Robyn’s Secret Passage

As soon as it was discovered that the nation’s hottest youth television presenters and the nation’s hottest young soap stars were rehearsing their formation dancing in the caff, Justine suddenly realised that she needed a cup of tea.

Quickly sculling back the Diet Coke that remained in her cup, she made her way down to the caff and made a cup of tea. She took extra care to rinse out her cup, put a teabag in, put in some hot water, squeeze the teabag, take the teabag out, open the fridge, pour in some milk, stir the tea, and put the milk back in the fridge.

While she was doing this, she just happened to notice the aforementioned hot young talent as they rehearsed. Justine noted that if they were to go back in time to 1990 and audition for Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation” dance troupe, they sadly would not end up jetting around the world, stomping along to “Miss You Much”.

Justine noticed that a few of the hot young talentos were hanging around a table laden with food. That girl, the one with the phone sex voice, the one who doesn’t look at as fat as she does on that TV show, was heard to comment that the chicken wings were excellent and everyone just had to try them.

Several hours and a couple of more cups of tea later, one of Justine’s co-workers excitedly announced that the dancers were leaving and would soon be doing it for the kids on the high street. This meant, she explained, that they could go to the caff and help themselves to the leftovers from the hot young talent’s lunch table.

Upon examination, Justine discovered the table was almost still full of food. Sandwiches, sausage rolls, mince savouries, sushi, fruit, fruity drinks and a huge plate of pastries did abound. The only food that was all gone was the plate of chicken wings. Justine wondered if, being hot young talent, they had all been doing Atkins or perhaps just not eating. Or maybe they just were really excellent chicken wings.

Justine loaded up a couple of paper plates with the carbolicious delights, thanked the gods of light entertainment, and returned to her desk.

Tonight, in or around 9.30, 9.45-ish:

TV1: The final of the fourth series of “Six Feet Under”.
TV2: The first of the new season of “Eating Media Lunch”.
TV3: The final episode of “Sex and the City”.
Prime: Another good episode of “Little Britain”.

That kind of programming is cruel, cruel, cruel.

I only have one VCR.

Update

I managed it like this.

I’d already seen “Sex and that City” at work, so I was lucky with that.
I taped “Little Britain”.
I watched the first 15 minutes of “Eating Media Lunch”, and then flipped between that and “Six Feet Under” for the next 15 minutes, and when “Eating Media Lunch” finished, I went back to “Six Feet Under.”

I don’t like it when watching television requires military-like advance planning.

Right, let’s see if I can’t type something meaningful about the Netguide awards. It turns out there were freebies, namely booze, meat and Netguides. What, no iPods? What a rip off.

I turned up incredibly unfashionably late and missed the awards ceremony, but I can reveal the following:

• When Idolblog won the ‘best youth site’ award, some rapscallion yelled out ‘go Michael.’
• The best personal blog winner was that librarian chick who turned out to be a guy. WTF? There goes all those hot lesbian fantasies I’ve been having about her, dammit.
• I met a bunch of the Public Address guys, and they’re all rool choice.
• Ah, free booze.
• No one checked my ticket at the door. I could have been anyone. I could have been a terrorist.
• That chick from that reality show has been bragging about how she rooted that guy from that other reality show.
• My old school status was recognised. Yeah, I’ve been writing online since 1996, you bitches.
• Sauvignon blanc.
• This guy came up to me and he was like, “Are you Robyn?” Yes, yes I am.

Yesterday I was walkin’ the mean streets of Mt Eden when I saw a couple of young men walking down the street. One of them was wearing Burberry-patterned hat and I realised that, yes, Chav culture has made it from the UK to the NZ, and not a moment too soon.

Last night I went over to Teh Matt’s penthouse bachelor pad to watch fireworks, but all the decent displays had already happened. So instead we drank beer, ate pizza, threw gang signs on webcam, and watched the obscene bits in a couple of Larry Clark films. And that’s way more fun than watching fireworks, yo.

ITEM: I went for a run around the block before work today. This is the first time I have ever done this, but if middle-aged people can be up and running at 6.30am, then I can manage it at 8.00am. It was a a lot less traumatic than I imagined it. In fact, it was fairly uneventful until I got near Auckland Grammar and saw these guy Grammar boys with The Strokes hair cuts. As I wussed out and walked along Clive Road, I tried imagining what they’d look like in 15 years time, bald and suit-wearing.

ITEM: This morning I saw a seagull attacking a pigeon outside the Town Hall (on that balcony bit where the Beatles famously posed back in the ’60s). I walked over and kind of shooed the seagull away. It flew up on the balcony rail and squawked. The pigeon crawled around a bit. I knew that as soon as I left, the seagull would resume laying down the beats to the pigeon, grabbing big beakfuls of feathers. I turned and sadly walked away. Now I know how all those Kerry voters feel.

ITEM: I just saw a clip of a factory in Japan taken as an earthquake struck. Some of the factory workers were seen running to safety. They were wearing overalls and hardhats and it looked just like something from a Beastie Boys video. All that was missing was for the source of the earthquake to be a giant robot, manned by the mad scientist Beastie Boys wearing bad wigs.

ITEM: I got new earbuds (i.e. earphones) for my iPod because the old ones broke. The new ones have these silicone covers that go into the ear and help reduce external noise. But it feels like wearing earplugs, and sometimes I like to hear a bit of the street noise. And, compared to my old ones, these new ones seem to carry less bass sounds, and I like good bass.

ITEM: I’m getting sick of all the punk-arses letting off fireworks around here. Every year it’s the same. Grrr.