Currently doing the blog rounds is the faux bling encrusted Samsung cellphone for ladies.
The description of the phone (”It’s delicately cut edges give brilliance comparable to a diamond, reflecting eternal beauty.”) have a certain English-as-a-second-language feeling, but it’s the list of the special features for women the phone has that really excites me:
Features for Women
- Biorhythm
- Fatness Index
- Calorie Calculator
- Pink Schedule
- Menstruation
Isn’t that brilliant? It’s not just dinky little cell phone features. It’s almost like the five most suckiest things about being female. Belief in crazy future prediction systems! Being neurotic about weight! Being neurotic about eating! Being obsessed with appearing cute and delicate! And bleeding, like the dirty, filthy harlot you secretly are.
I’m waiting for Samsung to make a special men’s phone with the following special features:
Features for Men
- Football
- Penis size
- Naked lady
- Toilet
- Beer
When I was 11 and in form one, I had this huge – huuuuge – crush on a boy in form two. Once he brushed past me, his woollen school jumper briefly touched mine. It was an utterly thrilling moment. I vowed that I would never wash my jumper ever again. Another time he accidentally showed up in my classroom for a meeting that was in another classroom with another teacher. When my teacher pointed out he was in the wrong place, he said “same difference”. I thought this was so cool and started using that phrase as often as I could. Then there was the time at the school social when he asked my friend to dance (she was in his class), and me and two other girls ended up joining her. As he looked around to see the three girls dancing with him, he said “something’s wrong”, oh, but as far as I was concerned everything was right.
Tonight at the (legendary) King’s Arse I was standing around, waiting for the WBC to set up. I glanced over at the bar and I saw him. Him, the boy I had had a crush on. Only now he was a 29/30-year-old man and he didn’t set my heart on fire any more. It was strange looking at him. He didn’t have the mullet any more, and there were a few wrinkles, but he still reminded me of how he was when he was 12.
I considered going up to him, but I realised that all I would have had to say would have been something like “Hi, you probably don’t remember me, but I went to the same intermediate school as you. And, um, I thought you were really cute. But I don’t any more. In fact, you’re really very ordinary looking. Ok, bye.”
So I just enjoyed the WBC playing. The new, improved stage is excellent. The sound is so much better, it’s clear and loud. Every instrument rang out loud and true. The WBC have even got the encore thing worked out now, and even did a second encore with the beloved “A Message To You Rudy”. During that song my former-crush emerged from the garden bar with a handle of beer in his hand and danced along.
Seventeen years later I can only wonder what on Earth I was thinking.
I went to Hamilton today to see my dermatologist. When I arrived at reception there was a prisoner handcuffed to a guard while another guard stood by. When they left the receptionist made a comment about how the Department of Corrections were always slow paying their billz.
I was randomly driving around Hamilton and I had an urge to drive up a hill, like I’d do in Auckland. But Hamilton doesn’t have a lot of hills, so I ended up going to the lake and watched the dark grey water under the light grey sky.
It was strange driving around Hamilton. It seemed like there should have been more traffic on the streets. Intersections controlled with stop signs or roundabouts seemed like they should have had traffic lights with cars backed up for blocks.
It took me about an hour to drive from Hamilton to Manukau, and over two hours to get from Manukau to Mt Eden. Heavy rain, Bruce Springsteen and the rugby (mate) all contributed to the slowness. I finally made it home and it was cold and dark any rainy and all the close parking spaces had been taken by rugby spectators, but really that doesn’t matter.
Lately I’ve been getting quite a few emails from people who think I can help them with various things. I think it has to do with my site ranking fairly highly in Google for words that just happen to be mentioned in stuff I’ve written. I got this one today:
To: Robyn Gallagher
Subject: Jackass tickets
I would really like tickets for the film.
Thanks
Y’know, I would like Jackass tickets too, but I don’t have any, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t give them to strange boys off the internet. I’m guessing that this guy did a search for something like “Incredible Film Fest tickets” and ignored the top search result (the official bIFF web site) and instead went to my site and thought he’d hit me up for some tickets.
I politely pointed him in the right direction.
I saw “Bringing Down The House” (I bought a ticket, I didn’t email anyone asking for one). It was a really dumb movie, but I somehow moved into this lower state of consciousness where I laughed at all the really dumb jokes.
There was one scene where Steve Martin has Joan Plowright over for dinner with his two kids, and Queen Latifah cooks. Plowright reminisces her childhood on a plantation and starts singing an old Negro spiritual, while Queen Latifah storms around the kitchen barely containing her rage. It was so silly that I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. I think it’s mainly because for me the idea of a posh white person sincerely singing a Negro spiritual is one of the funniest things ever. It’s kind of what the story of the Fairfield Valley Community Players was based on.
Today I met up with a real proper novelist. This was part of a homework assignment for the MCC. The idea was that I talked to him about being a professional writer and what that involves. It was a little scary. He’s had several books published and one of them made into a movie, but a few times he has to stop and figure out where his income’s going to come from. But ultimately it was encouraging. There’s a bit of hope out there amid the unemployment.
My old flatmate’s cat has been spending most of the time outside or hanging out with the neighbours on either side, but tonight she was meowing outside the front door, so I let her in and she came and sat on the couch with me for a bit. Oh yeah, but as soon as I stood up she raced off into the kitchen and demanded to be fed.
I saw a film today. Yes, it’s true. It was “Crackerjack”. It’s an Australian movie about a yobbo who’s joined a bowling club so he can use their free parking. The bowling club is one short for a weekend game, so they call upon him, and it turns out he’s quite a good player. It was bloody funny. I laughed and laughed. One of the three other people in the theatre laughed too, but as that was Dilly-o and he was sitting in the immediate vicinity of me, that wasn’t surprising.
I was listening to Mai FM and they had a competition to win the Marbeck’s Phat Track, which was a CD single by 50 Cent. To win you had to listen to a scrambled up bit of a song and not only identify the song but also what remix it was. So after hearing just a few seconds I was like “OMG! That’s “Cry Me A River” by Justin Timberlake and it’s the 50 Cent remix!!!!”. I reached for my cellphone to ring Mai FM’s prizeline (the number is programmed in my phone), but I stopped, paused and realised that if I did get through I’d be like “Hi!!! I’m Robyn!!! I’m representing the 630!!!!! Peace II my notorious Mt Eden niggaz!!!!” and someone really cool would probably be listening and they’d be like, “damn, I thought Robyn was cool, but I guess she’s not.” So I didn’t call. I don’t have the 50 Cent single, but I’m still cool.
I wish it was actually Tuesday of next week. I’m so impatient.
I have all this excitement and nervous energy. I’m getting a bit sick of it, but it’s good.
The Oscars were cool. I laughed at Steve Martin’s sexist jokes. The best bit was when Michael Moore won the Oscar for best documentary. It was good because he missed out on getting one for “Roger and Me”, but also good because “Bowling for Columbine” is such a good film. And, yeah, it was spectacular when he brought up all the other nominees and said “Shame on you, Mr Bush!” Dissent is beautiful.
I saw “Chicago” again today. I feel like I’m turning into a housewife/gay man. “Chicago” needs to come out on DVD real soon so I can buy it, watch it once, watch the special features (OMG – a karaoke version of “Cell Block Tango”. Wait, no. Bad idea.), then stick the DVD back up on my bookcase and never watch it again.
I’m doing some MCC homework tomorrow. I’m rather excited about that and I will prob’ly write about it tomorrow.
Oh yeah, I haven’t written about the National Young Writer’s Festival, which I went to in October last year. I should get around to that, because there was good stuff happening.
“American Idol” is screened here five days after it’s shown in America. That time gap is enough for the show summary written by the “Jaded Journalist” to appear on the American Idol web site. This means that by the time the weekly performance show screens here, I know already which contestant is cut in the following eviction show.
I thought that reading the recaps would make watching the performance show unnecessary, but I’ve discovered that I really like watching the American Idol contestants performing. That Clay, he’s such a nice young man. It’s really cool watching the not-so-great contestants struggle through the big high notes – and it’s kind of reassuring knowing that the next few contestants to be cut won’t be all that surprising.
Plus, this week is going to be disco week, so I’m really excited about that.
Oh hey, you know what I’m really sick of now? TV commercials that show the basketball court in the park next to Central Road in Kingsland. It’s become shorthand for a hip innercity location, because there’s the Bond Street overbridge in the background, a bit of the North-Western motorway flowing under that, some trees and grass, and of course the basketball court because that’s so hip and urban.
That park is just down the road from the Mind Control Cult headquarters, and it’s not all that hip and urban. I don’t think I’ve ever seen cool young Polynesian guys playing basketball and/or rapping. I’ve seen people playing touch, and once there was a guy asleep under a tree, but no basketball.
I think that now the park has appeared in a Telecom commercial the basketball court in front of the Bond Street overbridge can be considered a cliche. Make it stop.
I drove out to Huia today. It’s rool pretty out that. I sat in my car and looked out over the bay towards the Manukau Heads. They look like someone got a knife and sliced a bit off the end diagonally. My favourite bit, though, is when I’m driving down the hill towards Huia and I can see a tiny bit of the Pacific Ocean through the gap between the Manukau Heads and the end of the Waitakere Ranges. Ahh… lovely.
There was a party at my old flatmate’s new flat. I showed up and couldn’t find him so I gave him a call on his cell phone and discovered he was hiding in his bedroom. Ha ha. Later I was hanging out in his bedroom and picked up a random CD, opened it and found some class A drugs hidden in it. Yes, righto.
There was some really good music being played at the party, which is what happens when one of the flatmates is a really good DJ. Fo’ example:
- I Come Off – Young MC
- Saturday – De La Soul
- Dub Be Good To Me – Beats International
Yes, yes, it’s early ’90s, and possibly I’m only digging it because of nostalgia, but it was good.
I went to the supermarket and there were large number of pairs of drunk teenage boys buying beer. “You rule, lady” one of them said to me. Yes, I know.
Beer + couch + The Shrugs’ November EP + [...] = well, theoretically it’d work.
Today at los mindo controllo culto it sucko’d. It was hard. It was about dealing with stuff I didn’t want to deal with.
There’s a 30 minute documentary on that was on BBC Radio1 about New Zealand’s current music scene. One of the D4 talks about the “legendary” King’s Arms. But he also says it’s an Irish pub and rambles about going out into the garden bar and engaging in “illicit” activities. But really, there’s the King’s Arse, the Dog’s Bollix , the Temple and… where else do bands regularly play around this town?
Actually, going back to the aforementioned Shrugs, I would like to share this item from the news section on their web site:
Band plays at Pub
The Shrugs played a show at a pub. In other news, the band is heading into the studio to record their next single. Andrew Dean will once again be pressing “record” and “rewind”. Sources close to the band have revealed that all their songs are too short. However, the Shrugs were unable to hear this advice as they were permanently deafened by Rawer, ‘the loudest band on the Kapiti Coast’.
More bands should write stuff like that. It’s funny and it’s true, man.