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      • Frank
      • Posted
      • The Van and Jim Morrison of his
        generation. The mystic and the poet.
        Phil's the every man. As at home on a
        park bench as he is in the Park Royal.
        Not too proud to drink Chingdao in a
        sleazy Shenzhen night club, but equally
        comfortable sipping Dry Vodka Martinis
        at an East Village gallery opening.
        Mercurial and relentless on the
        basketball court yet tender and nurturing
        in the classroom. I'd pick Phil first on my
        team every time. Aroha nui bro.
      • Brendon
      • Posted
      • One of the funniest guys I know, our
        Phil. Just thinking about him makes me
        laugh. We shared some really
        memorable times, drunken nights lost in
        Guangzhou, lost in the Tibetan
        mountains, sleeping on grass mats in a
        hut shared by 3 peasant Chinese
        families with babies crawling over us as
        we slept in the middle the Xishuanbana
        countryside, spotting Chinese people
        who look like Western celebrities (eg,
        the Chinese George Clooney), arm in
        arm singing the pogues 'fairytale of
        New York' after a night on the Qingdao
        beers, a spontaneous15 km country
        walk in the middle of the night, these
        are just some of the crazy and fun filled
        explorations we shared together and
        there's many more to come. I'll always
        have time to read Phil's unique writing,
        and listen to his ranting and rambling
        and his insights into this thing called life.
        Cheers bro!
      • Christopher
      • Posted
      • He one of my best mates.
        He loves to win.
      • Zachariah
      • Posted
      • When I first met Phil, he smashed my
        front door down because I'd forgotten
        my keys. I think of him as my Chinese
        father, and I am his "bastard, lazy,
        comes-home-at-all-hours-of-the-night-
        covered-in-vomit-and-sleeps-in-the-
        bathroom, good-for-nothing American
        son. He clothes and feeds me,
        provides a couch on which to live, and
        lends as much life/career advice as I
        can handle. Once at a disco he went on
        a rampage through the dance floor,
        sending 4'7, 95 lb Asian men flying
        through the air in all directions. Too
        fearful to retaliate against him directly,
        the dancing mob turned on me and I
        suddenly found myself sailing over my
        father's head in the direction of the DJ's
        booth. Simultaneously a writer (the
        great NZ novel coming up...), athlete
        ("the great white fouler, they call him in
        China), poet ("How much do I hate
        teaching thee... Let me count the
        ways...), party man (5 pitchers, my
        good man), and genuine, caring friend, I
        consider myself truly lucky to have

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