Visitor eats $6.2m banana artwork at French museum
Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan - whose provocative creation entitled Comedian was bought for $6.2 million ($10.4m)
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Otago Daily Times
21 hours ago
- Otago Daily Times
‘Crate diggers' in for treat at sale
Regent Theatre Music Sale co-ordinator Mark Burrows examines a pressing of Eccentric Soul: The Nickel & Penny Labels amid boxes of DVDs at the theatre before its annual music sale on Saturday. PHOTO: PETER MCINTOSH Whether it is French field recordings, esoteric minimalist music or a 1959 concert at Dunedin's Town Hall, "crate diggers" are in for a treat at this year's Regent Theatre Music Sale. CDs, vinyl records, cassettes, DVDs, music sheets and more will be up for grabs at little cost on Saturday for the theatre's third annual sale. Sale co-ordinator Mark Burrows said about 1000 banana boxes worth of stock had been received so far. The music sale began as an off-shoot of the Regent Theatre's 24 Hour Book Sale to raise funds for the theatre. They were expecting a "real range" of customers on Saturday, Mr Burrows said. "Old guys like me, there'll be a bunch of them, crate diggers, but there's students who will turn up and look for a bargain or just out of curiosity." While the volume of donations was similar to last year, the quality this time around was better, he said. One particular donation contained next-to-new vinyl records that were "so outside the 99.5% of people's listening experience". This included a collection of electronic "non-music", which he believed were French field recordings of which only 350 copies were ever made. Also received was "a bunch of really interesting esoteric unusual music" of a "minimalist vein". "It'll be basically meaningless to the whole public, except for two people down at the music department in the University of Otago." Music from New Zealand bands such as the JPS Experience and Sneaky Feelings were also among the mix, as well as a recording of selected items from the King Edward Technical College Jubilee Music Festival, performed at the Dunedin Town Hall in August 1959. Vinyl records and CDs were good because they were physical mediums you could pick up and look at, Mr Burrows said. They had "just got cool". "So, I think it reflects a bit of that fringe edge of society. There's always people who are looking for cool stuff that the rest of the 95% don't know about. "And then there's the other side of it, the audiophile community, who believe, for good reason, that vinyl sounds better." The music sale runs from 10am to 6pm.
The Spinoff
2 days ago
- The Spinoff
What a strip club run by strippers looks like
At this strip club the dancers kept all their tips, there were no unfair overheads or fines and definitely no exploitative management. The lights are dim, the bar glows, and everywhere there are beautiful dancers in lingerie. They're unnaturally tall in their eight-inch heels, glamorous with their criss-cross ribboned legs, perfect make-up and hair. I, in my ordinary clothing, feel short and human next to them. That's part of the fantasy though – they're professionals, they're performing, and I'm there to spectate. It's the Fired Up Stilettos (FUS) strip club takeover event and this is my Saturday night. FUS is a collective movement of strippers fighting for labour rights and legal protection. It was formed in 2023 when 19 strippers were fired via Facebook post from Calendar Girls for attempting to collectively bargain for fair pay and contractual rights. Strippers and sex workers have long worked under subpar employment conditions – despite strippers generally only working for one club, they are classified as independent contractors and therefore don't have employee rights and protections. Strip clubs usually take huge cuts from their dancers' tips and impose unfair and illegal fines on them. It's also well known that sex workers face societal stigma and discrimination. Some sex workers struggle to find alternative employment if people know that they've done sex work. Agencies and forums have often failed to protect sex workers, even when sex workers have asked for help. As a result, sex workers have formed their own groups in order to help themselves. FUS received media attention in 2024 when it called on parliament to grant sex workers the same labour rights as other independent contractors. In 2025, they continue to support collectivist action within workplace, creating and sharing educational resources so sex workers can know their rights, and campaigning for legislative change. Their takeover events dually serve as fundraisers to keep the movement running and demonstrations of what strip clubs run by strippers could look like. FUS strip clubs could be the industry standard – dancers keep all their tips, there are no unfair overheads or fines, and there's definitely no exploitative management. When I arrive at the secret location (only revealed on Saturday morning) I feel like I've stepped back in time. There are men with suspenders and grey felt caps, women in flapper dresses with feathers in their hair. A performer in a beaded cape sings in a smooth alto while playing cello. The bar serves Negronis, French 75 cocktails and sparkling wine. I order my first drink and move into the main space, where a pole has been set up in one corner, and dancer after dancer performs to songs of their choice. After they dance, they walk around the floor. 'Are you tipping tonight?' a dancer asks me. I tuck $5 of strip club money into the waistband of her thong, determined to be a good strip club patron. There's something hypnotising about pole dancing. It's one of the reasons I watch dancers on Instagram reels, admiring the grace of making something difficult look effortless. I started pole dancing in February, and it's made me appreciate good pole dancers so much more. Pole dancing is hard. I often leave classes with new bruises on my feet or calves. There's a unique kind of pain that comes from trying to hold up your whole body weight by grasping a metal pole with your inner thighs. Sometimes, when learning a new move, I feel as cumbersome as a spinning chicken on a stick. These dancers are polished. They demonstrate clear control over their bodies. It's the way they climb the pole and shift from position to position, the dramatic thwack of their heels against the floor. I watch, entranced, while their bodies contort and extend, stretch and spin. They rotate slowly then fast, limbs arranged in graceful formations. The performances feel like a celebration, with both performers and patrons cheering each time someone does something impressive. I run into several people I know. Kiwiburn friends. Zouk dance friends. A guy I did English literature at university with. There are maybe 30-50 people at the event across the night, with a slightly different demographic to that of a commercial strip club. There are probably more women among the patrons. The crowd is also younger, as lots of dancers, friends and partners have come along to support. The real difference though is that everyone is there because they support sex worker rights, and this inherently means that they respect sex workers. Almost every stripper has a story of sexual harassment or abuse. The FUS takeover event is partially so fun because dancers feel safe to do their jobs. 'Does this feel different to a normal strip club?' I ask one patron, who tells me he drove from Palmerston North to be here. 'Definitely,' he says. 'There's no seedy atmosphere.' In the dressing room, office tables have been joined together and are covered in a chaotic mess of bags, takeaway containers, make-up and clothes. Dancers fix their make up, relax on the couch, take breaks from working. I ask if I can take some photos, and a few of the dancers say yes. I get one great shot of them, backs to me on the couch. I airdrop the photos and by the end of the night, it's already been posted on three different accounts. You have to admire the hustle. After all, it's not just the pole dancing they have to do. Everything they do out on the floor is a performance, from the walking around and tip collecting to the conversations and private dance. It's work, and some of the dancers do this physically and emotionally difficult work for several nights a week. A lot of the FUS dancers now work independently, unwilling to once again be subjected to the working conditions of strip clubs. Some of the dancers have OnlyFans. Some of them make most of their money from escorting. Some of them have 'ordinary' jobs in completely different industries. It doesn't matter. Sex workers and strippers deserve employment protection just like everyone else. As long as there is a market for sex, there will be people who do sex work: those people should be able to work safely. In a lot of ways, the evening feels just like being at a particularly elaborate party. The night passes quickly in the sparkly blur of conversations, glasses of French 75, the spinning pole. At one stage, I slip outside for a smoke break with three of the dancers and the MC. We shelter from the wind in front of a garage. As we move to leave, the garage door cracks open with a violent screech and we all jump. I leave around midnight, when the event ends. I have a heavy head, sore feet from dancing, and several promises to keep in touch. As I drift off to sleep, I keep seeing the dancers on the pole. In my head they're still going round and round.
NZ Herald
2 days ago
- NZ Herald
Soup boards are winter's messiest new food trend – will they catch on here?
The question, though, is whether this is a trend with real traction or just another fleeting social media spectacle. The rise of the board To understand the soup board, it helps to look back at its predecessors. The charcuterie board, once a preserve of French picnic culture, has been reimagined online into countless themed iterations: breakfast boards, dessert boards, nacho boards, even fry boards. The butter board, popularised on TikTok in late 2022 by creator Justine Doiron (inspired by chef Joshua McFadden), was perhaps the peak of the genre – a communal slab of softened butter swiped on to a board and topped with anything from edible flowers to za'atar to hot honey. The soup board takes that same spirit – interactive, shareable, aesthetically excessive – and applies it to a comfort-food staple, conveniently timed for the Southern Hemisphere winter. In videos tagged #soupboard and #soupcharcuterieboard, creators show off curated combinations: butternut soup with bacon bits, cheddar shards and thyme croutons; chicken tortilla soup flanked by lime wedges, jalapenos and toasted corn strips; and even multiple soups in miniature ramekins for a 'flight' format. Some boards lean into customisation, setting out a central tureen of soup and arranging toppings around it. Others offer individual bowls with themed pairings. In all cases, visual appeal is paramount. Is it practical – or just pretty? The appeal is obvious. Soup is inherently comforting, and for many people, winter cooking skews nostalgic. The board format adds a playful, DIY aspect that lends itself to small-scale entertaining – a kind of adult lunchable with flair. It also photographs beautifully, which remains a driving force behind many viral food trends. Styling with accoutrements, ie toppings, is key to the soup board trend. Photo / Babiche Martens But critics have pointed out the soup board's flaws. For one, it's messy. Hot liquid on a wooden surface, surrounded by precarious crumbs, dripping oils and sticky toppings, is a clean-up challenge waiting to happen. Wood isn't the most hygienic serving material, especially for anything involving moisture. There's also a certain impracticality to balancing multiple mini soup bowls on a single board. As Bettina Makalintal, a writer for US-based food site Eater, put it in a wry 2023 article: 'The soup board is chaos. It is an affront to the stability of soup as a concept.' She argued that many of the boards seemed designed more for social media engagement than actual enjoyment. Could the trend take hold here? In New Zealand, where winter comfort food tends to favour the humble and hearty over the performative, the soup board may seem like a step too far. But as local entertaining norms evolve – and social media continues to influence how we present food – there's space for these kinds of playful ideas to find a niche. It helps that the concept is easily adapted to what Kiwis are already cooking. A single soup – say, roasted cauliflower, pumpkin and coconut, or classic tomato – could be served with a couple of simple accompaniments: grilled cheese triangles, roasted seeds, herby croutons, flavoured olive oil. It doesn't need to be complicated to feel special. Some cafes and caterers may find more use for the idea than home cooks. Like butter boards before them, soup boards are arguably better suited to stylised settings – think grazing tables at events, or social media content for cafes looking to lean into the seasonal mood. But home cooks who enjoy putting together a bit of a spread – or entertaining without going full three-course dinner – may still find inspiration in the format. Style over substance? In the end, the soup board is probably less a revolutionary new way of eating and more a clever reframe of what many people already enjoy: warm soup with good bread and a few things to sprinkle on top. The trend's real power lies in how it makes the familiar feel a little more curated, a little more 'occasion-worthy'. And for all its potential mess and overthinking, it does remind us that even something as humble as soup can be made to feel indulgent with the right trimmings. Herald contributor Nikki Birrell has worked in food and travel publishing for nearly 20 years. From managing your kitchen to cutting costs, she's shared some helpful advice recently, including how to prep your barbecue for summer grilling, gourmet hacks for elevating budget ingredients and what toppings to choose for different crackers.
