Buses are weirdo magnets

I got on the bus to go home yesterday, exhausted after a Christmas shopping day in Auckland that saw me end up with more for myself than anybody else, and was greeted with an middle aged man wearing thick silver rings on all his fingers, pimp sunglasses, a mullet-type hairstyle, tight pants and tucked-in shirt singing Phantom of the Opera. My first thought was ‘at least it’s not as bad as that guy who played Happy Birthday on his guitar non-stop for twenty minutes’. I had changed my mind by the time we’d reached Otahuhu and he was still going. The only silence came whenever he finished his current song of choice. He would pause, run his hands over his hair, look to his left, sit in silence for a few seconds, sing a note to find the right key (which sounded like the noise I’d imagine a small child would make after being pushed off a cliff) and start singing again.

The best part came when some South Auckland “gangstas” boarded the bus at Papatoetoe and decided to join in. This consisted of them mimicking every strange noise he made in between songs and his vocal theatrics and also laughing whenever he sang a line like “I’m just a hunk a hunk of burning love”. Unfortunately his response was to turn around, give them the thumbs up, and sing louder.

Just before we reached Manurewa, a similar looking middle aged guy boarded the bus and finally stopped singing guy by engaging him in conversation. This enlightened us on what singing guy thought of music:
“It’s the language of life, isn’t it? It just affects everyone so deeply.”
and Tom Jones:
“Tom Jones is a legend, man. He’s even better than Elton John.”

Before Tom Jones disembarks, bus buddy remarks:
“Man, I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere before.”

Tom Jones replies:
“It must’ve been that time in prison, ay.”

Of course.

Famous last words (fuck ‘em!)

So … I was dead set on taking Creative Industries next year - until the course leader noted it was ideal for people who didn’t have any creative talent whatsoever. If that wasn’t bad enough (we’re all Comms students so I am sure over 95% of us like to think that we’re creative), she also told us longevity of careers was not a certainty, and your job would basically consist of telling creative people, “you’ve been very naughty, haven’t you?” and then giving them a slap on the wrist. I don’t know if the course leader actually wants people to do the major if the only selling points she has are that you can get away with being a talentless fuck, you have no job security and you get to be a glorified babysitter. Luckily I didn’t have to worry about what to plug the gap with for too long. The course leader of Advertising Creativity actually made his major sound fun and worthwhile. The only problem I can see is that it is very competitive; 120 people competing for 30 spots. If I like it, that’s great. I can work my ass off and try to get into the major (or minor). If not, I get to play around with Photoshop and focus on my other papers. It’s win-win.

In other need-to-know news, my writing tutor is like Andy Warhol!! Sure, the only physical resemblance between the two is their grey hair (which in Andy’s case was a wig), but my tutor exudes the same artistic weirdo vibe. Except he’s not a weirdo, he’s actually very nice. Nevertheless I firmly believe he and Andy are long-lost twins, cruelly separated by both space and time! I wonder if he knows that he is Andy Warhol’s twin…

P.S. JJ Feild has a fucking sexy voice and a killer smile. Phwoar.

Fabio

I realise to most this will be old, old, old news (considering this screened last year in America), but last night the America’s Next Top Model episode screened where the contestants (I refuse to call them models) posed for ‘romance novels’. Since we are so far behind in NZ I always know the winner before the series screens. However, I never know what will happen on each episode, or else I might’ve invested in some eye bleach. As soon as it was announced by my favourite orange man, Jay Manuel, they were doing romance novel covers posing with a special guest, my first thought was “oh no, it’s going to be fucking Fabio”. I think my second was, “How did I know that?” I did not have the foresight to turn off my TV unfortunately.

I do not want to see Fabio grind. I do not want to see Fabio gyrate. I do not want to see Fabio nibble someone’s ear! I felt violated. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but ew ew ew my eyes. I mentioned to my friend that it should’ve come with a special parental guidance warning (or just a warning for people with a sensitive disposition, e.g. me), and she kindly obliged - “Caution: some content of a Fabio related nature may cause offence (or dry retching). Eye closure is advised.” I blame Tyra. Thanks Tyra, thanks a lot!

So now you know. If you want to freak me the hell out, play video clips of Fabio acting even remotely sexual. Side note: I bet you’ve never heard the word Fabio mentioned so many times in one place.

And to completely change the subject now (since I’m starting to get flashbacks), there are so many flies on our ceiling it’s starting to resemble an insect version of The Birds. I think I’ve ingested more fly spray than they have, the bastards.