Monthly Archives: December 2009

Good August and other months

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I started the year by recreating the Cover Girl lipgloss ad task from “America’s Next Top Model”, thanks to Jo of Pretty Pretty Pretty. It is important for a modern girl to know how to work the camera.

I was lucky enough to go to Webstock, but due to the Current Economic Climate I had go there as a door-holding, clock-watching volunteer, but I possibly had more fun than I would have if I’d gone as a regular attendee. I got to see my long-time interweb heroes Derek Powazek and Heather Champ’s talk on online communities, which was inspiring.

Hanging out

Oh God – Sevens weekend, possibly the most miserable weekend of the year. Lots of my friends left town, leaving me to face a city full of drunken munters. This has left me determined to avoid the broken glass and vomit in 2010 by leaving town for the weekend.

But on the good side of sports, I made a vow to see live sports games. I went to a test cricket match, a Phoenix game, and the mighty All Whites World Cup qualifier. I’m still not ready to sell my soul to any particular sport, but at least I think I get football.

Arrow

I went to Auckland for a few days for business and pleasure. I unexpectedly saw legendary Auckland punk band The Spelling Mistakes play “Feels So Good”, which was something I had never expected to see. I also realised that the Auckland of now is no longer the Auckland I left. At the time, I felt quite melancholic about it, but a later visit revealed Auckland to be all right, still.

Much fun was had on a panel at the Young Labour Conference, talking about blogs, online communities and politics along with Keith Ng and David Farrar. This is where I got to share my wisdom with the younger generation.

De La Orgee

I saw De La Soul perform at the Opera House. The last time I saw them live was in 1991, was I was a huge De La fan. They were touring to celebrate the 20th anniversary of their debut album, “Three Feet High and Rising”. And that made me wonder what it would be like for me to revisit stuff I’d created when I was 19. No wonder De La were chopping up their old stuff, mixing it up to make something new.

I watched Too Many Films this year. Too Many Films going being entertainment and into a state of being. I initially watched Too Many Films from around 1993 to 2004, but somehow managed to get sober in the mid 2000s. I thought I was over it, but a combination of the 48Hours film competition, the Film Festival and seeing many new releases as Slevin’s plus-one dragged me right back into it. Therefore, I have no life; I watch films instead.

Speaking of 48Hours, one is still haunted by the splendid Wellington regional winner, “Otack Otack Otack Fall“.

I also went to many theatrical shows this year, and (re)learned the ancient art of writing reviews. It turns out there’s more to say than “It was nice. I liked it.” I especially enjoyed “Biography of my Skin” a collaboration between actress Miranda Harcourt and her husband Stuart McKenzie, all about marriage and being complicated. It gave me hope.

Heh, remember earlier in the year when everyone was freaking right out about swine flu and how everyone was going to die, etc? Those were fun times.

I ended up with a swine cold, the downside of which was not being able to go to Napier for a holiday (but there would have been awful weather had I gone), and the upside of which was getting prescribed coff-b-gone, a cough syrup containing morphine. Aw yeah, I said morphine. Though in the middle of that wobbly, blissed-out week, I saw “Bruno” and laughed even though I knew it wasn’t funny, so I was glad to eventually get well.

Storm a-brewin'

After being thrown around by June and July, I decided that August would be good. In fact, I gave August its own hashtag (#goodaugust) and indeed it was a good month. You should try this. It works.

I went to WordCamp, which was not about words nor a camp. Instead it was a two-day un-conference about WordPress (the thing my blog runs on). It was most interesting, but I ended up leaving early on the second day because the sun was shining and I needed to be outside and not be in a suburban bowling club.

The power supply for my laptop broke, and I had to wait over a week for the new one to come. I turned to “books”, with their “pages” and “ink”, reading Dan Brown’s thrilling piece of shit “The Lost Symbol” and my DCM Book Fair acquisition, “True Colours” – Dave Armstrong’s funny and insightful account of the lead up to the 1996 election campaign.

Cactuses

I finally got to have some holiday and travel, with an excursion to the South Island. I was based in Christchurch and then Dunedin, but also explored some surrounding parts of Canterbury, Otago and Southland. I also fulfilled my lifelong dream of going to Gore.

I also took many notes and wrote an epic 10-part account of my travels. “You should write a book,” the people said. “But I haven’t even got out of bed yet,” Robyn replied.

The year nicely ended(-ish) with the Fourth Annual Wellingtonista Awards, celebrating the best of Wellington. I presented a few awards, joined in the festivities, and ended up performing “Buffalo Stance” in the hipster karaoke that followed.

And I turned 35, which took ages to happen. I was somehow expecting a dull day, but it actually turned out to be splendid with sunshine and delicious food and spending time with lovely friends.

So, quite a good year. And while Twitter ate my 2008, I had more a harmonious relationship with it this year:

I just completed an awesome 100 piece jigsaw puzzle of some Barbies riding horses on a California beach.
4:30 PM Dec 18th from Tweetie

Epilogue: Oh, that’ll do

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Things from my notebook that I couldn’t wrangle into any sort of narrative

Heroin capital of NZ

After I’d checked in at the hotel in Christchurch, I went up to my room, swiped my room card and opened what I thought was my hotel room. Instead I found myself in a small space, faced with three doors. I felt like a character in an adventure video game.
You are in a corridor. In front of you are three doors.
> Turn RIGHT.
> Use CARD on DOOR.
> Open DOOR.
> Walk into ROOM.
You are standing in your hotel room. It is quite nice.

Christchurch smells like cigarettes, like the late ’70s, like an small European city that’s on a budget airline route.

All the nighties in Ballantyne’s seemed to be those neck-to-ankle jobs. Not many people know this, but these nighties are actually classed as a contraceptive device under the Medicines Act (1981).

Frump!

I was on the free bus, sitting on a seat that faced into the bus. A man across the aisle kept giving me the finger. I was about to flip him off back, when I realised he was doing it to his friend who was jogging alongside the bus, giving bus guy the finger. That’s true friendship.

At the museum, a group of schoolboys observed a mannequin representing a forefather of Christchurch with a hearty beard. “There’s George Bush,” one of them remarked.

George, bush, in happier times.

I had a really good latte at C1 Espresso. It tasted like honey – not sweet but mellifluous.

The central Christchurch bus exchange is right fancy. It’s like a domestic airport terminal, with waiting areas, seats, screens full of departure times, and sliding doors that open when a bus is ready to be boarded.

I went to the local Regent cinema and was greeted with, “Hi! Are you here for the Taste of Italy evening?!” No. “Oh. That’s all right.” The cinema I ended up in had its main entrance below the screen. Whoever designed it like that obviously hates movies.

Q. What would you do if you suddenly found $20,000 in your bank account?
A. Big OE! You can get to Sydney for, like, $100 and I’d go there and stay with my sister and have girls over all the time and heaps of parties and stuff.

Music

“He owes me. He owes me $25.”

A half-arsed idea about the cone being a recurring shape in Canterbury – the Chalice sculpture, the airport control tower, souvlaki. And what is a cone but a rollled up plain?

Discussed with Pauline the concept of a “bad coffee town”.

I thought I saw a light on in an upstairs window at the old Post Office, but it turns out to be a window boarded up with plywood.

The old Post Office looks like it would have been the envy of New Zealand back in the day. At the annual Postmaster’s conference, did the Dunedin Postmaster General say, “Gosh, it’s so hard getting the windows cleaned all the way up on the sixth floor of the GPO.” And the Tauranga Postmaster would be like “Yeah, woteva.”

A lot of women in Southland have the same haircut. It’s short and very functional. Possibly a bit spiky on top, with some lady-burns down by the ears. Maybe gelled out the back like a gunshot exit wound. And usually with some sort of concession to femininity, like stripy ’90s-style DIY highlights.

The Otago Settlers Museum has a video reenacting what seasickness would have been like for the first European migrants. This was a popular viewing choice among the museum visitors. Yarrr! Oi be sick!

Three pears were arranged on a windowsill at the Dunedin Airport. Oh, sorry – the still-life fruit models convention was last week, etc.

Pairs

Part 10: The case of the exploding bear

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There comes a time in the life of any New Zealander from the generation known as “X”, when one must look back and wonder what happened to the Play School toys.

Big Ted, Manu and Humpty now live at Te Papa, the sign at the Otago Settlers Museum says. The bear, the wahine and the curious round gent are most likely enjoying life in the lush, climate-controlled national museum. “Aw yee-yah,” Big Ted no doubt exclaims to Buzzy Bee. “We had a TV show. We were all famous ‘n’ shit. It was platinum, baby. VIP.”

Jemima, the sign also notes, is awol. Is it true that she went to Sydney in the late-80s in order to further her career in television, only to find life in a new country harder than she expected? And is it true there’s crazy old junkie lady staggering around Kings Cross, with dyed ginger hair, muttering to herself about something called “the round window”?

Little Ted, however, can be found at the Otago Settlers Museum. But paying a visit to him will not result in a warm fuzzy wash of Generation X nostalgia, suitable for turning into a Mr Vintage T-shirt design.

This is because Little Ted ain’t got no head. He was ritually decapitated on the last day of filming in Dunedin. “Nya ha ha!” the production crew no doubt evilly cackled as the explosives were detonated, resulting in a cascade of yellow fur and kapok. “Who’s the pretty boy TV star now, eh?”

While the headless corpse of Little Ted is on display at the Otago Settlers Museum, it’s certainly not in a prominent spot. Ted lurks down a dark alcove, well away from the more glamorous parts of the museum. If you want to visit him, you have to seek him out, past the exhibited bucket of KFC, through the eerie hall of portraits of Dunedin’s settlers, and down a narrow corridor that was possibly a route to a fire exit in a former life. Or perhaps you’ll just stumble across him and find yourself a little shocked to see his remains.

Little Ted is a reminder of what can happen to those who are drawn into the appealing world of showbiz. One day you can be starring in a daily television programme; the next you’ve had your head blown up (for a laugh!) by your (former) colleagues.

It’s a cruel world.

Little Ted ain't got no head