Archive for July, 2007

I ♥ Facebook gifts

Facebook, which is awesome, has a function that lets you buy a “gift” for another user. Gifts are cute little icons and they cost one American dollar.

I’ve been having fun spending my hard-earned money on them, and I’ve become quite familiar with the available gift icons. So I came up with a list of my 10 favourite icons on the Facebook gifts.

(Non Facebook users can look away now, or alternatively read social-network expert Danah Boyd’s thoughts on Facebook gifts.)

Cupcake
One of my workmates recently brought a really nice cupcake as a thank you for her team leader. Cupcakes are the best little gifty thing ever so it makes sense that Facebook would have cyber cupcake gifts. But here’s the thing - you can’t at a Facebook cupcake. It is but a hollow promise of the real thing.

Engagement ring
I really like the idea that at least one person has gifted their sweetie a Facebook engagement ring and nervously composed a message to go with it. (ur my life i <3 u will u b my wife????) But the diamond on the Facebook ring is gigantic, which sets up an expectation that is sure to disappoint the ring-having fiancee.

Two champagne glasses clinking
This one is so awesome. It’s not just two glasses of bubbly, but two glasses clinking together like something out of a hip-hop music video. “Girl, I will buy you champagne and treat u like a lady in the way in which you will be accustomed to bcuz ur my princess.”

Handcuffs
The ‘cuffs serve a dual purpose. If you have a Facebook friend who is a law enforcement official, you can send him a pair to show your appreciation for his hard work. And also if your have a Facebook friend who is a teenager who has a passing knowledge but no experience of sexual bondage, you can send her handcuffs for a laugh.

Ninja
See PIRATE SKULL WITH EYEPATCH AND HEADSCARF

Empty shotglass
There’s a full shotglass, but this one is far more interesting. See, it’s an empty vessel. If you gift this to someone, you are saying, “I am empty inside. I need you to fill me up.” If a woman sends you this, she is likely desperate to have babies. If a man sends you this, he wants to have drunken sex0rs with you.

Panda
OMG! Everyone loves pandas! They are so cute with their white bits and their blacks bits and their roly-poly furry bits! I love pandas! I want a pet panda. I will call him Mr Xiu-Xiu and we will play in the garden and have tea together!

Pirate skull with eyepatch and headscarf
See NINJA

Red plastic cup
This is the kind you see in American college comedies where the students are having a “kegger” party which involves drinking beer in red plastic cups, and lots of yelling and general hilarious debauchery. This would be a good Facebook gift to give someone if you wanted to give them a booze-related gift, but didn’t want their profile to be sullied by an obviously booze-related icon.

Lei
Another double meaning gift. A lei can either represent flowery, tropical loveliness, with pretty colours and golden sunsets, or you can make a pun about “getting lei’d”.

Blue vodka jelly shot
You could get into trouble with this icon. If you sent it to a wild young student person, they would go, “A blue vodka jelly shot! All right!” But if you gave it yo your mum, she would go, “Is this a cup of Mr Muscle window cleaner? I don’t understand. Do you want me to come over and clean your windows? I really think you’re old enough to do your own cleaning.”

omg ur nickd sunshyn lol

You know there’s that cliche about how you know you’re getting older when policemen start looking younger? Well, not so long ago I had an experience that was that cliche come to life in horrifying proportions.

I was walking along Hobson Street, near the Auckland Central Police Station. Walking towards was a uniformed cop. I glanced at him. He looked about 19. I chuckled at the cliche. But then it got worse.

The cop had a cellphone in his hand and he was texting as he was walking. Not only that, but he was doing that little smile when you read a teh funny text in public but you don’t want to laugh too much.

He didn’t look at all look like a serious officer of the law going about his business. He had the demeanour of a teenager on his way to his McDonald’s shift, texting his girlfriend to see wot she woz up 2 l8r that day.

I tried to imagine what sort of text messages a cop of today would be sending on his way to work, but I gave up after my imagination started to horrify me.

But every cop has to start somewhere. No doubt in years to come he’ll have a fine moustache and be out there busting up P rings with finesse. (omg i busted up a p ring lol!!! yay me!!!)

If it’s expensive, it must be the good stuff

New Zealanders sad at their country’s team not winning the America’s Cup boat race (again) may be pleased at their fair country’s placing at the top of a different table.

I just came across this recent article in The Economist looking at the price of cocaine around the world.

Not surprisingly it’s cheapest in South America. Britain and the US pay around US$100 a gram, Australia and Japan pay around US$250 a gram, but here’s the truly awesome bit - right at the high end of the scale is New Zealand with US$715 per gram. Yes, Aotearoa New Zealand is home to the most expensive cocaine in the world.

That explains why it seems the only people who seems to use coke in these parts are vile property developers.

The article blames this on New Zealand’s relative isolation from South America, which sounds right. And of course what this means is that when Kiwis want to get their uppity up-up highs, they turn to methamphetamines, usually ones made from over-the-counter cold and flu remedies using that good old-fashioned do-it-yourself, number-eight fencing wire Kiwi ingenuity mentality. Go Kiwi!

Or maybe we should be embarrassed and ashamed by this. I mean, along with wide footpaths with outdoor dining, isn’t one of the hallmarks of a world-class city the prevalence of cocaine? What sort of sophisticated high society doesn’t have uppity up-up cokety coke-coke parties? If we want to lose weight, we have to do so by diet and exercise instead of abusing stimulants. What sort of Third World existence is this?

Actually, in a peculiar way, I think having the most expensive cocaine in the world is something that New Zealanders should be very proud of.

I’m going to paint a 10

There’s a post over at Boing Boing that’s turned into a bit of a roll call of clips on Sesame Street that scared today’s grown-ups back when they were little kids in the ’70s and ’80s.

This reminded me of the Sesame Street clip that scared me: the Painting Man, aka the Mad Painter and the Number Painter.

He went around New York City painting numbers from 2 to 11 on things or - hilariously - people. What scared me was his beard, his staring eyes and that he never spoke, except in voice over. Mum had to come and turn the TV off whenever the Painting Man was on.

So sought him out on YouTube and faced my childhood nemesis. Watching the clips, I realised he was the actor who played the faux Guffman in “Waiting For Guffman“, and that the clips often featured Stockard Channing as a lady who gets numbers painted on or about her.

And then there’s my favourite part - the Robert Dennis’ jazzy tack-hammer piano music that accompanies each clip. (My favourite version is on number 4)

The Painting Man no longer scared me (which is just as well, cos my mum is currently on holiday on a tropical island and not available to make the bad man go away).

Watching the Painting Man clips now makes me yearn for New York City and hangin’ out on a street corner with some Puerto Rican guy called Ricky (or whatever ever it is that people do in New York - I should go there and find out).

Bonus! While I was searching through YouTube, I found a clip from 1973 of Stevie Wonder riotously singing “Superstition” on Sesame Street, and James Earl Jones counting to 10 - an acting tour de force.

Three things the recent stormy weather did

  1. It moistened a bunch of posters stuck to a fence, causing the posters to peel off. This revealed “FUCK” written on the fence in black paint - a reminder of a simpler time before the fence was a medium for poster ads. The stormy weather then finished things off by blowing the fence over. Man, the wind is so puuuuunk.

    Peeled posters, hidden meaning

    The fence the next day. It had been propped again, but not covered over with more posters.

  2. It broke off a bunch of branches from trees. Every park I’ve seen is covered with branches. It gives inner city parks that gnarled urban wasteland look that was quite fashionable in the mid to late ’90s. Obviously this is incredibly naff, so they should be cleaned up asap.
  3. It put a pine tree twig in my bath. I’m not sure how it got there, but somehow a twig from a tree two properties away ended up sitting in the bottom of my bath. Logically it seems that the wild wind blew it in through a gap in the bathroom window, but I suspect that actually the branch fled from the bitter outdoors and sought refuge in my bath.

Stone Cold Quizzin’

Tuesday night pub quiz. Entertainment section. A clip of Young MC’s “Bust A Move” was played. The question was asked if it was released in 1989, 1991 or 1993.

I was like “I know this! I had this tape! It was my favourite song!” and wrote down 1991. But it was 1989. And we had double points riding on that round.

My memory failed me because while “Bust A Move” was released in 1989, it didn’t really pick up the pace until 1990, and also my absolute favourite Young MC songs, “Pick Up the Pace” and “Keep It In Your Pants”, were from his 1991 album, Brainstorm.

So as a result, my team came third and won a $25 bar tab*. But just think of the riches and glory that could have been ours had we come second or first.

Attempting to console myself for this devastating loss, I’ve been watching old Young MC videos on YouTube.

Now, I wrote this record for when I perform, lonely nights inside the university dorm…

* But really, third place and a $25 bar tab is awesome.

The accidental old-lady botherer

It was a Sunday afternoon and I had a caffeine withdrawal headache and I wasn’t in the mood for no nonsense. I just wanted to get some cash out from an ATM and go along to my favourite cafe and get a coffee.

As I was nearing the door of ASB Bank’s ATM lobby, a middle-aged woman entered it ahead of me. When I got inside, I saw that she was at one ATM, but the other one was out of service, so I stood back about two metres behind her and waited.

She seemed really tense and eventually turned around to look at me. I think she didn’t realise that the other machine was out of service, so she needed to find out why I wasn’t using it and why I was standing behind her.

“Are you waiting to use this one,” she asked. “Yes, that one is out of service,” I explained. She glanced over at it and said, “Oh, I didn’t even notice that when I came in. I just went straight to this one. Well, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t holding you up.”

I thought it was an interesting choice of words. I mean, she hadn’t even been there for minute and yet she apparently felt that she was taking too long.

But then I considered her choice of words - “holding you up”. It seemed like a bit of a Freudian slip. I think she was scared of the strange person lurking behind her. She was alone at an ATM on a quiet Sunday afternoon. She was scared that I was going to hold her up.

She had become quite flustered and seemed in a hurry to get her cash from the machine and leave, away from the notorious gangsta criminal R.O.B.Y.N.

Man, all I wanted was a coffee.

One-way mirror

A few months I was at an art exhibition opening in Raglan, and I was possibly the youngest person there. The crowd was mainly middle-aged folks, and the entertainment was provided by an elderly gentleman who told a joke that went a little somethin’ like this:

A man found a bottle, rubbed it and a genie appeared and promised to grant the man one wish for setting him free. So the man said, “OK, my wish is for there to be a bridge between New Zealand and Australia.”

The genie replied, “I can only grant wishes for things that are possible! A bridge between Australia and New Zealand is too far! Not even the best engineers can manage that! Wish again plz.”

So the man said, “OK, well, I wish that I could understand my wife.”

The genie paused, and then said, “Hmm… Let me have a think about that bridge idea again…”

The joke brought much raucous laughter to the (wined and cheesed) middle-aged audience. But I did not lolz. Instead I was thinking, “Wait, was that a sexist joke? And if so, who was it sexist towards?”

Then I realised - the men were laughing at it from the perspective of, “Ha ha! Women are so confusing and hard to understand! No wonder the genie couldn’t change her!” and the women were laughing at it from the perspective of, “Ha ha! Men are so bad at reading emotion and subtext! No wonder the genie couldn’t change him!”

It was like the middle-age comedy version of an optical illusion - a joke that is funny to everyone who hears it, but for different reasons.

And so it made me wonder - am I going to get to a point in my life where I’ll be laughing at jokes about how men are X and women are Y?

Oh, I hope not. Pass the Courvoisier.

Che-che, bro? Chur, mate.

I recently did a bit of research at work to help figure out how to spell the New Zealand slang word chur (and, yeah, that’s the spelling we settled on).

It’s a hard one to look into because it’s the sort of word that’s never used in any sort of formal writing. Online it’s most likely to be found in blogs, forums, social networking websites, but never stuff like newspaper articles or things written by reputable writers.

The first time I heard chur was probably about 20 years ago, and yet it doesn’t appear to have made it into any Kiwi slang lists. Instead those are chocker with the kind of words that probably only your great-uncle and his cobbers down at the RSA use non-ironically.

So I guess it falls upon me - oh the burden - to get something down in writing. This is what I’ve found - there are two separate words - chur and che.

chur (tʃɜː)

  • Chur is pronounced with the ‘ch’ in ‘chair’ and the long vowel sound in ‘bird’.
  • It could also be spelt cher, but I don’t like this because it’s confusing with Cher the singer (pronounced ‘Sheer’)
  • Use 1. Chur is used appreciatively, in the way that someone might say “awesome” or “excellent”. Eg “They had a two-for-one special on Tim Tams at the supermarket!” “Chur!”
  • Use 2. Chur is used to show thanks. “Do you want this packet of Tim Tams? We bought too many.” “Oh, chur!”
  • Chur is often coupled with a vocative term, eg, “Chur, bro.”
  • The vowel sound in chur can be drawn out to emphasise the appreciation. “Chuuuuur! That’s awesome!”

che (tʃɛ)

  • Che is also pronounced with the ‘ch’ in ‘chair’, but takes the shorter vowel sound in ‘bed’.
  • Che is a shorter-sounding word.
  • Use 1. Che can be used to mean an affirmative, like “OK” or “yep”. Eg “I’m off to the supermarket.” “Che.”
  • Use 2. Che is often doubled as che-che. This used about the same as Use 1 of chur - to show appreciation or praise.

Origins

So where did this interesting word/s come from? I dunno… But I did pick up a few theories:

  • It’s short for cheers.
  • It’s short for choice.
  • It’s short for true.
  • There was this guy in Rotorua who had a speech defect and when he tried to say “choice” it came out as “chuuuuu”.
  • Howard Morrison invented it.*

I’m sure that it originates from Maori English, but how it got there is less certain. It seems that chur and che probably have the same root, but it could also be argued that they might be from two separate sources.

As a disclaimer, I should note that I did a couple of first-year linguistics papers and I have vague hobbyist interest in New Zealand English, but that’s about it.

Most of this is speculation. I just want to get what is in my brain out on the interwebs. If anyone has any more information or theories about chur/che, do share!

* Here’s a clip from Eating Media Lunch, where Howard Morrison claims to have invented chur in 1960:

The only thing standing between you and me is the bus, baby.

I had the day off today, so I decided to go to Sylvia Park because it is a mall and it is shiny and new.

I considered taking the train - the new Sylvia Park station opens today - but it actually looks like going from Mt Eden station Sylvia Park could require three trains, which is, like, totally ridiculous.

So instead I took the 512 bus. It starts off fairly ordinarily - Symonds, Khyber, Broadway, Great South, Main Highway, Ellerlie-Panmure Highway, but then once it hits Mt Wellington, it goes on this dizzying circuit of various suburban streets, including one called Ferndale, which is the fictitious setting of Shortland Street, which makes me think that the bus isn’t actually grinding around the suburban hills, but rather I’ve accidentally jumped across a vortex in the space-time continuum and am in a parallel universe/limbo where I must circle the mean streets of Ferndale South in a bus until finally I get to jump back in to the relative civilisation of Mt Wellington Highway.

Now, when I first visited a few weeks ago, it was a quiet Friday. The mall felt like a 1960s English Corbusian-inspired housing estate that had been turned into a New Zealand mall, and I was quite excited by it all.

But when I got to Sylvia Park today, I realised I’d made a terrible mistake. It was the school holidays, so the mall was packed with babies&children&teenagers.

I walked past the Playboy shop (for there is a Playboy shop) and saw a woman leaving the shop, pushing a baby in a pushchair. What has happened to Playboy when a mother can take her baby into Playboy shop, safe in the knowledge that the tot won’t be corrupted by anything in the shop?

Enough Sylvia Park school holidays mayhem! I jumped on the first bus that came along with “DOWNTOWN” on its destination board. What I didn’t realise was that it went to downtown via Panmure, when meant entering a whole other space-time continuum and going on more crazy-ass circuits, past butcher shops that offer discount rates on sausages for sports clubs and hangis.

But as it happened, I’d just signed up with Twitter, so I amused myself by sending progress reports to the interwebs:

3:25pm On a bus. Endlessly circling the streets of south central Panmure. Oh, make the relentless suburban landscape end!

3:38pm Taniwha Street in Glen Innes. I paid over five dollar for this bus ride. I expect magic.

3:44pm The sun has come out and the bus is turning into Kohimarama, which is not in my cellphone’s dictionary.

4:02pm Why can’t this bus do what the 274 does and drive along main roads instead of detouring along all these suburban side streets?

4:13pm Downtown, sweet downtown. Only an hour to get here from Mount Wellington.

Life would be so much easier if I were a shut-in/hermit (hermette?) type.