Robyn's Secret Passage

After spending Christmas in Raglan, it’s nice to return to the relative calm of Mt Eden. This seems wrong, but indeed my parents’ place has a neighbour who likes listening to rubbish R&B at a very loud volume with all her windows open. It’s so loud that it’s not just the bass that can be heard, but the treble. How miserable must her Christmas be that she has to keep playing, “God send me an angel” (Sample lyrics: “Send me an angel to heal my broken heart from being in love”) over and over?

I got a new digital camera for my birthday/Christmas. It is splendid and take remarkably good photos for its size. I had fun taking photos, especially mucking around with the digital macro. (I’m a big fan of macro. It’s all about the details, man.) I suspect I will get a lot more use out of my Flickr account now.

And finally, I’m going to be on a panel on National Radio this Saturday at around 1pm. James Noizyland, Peter Dub Dot Dash and I (Robyn Secret Passage, natch) will be discussing music and the interweb in 2005. Excellent.

It’s been a hectic week of Christmas parties, but thankfully they’re all over. Today the seasonal frivolity was topped off when I and one of my workplace homeboys started busting out some old school gangsta rhymes on the bus on the way back to work.

I was doing a bit from NWA’s “Fuck Tha Police” while my homie beatboxed and it was so awesome, as I’m sure it would have also been if we had both been sober. My rendition of Dr Dre’s “Bitches Ain’t Shit” didn’t go down so well (apparently it’s “sexist” or something), but we duetted on Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice” while rollin’ down Fanshaw Street not smokin’ on anything (though one of the bad grrls was sneaking a fag down the back), sippin’ on Lindauer. Laid back.

So with that over, now I need to remind y’all that my birthday is on Thursday. This Thursday. The 22nd. Three days before Christmas. I shall be 31.

This marks the 10th anniversary of my 21st. (I didn’t really have a 21st party. My flatmates invited the pothead metallers over and we sat around on the porch drinking beer and listening to Jane’s Addiction. Word up)

According to some dodgy website, the traditional gift for a 31st anniversary is a “timepiece”, but I think the time on my mobile phone and iPod work well enough that I don’t need one of those newfangled “watch” things. Or a cuckoo clock, for that matter.

But if you wish to send me a birthday greeting email on Thursday – especially if it includes bad poetry – then that will make me very happy indeed.

Peace.

Oh, look. It’s the itunes so-called meme, where the victim mucks around with their iTunes and writes some stuff down and then goes to bed.

How many songs? 2771
A few are living on borrowed time. I’m making a list of songs I’m going to remove from my iPod because whenever they come up on shuffle, I always skip them.

First artist 4 Hero
All I know is that they did that song that’s on that zero-gravity Bailey’s ad. It’s just as well I have this mp3, otherwise 8 Foot Sativa would be here instead.

Last artist Zed
While “Renegade Fighter” is a splendid pop song, I will instead pay attention to the four Young MC tunes that come before it, three of which (”I Come Off”, “Keep It In Your Pants”, “Pick up the Pace”) are my personal anthems.

First song (And She Said) Take Me Now – Justin Timberlake (Featuring Janet Jackson).
The brackets foreshadow the wardrobe malfunction where Mr JT exposed Ms Jackson’s ( * ).

Last song Youthful Expression – A Tribe Called Quest
Hips, they gyrate; scripts I narrate. No banana – I ain’t a primate. I dunno. It’s probably about being on the cusp of adulthood in the early ’90s.

Shortest song House Music: pt1: ?theories… – ESL (45 seconds) There were a few mp3s before this, but they weren’t songs – usually skits, spoken pieces, introductions to songs or preview-length bits of songs.

Longest song Yoo Doo Right – Can
It could possibly be another ESL song, “Island Man”, (25 minutes) but that’s more like several bits amalgamated into a glorious life-affirming performance piece, so I’m going for “Yoo Doo Right” (20:22 minutes), which is a love letter.

First album (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? – Oasis
[I can't think of anything to write here.]

Last album Your Arsenal – Morrissey
I haven’t even heard this entire album. It’s only come up because of “Glamorous Glue”, which I never tire of listening to.

First song that comes up on shuffle – Pania (Of the Reef) – The Hollow Grinders
It’s a lovely, slightly sad, infinitely hopeful surf instrumental song. Slightly different from the live version, this has some eerie organ accompanying it, suggesting that perhaps this all takes place in an undersea world on another planet.

Search for ’sex’
Eight songs, my favourite being “Sexual Health Clinic” by MSU. I’m also surprised at the inclusion of “Sex Poddle” by Mente (Mr John Murphy’s band).

Search for ‘death’
14 songs, and the one that gets closest is “O Death” from the “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” soundtrack. I like Martin White’s accordion version of the Smiths’ “Death of a Disco Dancer”.

Search for ‘love’
118! It’s all about the love, including the magnificent pairing of Captain and Tenille’s “Love will keep us together” alongside Joy Division’s “Love will tear us apart.” By the way, those would be my two desert-island tunes. There’s no need for anything else.

A few weeks ago I noticed some photocopies of a poem had been pasted up on the usual places along Symonds Street and K Road.

I don’t know who wrote the poem or why they pasted many copy of it up in public. Having read it a few times, it seems clunkily written, awkward to read – especially aloud – and the main point in this poetic manifesto seems confused and meanders, distracted by other bits and pieces which must also be shared with Auckland’s inner city community.

But what got my attention wasn’t the poem, but the comments that other people had scribbled them. Two copies on K Road had something like “Obviously this person has never been to Family” (Family = gay bar), and another poster on Symonds Street had, “Yay. Now this poster is my girlfriend!”

I was searching for an intact copy of the poster, hopefully one with some witty comments on the bottom, but by the time I got around to taking my camera to work, all the posters had been ripped off or covered over, leaving only the above fragments.

But finally I found a whole one across the road from work that also had some comments. As well as, “and your point is?” written in faint biro, there was also nice big letters proclaiming, “disco sucks, fuck everything”, which, incidentally, was my life’s philosophy from 1993 to 1997. Ok, so here’s the poem. Click for big.

But what else do the streets of Auckland have to offer? Why, it’s timely commentary on U2 and their sold-out concert.

I recently pulled a muscle in my leg and then it got better and then I pulled it again. Both times the injury took place as I was jaywalking in an effort to catch the bus (which I dislike), and both times the injury has meant I’ve had to take the bus more while I wait for my leg to fix itself. There is a lesson to be learned here; something about how catching the bus is hazardous to one’s physical health.

It’s probably also hazardous to one’s mental health too. If it ain’t polyphonic ringtones (or worse – people who play music aloud on their phones), it’s today’s lady bus driver (whose bulging abdominal fat stuck out through the open zip on her uniform pants) who was so excited by the two American tourists on the bus, that after they got off, she kept the bus waiting as she told them about her dream of going to America one day.

Last night I decided to have fish n chips from the fish shop. I knew from previous experience that “one chips” was really enough for two, so I ordered half a chips (that sounds so wrong) and one fish. I ended up with two pieces of fish and enough chips that I could have easily gone halves with someone and neither of us would have been hungry. Tragically, my rubbish bin was the recipient of one fish and a quarter chips. Sometimes I wish the concept of McDonald’s-like portion stinginess would infiltrate its way into fish n chip shops.