Monthly Archives: January 2003

Special times

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First, an email exchange:

To: Robyn
From: Pat
Subject: hello

will you please email me a brochure of your chocolate rouses thanks.

To: Pat
From: Robyn
Subject: Re: hello

Whilst the caffeine and sugar in chocolate can be somewhat rousing, I’m afraid I don’t know what a chocolate rouse is.

Whether it’s a sexual term or a type of confectionary, or some bizarre concept that only exists on the internet, I don’t know, and I don’t have any brochures on the mysterious chocolate rouse to send you.

Good luck with your search for the elusive chocolate rouse.

From: Pat
To: Robyn
Subject: Re: hello

UPSSSSSSSS I AM VERY SORRY !!!! THANK YOU FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TO ANSWER
I DIDNT MEAN TO ….. BYE BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

If I’d had the necessary software handling skillz, I would have got some pictures of some naked black women and put together a brochure advertising “Chocolate Rouses: These fine Nubian princesses will a-rouse you!”

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I saw “Adaptation”. I was really excited about seeing it. Like, I woke up this morning and was like, “woohoo, It’s Thursday! “Adaptation” opens today! It reminded me of this thing I wrote about vanilla over a year ago. I’m going to have to dig it out and stick it up on my web site.

The film opens with Kaufman (Cage) doing this monologue about everything that’s wrong with his life and how it would be better, if only certain things would happen. I was like “OMG, that is totally me life.” Yes, my internal monologue sounds exactly like that.

“Adaptation” reminded me of “Mullholland Drive,” in that the last 20 minutes or so is quite different from the rest of the film, and it can be interpreted in different ways. But really, if you were going to go all out and write a formulaic Hollywood screenplay, where John Laroche and Susan Orlean become lovers, wouldn’t you write a sex scene in the swamp? Well, I would. Maybe that’s just me.

—

Hey, you know how people talk about the period of time in the late ’60s and the ’70s when the contraceptive pill had been invented, but before Aids happened, when people could just have condomless sex with anyone, and it was all marvellous, blah, blah, blah, pass the disco boots?

Well, what about the time when cigarettes became readily available, when they weren’t taxed to hell, when you could smoke in public buildings, and before people had figured out that cigarettes were physically addictive and could cause cancer and heart disease? Oh yes, that would have been a very special time.

Vanilla

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Anything flavoured vanilla is thought of almost as being unflavoured. Often foods like vanilla ice cream or yoghurt are considered to be plain, not flavoured.

While people go crazy over chocolate flavoured delights, not many people seem to share the same level of enthusiasm for vanilla.

In computer terminology, a vanilla version of something is basic, pared down, default set up. More interesting versions get names like chocolate or mocha, as if vanilla is somehow flavourless compared to those two.

Vanilla’s reputation is further sullied by it being part of “Vanilla Ice,” the stage name taken by early nineties rap icon Robert Van Winkle. As he fell from fame and into notoriety, his stage name became the punch line to many jokes.

Vanilla is considered plain and boring. It’s ordinary and unexciting. It’s bland and white. It’s not funky or soulful, it’s dull old vanilla.

But wait – vanilla isn’t that. In fact, it’s almost the complete opposite.

First, the name. Vanilla comes from the Latin word vagina, meaning sheath or pod. It’s thought that it was named either because some early botanist looked at a vanilla pod and it reminded him of a vagina, or because it was thought to be an aphrodisiac. (Just imagine if plants were still named that way. “Oh look, I’ve planted a Mighty Shaft of Desire next to the roses!”)

That puts an interesting twist on this quote by porn actress Annabel Chong, who once slept with 251 men in ten hours, “I can’t speak for all the women in the world, but I am sure there are certain women out there who have a part of their sexuality that’s not vanilla, that’s not polite.”

Then there’s the vanilla equalling white thing. Ever seen a vanilla bean pod? It’s dark, dark brown; almost black. There’s nothing plain or white about it.

And the flavour; the rich, dark, smouldering and sensuous flavour almost seems to evoke the steamy tropical heat of the countries it’s grown in.

Vanilla compliments and enhances the flavours of many other foods. It’s been used with chocolate to give smooth, mellow tones, since the 16th century. It blends especially well with dairy products, giving us such delightful treats as vanilla ice cream.

Vanilla may still be thought of by some as plain and boring, but really it’s rich and sensual and exotic, full of hidden surprises.

A Play

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In normal circumstances this would be a review of a play. But these were not normal circumstances so instead it’s going to be about my experience as an audience member rather than about the play itself.

The play in question was “Antimony”. It was put on by the Stronghold Theatre Company. A bunch of people I knew were going to see it one Tuesday night, so I decided to see it too.

I managed to find the old warehouse on McKelvie Street where the play was being performed, but before I even made it to the door I saw a friend of mine walking up the street. Let’s call him Javier.

Javier was going to the nearby wine shop to get some beer, so I joined him. We ended up sitting in my car, drinking beer, and listening to Mai FM. It seemed like a very teenage thing to do.

So three bottles of beer later we decided to make our way over to the warehouse. As we approached the building we could see that the lights were out – uh oh – the play had started. We entered, promising the girl on the door that we’d pay afterwards, and caused much mayhem on our way to the seats.

The seating was those stackable platform seat things that I last saw at a school assembly when I was 12. Being the middle of winter in an old warehouse with high ceilings and no heating, it got pretty cold. I knew I shouldn’t have worn those stupid low-waisted pants.

The play had started with various images projected upon a large screen at the back of the stage. Eventually it stopped and the acting started. I started watching, following it. It seemed a little bit confusing, but not too much. Then it hit me. I needed to go to the toilet. Those three beers had taken their toll. I really needed to go to the toilet.

I sat there in the cold, dark theatre trying to concentrate on the play but being constantly reminded of my full bladder. I started dreaming about magical catheters or being able to stop time and go for a pee. But neither of those were going to happen. It became more and more uncomfortable, more and more unbearable. When I started fantasising about peeing my pants I knew I had to do something.

I didn’t know if there was a toilet in the building. It was dark when I entered so I hadn’t seen one, but I knew there was a petrol station just around the corner. I got up and went there as fast as I could. I amazed myself with my superior muscle control, as I was able to jog there. As soon as got to the petrol station I noticed a sign on the door advising people that there were no publicly available toilets. I asked the guy behind the counter if he could possible make an exception for me because, you know, I was desperate. He said no.

I continued up the hill to a park where I knew there were public toilets. They were those automated vandal-proof ones, so they’d surely be open, right? No. I don’t know why, but they were locked. I continued down the road. There was a petrol station further along and I was pretty sure they had a toilet.

Yes! Right next to the “No Nuclear Fire For Amber” sign there was a bright and shining Mobil with a nice clean toilet. It was the best pee I’ve ever had in my entire life. I vowed that my next fuel purchase would be from that Mobil as a way of thanking them for their much-appreciated toilet.

Feeling lighter and happier I made my way back to the theatre. I snuck back in and tried to catch up with the rest of the play. I couldn’t really figure out what was going on, but I didn’t really care, because I didn’t need to pee any more!

Eventually the play ended. I discovered that not only was there a toilet in the warehouse, but I wasn’t the only one who’d been busting to use it. So, really, I can’t say much about the play, but I reckon an intermission would have been much appreciated.

Be a tourist in your own city

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There are certain kinds of people who I never see using the buses around Auckland city. Really skinny women with long blonde hair who wear their sunglasses on top of their head are one of those kinds.

I went down to the Viaduct Harbour. I object to that name for the simple reason that the viaduct no longer exists. I remember back when the road stretched across the entrance of the harbour, and there was the part of the road that lifted up to let boats pass, but at some stage most of the viaduct was removed. Now it’s just a regular old harbour.

I walked along to the end of Princess Wharf. It’s very stark, but I think that’s deliberate. At the end there’s a balcony on the first floor of the Hilton Hotel. There’s no sign saying so, but it’s actually a public balcony, so instead of getting magnificent harbour views standing at the end of the wharf, you can get magnificent harbour views a couple more metres up, and within ear range of the drunk people lunching at the Hilton’s restaurant.

Despite being in the middle of the city, it was actually quite peaceful. From my deluxxxe viewing platform I could see a young lady tourist put her digital camera up on a car, set the timer and take a photo of herself posing with the harbour behind her. An old man wandered along and she got him to take a photo of her.

Back at the Viaduct Harbour, I saw a few of the Cow Parade cows. The idea is that artists get these lifesize fibreglass cows and paint them, and it creates fun public art and raises money for charity. The cow outside the Loaded Hog had a sign asking patrons not to sit on it. What’s the fun in having cow statues if you can’t sit on them? The cow statue in Hamilton has been sat on many times. So has the sheep.

There was one cow statue that I liked the best. It was one that wasn’t trying to be a pun or a parody; it just looked good. I walked around the other side and saw the artist’s name. It was done by Otis Frizzell, a.k.a MC OJ. Actually, now that I think about it, that cow was painted like the van in the KFC ads. Maybe Otis did that too?

Rounding out my journey downtown, I had lunch in the foodcourt in the Downtown mall thing. It’s just an average foodcourt, but at the far end there’s some seats overlooking QE2 Square which is currently being designed. So I sat there and watched a guy in a digger scooping up piles of dirt and dumping them on the other side of the rectangular hole he was in.

I’m not entirely sure what’s happening, but I do know that that part of Queen Street is going to be opened up to traffic again, but only buses. I think that’s ok. I mean, there are some pedestrian malls – like Cuba Street in Wellington – that work really well, but QE2 Square has always seemed really cold, bleak and gloomy. I think the new plans are going to put more stuff into the place, break up the big area into smaller chunks and have some much-needed shelter.

It’s all part of the Britomart redevelopment. I remember back in 1999 when the old Post Office had all the plans in the design contest. Now the winning entry is being built and it’s going to be opening later this year. Yay! A real, proper central transport terminal. Yes, I am genuinely excited.

This also means that the downtown area, specially east of Queen Street, is going to eventually be redeveloped. Does this mean that all the strip clubs and massage parlours down Fort Street will be turned into cafes and bookstores? Not that getting rid of a redlight district is a good thing. Decades ago lower Greys Ave (where the back of the Town Hall is now) used to be filled with houses of ill repute. The solution was to condemn all the buildings and pull them down. K Road is slowly getting gussied up. The infamous pink bits have recently been sold and are currently being done up (I will miss the “JULIE’TS” sign). That leaves a handful of adult stores and the Vegas club. Paranoid South Islanders will have to find themselves another cliche.

Blue skies

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I saw two movies today.

1. “8 Mile”

Taryn Manning has the interesting distinction of having been in both the Britney movie (“Crossroads”) and the Eminem movie. “8 Mile” is everything that “Crossroads” was trying to be.

I saw it as Village Westgate because apparently it has the best sound, and indeed the movie did sound excellent. There’s a part where the Free World guys (the rival to Rabbit’s 31/3 posse) show up at the trailer park to give B. Rabbit some very un-funky beats. Their car has a loud stereo and it’s playing something with a loud, low ominous bassline that set the tone of the scene perfectly, without being cheesy.

The story wasn’t original, but it was subverted so it wasn’t packed full of cliches. Yeah, he meets a pretty girl who sort of becomes his girlfriend, but she sleeps with another guy, but that doesn’t make it the end of the world either.

Kim Basinger as Stephanie, Rabbit’s mom, was great. The movie could have been a great opportunity for Eminem to diss his mother, but while Stephanie was messed up, she also had good intentions and just wanted the best for her family, y’know.

The sex scene – OMG, was that perfect, or what? A friend of mine described it like this: “no fucking montage, no bullshit build-up, just quiet stamping factory sex.” Yeah, cos in the real world when people have really hot sex, instrumental songs don’t mysteriously start playing in the background.

The ending was very satisfying. In a lesser film there would have been a talent scout in the audience waving a contract, or a youth centre being saved from the evil developers. Instead all that mattered was winning the respect of a small club audience.

2. “The Hot Chick”

The movie page of the Herald was lying on the floor. There were two big ads sitting side-by-side. One was for the upcoming “Whale Rider”, the other for “The Hot Chick.” I realised that if I didn’t see “The Hot Chick” soon, there would be a point where I would actually pick seeing it over seeing “Whale Rider”, which seemed morally wrong.

So I saw “The Hot Chick” and it was really dumb and really silly, and had a bit too much of that thing that also happens in Adam Sandler films where something really violent happens and it’s meant to be funny, but I laughed. I laughed heartily. I feel so dirty.

Actually, going back to “Whale Rider”, I think the hype may have killed the film for me already. All these magazines and newspapers are doing massive features on it, just like with the “Lord of the Rings” sequel. It’s like “Whale Rider” is such a beautiful work of art movie, that everyone must go and see it, and if you don’t you’re a bad New Zealander. So therefore, I must rebel and not see it. I still haven’t seen the second “Lord of the Rings” movie yet.