Empathy quotient

I read an article in today's Sunday Star-Times entitled Despicable me. It had nothing at all to do with the movie of the same name; instead, the article was referring to the author, Adam Dudding, and his apparently low score on the Empathy Quotient (EQ) test. Created by psychology professor Simon Baron-Cohen, the Empathy Quotient is intended to measure how easily you pick up on other people's feelings and how strongly you are affected by other people's feelings. There are sixty questions resulting in a score out of 80.

I thought I'd score somewhere slightly above average. You can take the test here. (Beware questions with double negatives; I had to read a few through several times to select the answer I wanted.) My score was 53, which is just above average and a little above the average score for women. The descriptor for this score is: "You have an above average ability for understanding how other people feel and responding appropriately. You know how to treat people with care and sensitivity." I'd say that's about right for me most of the time.

So how did others score? Infamous broadcaster Paul Henry proudly scored 24/80, which is considered low. This kind of score is also common among people with Asperger Syndrome or high-functioning autism. Children's author Joy Cowley scored 62/80, which is above average. Although synergies between some scores and professions might seem obvious, this is not always the case. Former finance minister Ruth Richardson, with a score of 55/80 (above average) is an example of someone whose personal empathy differs to that requierd by her professional persona.

What's your EQ? Is it an accurate reflection of your personal empathy?

Meet the Churchills

Once again, we were the guests of the wonderful folk at Circa Theatre last night. Meet the Churchills is a new play by Paul Baker. Set in the drawing room of Randolph Churchill's 18th century house at Stour, Suffolk, we meet four members the Churchill family on the occasion of Winston Churchill's 88th birthday. What would for many be a joyous occasion was instead described as a 'mending' day, and it became apparent as the drama unfolded just what was to be mended: the family dynamics. Not quite putting the 'fun' into dysfunctional, there were clearly many issues influencing the Churchill family and their relationships.

Rather than celebrating his 88th birthday, Churchill simply wanted to die, a fact he stated boldly several times during the day along with other lamentations about his family and current state of being. While his physical body was weak and wheelchair-bound, Churchill's tongue remained flexed and razor-sharp, throwing out many toxic one-liners which transparently illustrated what he was thinking. However, his wife, Clementine Churchill, kept up line for line, which was clearly no mean feat.

The play is very well performed, if a little drawn out at times. Light entertainment was provided by the somewhat troubled character of Lady Audley, Sarah Churchill, and the narrative is woven together by a fictitious historian, Dr Stephen Jenkins. Meet the Churchills is currently showing at Circa One until 16 July.

Country charm

I've driven around various parts of rural New Zealand countless times over the years, gradually increasing the surface area of the terrain I cover while also retracing the main arterial routes, particularly in the lower North Island. As we were driving back from our ski trip on Sunday night, I was reminded of events or things I'd seen when searching for food or drinks at particular locations.

In some towns, there is a little more evidence of successful urban crawl. In others ... well, let's just say that the effort is appreciated and could even be considered delightful, but I'd say they're better off sticking to specialising in country charm. I've come across several of these places over the years.

Coffee fix
One morning, after several late nights in a row, I had an early start and needed to be in Marton (about 2 1/4 hours north of Wellington) by 9 am. We left home around 6 am and were looking to be early so decided to stop off at a little cafe in Bulls that we could see was just opening for the day. Coffee time! We were offered fruit muffins straight from the oven and I asked for a long black to go with it. The owner proceeded to make me a short black (espresso), then boiled the kitchen jug and topped it up with boiling water - right in front of me and all the while still chatting animatedly. I was so shocked, yet in such desperate need of sleep, that I couldn't simply give it back. I don't think I finished that cup.

Speaking of coffee, the Chatham Islands are not exactly known for their café culture so I was interested to see that a new café had opened up not far from us. I didn't expect the earth but was looking forward to some 'real' coffee, after stretching my ground beans to last for nearly a week when using my stovetop espresso maker. I decided to check the café out the first day they were open after the Christmas holidays. Unfortunately, the plane from Wellington that morning hadn't brought coffee beans as promised, but I was offered instant coffee instead if I wanted it. Thank you, but no.

Another time, while staying with a group of friends at Himatangi Beach one summer, a few of us decided to visit the local cafe for a morning coffee. One tea-drinking friend ordered English breakfast tea, instead. However, she was served with Earl Grey tea, something she describes as 'tasting like dishwater', which she'd drink if she liked dishwater, but unfortunately she doesn't like dishwater. She endearingly pointed out her dilemma to the manager and he happily replaced her dishwater with English breakfast tea, but remarked that he knew nothing about tea and that "it all tastes the same to me - horrible". Actually, I agree with him on that one! ;-)

Eat (and drink) much
Driving from Wellington to Auckland (about 8 hours) after work on a Friday night, we were starting to get hungry. The further north we drove, and the later the hour, the fewer food places were open for business. Not too keen on the usual takeaways, we came across a Chinese smorgasboard in Taihape which looked promising. The sign on by the door still makes me laugh all these years later; it simply said, "Eat much you like". Well, I guess the description was accurate. ;-)

Finally, travelling through Lyttelton, we had caught the bus across town from Christchurch city (very much pre-earthquakes) and were waiting for a ferry to take us to Diamond Harbour for a wedding. It was an incredibly hot day and we were sweating in our wedding clothes while carrying our overnight bags. We spotted a corner pub and decided to pop in for a cold drink. Someone ordered a refreshing Red Bull and vodka. The publican looked disgusted. His response: "We don't serve any of that fancy stuff here." Ouch! We'd been suitably told off!

Have you encountered country charm that, despite the best of intentions, has not quite got it right?

Ski trip

We have just got back from our annual snow weekend. It was a wonderful weekend out of town with about forty of us staying close to Mt Ruapehu and spending a couple of days skiing and relaxing. I had my first ever skiing lesson along with a few others from our group. I won't pretend I enjoyed it; not only was it incredibly hard, but our instructor seemed to omit many of the fundamentals, like how we should be standing/leaning, how to stop sliding sideways down the mountain, what to do with our arms, and, most importantly, how to get up every time we fell down. I have a ski pass for two more lessons before the end of the season but will have to psyche myself up to try again. I'll give it a month or so and then see.

Here's a run down of our weekend away.

• The public toilets in Levin are positively weird. Not only do they talk to you, but the voice informs you have you have a ten minute time limit!
• The Whanganui River looks deceptively beautiful as it reflects the street lights on a clear, dark night.
• Penny Arcade is an unusual, but not unpleasant, earworm to have on a night time road trip.
• Driving up a mountain with three passengers and into sunstrike is kind of freaky.
• Apparently there is a ski boot for everyone. I'm not sure mine was up the mountain on Saturday but apparently we were 'getting closer'.
• Make sure your merino top tucks all the way into your ski pants. Gaps = cold.
• Get up the mountain early. It took about 1 1/2 hours to get everybody's passes and ski gear sorted.
• Ski staff are incredibly helpful. It also seems compulsory for them all to have a deliciously exotic accent.
• Wearing too many layers is just as bad as wearing not enough when skiing. I never thought I'd be sweating on a snowy mountain.
• Ski instructors are an endlessly patient and encouraging breed of person. Even when I fell over just by standing still, I was assured just how well I was doing. Bless.
• Despite trying really hard to not be paranoid about reinjuring the ankle which boasts a reconstructed ligament, I couldn't relax on the mountain and really struggle during the lesson. :-(
• Skis are not a natural extension of my feet.
• Bruises are unfortunately inevitable.
• Trying to put a baby goat into someone's room after midnight is not a good idea. Oh wait - that sounds dodgier than it actually was, but I'll explain another time.

Bei Mir Vist Du Schon

Every now and then, the musician in me falls in love with a particular song or artist. I’m enjoying rediscovering Stray Cats at the moment. Adele has caught my interest. But I had my iPod on shuffle this morning and it threw up a couple of gems I hadn’t listened to in a while. The first was Song For Guy, a song I need to be absolutely in the mood for as it has the ability to instantly transport me back to a funeral from many years ago that I really don’t wish to relive.

And then I was rewarded for my efforts with The Andrews Sisters’ Bei Mir Vist Du Schon. Wow – talk about a beautiful blast from the past. I first heard a version of the song at a dance class a few years ago and was fascinated by the sound, the instrumentation and the changes in tempo. Asking around, I learned it was by Janis Siegel and came from the Swing Kids (1993) soundtrack. I had to have it. I searched for other versions and listened over and over, analysing every detail – pure bliss for a musician. I’m not too fussed about The Puppini Sisters’ version but can appreciate their arrangement of the song nevertheless.

Here is a musical interlude for you to enjoy on your Friday.

The dealing's done for Kenny

This post is long overdue; so are a number of things with me at the moment, but that's another post in itself.

There are many curious characters who make up the fabric of the night life in Courtenay Place. You're likely to come across them at least every weekend and usually in the wee small hours. Some are more sociable that others, but all have their quirks. There's the infamous Blanket Man who is quick to abuse anyone who crosses his path, the guy who gets off a bus outside the Star Mart and asks for $2, the 'superstitious' guitarist, who plays Stevie Wonder's Superstition almost continuously outside the National Bank ... and then there was Kenny.

'Kenny', little known by his real name, John Adams, died of a brain tumour on 6 June. He was street performer with many strings to his entertaining bow, least of which was his musical ability, yet that is what he will most likely be remembered for. That, and his ongoing petitions to the Wellington City Council, appealing to Noise Control to have his impounded amp back. Yes, apparently the residents of Courtenay Place were not all Kenny fans.

Kenny petitions the WCC
to get his impounded amp back

I was beaten to the punch by Blog on the Tracks for already writing much (or much more) of what I might have written about Kenny myself. I didn't hear him recite Shakespeare, but I do recall catching snippets of Rudyard Kipling's If during late night jaunts down Courtenay Place during the mid-late 1990s. More commonly, I came across Kenny somewhere along the fence by the entrance to what is now Reading Courtenay (but was at the time under construction), a drunken crowd around him dancing and singing along to whatever he was trying to play at the time. One night, I wandered past to see a clearly tipsy woman with her around Kenny's shoulder and trying to get him to do the can-can with her; turns out it was my best friend at high school, who I hadn't seen for a few years but was not at all surprised by her efforts that night.

Word has it that in the early days, when asked to play The Gambler, he claimed to not know it, yet is what he is most commonly associated with. Whether he ever actually learned to play the song is questionable, but it quickly became part of a very limited repertoire for Kenny.

As a young musician, I think I was most offended by the terrible sound quality emanating from his microphone, which was gaffer taped inside his leather jacket and hooked up to a crummy 40W amp. His guitar wasn't much better. The fact that he barely knew how to play it was simply par for the course. And, yet, he had crowd-pulling power.

There was no sendoff for Kenny, although locals have called for a tribute. Kenny finally 'broke even' and is hopefully now entertaining the crowds in sky - if he ever managed to get his old amp back, that is. ;-)

One last time for 'Kenny':



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Used without permission