Ten Years Ago

I slept in on September 12, 2001.

I was eighteen years old, living at home, working at a camera shop in West Auckland and pulling a whopping $350 per week. I spent this money on bad CDs, awful clothes, cheap drinks and product to support my ridiculous hairstyle. My work week ran from Saturday to Wednesday - Thursday/Friday was my weekend. The sum of all these parts became the fact that I slept through 9/11.

In the hazy snooze-zone between naps that morning I remember hearing the sound of the TV (the fact that this was on in the morning was, in itself, rare) and garbled conversations between my mother and younger brother. I caught words like "attack", "New York" and "terrorist" - but, by virtue of being apathetically eighteen I dozed off again.

When I rose a couple of hours later I turned on the TV and was dumbfounded by the images pouring across the screen - images that have been played and replayed thousands of times but never lose their poignancy. I rang my mother at work, my first words to her "what the hell is going on?"

I spent the rest of the day glued to the live feed from CNN that was being relayed via TVNZ. I realised then that I was watching history unfolding. I cursed myself for not getting up earlier. Throughout the day I thought a number of things (some astute, others inane) about what I was witnessing. Things like "Jesus, those people are jumping from REALLY high up", "Where was the plane that crashed into the field heading?" and "It'd suck to be George Bush right now".

In the ten years that have passed a sequence of events that I am nowhere near qualified enough to detail have unfolded. I offer no commentary on these except for this (and I'm choosing these words carefully):

I believe that the group that has felt the repercussions of 9/11 more than any other are American Muslims. I fervently believe that terrorism is inherently despicable and that a loss of life on ANY scale should not be taken lightly or diminished in any way. By the same token it is important to remember that the atrocities of that day ten years ago were conducted by fanatics. This is a fact that many overlook as they heap prejudicial and unjustified blame upon entire communities.

And whilst I sincerely would not wish the grief felt by the victims of 9/11 (by this I mean those who lost loved ones so horrifically) upon anybody, I think it is important to note that Muslim communities across the world will be labelled, second-guessed, profiled and looked upon with suspicion and trepidation for many, many years to come.

Lechery and Leprechauns

I don't review films too often these days (my film-writing glory days are forever captured in Craccum's 2004-05 editions and TAKE magazine) but sometimes it just takes the right film to awaken the dormant urge to review...

Over the Christmas period (New Years Eve to be exact - and my birthday incidentally) I was in Auckland and decided to check out one of those massive Book, CD and DVD clearance sales that they hold at the ASB showgrounds each year.

I picked up a couple of average books, perused the CDs which were hardly priced for a bargain-basement sale, tried to count how many copies of Take That's comeback album were for sale (before realising that I'd have to enlist NASA to help me with the calculations) and half-heartedly headed to the DVD section.

Crap. Crap. Public Domain Crap. Crap. Take That comeback concert crap. Crap...

Then I spotted it.

In a shitty, flimsy plastic case with a cover that looked like it was colour photocopied by an Asian DVD piracy cartel sat the film that would become my latest trash obsession.

The 1990 comedy/romance/high school/WTF masterpiece; GETTING LUCKY

This is gonna be a spoiler-heavy review. There are images and dialogue in this film that simply MUST be shared. I will probably be straining the blog-post word limit with this one too...

Upon first glance, GETTING LUCKY looks like a cheesy, 80s high school sex comedy with goofy characters desperate to get laid, overbearing jocks who stand between the nerdy virgin and the head cheerleader and at least one scene involving spying on girls in their locker room. For all intents and purposes this is exactly what GETTING LUCKY is - with one key difference... this film has a leprechaun.

Yep. A top-o-th'-mornin', fiddly-de-de-potatoes, drunk Irish Leprechaun. Named "Lepkey". More on him later, lets start at the beginning.

GETTING LUCKY opens with some soft-focus, slow-motion upskirt shots of a cheerleading squad doin' their thing, all set to a late-80s drum-machine/synthesiser beat. Its the kind of scene that can only be one thing; the (wet?) dream of a stereotype.

Introducing Bill - our lovable, cloying, virginal nerd who wakes up from his ultra-erotic fantasy only to get dressed at a pace that could favourably be described as "glacial". After skipping breakfast - much to the chagrin of his improbably Jewish mother - Bill climbs aboard his bike which appears pre-loaded with two MASSIVE and FULL garbage bags strapped to it (he literally has to nestle in between the two bags) and sets sail for... the recycling centre.

Turns out Bill is both (a) trying to save money for College and (b) a raging environmentalist who spouts lyrical about world peace and the merits of saving the planet - Bill is literally a whinier, scrawnier version of Bono.

After putting some cans into a recycling machine and receiving around 50 cents, Bill sighs and laments that there HAS to be an easier way to make money...

Cue Bill's unnamed friend (who probably does have a name that I cant remember). Friend looks and sounds like Keanu Reeves during his Bill-n-Ted period and, inexplicably, rides a skateboard everywhere whilst clutching a Saxophone (my theory is that the Friend character is capitalising on the success of a 1990 pop culture hit by channelling both Bart AND Lisa Simpson). Friend informs the downtrodden Bill that there has recently been a job advertised at their high-school gym! Holy crap! Its the answer to all Bill's financial worries!

Unfortunately the job title is "Towel Boy" and the job description lists responsibilities as "Picking up towels", "Cleaning rancid milk off the floor", "Getting abused by buff naked jocks" and "Trying not to raise the ire of the lecherous, mouth-breathing coach who says stuff like 'tighter! tighter!' and 'get on in there!' with as much emotion as a guy asking a call girl if she offers a discount for off-peak hours".

Despite the crummy nature of the work, Bill-the-Towel-boy soon meets the rest of the principle cast - Head Cheerleader and uberbabe Chrissie Schackler and muscle-bound Chief Jock Tony Chanuka - in an unfortunate and entirely predictable way which provides Chanuka with a reason to make Bill's life a living Hell.

But... things take a turn for the better as Bill is walking home and spies a glass bottle lying on the ground. He tries to put it in a recycling bin - only for the bottle to come flying back out and hit him in the back of the head! Bill attempts to slam-dunk the bottle in a "comical" fashion over and over and over again for several agonising minutes (I swear, this scene lasts for about a week) until he finally hears a tiny, squeaky voice...

Peering inside the beer bottle Bill spies a small, aggressively Irish wee fella who informs him that he is a Leprechaun and that his name is "Lepkey" ("Leprechaun" + "Lucky" was the best theory I could come up with). According to Lepkey, his punishment for being a drunk was to be turned into a leprechaun and imprisoned in a beer bottle. Oh, and if he grants someone three wishes he will be free!

Of course this kick-starts a "hilarious" chain of events involving misunderstood wishes, bad puns and every Irish stereotype from here to the Blarney Stone. Throughout the rest of the film:

* Tony tries to pressure Chrissie to go all the way several times, only to be foiled by increasingly ridiculous distractions

* Tony complements Chrissie's mom's hair waaay too enthusiastically

* Bill wishes for a Ferrari and ends up with a Pinto

* Somehow two detectives are persuaded to start tailing Bill, believing that he is a drug dealer (???)

* Bill and Chrissie go on a date to a mini-golf course and the entire dating montage is set to a god-awful 80s ballad in which the singer (who sounds like one of the Proclaimers) warbles "Your Heart makes a hooooole in oooooone!"

* Tony gets really optimistic by bringing TWO DOZEN condoms to the Drive-In

* Chrissie accuses Bill of having the hots for the "French foreign exchange student" who looks like Tina Turner and sounds like Pepe Le Pew

*Bill makes the most retarded wish of all time after dropping Chrissie off by soliloquising "I wish I knew what she were up to... If only I could get in there and see if she were okay... I wish I were a cat..."

Oh, and THIS happens (Not entirely SFW)

But the real genius of the film is apparent during the long-winded and horribly-paced "climax". Its here where the writer/director's obvious $1200-a-day LSD habit really started to show...

[SPOILER CITY]

Bill and Chrissie get married. This could logically be the end of the film. But...

On their way from the wedding they are driving down a country road all happy and stuff, when who should come barrelling up beside them but TONY CHANUKA!

Chanuka commandeers the car, with Chrissie screaming helplessly, after hurling Bill from the driver's seat and guns it.

Stunned and alone, Bill looks around the deserted fields for someone to help him. Then, on the horizon, appears the help Bill needed so badly. Help in the form of a freaking BARBARIAN riding not one, but TWO HORSES. This dude, who was probably a stunt double for Ahh-nuld during his CONAN period, has one foot planted on the back of a seperate horse and is hooning down a hill at a pretty decent speed. God, I wish there was a picture of this somewhere on the internet...

Bill approaches Barbarian-guy and asks if he can borrow one of his horses. The response to this question:

"But I have two feet! I need both my horses!"

Oh well, thinks Bill - who surely has resigned himself to the fact that Tony Chanuka is probably trying to get into his bride's wedding dress at this very second - before Barbarian/Deus Ex Machina tells Bill

"But I do have another horse!"

And lo, a dirty white horse appears, literally from NOWHERE, enabling Bill to ride off to save Chrissie.

Barbarian guy then calls Bill an asshole (nobody knows why) and rides his two horses like a pair of skis into the sunset, never to be seen again.

After some riding, Bill spots Tony and Chrissie, who have ended up in a field close to a couple having a picnic under a tree. Bill and Tony proceed to pry shish kebabs out of the picnicking couple's hands and starts HAVING A DUEL. Like using the kebab stakes as fencing rapiers. This goes on for much longer than it should.

Bill wins somehow, Tony is defeated, Chrissie swoons and the people whose lunch has just been destroyed give Bill a standing ovation. Roll credits right? Nope.

Just like the third LORD OF THE RINGS, GETTING LUCKY takes about eight hours to end. But instead of finishing the film at the conclusion of the Kebab battle and ending on a high note (high as in the director was high when he shot it) the movie then drags its feet for another eternity as Bill and Chrissie prepare to spend their first night of wedded bliss together in a crappy motel room - only to be invaded by the police who have literally nothing better to do than keep tabs on a high school nerd. Then it ends. Finally.

Jeez this is a long, rambling review. I think I'm gonna post it and do any edits that it needs when its not nearly 1am and my brain doesn't hurt. Should probably put a conclusion in there too...

Oh, and here's the trailer (for the Troma release)

Staaaaaaay [away from] Meeeeeeee

63TV is a Sky Digital channel that plays a "mix of the greatest music videos of all time that make up the Soundtrack of our lives." Its selection of contemporary crap soft rock and crap soft rock from the 80s and 90s makes it the TV equivalent of More FM and the channel is always playing at Burger Kings across the land (perhaps they won BK's lucrative Audio-Visual entertainment tender).

The other place that 63 makes a frequent appearance is at my work's gym. I am often there at ungodly hours of the morning pumping iron or training for marathons but no matter how early I get there, there is always someone who beats me to the remote control and decides that 63 is perfect for working out to.

Sometimes 63 unearths a little gem of a video that accompanies a kick-ass tune (the other day it scored a trifecta by screening Devo, Talking Heads and The Cure videos within a twenty minute window) but most of the time its crappy 80s soft-rock, or mum-friendly drivel from the likes of Jack Johnson, Brooke Fraser et al.

Twice in the last couple of months however, they have screened something that literally made my skin crawl. Something eyeball-gougingly horrible that not only assaulted my ears, but left my eyes glued to the screen in paralytic, abject terror.

The video was for the song STAY by Shakespeare's Sister.

I have a personal history with the song which I had long since buried; it was one of the tracks on a series of tapes that were on constant rotation at a supermarket I worked at when I was 15. Each tape was only about two hours long and was continuously looped thru the shop's PA system for about six months at a time. As a result, by the time I left the supermarket in 2000, I had heard Shakespeares Sister's STAY roughly eighty-six thousand times.

But…

I had never seen the video until 63TV regurgitated it onto the gym's TV screen.

My God. What the hell is this shit?

Why is she fawning over the comatose naked guy? What planet is she on so close to the moon? Whats with the haircut that presumedly inspired Nick Carter's 'do in his Backstreet Boys days?

And good Lord, where the hell did the other chick come from? She looks like shes on her way to audition for a bit part as a supporting demon in a CHARMED episode (and manages to ham up her performance with the manic intensity of Deborah Reed in TROLL 2). This is the stuff of nightmares.

With art direction that looks like a low-budget Total Eclipse of the Heart video in Space, and a soundtrack that effectively uses the repeated whiny, drawn-out delivery of three words as the foundation for a whole song, STAY gets my vote for the worst video of the 1990s. If not all time.

And after a little wikipedia-based research (born out of the same morbid curiosity that makes people read serial killer biographies) I also discovered an additional two facts that terrify me. One is that the video won awards (*shudder*) and the other is that "after a 13 year hiatus, Shakespeares Sister reformed in 2009"

AAARRRGGGHHH!!!

Maths = Lies

I've never been awesome at Maths. I couldn't tell you how to work out the square root of anything, or what a fractal is. Hell, I couldn't even tell you the names of any of my five maths teachers in High School.

The one aspect of Maths that I was okay at, however, was Probability. You know, the concept that calculates the chances of something happening or not happening - the theory that underpins statements like "the chances of the All Blacks winning their next game is one in five" - or "Sarah Palin has a one-in-eighty-six-thousand-trillion shot of NOT being pronounced legally retarded by the next Election".

I took all this for granted back in High School. But looking back on it, if you add a little rationale and logic to the probability equation, you can come to the conclusion that this probability stuff doesn't quite work...

Let me explain. Lets say you are sitting in a coffee shop, having a latte with a friend. According to the probabilitist's argument, the chances of that friend putting a sachet of sugar into their drink or not will be a one-in-whatever-number-they-calculate chance. This ratio will invariably be higher or lower than the chances of the same event (putting sugar into coffee) occurring with another friend.

If you think about this rationally... Its crap.

If your friend wants to have sugar, they will. If they don't (or are diabetic) they wont. When it comes right down to it, there is only ever a 50-50 chance of ANYTHING happening.

Your friend may fart loudly whilst taking a bite of their muffin. Or they may not.

The barrista may have a sudden heart attack whilst sprinkling cinnamon onto a hot chocolate. Or they may not.

Your dog may sprout wings and run for President. Or it may not.

There are an infinite number of things that MAY happen, but logically, there is no way to chart the likelihood of ANY of them happening. They either will, or they wont.

Even if you use statistical data to make a probability-based prediction - such as tracking the results of a racehorse to work out the odds of winning it's next race - the horse still only has a one-in-two shot of coming across the finish line first - it either will or it wont.

So there you have it - your maths teacher lied to you.

Next week: the Algebra conspiracy...

EXCLUSIVE! Lady Gaga's latest music video script leaked online!

EXT – AUSCHWITZ DEATH CAMP – NIGHT

A grey mist circles the dilapidated buildings as the wind whistles and howls.

INSERT – TITLE: “LADY GAGA PRESENTS”

C/U on PAIR OF HIGH-HEELED FEET as they walk down a dusty concrete floor (making a loud, crisp CLICK! With each step)

INSERT – TITLE: “OATMEAL”

LADY GAGA is standing in a large, darkened room. She is wearing high-waisted pants, a baggy, blue denim shirt and a ragged old hat perched on top of a large, white AFRO. She is also wearing BLACKFACE makeup. Standing behind GAGA are a group of buff, white MODEL-TYPES, wearing grimy dungarees (no shirt) and also in BLACKFACE.

LYRICS

Oh-oh-oh-oh!
Oh-oh-oh-oh!

As the beat kicks in, GAGA and the MODEL-TYPES start performing stylised MINSTREL-SHOW-esque dance moves (including shuffles and Jazz-hands)

VERSE

I want to say ‘I love you’
But you’re making it too hard
I want you to be healthy
But my feelings you discard

The MODEL-TYPES surround GAGA and writhe for a beat, then violently RIP her MINSTREL costume off, revealing a nude-coloured pantsuit with a SWASTIKA painted on one side, and a PENTAGRAM painted on the other. GAGA dances in a jerky way, as if having a seizure.

VERSE

I want you to be healthy,
I want you when you’re hot
I love it when you’re on the stove
Brewing in a pot


BRIDGE

Don’t be so bold,
Don’t be so honest,
I like it steamy like
A bowl of porridge

CHORUS

Oh-oh-oh-oh-Oatmeal!
Mix the oats with water,
Mix the oats with water,
Oh-oh-oh-oh-Oatmeal!
Like your Grandma taught ya,
Like your Grandma taught ya

GAGA is strutting down a corridor with the MODEL-TYPES following close behind snapping their fingers. GAGA is wearing a BURQA that covers her face, but is cut to reveal most of her skeletal, naked body underneath. She has 666 painted on her midriff in what appears to be blood. The MODEL-TYPES are clad in GIMP SUITS.

VERSE

My breakfast time is special and
I want a little treat
If I add a little honey my
Porridge gets so sweet

GAGA and MODEL-TYPES arrive in a DUNGEON where two men are chained to the wall. They are THE PROPHET MOHAMMED and JESUS. Also present are a NAKED WOMAN and a GOAT.

REPEAT CHORUS

CUT BETWEEN:

GAGA forces MOHAMMED and JESUS to make out while she watches sadistically

GAGA, wearing an NAZI SS OFFICER uniform, stabs a RABBI and laughs maniacally

GAGA takes a dump on a massive AMERICAN FLAG

GAGA sets an inverted CRUCIFIX on fire, thereby summoning SATAN

GAGA and SATAN slaughter the MODEL-TYPES taking turns to feast on their leather-clad carcasses.

GAGA looks up from one of their torsos –

OUTRO (spoken)

You know, I’m just like Goldilocks – I like my porridge juuuust riiight!

How to make something sound AWESOME

Original Job Ad = Itallics
My comments = Bold

High school/university graduate required for leadership role:

I can lead... and I graduated BOTH!

Outstanding leadership training
Exceptional professional development and further education opportunities
Unmatched career progression and lifestyle

Interesting...

Friendly, supportive, team environment
International travel and humanitarian aid potential

International Travel?! Score!

Adventure and sporting opportunities
Free access to gyms, pools and personal trainers
Free health and dental care

And here I am payin' for personal trainers and root canals like a CHUMP!

Subsidised accommodation possible

AND they'll pay my morgatge?

We are looking to recruit quality people to lead our world-class teams. No experience is necessary.

NONE?!!!

You will GET outstanding leadership and management training, ensuring you develop the skills and confidence to solve problems and make good decisions in a range of situations.

I want to GET all those things!

The successful applicant could lead a world-class team of 30 after one year with us.

You will have the independence to plan training and execute tasks with your team in environments ranging from the everyday to challenging. Your career progression will be fast and you will receive outstanding personal character development and travel opportunities.

I love things that are fast and outstanding!

You will be called upon to advise on operational matters.

You may also be able to develop sports and adventure skills within your working hours.

Paid to play petanque and build tree huts! Woah!

We have a policy of supporting and looking after our people, so we provide free healthcare, dental care, access to gyms, pools, personal trainers, meals and clothing.

Wow, sounds like either the best job in the world, or a doomsday cult!

You may not have considered a career with us in the past. Now that you know a little bit about what we can offer, we hope you’ll want to know more.

Okay… I dont like the sound of that first part... but I do kinda want to know more...

To find out more, visit army.mil.nz/careers, or call us on 0800 NZ ARMY.

Oh. Never mind.

Ron E Bishop and the Curse of the Evil Smut!

A while ago I blogged about a letter-to-the-editor that appeared in the Timaru Herald written by one HH Wilson. The letter started intriguingly by refering to a previous letter in which HH had relayed his theory on how Jesus was from another planet, before segueing into a positive review of Avatar.

The other day I was reading the Timaru Herald again and came across another letter by another Timaruvian religious nutjob. This one bore the show-stopping title "EVIL SMUT" and was penned by one Ron E Bishop (he's even got a religious name!)

Lets see what Ron E has to say…

I chose to go to a comedy show last night to listen to five comedians.

Okay, so far so good…

I was expecting to see some good clean comedy such as Fred Dagg, Billy T James.

Uh-oh. Go into a comedy show with those kind of expectations (ie. assuming that NZ comedy hasn’t changed in 30 years) is just asking for trouble.

What was served up to me for my $40 was the most vulgar, racist, anti-Christian Performance that I ever seen on a public stage.

Sorry Ron, it's gonna take more than forty bucks for them to unfreeze Billy T… and don’t you mean "that I HAVE ever seen on a public stage"? And does this "public stage" differ from the vulgar, racist, anti-Christian performances that you watch in the privacy of your own home?

There were people that left within the first five minutes, it was that bad. As they left the MC said goodbye all you f… Christians and then him and his mates rubbished every religion, every race of people and even our leading politicians.

Wow. That’s just impressive. How did they manage to cram a degrogetory reference to EVERY SINGLE race and religion into one comedy show? Its almost impressive as Ron's grasp of punctuation and sentence structure.

The only reason I sat through it all was to see how bad New Zealand society had become.

Yeah okay, Ron. I bet you told the officer that pulled you over on the way home that you were only speeding to see how dark the night was.

I was not given any warning that it contained coarse and vulgar language or that they would be drinking alcohol on the stage.

The walk-outs in the first five minutes didn’t inspire you?

I asked the promoter of the show for a refund and he refused to give me my money back.

Should have told him that you only stayed to see how bad society was (and that cultural anthropoligists such as yourself are exempt from ticket costs)

The sponsors of the show are TV3, Cadbury Crunchie Bars, More FM, Thrifty Rental Cars, Creative NZ Arts Council on New Zealand.

Hang on, why did you throw this tidbit into the middle of your captivating discourse, Ronnie? I'm guessing its so people can stage some kind of boycott? Rest assured, I'll be eating Whitakers chocolate and listening to ZM in the car that I rented from Avis (after seeing their ad on TV2) on my way to firebomb Creative NZ.

On the way home I was stopped at a police patrol checkpoint…

Hope you told those boys-in-blue about the naughty comedians!

… while the so-called comedians were back at the Theatre Royal drinking. I phoned the police…

Hang on, you phoned them from the CHECKPOINT? I'm confused…

I want their show banned from New Zealand theatres. They are a disgrace to society.

Woah. Hold up, Ronnie. I agree that the Police have no business performing for the theatre-going public, but don’t ban their show!

The sponsors and those involved with the show are equally to blame.

Good thing you told us who they are a few sentences ago…

I'm a Christian who loves to have a beer with family and friends and I enjoy a good yarn in private.

Oh whew! Here I was thinking you were some kind of crazy old crank…

When I see the public being asked to pay for what can only be described as evil smut, someone has to blow the whistle on these people to stop it from spreading.

I sure do hate it when myself, a member of the public, is asked to PAY for something… perhaps Ron would like to see the evil smut-peddlers do it for free?

I hope that someone reading this letter will do something to send these people back to the countries they came from and be made to reimburse all those of us who were decieved.

As a person reading this letter, Ron, I can assure you that "these people" - by which I'm guessing that you're refering to the international comedians - will indeed by travelling back to their home lands at some point. I don’t think your chances of getting your $40 back are good though… you see the people putting on events of this nature do so to MAKE money, as opposed to take people's money, hold on to it for the duration of the show and then give it back.

Perhaps, Mr Bishop, you could try going to a McDonalds, buying a Big Mac, eating it then asking for your money back. You could argue that you only finished it to see how bad the state of NZ's beef industry has become.