Over the show

The first episode of the new Big Brother series aired tonight. OMG yes. I’m so addicted already. I’ve signed up to the web site and I’ve already caught up on the stuff that’s happens during the 24 hour delay between the show screening in Australia and New Zealand.

My two favourite annoying people care Carlo the loud, obnoxious soccer slut and Belinda the high heeled hairdresser. My favourite non-annoying people are Claire the bisexual PhD candidate and maybe Benjamin because when we last left him he was all alone in the round house.

What’s exciting is that one of the BB housemates who’s yet to enter the house is a fat lady. Of course she’s going to end up in the house because seeing someone that much overweight showering in the outside shower would make for excellent television.

Within minutes of the housemates first entering the square house, someone started singing that Big Brovas song. I hope that was the last time.

In solidarity for the 12 housemates I have decided not to leave the house for the next three months. Except for the times that I go out, that is.

(Remember “Kiwi Flatmates”? We prefer not to.)

Note paper

I have all this excitement and nervous energy. I’m getting a bit sick of it, but it’s good.

The Oscars were cool. I laughed at Steve Martin’s sexist jokes. The best bit was when Michael Moore won the Oscar for best documentary. It was good because he missed out on getting one for “Roger and Me”, but also good because “Bowling for Columbine” is such a good film. And, yeah, it was spectacular when he brought up all the other nominees and said “Shame on you, Mr Bush!” Dissent is beautiful.

I saw “Chicago” again today. I feel like I’m turning into a housewife/gay man. “Chicago” needs to come out on DVD real soon so I can buy it, watch it once, watch the special features (OMG – a karaoke version of “Cell Block Tango”. Wait, no. Bad idea.), then stick the DVD back up on my bookcase and never watch it again.

I’m doing some MCC homework tomorrow. I’m rather excited about that and I will prob’ly write about it tomorrow.

Oh yeah, I haven’t written about the National Young Writer’s Festival, which I went to in October last year. I should get around to that, because there was good stuff happening.

Idoru

“American Idol” is screened here five days after it’s shown in America. That time gap is enough for the show summary written by the “Jaded Journalist” to appear on the American Idol web site. This means that by the time the weekly performance show screens here, I know already which contestant is cut in the following eviction show.

I thought that reading the recaps would make watching the performance show unnecessary, but I’ve discovered that I really like watching the American Idol contestants performing. That Clay, he’s such a nice young man. It’s really cool watching the not-so-great contestants struggle through the big high notes – and it’s kind of reassuring knowing that the next few contestants to be cut won’t be all that surprising.

Plus, this week is going to be disco week, so I’m really excited about that.

Nice Arse

It all started when a fellow who goes by the name of Selwyn O’Pants mentioned that as he worked for a sponsor of the show, he had an invite to the season premiere of the live broadcast of Ice TV in its new incarnation as Ice As.

As a general rule, stuff is good, but free stuff is even better. I sensed an opportunity for free stuff, so I convinced Mr O’Pants that he would benefit from being seen with a glamourous personality such as myself. He agreed to this and the evening was set.

I’ve visited the TV3 studios once before. That was when I was in the sixth form, as part of a journalism field trip. That was also back in the day when Russell Rooster was TV3’s most popular star. Oh, how times have changed.

So Selwyn and I turned up to the studios having been earlier entertained by the comic stylings of Jan Maree and Justine Smith in their show “Alas! Smith and Franicevic – Return of the Showgals” (If it sounds like I’m being sarcastic and somehow suggesting that they were crap, I’m not, and they were actually really funny. The drunk middle-aged slappers in the front row weren’t funny, though.).

We were escorted down to a little waiting area and sat around watching the rehearsals in the monitor room. Bloody boring.

Then a bunch of comedians taking part in the laugh fest arrived. Some of them were just cool, relaxed normal people, other were doing the “Look at me! I am a comedian! I must be funny all the time!” thing and they were dicks. Cal Wilson, Ben Norris and Ronnie Edwards were not being dicks.

Then we hung out in what I suppose was the green room, but it was really a wide hallway with a lift and one end. There were nibbles and booze. I partook and free stuff is cool. One by one semi-famous people arrived. Fiona McDonald! The guys from Boss TV! Joel Tobeck! The boys from Betchadupa! Murray Cammick! Slave!

I was a bit freaked out by the appearance of Slave, also known as Mark James. I really wanted to go up to him and say “Hey dude! When I was 16 I thought MC OJ and the Rhythm Slave were the coolest rap group in the entire universe and that the song that went “Drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, marijuana” was really cool.”

But I didn’t. Instead I just stood kind of near him and heard him tell Murray (Muzza!) that “Joined at the Hip Hop” had been receiving a lot of air play recently because it has 96 beats per minute. Righto.

Then the time came. We were ushered into the studio and were seated amongst the set. I took my place atop a barstool and had a good view of all the goings-on. I think the idea was that it was like a bar where a bunch of people were hanging out. A place were a neon sign reading “NICE ARSE” with a dim, flickering N, R and E hangs above the bar.

Eleven o’clock came and the magic of live television took place. Or rather I stood on my stool and watched the show on the monitors and giggled with delight when I occasionally saw my shoulder or my knee on TV.

It went on like that for an hour (and seven minutes), then everyone went back to the green-ish room and drank some more and ate some more nibbles.

I noticed the boys from Betchadupa (the fine young lads responsible for that irresistibly catchy song “Empty Head”, and my word isn’t that Liam Finn a bit of all right, eh? Not bad for a sixteen year old youngster. (Oh God help me, I’m turning into a pervert.)) drinking L&P, which is good as they are all under age. I’m glad I didn’t see any of those lads drinking any alcoholic substances such as, oh, let’s say, Steinlager.

I attempted to hobnob. I also attempted to schmooze. I was unable to do both as I don’t suck. O’Pants managed “Hey, Jon Bridges, star of Ice As, don’t eat the fish, cos it doesn’t taste nice.” Arse kisser.

It was getting late, I was getting tired, being in the presence of so many people who always look when someone enters the room because it-might-be-someone-really-famous was getting a little bit too much. I needed to keep it real, so with that, I exited and sped off into the Eden Terrace night.

So, in conclusion, I have concluded that being an audience member of Ice As is choice.

Bigger Than Bugger

I don’t own or posses a television and because of this I don’t watch a lot of television (quelle surprise!). One day I noticed the word “bugger” kept popping up in the newspaper (The New Zealand Herald, which I do not enjoy reading, I only read it because there’s always a copy at work lying around. It says nothing to me about my life. But that’s another rant.).

Upon further investigation I learned that there was an advertisement on TV for some type of Toyota vehicles that used the punchline “bugger”. I asked around and was told by at least one person that this advertisement was “very very funny.”

So this started a spate of bugger-madness in the nation. Every lame newspaper cartoonist (like there are non-lame newspaper cartoonists) was doing a bugger-themed cartoon. My co-workers laughed at it. “Ha ha,” they’d say. “That’s really funny! I’m going to cut this out and show it to Ian!” Or whoever.

I noticed a shop selling t-shirts with “BUGGER” printed on them. Oh yes, Mr Shopkeeper, I’ll have eight of those, please! Think how rad I will look when I am playing touch rugby on the weekend wearing my “BUGGER” t-shirt!

It leads to this sort of crap, from a local newsgroup:

I wonder, is there anyone out there who has an AVI/MPEG/MOV of the Toyota ‘Bugger!’ commercial that I could download?

I would also be interested in a copy.

And me….!!

I could go on about the advertising people who created the ad, how I imagine them sitting around getting drunk thinking that they are The Shit. But that’s not it.

It’s everyone. The normal everyday people who think it’s the most hysterically funny thing ever.

The kind of people who accuse me of not having a sense of humour because I don’t find jokes with the punchline “bugger” humorous. Somethings are bigger than bugger.

But I shall leave the last word to the Oxford English Dictionary:

1. A Heretic: used esp. of the Albigenses (Hist.)
2. One who commits buggery; a sodomite. In decent use only as a legal term. 1555.
b. A coarse term of abuse; also, in Eng. dial. and in U.S., = ‘chap’, ‘customer’, etc. Hense Bugger v to commit buggery with.

Il Porno

My parents just got back from a holiday in Italy. When they were taking time out from doing the usual tourist stuff, i.e. visiting old things, they watched a bit of television.

My mother send me a couple of e-mails describing two of the more entertaining shows they’d seen, and I thought I’d share them with y’all.

We saw what we thought was an interesting game show, so we watched it. Let me introduce the main players.

Compere – A forty-ish overweight man with a mo, the entertainment officer on a cruise type.

Setting – The deck of a ship, complete with deck chairs and a fruit machine, and a couple of platforms.

The rest of the cast – 6 lovely ladies in skimpy costumes, they were the colours of the fruit on the fruit machine, and they had little fruit symbols on their costumes.

The main contestants – Carla and Leopold.

Secondary contestants – Four lovely ladies. These four ladies were wearing identical outfits consisting of tight fitting short black sparkling dress, bra, stockings, knickers, suspender belt and a lovely pill box hat. The hats were in a different colour for each lovely lady. They were also wearing black shoes.

There was a lot of chat between the compere and Carla and Leopold. Once or twice they pulled the handle of the fruit machine. When this happened the lovely ladies clapped and laughed and then they all bared their boobs to the camera. Their tops were boned or wired so that they could just pull them open and then they would close back again. It was difficult to tell what all the chat was about.

After a few minutes, Carla went up onto the platform and did a strip tease. She could not reach her zip on the back of her dress, so one of the lovely ladies undid it for her, ditto her suspender belt. She jiggled away and when her act was finished she went off and was given a dressing gown to put on. Then Leopold took centre stage, and he did a strip act too. He wasn’t very good, he did things like trying to take his shirt off when he still had his bow tie on. He took off his shirt and he appeared to be wearing a grey cotton t shirt under it. This turned out to be an all in one neck to knee job which stayed on. He was also given a dressing gown to put on. Leopold and Carla earned more points or dollars depending on how much they took off.

Next it was the turn of the hat ladies. They appeared to be trainee strippers, and each one in turn came on stage and did her little act. They also had to have one of the fruit ladies to assist. They all stripped down to stockings, knickers, and most important of all, THEY KEPT THEIR HATS ON.

I was so pleased that they were demonstrating a little bit of modesty. As each of these four finished their strip, they went to the back of the stage and jiggled away in time to the music, no dressing gowns for them. Of course through all this we kept getting boob shows from all the fruit ladies.

Then it all appeared to be over. The compere said his little bit and all the credits flashed up on the screen. But the finale was yet to come. A new lovely lady came on and she seemed to be the numero uno of the show. She put on a very professional strip where she ended up with everything off, (I can’t recall whether she had a hat or not) Mind you some camera angles were a bit fuzzy, but then so was she. All in all, an interesting evenings entertainment.

On our last morning in Venice I was surfing the channels and I came across the home shopping channel. (This was 6.15 am.) There was a stripper on the screen provocatively stripping to slow music, and across the bottom of the screen was a phone number which I presume you call for telephone titillation. But the strangest thing of all was in the top left hand corner of the screen in quite large print was the message VERY SEXY BLOB I cannot imagine what they were intending to say, boob, boobs, body?? It finished as 6.30 and the channel reverted to more mundane home shopping. I assume the lovely ladies had been stripping all night.

Pot-Smoking Devil Woman

I was reading the entertainment supplement in the paper at lunch the other day when I came across the following quote. It was by Tiffani-Amber Thiessen on how she is not at all like Valerie Malone, the character she plays on “Beverly Hills 90210”:

“I’m laidback. I’m not uptight. I’m not evil. And I won’t smoke a lot of pot and sleep with your boyfriend.”

This presents the opportunity to discuss a number of angles, such as:

1. How casual use of marijuana is becoming increasingly popular in recent films and television shows.

2. If Valerie is such a pot-smokin’ gal, why is she so uptight? (Because they can’t glamorise cocaine on TV? Or because some chick who spends all day in her pyjamas watching old Rob Lowe movies on cable isn’t sexy?)

or

3. Uh-oh. Tiffani-Amber’s afraid of being typecast!

Let’s go for number three.

I’m guessing she was getting offers for roles such as “Voluptuous Pot-Smokin’ Vixen”, “Sexy Reefer Girl” and “Mary Jane the Devil Woman”. Eager to cast off this notion of her, she made that statement so people will know that she is not at all like Valerie Malone.

So when Tiffani-Amber played Kelly Kapowski in her pre-90210 show “Saved by the Bell”, did she have to make a similar statement to save her from similar roles? A statement like:

“I’m mature. I’m not a little big-haired high school girl. I can be mean. And I can be a vixen and do other stuff like maybe smoke a cigarette.”

I’m off to smoke some pot and sleep with your boyfriend, but we shall leave the last word to Ms Thiessen, culled from a “Saved By The Bell” fan site:

Would Tiffani, a native of Long Beach, California, ever want to play a mean-spirited person? “That would be hard — really acting,” she reflects.”