13 Sep



All of them on Friday please.


Strange Powers

27 Aug

It seems that superpowers have been on my mind of late, I think due to the relentless repetition of the Magnetic Fields song Strange Powers in my head, and the wonderful This American Life podcast on super heroes I listened to last week.

I especially liked the interview with the author of the site Lost and Forgotten, which provides info on all of comic-book-land’s most failed superheroes. 3-D man, whose strength, stamina, and speed had TRIPLED was totally my favourite- not THREE times as fast, strong, and resilient as your average man! Heavens, he would …um…be able to carry a wooden bed-base alone? Probably lose in a fight with a gorilla? Be able to keep up with a car sticking to the speed limit in the central city?

But I do quite like the idea of not-so-super-superpowers– more achievable skills for the less ambitious century. So here are some ideas, feel free to contribute.

“The Hangoverator” Her beaming smile is all it takes to wipe that nausea and shame away!

“Ear Man” There to hear you bitch and moan about your workmates, night or day.

“Compliment Kid” you’re looking really, really good today. Nuff said.

“Professor Plunge” The coffee-maker who always remember how you like it. And who also has the power to tell you if you are infatuated or in love.

 “Supercharge” with a utility belt of cell phone chargers AND a multi plug, Super charge will never let you go flat.

 “Mr Massage” Self explanatory, and R-18 if you want it to be!\

Ok it’s Friday, give me a break. And now I can only think in the Superhero-title-line-power-voice. Am I Annoying-Girl?

Word-famous on the internet

25 Aug

I’m a notoriously terrible speller, which I blame in part on belonging to the spell-check generation, and in part on having spent time in the States as a kid. Those American spellings really fuck you up. It’s a pretty debilitating failure, which has resulted in many moments of shame. In my recent history, I’d say writing “Bango” as the answer to the crossword clue for “small stringed folk instrument” was pretty poor, especially as I have to admit that even Americans spell banjo with a “j”. Also shameful was being the scribe at a quiz the other day – what was I thinking – and having to stumble through two hours of people freaking sounding words out. If there’s one thing a bad speller hates, its people sounding words out. No matter how slowly you say it, or how much you emphasise the syllables, the ‘c’ in “necessary” sounds like a fucking s; maybe even two ses. Just spell if for me slowly, asshole.

So being published in a dictionary (albeit an urban dictionary) was a pretty cool moment for me – even if my word, and the spelling of it, were invented. In fact, that is perhaps the best part of it; no one will ever, ever, have to sound out “urpie” for me – it’s my neologism. I felt pr-et-ty cool. I wasn’t quite at the Palin-stage where I’d compare myself to Shakespeare, but the English geek in me really started to think that neologisms, and urban dictionary, were fun. That was until Urban Dictionary lashed me. Shame.

The David Blaine or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bumb

24 Aug

Big Boi released an album last month. You might know him as the guy from Outkast that isn’t Andre 3000 and the one that didn’t write Hey Ya. Or maybe those words make as much sense as the Yahoo Serious Film Festival. Anyway, the album, titled Sir Lucious Leftfoot: the Son of Chico Dusty, is very, very good.

And there’s a curious moment on it. At the end of the track General Patton (listen here) there’s a skit that details a sex trick called the David Blaine. Basically it involves tricking your partner into thinking they’re having sex with you then revealing they are in fact not. Hilarious, you say. Criminal, perhaps. For the purposes of this blog entry this is by the by.

The curious part is that the skit starts off: ‘the David Blaine is when you’re fucking the girl from the back, or somebody from the back’. The ‘or somebody from the back’ is the part that caught my attention. Objectifying women in hip hop is nothing new. But what is new is the open acceptance of sex outside the usual heterosexual, hyper-masculine, hip hop sensibility.

The David Blaine doesn’t necessarily refer to a gay love scene – I guess it could be a girl with a strap-on, though I think it’s the former. But either way, gay scene or peg scene, this is the most generous concession to non-traditional sexual relationships in a mainstream hip hop song I’ve ever heard.

Couple this with the smackdown of Prop 8 in California and the gay community of America is on a roll.

ps. ‘Sir Lucious Leftfoot’ is really good. Shine Blockas is a superb number and I only wish it were summer so one could wind the windows down and blast it from one’s girlfriend’s Toyota. It’s a wonderful album, you should check it out.

Guest blogger extraordinaire- Oliver O’Connell; Willkommen to SI4YD.

An open letter to the mess on my desk

15 Aug

Dear mess on my desk

When I came into work this morning, I expected to find your usual medley of junk greeting me – the only thing that greets me – but as soon as I sat down, I knew something was different.

Was it as pure and simple as a thicker layer of dust on my computer screen? Or the sticky sheen of that spilt yoghurt I haven’t quite gotten round to wiping off? The diet coke cans- three thereof?  Of course not, no. These things have been adding to your wit, charm, and overwhelming good-looks ever since I have known you. Something else, something more significant had happened; you’d changed.

But I mean really, I shoulda seen it coming. Your goal-driven, go get ‘em attitude and top-notch leadership skills should have forewarned me. You’re like a pioneer, charting new territory, flipping the bird at danger. Like your accumulation of V cans over in the corner there- some people would think eek! Fly magnet! But you just laugh- like fly-spawn would bother you. Or the pile of OK! magazines, speckled with my greasy fingerprint-ghosts of lonely lunchtimes. Fear of judgement would make people run a mile, but you stand, unashamedly, by your trashy tastes. And that small container of chicken-fried rice you are hoarding – oh yes I’ve noticed – it really screams ‘bring it on salmonella – I fucking dare you!’ Like you give a damn. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is I admire your courage, I really do. Who needs validation from other living things?

So why was I surprised to find this morning that you’d added an olfactory element to your previously visual existence? I owe you an apology- I underestimated you. I’m sorry.

People probably thought your soft, slightly nauseating, overly-ripe banana smell would put me off you. But I have to admit, as your new-found aroma enveloped me, I felt strangely at peace. I realised, mess on my desk, that you created this pong for a reason. You alone have been with me my whole life – messing up my bedroom, locker, dorm room, relationships – so if anything was going to make me feel included, loved, it would be you. You read my mind – I was lonely – and decided to act – bang! Once again, your decisive nature astounds me.

So now I am at one with you, mess on my desk; we share the same acrid, rotten odour. So let my boss make ‘pig pen’ quips at staff meetings all he wants! Let the cleaning lady pointedly vacuum in a 3 meter diameter around us! Let my colleagues file harassment cases against me! I will not tremble. It’s me and you versus the world, mess on my desk. So let’s spill coffee on original documents and pile snotty tissues in celebration of the anarchy that is our unity. I love ya pal.

Yours forever

E. Mercado.


8 Aug

Okay, I get it. Is that your trademark?

Rewatched Fantastic Mr Fox last night from my sick bed. It reconfirmed for me how much I love the cuss out of Wes Anderson. (Even if he does look a little bit like Tilda Swinton).

Out of the city

5 Aug

I love a good train trip and the one up to Paekakariki doesn’t disappoint. Multiple harbours, an ocean and an island, some tunnels, some bare hills that catch the setting sun, quaint stations. It really is the scenic route. What is it about getting ‘out of the city’ that feels so good? Wellington is settled around a lovely harbour of its own, and is hardly a bustling metropolis –  and still the desire to escape it all sets in.

My trip today was to visit two lovely ladies and their new babies. Both followed this call away from the city with a little more permanence than I am ready to commit to just yet. But I can see why people do gravitate outwards – both have beautiful homes and gardens and the wide open space just feels nice. We had soup and pikelets with cream and jam and laughed as the babies looked at each other curiously.

And then, sated by this day away, I hopped back on a train and returned to the city.

As a side note, I love how many things my wonderful yellow boat shoes match. Bananas, yellow lines and buses…