinos and cocktails made with a heavy hand. Childhood joy was rekindled at the zoo, watching the goofy orangutans trading bananas with each other, and the provoked crocs snapping at passers-by. Being invited to a big-wigs backstage office to sip 80 year old cognac from a velvet bottle and talk turkey. Abseiling down to a private beach for a clothes-less dip. Viewing an uplifting documentary on space travel, with a mean audience age of 50. Grabbing the mic and doing a smashing job of butchering a karaoke classic … blah, blah, etc, all the while stimulated onward by rubbing shoulders with fantastic people I had never met before.  I’m just saying you should try some different things, even if only a new pattern when you next mow the lawn, trust me, you will have fun. And fun’s what we’re all about.

The place isn’t mine, but it is for the next 2 weeks. At last I’m being seen as someone who can do more than just party till dawn at the drop of a hat; a regular person, trusted, living unattended in another person’s home. So, who wants to come on over for a night-cap and get wrinkly in the spa? Drop me a line on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=604755155

With my sister in town last week I was extra busy, as taxi-man and provider of fun conservative outings. One evening I gathered a skilled team for an interactive pub quiz, we lead most of the way, but some shocking calls from people who should have known better saw us slip to 3rd overall.

The next night Stella Artois put on a movie at Rialto. They’d asked Brooke Howard-Smith to pick his fave all time movie, and get some friends along. He did that and they tackled the hospitality. I was miffed at his choice at the start, but as the movie finished up I could correlate the similarities, and it all made sense. “The Princess Bride” wouldn’t have been my pick, but I’ve never been asked. I would go for something like “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” if asked right this minute. What about you?

I’m in the throws of a steroid and antibiotic 10 day course, for a silly respiratory fault and my morning dose has just kicked in. My goodness they make you motor, my fingers are flying over these keys. I now have an inkling as to how Ben Johnson felt before the 100m dash in 1988. I digress, right, so Thursday was different. I’d sorted the 2 private themed Japanese dining rooms at Kermedec Restaurant for 12 quality friends to meet and prosper in. I sat in the one with the goldfish pond encompassing the sunken table, with a waterfall wall behind me. It was brilliant; if you want something uniquely special look no further.

Seeing the comedy festival was curtailing I took everyone to see Brendhan Lovegrove. Then Thrice Pudding, now the Thrice team were funny. Consisting of an IAG lawyer, Japanese ESL student and a primary school teacher, they had us in fits. A well planned show, with elements of greenness, you could see they weren’t pro’s, this was just a hobby, and that’s what made them so appealing.

Damn these three, as they put us on a mega high, so we sort more quality entertainment. Where else on a Thursday but Pony. The Neon’s played and we downed Moet after Moet, thanks to a visiting friend from Mt Maunganui. This excessive drinking lead to more elation, so I decided to test how much my flatmate liked me. I sent out the Chinese whisper, “Everyone back to mine”, sadly for my sleeping flatmate, most obeyed.

We tried to be considerate, but by the texts coming from upstairs, we were failing. It was approaching 8am, so rather than face the venom of a surfacing 6ft landlord with panda eyes we bounced to a nearby home to acclimatise back into our ways.

Probably the one thing that stands above all as my #1 Auckland gripe is the traffic congestion. I left the CBD at 1.45pm and returned at 5pm, I don’t think it was the route I took, the rain, or that it was Friday arvo, it’s just that the elevator doesn’t reach the top floor of the noggins of those that call the transportation shots. But I’d collected, and delivered, my cargo (my brother in law) safely, so mission accomplished.

Getting 14 hours sleep in one night, when you’re used to getting barely 5 or 6, is an odd sensation. So everything felt wrong come Saturday morning. I felt dazed, yet wide awake, weary yet fighting fit, very surreal sensations indeed. I picked up my sis and her hub at 10am and we wandered the “Parnell Market Day”, (what a joke (it’s got nothing on the Ponsonby equivalent), the café called Dunk, does sell a mean savoury scone though). We moved up the rise to Newmarket for some heavy window-shopping, my sister wanted a handbag, that had to be just right, we drove away empty handed.

Tarantino movies, Pinot and positive convo filled the remainder of the daylight hours. Sawadee Thai restaurant filled our stomachs, The Ponsonby Social Club filled our eyes with smoke and hustle, Bar Retro filled our ears and nostalgic glands with the best 80’s tribute tunes ever (it was like Bros, Bon Jovi and Bowie were actually there). And then finally SpyBar was filled with dozens of happy faces that I knew.

This was a non OTT Saturday night, I chose to observe, keep my new white shirt just that, retain possession of my latest Sony camera, remember conversations and new introductions, but best of all drive home confidently. Due to all this absorbed info and pondering sleep wasn’t possible (makes me wonder how much I miss out on with all these benders), so as the blue sky appeared with the suns rays, I could be seen by the odd dog walker jogging around Ellerslie, still weighing up the racing topics in my mind.

It still wasn’t time to pick up the family, so I stopped by work to update my Facebook status and see if I’d won the green card lottery (I hadn’t).

Relishing the feel-good pitch blue sky I took Penny and Dean to Mission Bay. We attempted De Fontain, the Belgium Beer café there, loved the balcony views, hated the appalling service (will never go again), so left, in favour of the bakery downstairs and a mini picnic on the beach.

I was sad to see the family depart later that day; I’d very much enjoyed the reality of it all. I reacted by opening some more Noir and visiting happy friends, cherishing the comradery.

Which famous white-suit toting band of boys, with voices of serene angels had a concert on Monday night that was actually damn good fun? It was the smallest venue they had ever played in during their 10 years at the top, by a large margin, the on-stage set and equipment dominated the sold-out Aotea Centre, but it held its own providing a very intimate spectacle. There must have been at least 6 or 7 costume changes for the boys and multiple rip-offs from other artists, like Justin, Robbie and Michael, but it was a great show that appealed to grannies and homeys alike.

That’s me for another week, if you see me out and about please come up and say hi, or if there’s a fun event that you think I should know about drop me a line. Take care.

If you think this might be of interest to you, drop me a line.

My week’s highlight was not a ragey party with celebs and copious catering, but a suited-up gathering of 150 people at Bungalow8 on Monday at 6pm.

I only went along as I’d promised the promoter, but OMG was it inspirational. My cowboy boots, baggy jeans and pastel shirt stood out among the stern corporate faces, but luckily a couple of familiar ones beaconed out.

I was at a 40 Below (don’t confuse this with the vodka brand) rally. A semi-regular get together of forward thinking peeps from various industries, under 40 years old (a fair whack were not). A quick scan of the room and you’d automatically say bankers, lawyers and accountants ruled the land. I was the sole representative of the nightlife category, and managed to hold my own when approached and pressed by an MP, wanting to discuss her electorate in West Auckland.

You see this soiree doubled as a National Party supporters’ energizer. I’d heard John Key speak live a handful of times before and had been impressed every time. He didn’t fail again. He took the stage after Seeby Woodhouse’s stunning entrepreneurial rise to the top story. His 15 minute lesson was off the cuff, educated and moving. He’s got my vote later in the year, that’s for certain.

Prior to this stirring evening I’d had my usual smattering of things to attend. Toto’s for dinner on Wednesday for a deliciously decadent meal, coupled with a B&W Oscar classic movie. Shame the previous few days excursions caught up with me there, as I repeatedly nodded off in the second half; Awoken by my head jerking backward and smacking the top of my chair.

I’ve always loved comedy; from Happy Days to Rodney Rude and Billy T James, my early years were gleefully filled with the stuff. So nowadays I support the art wherever possible. Last Thursday I believe I went beyond the call of duty. My tickets were for table 6 (located in the front row of a sold-out show of 500 people), the show began as I was making my way to the table. Neil Delamere spotted me instantly as perfect fodder. He assumed I was gay, due to my attire and choice of beverage. Thought the female company I had was way out of my league, and when he found out my vocation he was over the moon. So for the next 2 hours I was his (so to speak). To make reparations for the discomfort he’d caused, he organised a big happy birthday (one of the slices of info he’d gleaned from me) box, and a bunch of helium balloons. He presented this as he closed the performance, my fresh hatred for the tiny Irishman evaporated instantly.

It wasn’t the Nun’s & Priests house party in a St Mary’s Bay convent, nor the complimentary Agaveros at Flight Lounge, it wasn’t even the exclusive elusive birthday bash at Clooney, but it was the grand opening of the first upmarket bar in K’ Rd (I can’t think of any others). I’d been put in charge of the guest list, and tweaking the venue for the night. Everything ended up being perfect, the vibe that mix of people created was electric. Like all my gigs, many business and personal relationships were forged. The highlight was the DJ, who goes by the name “Lyle”, he kept the party at top speed for the 5 hours that I was there, and showed no signs of tiring when I left.

I chose not to drink on Saturday, a fortunate decision seeing I was breathalysed as I headed for bed. Before this I’d been to 2 house parties. One in an exposed garage, with plastic cups and ice in the sink, the other in a toasty home, where everything was on inside but still people chose to congregate at the end of the section. We went to Pasha for Mr Howe’s 36th (plus plus) birthday party. Harry had been at it for 4 hours by the time we arrived, so his smile was as wider than the wingspan of the new Boeing. I’m told he was at Spy till 6 then played a game of league at 9. What a trooper.

I felt good on “the day of rest”. My sister flew into town mid-morning, so we spent the day playing around the CBD. We ate at Bollywood in Ponsonby that evening (a first for both of us). The 45min experience was tasty, yet over attentive and the large movie projection on the wall was a fun distraction when the conversation drooped to, “I wonder if it will stop raining tomorrow?” I dropped her back at her hotel just in time for “Greys”, and I trucked on to Bar 3, in SkyCity, to see Nathan Haines perform with his international band of friends. My eyelids wilted around 11.15pm, but by this stage the bar was easily the busiest in the city, people were dancing and Heinekein was being hungrily consumed.

That was my week, well the bits I can share with you. If you’d ever like to know more, drop me a line, I always love hearing from friends I’ve not met yet.