Robyn’s Secret Passage

Observations on three current television commercials

1. The Lynx Voodoo ad
A fellow sprays some Lynx on, a mosquito bites him, a frog eats the mosquito, an old man eats the frog legs then soon dies when being intercoursed by a sexy chiquita, a worm eats his buried body, the worm ends up in a bottle of tequila and the guy who drinks the worm suddenly becomes irresistible to women. The message is clear: LYNX VOODOO WILL CAUSE PREMATURE DEATH.

2. The Tip Top Super Soft bread ad.
A cute girl talks about great Kiwi inventions. Apparently massively refining wheat to the point where it resembles sponge and has the nutritional qualities of sugar is something that we, as a nation, should be proud of in a cute way.

3. The Continental Tortellini for one ad.
A hip single chick in her hip single apartment splits off into two alternative universes at dinner time. In one universe she heats up a ready meal in the microwave; in the other she mixes up the tortellini and powdered cheese sauce. The microwave universe is bleak and green. The powdered cheese universe is bright and happy and she dances around with a glass of red wine. Finally she cheerfully settles down on the coach with her instant pasta and the wine. The alternate universe microwave meal consumption is not show, probably because it would involve finishing off the bottle of wine and weeping bitter tears of loneliness.

Yes, this is instant pasta for the recently dumped. Heat and eat nutrition for women who couldn’t manage cooking from scratch because it would bring back too many painful memories. Cheesy goodness for ladies who lunch at their desk but haven’t yet the constitution to dine alone.

Well, I know that I a) have no trouble cooking quick, decent meals and b) don’t require wine to make it through a solitary evening.

In a special bonus piece of investigative Live Journalism, I looked at a packet of this quality food item at the supermarket today. On the back there is a recommendation for a matching wine. If they were being honest they would recommend getting the cheapest red wine with the highest alcoholic content, but instead they keep up a facade of urban chic by recommending actual varieties of red wine.

There’s also a recommendation for renting a romantic movie. No specific titles, just about how great it is to watch romantic movies because in the end the girl gets the guy (unlike the consumer, who lives in the apocalyptic limbo of the recently-dumped) Yeah, it really is for recently dumped chicks - otherwise they’d be recommending “The Apprentice” or “Extreme Makeover”.

Urgh, pass the microwave voodoo white bread.

Last night, on the way to the bus stop after work, I stopped by one of the Gloria Jean’s Coffees on Queen Street.

I’d noticed a few GJCs around Melbourne when I was there, but I never patronised any. The name conjured up an image of a 50-year-old woman with sun-damanged skin, big bleached hair and a deep smoker’s voice (yeah, like Madge from “Neighbours”) saying, “Hello, I’m Gloria Jean and these are my coffees. This is my cappuccino, this is my latte, this is my flat white…”

But the reality was much scarier: Gloria Jean’s Coffees is like Starbucks having a manic episode.

(Part of the appeal of Starbucks is how surly the staff can often be. Like, when you’re foaming your 50th jug of milk for the day, it’s hard to maintain any enthusiasm. But I’d rather have someone who’s being genuinely shitty instead of someone who’s copping some corporate line required them to pretend to be “passionate about coffee”.)

As soon as I entered Gloria Jean’s Coffees, a guy asked me what I wanted. I picked out an item from the food cabinet, then he asked me if I wanted anything else. I had to reply, “Yeah, I want a coffee, but I haven’t decided what I want yet.”

After I decided the girl at the till asked me if I wanted a some syrup in my latte. I said no. Then the guy came over with my caramel slice and also asked me if I wanted some syrup. I had to lay down the law and told him that I just wanted an unflavoured latte, kthx.

Over at the pickup counter another guy told the barista chick that her jug of milk was “crap” and needed to be done again. They laughed about it, but there was a weird tension. And it occurred to me that with all the training I’ve done in my new job, if anyone had told me that something I’d done was crap, well, it wouldn’t make me feel like I was making any progress.

While the new milk was being foamed, the guy “crap” attempted to make small talk. He asked me if I’d just been watching the rugby or whether I was just hanging out in town. “I’ve just finished work,” I replied. “You’ve just finished work,” he responded.

Finally the new milk was foamed and my coffee arrived. I took a seat and noticed that the instore music was almost uncomfortably loud. Perhaps they make things uncomfortable to discourage people hanging out there for too long.

The coffee was good, the slice was good, the service was freaky, the atmosphere was not relaxing. I may go there again, but I think it would be takeaway only.

Last night I went to the world premiere of “The Sceptre of McGuffin”, the comedic action-adventure masterpiece that Fractured Radius made for the 48 Hours film competition.

It’s bloody hilarious. The script, by James, Ryan and Heloise was so full of jokes that some of them were missed because the laughing was laughing so much. My joke about the anti-supermodel weapon got a big laugh, which was very cool (and I got a credit as “Script Consultant”, so, uh, that’s going on my CV). Andy was perfect as the evil genius, and people were laughing at his character’s superb facial expressions.

The selection of films shown in that session were good. There was varying quality. The best other two were “Cool-a-rama”, a Bollywood musical which showed off Dominic Bowden’s comedic actoring skills, and “Txt Adkt” a mockumentary.

There were a few others that had really good ideas behind the films but were let down by the technical side of things. And there was notably one other film where the technical skill and many celebrity cameos didn’t make up for the fact that the story was really dull and uninvolving.

Then there was the army one that was just shit all the way through, but managed to be such a magnificent piece of shit that it probably deserves a special jury Merde d’Or prize or something.

If “McGuffin” doesn’t make it to the finals there will be no justice in the world. But if it does, and you’re in the 09, you should go to the final, this Sunday at the Civic theatre.

Celebrating a decade of body piercing in popular culture, as told in six semi-fictional vignettes.

It’s ok. We’ll use an anaesthetic.

28 May 1994

When the guy writing the article for the university student magazine asked Ian what his biggest fear was, Ian said it was, “that the American corporate death burger culture that is slowly spreading like a cancer all around the world will eventually eat away the core of our culture and existence.” But now that he’s had a good think about it, Ian has realised that his biggest fear is that he’ll end up being just like his father. He thought that being the president of the campus vegan society was a step in the opposite direction of his father’s world of corporate oppression, but yesterday he found himself telling Charlotte that he didn’t think it was appropriate for her to have named her pet rat Sammy, because being a black rat, it could be considered that Sammy was short for Sambo, and therefore would be racist. But later Ian wondered if maybe it was true that Charlotte just liked Sammy because it was a cute name. Ian knew that he had to take a step away from being an aggressive oppressor. So this afternoon he visited Mel and got her to pierce his eyebrow. Yeah, it’s time to say a great big “fuck you” to corporate oppression.

3 October 1996

Things are going to change. It’s time to re-write the rules. It’s time to introduce a new post-feminist definition of beauty and sexy. Jessica realised that wearing baggy jeans, flannel shirts and Doc Martens boots hadn’t exactly made her very appealing. So now it was time to reinvent herself. Pink made her puke, so she brought in some black. She had a black fishnet top that would, she hoped, show off her strong female power (i.e. midriff), but at the same time not make her look like a slut. In an attempt to further distance herself from the traditional phallo-centric definitions of female beauty, she had had her belly button pierced. A surgical stainless steel bar ran through the skin above her navel, demonstrating, she hoped, that while she was showing off lots of skin, she was not a weak, passive, stereotypical girly girl.

12 August 1999

No one will ever know. No one will ever know. It’ll be so cool. Roy had it all worked out - and, he wondered, why hadn’t he had this done earlier? On Monday at work it would be so good. He would be sitting there in a meeting and no one would ever know that under his three piece suit were two pierced nipples. He would be in meetings discussing client cases with the senior partners and no one would ever know, know one would ever suspect that his nipples were pierced. No one would ever suspect that he was gay. Eventually, of course, he would show them off. Maybe he could go to that beach in Bali he’d heard about, or the next time he was in Sydney he could walk around with a tight t-shirt on. But until then it would just be his little secret. No one would ever, ever know.

14 February 2000

The last six months had been really hard, but Michelle was determined that things would be different in the new millennium. Her mum had broken up with her partner, she’d been made redundant from her job and had a new one she didn’t enjoy as much, her car had broken down and would cost too much to repair, and her dog Sheeba had to be put down. But things weren’t all that bad. Her partner Gavin had been very supportive throughout it all. As a special Valentine’s Day gift, Gavin and Michelle had given each other the gift of mutual eyebrow piercings. “Whenever I look at you I see your eyebrow piercing and it reminds me of how much I love you,” Michelle said to Gavin. “Same here,” he replied. Michelle wasn’t too sure if she would be allowed to have the piercing when netball season started, but it would probably be healed by then so she could probably take it out. Probably.

2 March 2002

It was something Karen had always wanted to have done. She heard it increased sensitivity. Not that she had insensitive nipples, or anything, but, you know, if it increased sensitivity then that would be quite good. Karen and her best mate Louise had been in town one day when Louise spied a piercing parlour. “Do you wanna get your tit pierced? Go on, Kaz. I’ll shout ya. Girls’ day out.” Louise went first and even though she swore when it went in, she said it didn’t really hurt. When Karen had hers done she felt a sharp jolt of pain shoot through her arm. The piercer told her that was normal and it would soon stop hurting. A week later Karen noticed pus coming out of the piercing. It was red and tender. It hurt to wear a bra. The piercer said it was normal and it would soon stop hurting. Lousie said hers wasn’t sore at all. Karen noticed that her left boob had now swelled bigger than her right one. The doctor said that the piercing had hit a nerve and had caused an infection. After the course of antibiotics, the swelling and the pain had gone and the skin had healed. But Karen noticed that she no longer felt any sensitivity in her left nipple.

9 June 2004

When Trudie gets to her goal weight she’s going to get her belly button pierced. Three years ago, after her youngest was born, she realised that she was now almost 30 kilograms heavier than she had been on her wedding day. Since then she’s been working hard to get her old body back. She’s about 8 kilograms away from her goal weight and she has been for about the last year. Trudie noticed that the skin on her tummy is a big saggy now. When she’s lying down and pushes it, it doesn’t spring back. But there is that operation that fixes that, isn’t there. She saw it on TV and it seemed easy enough. As an incentive she has already bought a belly button bar. A jeweller at the mall was having a sale and she found this one made from gold and with a real diamond in it for only $99, which is a really good bargain. It’ll be a long, hard journey, but once she’s got there her husband Pete has promised that they’ll go somewhere on holiday where she can wear a bikini and show off her body and new bellybutton piercing.

I’ve spotted posters around town looking for people who had a Cabbage Patch Kid back in the ’80s who have an interesting story to tell as part of a documentary about the aforementioned dolls.

This is my Cabbage Patch Kids story:

I was about 10 when the CPK phenomenon was at its peak. I wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid. I didn’t actually like them and didn’t genuinely want one, but several of my friends and my cousin had one. They were all cool so I figured that if I had one I’d be cool too. I asked my mum if I could have one. “But Lisa’s got one! But Kate’s got one,” I complained. Mum told me that Cabbage Patch Kids were ugly and expensive and I wasn’t getting one.

Eventually they fell out of fashion and I suppose there I eventually stopped coveting them. The news of a Cabbage Patch Kid relaunch doesn’t excite me. Also of note that I was equally uninterested in the Garbage Pail Kids bubble gum cards, even though the cool kids were also into those.