Monthly Archives: May 2004

And I’m feeling so rad.

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It’s been happening for about as long as I’ve had a website. People search for something and their search engine leads them to a page on my website. They don’t stop and read it and realise that just because someone writes about, say, Berocca on their website, doesn’t mean that they are affiliated with Roche and can hook you up with free Berocca. Similarly someone who writes about the Incredible Film Fest can’t hook you up with free Jackass movie tickets. And a review of a fashion parade doesn’t make the author the organiser of a fashion parade.

And it still continues. Today I received an email from Brad from Canada. He wrote:

Hi,
My gal and I are looking for a very sexual, neat experience in Thailand including a villa, massage and good food???
Any ideas?
brad

Oh, Brad. Poor Brad. Perhaps he searched for “experience with a masseuse in Thailand” and didn’t notice that the full sentence on the page he came to was, “Dennis: “I had a bad experience with a masseuse in Thailand” and was just that one line with no context at all (and the Dennis in question hasn’t been to Thailand, but I can’t be sure about bad masseuse experiences).

But I decided to be as helpful as I could, so this was my reply to Brad from Canada.

Hi

I’ve spent a total of 12 hours in Thailand. It was a stop-over between London and Auckland. Most of the time I spent sleeping, but I did have a cup of coffee at the Bangkok airport café, and it was pretty good.

I hope this helps.

Robyn

Toast On Toast

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The days I work have shifted so my two days off are now Tuesday and Wednesday. This means that I get to watch “The Apprentice” and “Extreme Makeover.” Sweet.

Today I realised that I am completely ambivalent towards the musical career of Ben Lummis. All post-television series NZ Idol activities offer no appeal. That single of his is syrupy bollocks, and – especially considering all the bloody excellent pop that’s come out in the last year or so – it’s disappointing that such a piece of crap was chosen as his first single. Excuse me while I slip into a coma.

Crikey! Mickey Havoc is letting off fireworks at the top of the volcano at the end of my street. I can see the explosions live on TV, and hear the house-shaking explosions live. That’s pretty cool for a Tuesday night.

A loaf of bread

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Today at the mall:

1. I saw Che Fu in the foodcourt. He was with his wife/girlfriend/paaartnaaa and two kids. He brought them over a tray stacked full of McDonald’s. It reminded me of when I was a girl and going to McDonald’s was the ultimate treat. Then I grew up and realised that McDonald’s wasn’t particularly appealing any more because a) it’s not such a treat if I can get it whenever I like, and b) it doesn’t work well as a satisfying meal.

2. In the supermarket I was perusing the cans of flavoured tuna. Amid the little 95 gram lemon pepper tuna and sundried tomato tuna I saw a can of fancy seafood delight. Upon closer inspection I discovered that the fancy seafood delight was a can of gourmet cat food that had somehow been snuck in the tuna section. It was disturbing to note that the actual cans were identical in size and features. But it was also amusing, because canned tuna has always seemed like cat food for humans.

3. I saw “Win a date with Tad Hamilton”. It was nice, but I kept feeling that all the characters apart from Tad Hamilton were miscast. Begone, attractive blonde chick and attractive boy-next-door! Go back to Hollywood!

4. My car failed its warrant of fitness again. Boring. This time it’s the front left tyre. It doesn’t have enough tread, apparently. Hey, it’s just as well I’ve started a new job that pays $2 more than the dole so that I can go and buy a new tyre. The mechanic attempted to claim that my battery was rooted because he had trouble starting my car. I don’t know what he was doing, because I’ve never had trouble starting it (touch wood, etc), and indeed it started up perfectly after I got the car back.

5. Speaking of the dole, it’s fun ringing up Work and Income to report my weekly earnings. Two things always happen. 1. The call centre personal always mispronounces my case manager’s name. It’s Ros (pronounced Roz), but it either gets said Rose or Ross. 2. The call centre person asks me what my job is and gets all excited when they hear I’m working in the exciting, fast-paced world of television, and even more excited when I say I’m a captioning editor. I let them be excited and don’t mention stuff like having to figure out if Reagan’s would-be assassin was Mr Hinkley or Hinkly or Hincklee or Heinghckleigh-Amber (sorry, I was slipping into teenage mother baby-naming mode).

Ability to swim

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Today I found a school exercise book on the road outside my flat. This would normally not really be such an odd thing to find lying by the side of the road (especially not on rubbish day), but what made it usual was that it was Irish.

The cover has “Aisling copy book” written in the ye olde Celtic Riverdance font. Also on the cover is a drawing of some sort of tower, three lines for a name (which sadly are blank), information that the book has 120 pages ruled, and a logo certifying that it is “approved quality system”.

On the back there is a map of Ireland with the crests of the four Irish provinces, Ulster, Connacht, Leinster and Munster. (Oh, quick digression: At one stage in the history of New Zealand, the North Island, South Island and Stewart Island were going to be called New Ulster, New Munster and New Leinster.) Flying above the map is a bird. “Made in Ireland” is proudly written in the Riverdance font, and there’s a barcode that looks like was run over by a car this morning.

Then I opened the book and was utterly delighted to find some writing in it. There, in girly handwriting, was half a page of what looked like some schoolwork. And the best part was that most of it was in Irish. I will attempt to reproduce the page here:

Obair Ranga Ceisteanna lcl 286
1. Geineolaiocht is ea staideare ar.
oidhreacht
2. Ability to swim
3. ar na chromosoim
4. Is gein arn na chemical
5. Dubh.
6. Gruaig [either £1 or Li]

And then it ends. How indeed did an disused Irish school book end up on the streets of Auckland? Did some Irish schoolgirl decide one day that she wasn’t going to do her homework and moved to New Zealand instead.

Quelle intrigue, yes. I may be a quarter Irish, but I’m afraid I don’t speak it. I did buy a beginners guide to learning Irish when I was in Dublin, but I can’t find it at the moment. What is the story behind the Irish school book?

Irish exercise book - inside

Irish copy book cover

Irish copy book back

It’s art, ok?

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My iPod is scratched and battered. I’ve dropped it more than a few times and I’ve lost the two plug covers. But my iPod brings me joy and happiness almost every day. I feel sorry for all the people who got one at Christmas, loaded it up with their mp3 collection, and have barely touched it since.

Because as well as the joy of listening to your favourite tunes (or Michael Buble), you can do silly stuff like the iPod Sonnet. It’s a sonnet – well, it’s a 14 line poem, ok? I put my iPod on random and wrote down the first line of the first song, then the second line of the second song, and so on, and this masterpiece was the result:

iPod Sonnet

Acid tooth, it’s got nothing to do with you.
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul.
I wanna take you to a gay bar.
Instead of feeling the love you break it all down into section.
Gotta get outta the way.
Sent to the earth to educate the fool.
Jeudi c’est mules pour les garçons.
I am the rain, I am the new year, I am the sun.
A broth of roots and charms.
This revolution has just begun.
So here’s a ho-kay for your whole ho crew.
But you can’t switch off my loving, can’t switch off the sun.
I’ve got a freaky secret, everybody say.
Snapped out.