Category Archives: Observatory

Vanilla Ice’s pants

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Vanilla IceVanilla Ice is appearing in a pantomime in the UK this Christmas. He plays Captain Hook in Peter Pan. It sounds quite cool, yeah? So I was tweeting about this and I typed “Vanilla Ice’s panto looks like fun.” However autocorrect decided this was wrong and helpfully changed it to “Vanilla Ice’s pants looks like fun.” I came *this* close to tooting it.

But do you know who actually thought “Vanilla Ice’s pants look like fun!” Madonna, that’s who. They briefly had a thing in the early ’90s, right at the time when Madonna made her notoriious “Sex” book. There are images of them together, sans pants.

Who would be more fun to party with today? Captain Hook Hook Baby or Old Madge?

Le quake

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After the earthquake

My bedroom after the quake, with the books flung from the shelves.

So, there was that earthquake thing last night. I was watching the One Direction documentary when suddenly I felt the familiar sway of my building when an earthquake hits. But unlike the usual baby mini quakes that usually hit Wellington, this one went on for longer and got more shaky. Some books and objet d’art started falling off the top two shelves of my bookcase, which has never happened before.

My first and strongest instinct was to put on some pants. Yes. Because I figured I could deal with going barefoot in only a sportsbra and t-shirt to a refugee camp, but I couldn’t survive without pants. But instead of doing that, I found myself standing in my bedroom doorway. I’m not sure why I did this, but it seemed like I’d decided to leave the room and turned that into the classic earthquake protection spot. Standing there, I thought “I do not want to live in Wellington any more,” which is my standard reptile brain thought in such situations. The shaking stopped and the building slowly swayed its way back to stillness.

On Twitter, Wellington people were saying stuff like “Arrgh! This is the worst earthquake I’ve experience in 30 years living here!”, while Christchurch people were all “Woteva. Harden up, bitches.”

It was easily the most alarming earthquake I’ve experienced in Wellington, but it was nowhere near as shaky or long as the big on in Tokyo, or indeed the two big aftershocks I experienced there. There were no Izakaya bars or Asahi to comfort me this time, but 15 minutes later, Courtenay Place was about as normal as it ever is for a Saturday night.

And the earthquake also, uh, dumped a bunch of my clothes on the floor? My fear has always been that this bookcase would tip over, so I’m glad this is all that happened. This was less disruption than what I came back to in my Tokyo hotel room.

The power of the orange marker pen

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When I was profiled in a Dom Post a few weeks ago, I was the only blogger whose political preference was not noted. The reporter didn’t ask me (probably because unlike the others, I’m not a political blogger), but if he had, I’m not sure what I would have said.

It got me thinking – what are my political preferences? What guides me when I’m in the polling booth, orange marker pen hovering above the ballot paper? It was time to revisit elections past.

1993 – Waikato
McGillicuddy Serious Party

18 and with the power to vote, this was my first election. It was also the last election under first-past-the-post – and my voting choice was a direct result of this. I lived in the corner of Hamilton that was part of the Waikato electorate. Most of Waikato was rich, rural heartland, so it was a safe National seat. There wasn’t much point in voting for any other candidates. And that’s where the McGillicuddy Serious Party came in.

The McGSP were a comedy party, but – as their name suggests – they were very serious about it. Based in Hamilton, they brought a bit of colour to the grey old town, but in standing a candidate in a safe seat, they helped expose the flaws that marred FPP voting.

And besides – the McGillicuddy’s 1993 manifesto had a recommended reading list that included the Lester Bangs essay collection “Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung”, which I got out of the library and it totally changed my life. Yeah.

1996 – Hamilton East
Electorate: McGillicuddy Serious Party
List: McGillicuddy Serious Party

The electoral boundaries changed and I was now in the more even-handed Hamilton East, but was I still willing to give the McGillicuddys a second shot. McGillicuddy always did well under FPP, but how would they do under the first MMP election? Could they win a seat in Parliament?

Well, no. They still got votes in safe electorates, but only managed 5590 party votes – compare that with 34,398 for the Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis Party. The McGillicuddys stood for one more general election before calling it a day. However, former McGillicuddy list candidate Metiria Turei is now taking things a bit more seriously as the co-leader of the Green Party.

1999 – Auckland Central
Electorate: National
List: ACT

The fact that I’ve voted ACT shocks some of my more right-on friends. Yes, it’s true. And it wasn’t a strategic Epsom move or anything. I voted ACT because I wanted them to get in government.

My flatmate at the time was an ACT supporter. He and a good friend of his had been supporters since they were teens going along to meetings of the Association of Consumers and Taxpayers. They weren’t just some kids who’d read “Atlas Shrugged” and decided to support ACT. It was a party that reflected their values and they could talk about it very intelligently. They’ve stuck with it, to the point that one of them was rumoured as a potential ACT list candidate this election.

And then at the same time National were kind of bombing and Labour were kicking arse. So I got a bit hipster about it and wanted to vote for someone who wasn’t the local champion. I felt really conflicted about it, and at one point completely lied and told a friend that I’d voted for the Labour candidate and Green.

2002 – Epsom
Electorate: Green
List: Green

I cannot remember why I did a double Green vote this election. I voted a couple of days before the election because I was out of town on election day. Making a vote in a corner of a suburban library is never as much fun as a proper vote on the day itself.

The day I voted was also the day of my lovely great-aunt’s funeral, and she was a bit of greenie, so perhaps it was in tribute to her. Or maybe it was a kind of backlash against my voting at the previous election. Or maybe Labour had done something that seemed a bit dirty, necessitating a more leftward nudge.

It’s funny how all this stuff seems like such a big deal at the time, and votes are cast with such conviction. But looking back, it’s a fading memory.

2005 – Epsom
Electorate: National
List: Labour

This was a crazy election. I wanted a good local MP. Rodney Hide, the ACT leader and likely winner, didn’t seem like the sort of person who’d be able to dedicate much time to his electorate.

There was a sneaky campaign going on to encourage National voters to vote for ACT. I’d received a strange phonecall from a woman doing a phone survey with questions loaded to support ACT. I even emailed the National candidate Richard Worth to see if he really wanted my vote. He said he did, so I gave it to him, with the party vote for Labour because I couldn’t think of anyone else to vote for.

It was also the election of the Exclusive Brethren-funded pamphlets. I found six of them stuffed in my mail slot, tempting me with a “Caribbean cruise” with the tax cut I’d receive if I voted for some unnamed party.

As it happened, Rodney Hide was elected, and then spent the following year dividing his time between being the ACT leader and his showbiz/weight loss journey on “Dancing with the Stars”. Yeah, a really choice local MP.

Richard Worth, meanwhile, got in on the National list but resigned in 2009, amid allegations of being a dickbag towards a woman he was trying to impress. Yeah, an even more choice MP.

2008 – Wellington Central
Electorate: Labour
List: Maori

I met Grant Robertson at a tweetup. He was a nice guy, we had a little chat and I figured he’d be a good local MP to have. A couple of years later, I saw him walking down Lambton Quay and he said, “Hi, Robyn”, which was also nice. And that’s what got him my vote.

I’m not entirely sure why I gave the Maori party my vote. Possibly because lots of people I knew were voting Green and I wanted to be different. And the Maori Party got into government, kind of.

Looking back at all my years of voting, I feel like a really lousy elector. On the eve of this year’s general election, I feel like I should be better prepared, to have done research and attended meet-the-candidate meetings and have asked questions. I feel like I should have really solid reasons for my decisions, rather than just making a snap choice in the polling booth. Or maybe I should do what some political reporters do and stay neutral by never voting.

But you know what? At least I’ve never voted Libertarianz.

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What kind of man reads Playboy?

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I’ve always had an interest in the mojo of Playboy magazine. Not really the magazine itself, with its nude ladies and the all-important articles, but more the cultural icon that Playboy has become.

I wrote about Playboy back in 1997. Back then I’d got hold of a copy of the magazine itself, and ended up somewhat disappointed that it didn’t live up to the exotic reputation it had held years earlier amongst my friends at primary school.

But since then Playboy has changed. The magazine still exists, but the iconic bunny logo has totally gone mainstream, having been licensed for all sorts of products related to the Playboy lifestyle. But it’s moved from representing a sophsticated, sexual thing for adult men to being a crazy fun thing for younger men and women who just want something that says, “Hey! Sometimes I have sex! I might have sex with you! Waaaagh!”

The old ads asked “What sort of man reads Playboy?“, with the answer being a worldly, wealthy, jetset, scotch-drinking kind of man. But what kind of person buys products with the Playboy bunny logo? I’ve started noting products that have licensed the bunny, in an attempt to gain insight into the new consumer of the Playboy brand.

Flannelette sheets

Flannelette Playboy sheets

One would think, maybe, that the beds at the Playboy Mansion would be made with satin sheets, perhaps in a deep burgandy colour. But what’s in stock at Briscoes? Playboy flannelette sheets.

The perfect bedding for the playboy who lives in an uninsulated, unheated flat, who wants to ensure he (or she) can put on their jimjams and snuggle down with a mug of Milo into a nice warm bed in winter, but also wants to ensure their image as a sexy person is maintained year-round.

Duvet cover

40% off

If the pattern of the flannelette sheets was too subtle, how about a giant screen-print of the logo on a red duvet cover? This duvet is for those mornings when you don’t want to go to work because you have a performance review at work and you just know your manager is going to say something about that box of black marker pens you took that one time. So you call in sick and then start to actually feel a bit sick and spend the rest of the day eating two-minute noodles and watching “Titanic” on your HP laptop. Also: 40% off! Yay!

Throw cushions

Bunny cushion

How about a throw pillow to add some colour to either your flannelette sheet set or giant red duvet cover? There’s a black pillow with little bunny hearts (yay, love!) but more demanding of your love and attention is the giant bunny-shaped pillow.

While technically it is a pillow, it is also secretly a cuddly animal toy. If you feel that you’re too old for Mrs Panda and Colonel Teddy, the Playboy bunny cushion gives you a nice animal friend to snuggle up with when you’re feeling a bit lonely. No one ever need know. They will see the pillow and just think you are edgy, cool and sexual.

Fragrance

Gift suggestion

Oh, hey, merry Christmas! It’s a couple of days late, but your boyfriend’s dad and his stepmum are giving you their present. You guess that’s some sort of perfume gift pack – fingers crossed it’s the new Britney one! But, oh, it’s a Playboy perfume and moisturiser pack.

Your boyfriend’s stepmum immediately demands that you put some of the perfume on. She grabs the tube of moisturiser and starts smearing the cream all over your hands, insisting you deserve “a bit of pampering”. It smells like Ribena and curry. Your boyfriend looks ill.

Body spray

Discarded at a train station

Playboy body spray exists for the young man who has a busy life – too busy for daily showering or the regular laundering of clothes. It’s ideal for those situations when Work Corey has to quickly transform into Date Corey before the train arrives.

Just grab that can of Playboy body spray in the Miami fragrance (this guy on Facebook says it’s the strongest), shove the can up your shirt and spray liberally. Remember not to squirt it down your trousers, but you may wish to give your area a little spray just to be safe.

Car seat covers

Flammable, like my love for you.

Cars – they’re a bit boring. It’s nice to individualise one’s automobile and there’s no better way to do that with some fluffy sex dice and some plush Playboy car seat covers. This is the kind of car that starts out with the formal nickname of Bertha, but ends up being called the Shaggin’ Wagon, much to the owner’s disappointment, but with the reluctant acceptance that it is sort of true, especially after that one time down by the river. But the good thing is the Playboy car seat covers are fully washable, so if you spill some banana Primo on it, you can easily clean it off.

Watching the Game

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After the All Blacks’ defeat at the last Rugby World Cup, I tried to figure it out. I could see that New Zealand was grieving at the loss but it hadn’t given up hope. Now with the RWC being held here and the dream of victory on the cusp of being realised, it feels like rugby is everywhere but I still don’t feel like I fit in with rugby life.

I grew up in a house where sport wasn’t really watched. I could speculate that’s where my lack of interest in the game came from, but yet there was hardly ever any music played in the house and I’ve grown up totally in love with the world of pop. And likewise my brother has overcome this sporting handicap to become a fan of rugby league and union.

The few times I’ve watched rugby on TV, I’ve found it really hard to follow. It seems really complex, all these guys running around in different directions, passing, kicking and then stopping to get into various formations, like aggressive cheerleaders.

I’ve just never had a connection with rugby. Even in 2009 – the year I vowed to go to sports events – it didn’t occur to me to go to a rugby game. Soccer is simple enough, but even the achingly complicated cricket won out over ruggers. Perhaps it’s because of the massive role that rugby plays in New Zealand society. Top-level rugby seems so intense, so extravagant, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

Supporting the All Blacks – to the point where you’re ecstatic when they win and inconsolable when they lose – takes emotional committment. You give a bit of yourself to the All Blacks and let them become part of your personal identity. I’m not there. I’m still unconnected, outside the sphere of rugby. If the All Blacks lose the World Cup, I’m not going to go into mourning. But if they win, I won’t have that “WE’RE NUMBER ONE!” feeling of elation.

So the Rugby World Cup happens without me being drawn into it. I’ve only watched one match, a semi-final, and I was paying so little attention that I can’t even remember who was playing. Because I couldn’t follow the game, it was other stuff that grabbed my attention. My mental image of what a rugby game looks like seems to be based on how things were in the 1980s. So I was intrigued that today’s players mostly look really muscular and lean, like they’ve been deliberately visually bulking up their muscles and not carrying extra weight. They’re also a lot less hairy – there seems to be a serious waxing regime going on. It’s all very metrosexual, which I highly approve of.

When the big ol’ New Zealand versus Australia semi-final game was on last weekend, instead I was watching the indie romantic comedy hit “Strictly Sexual“. There are a lot of things that I’m really into right now and those will always win out over watching a rugby game.

So now, in the final hours before the really-big-deal final, I’m still trying to figure this thing out. I’m probably not going to watch the game. I probably won’t know the final score until I see people on Twitter emoting over it. But, you know, I’m not going to complain if the city erupts in jubilation… or implodes with devastation.

Seasonal cheer

Bewitched, bewooded

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I had an intriguing encounter with a mysterious fellow today.

I was doing a session in the NZ On Screen box. It was a cold, wet morning, so there weren’t many people out and about. Suddenly this dude appears, maybe in his late 30s. He had long blonde hair, a backpack and a line on his face that was either a scar or some blue ink.

I demonstrated the interactive wall, and let him have a go. He sounded German, or at least from that region of Europe. Usually most people play a few clips then leave, but he was really engrossed in it. In the “Heroes and Icons” category, he asked where his nemesis was, so the other staffer and I tried to figure out which of the NZ heroes would have been his nemesis, but the guy couldn’t pick one.

The guy then just started circling his arm in front of the wall, which – using the motion-detection controls – would just randomly start playing clips. It went from being weird to hilarious to weird to a serious mash-up live VJ performance art piece and then back to hilarious. It was at this stage I decided he was awesome.

Some other people came in and so he moved away and started talking to me. Things we discussed:

  • A waka on the lake in Rotorua.
  • The difference between ‘boat’ and ‘ship’.
  • He did not remember how long it was since he was in Rotorua and so he would have to go away and think about it.
  • The way a waka in Rotorua was presented.
  • He had passed through Hamilton but would not go there until he had family there.
  • Different ways to use the word ‘built’.
  • “Carter Holt Harvey – do you know this company?”
    “Yes, I think they’re a timber merchant.”
    “Are they a New Zealand company.”
    “I think so, yes.”
    “No, they are actually Australian owned, but I suppose you only know of them in New Zealand so that is all right.”
  • It is a tree when it is growing, wood when it is cut down and timber when it is milled.
  • If you can ‘smooth’ something, can you ‘wood’ something?
  • How he was reluctant to touch the wall because normally he is a very clean person.
  • If you can say ‘bewitch’ can you say ‘bewood’?
  • If you do something with your hat, do you ‘hatten’ with it?

Eventually our conversation came to its natural conclusion, and the guy declared that this was one of the best conversations he’d ever had (same!!!!), but he had to leave to go and do creative things. I do not know his name, where he came from or where he is going, but he thoroughly bewooded me.

The art of the scrunch

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Robyn 2011

Before: the innocence of 2011

Robyn 1986

After: Power hair, power suit, power earrings of 1986.

I first learned the womanly art of hair and makeup in the mid-late ’80s – around ‘86 and ‘87 when I was 11/12. I spent a lot of time in my bedroom practising, and I came to the realisation that I could probably still do those things.

Big in the ’80s (for the ’80s were big) was scrunching. This involved squirting a ton of mousse in the hair and then scrunching it as you blow-dried. This is pretty much the complete opposite of straightening with GHDs, as the end result was that of someone who’d woken up after falling asleep in a park on a humid night.

As for the makeup, it was all big and bold, complete with sideburns of blusher. If you blushed naturally only on the side of your face, you’d probably see a cardiologist. Because blue frosted eye shadow doesn’t exist any more, I had to fake it by mixing blue with silver. Hey, u have blue eyes – the frosted blue eye shadow will make your eyes look really pretty!!!

End result? I look like a man in drag. Or I look like a 50-year-old high-powered business woman. I want those reports on my desk asap. Either way, this is not a look I want to sport on a daily basis. Evidence that only women with delicate features can get away with strong makeup. I am thankful I was never an adult in the ’80s.