Someone said to me today, "I see that Tiger Woods is ----"
I didn't hear the rest of the sentence because my brain shut off.
Tiger Woods' affair, Lindsay Lohan's tattoo, Brangelina's latest hand-picked infant - it all leaves me cold. I don't care. I simply. do. not. care.
I once had a flatmate who craved celebrity gossip. Our flat was littered with the faces of the aforementioned and a thousand other Somebodies who were regularly plastered all over OK! and Hello! and New Weekly magazines. Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore gaped up at us from the coffee table; Owen Wilson's giant nose greeted us in the toilet. Those magazines were the backdrop to my uni years and probably ate up hours that should have spent studying or writing essays.
Unfortunately, although my knowledge of who wore what at the Oscars and the latest "baby belly" spotting was excellent, it didn't fair well when it came to relaying the finer details of punishment in modern society in my third-year Criminology exams.
These days, the only time my fingers are guilty of turning the pages of New Idea or suchlike are if I'm in a hospital waiting room or at the hairdressers.
I have no craving for Hollywood gossip. In fact, I find it somewhat satisfying that I no longer recognise some celebrities. While I'm a long way from the bliss of being able to say, "Paris who?" I find that my social standing in the world has not suffered for not knowing where Jennifer Aniston bought her earrings.
In fact, having more or less freed myself from a constant barrage of flawless American stick insects has probably added a few years to my life. Not to mention saved a few braincells.
So, if Tiger Woods heads the 6 'o clock news again this week, I'll be reaching for the remote and seeking out an otherwise untainted form of news. The newsletter in the Hubbards cereal box, perhaps.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
after video killed the radio stars
About a month ago, I lost a dear friend. A friend who had rarely left my side for nearly three years; a friend who accompanied me every day to and from work, who never failed to light up my day, didn't mind my off-key singing or bad driving... and fitted into my handbag.
Yes, I admit it. I was deeply attached to my iPod and I am still grieving its loss.
The death of said iPod was nothing short of dramatic. For the last two years, I have battled with a cheap made-in-China, bought-on-Trademe transmitter whose function has steadily declined. Frequent wrestling with the dodgy fuses and cheap plastic casing was its undoing; on Doomsday, the wires had actually come free and lodged themselves deep within the carpet on the floor of my car. I lack any sort of patience for malfunctioning technology; I shoved the mess aside (iPod still attached) stuck a CD in and drove home.
If the drive had been any longer than 15 minutes, my iPod wouldn't have been the only charred occupant in my car. In any case, by the time I reached home my sleek silver-faced companion was little more than a skin-blistering lump of grey metal.
I think my grief was less about the loss of 20gb worth of music (thankfully preserved by my computer). It wasn't really even facing the cost of forking out for a replacement between bills, my next warrant of fitness, petrol, food, new shoes, wine... a new iPod is quite a long way down the list.
No, the real tragedy was realising how attached I had become to 140 grams worth of metal and buttons.
I could argue it was a matter of convenience. My iPod was significantly easier to lug around than six bulky CD cases; not to mention safer (changing CDs whilst driving is something I do not endorse).
It's not even about having something that everyone has. Keeping up with the Cool Kids. Ipods are almost outdated now anyway - everyone I know has an iPhone.
If I'm honest, I think it was the fact that I could show I had music. And that I could have that music anywhere, anytime. Music I loved, music I hated, music I didn't care for one way or another. Song after song, album after album; every artist I had ever heard of and some I hadn't. Twenty gigabites of sound I had spent years collecting. I don't even know what a gigabite is. All I knew was that I had a lot of music, and that meant I was Knowledgeable. I had Taste.
Without the iPod, I am shamefully reduced to nothing but six CD cases of (mostly) burned CDs. My true identity is revealed. To real collectors of music, I am a fake. An imposter. I am no longer able to hide behind the satifying click-click of a scrolling menu and a illuminated screen.
If there's a lesson in this, I don't want to hear it. I can afford neither a new iPod nor 'real' CDs. And I refuse to fill my car with blank-faced CDs covered in sloppy handwriting.
So, until either Santa comes through or I win Lotto, I am back to how they did it in the good old days; Radio New Zealand and my own vocal chords.
And driving solo.
Yes, I admit it. I was deeply attached to my iPod and I am still grieving its loss.
The death of said iPod was nothing short of dramatic. For the last two years, I have battled with a cheap made-in-China, bought-on-Trademe transmitter whose function has steadily declined. Frequent wrestling with the dodgy fuses and cheap plastic casing was its undoing; on Doomsday, the wires had actually come free and lodged themselves deep within the carpet on the floor of my car. I lack any sort of patience for malfunctioning technology; I shoved the mess aside (iPod still attached) stuck a CD in and drove home.
If the drive had been any longer than 15 minutes, my iPod wouldn't have been the only charred occupant in my car. In any case, by the time I reached home my sleek silver-faced companion was little more than a skin-blistering lump of grey metal.
I think my grief was less about the loss of 20gb worth of music (thankfully preserved by my computer). It wasn't really even facing the cost of forking out for a replacement between bills, my next warrant of fitness, petrol, food, new shoes, wine... a new iPod is quite a long way down the list.
No, the real tragedy was realising how attached I had become to 140 grams worth of metal and buttons.
I could argue it was a matter of convenience. My iPod was significantly easier to lug around than six bulky CD cases; not to mention safer (changing CDs whilst driving is something I do not endorse).
It's not even about having something that everyone has. Keeping up with the Cool Kids. Ipods are almost outdated now anyway - everyone I know has an iPhone.
If I'm honest, I think it was the fact that I could show I had music. And that I could have that music anywhere, anytime. Music I loved, music I hated, music I didn't care for one way or another. Song after song, album after album; every artist I had ever heard of and some I hadn't. Twenty gigabites of sound I had spent years collecting. I don't even know what a gigabite is. All I knew was that I had a lot of music, and that meant I was Knowledgeable. I had Taste.
Without the iPod, I am shamefully reduced to nothing but six CD cases of (mostly) burned CDs. My true identity is revealed. To real collectors of music, I am a fake. An imposter. I am no longer able to hide behind the satifying click-click of a scrolling menu and a illuminated screen.
If there's a lesson in this, I don't want to hear it. I can afford neither a new iPod nor 'real' CDs. And I refuse to fill my car with blank-faced CDs covered in sloppy handwriting.
So, until either Santa comes through or I win Lotto, I am back to how they did it in the good old days; Radio New Zealand and my own vocal chords.
And driving solo.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
attention reader's!
Perhaps it's the industry I work in; perhaps it's the fact that my mum was a schoolteacher. Or, perhaps it's that I'm a pedantic lunatic with nothing better to do.
But when someone jams an apostrophe where it shouldn't be, I want to scratch my eyeballs out and scream with rage and pain and sheer frustration.
Why, oh why, can't anybody get it right these days? There seems to be an urgency, a desperate yearning to thrust that tiny mark into a word whenever an 's' appears. And, considering how often the English language is beaten down into almost code form for the sake of faster, easier communication, it makes no sense that anybody would take the time to ADD another character.
And yet, I could put money on coming across at least one monstrosity every day:
"Boat's for hire" (a sign in Tapu)
"Closed on Monday's" (outside a certain cafe in Matamata)
"I saw you're sister in the weekend!" (on Facebook)
Right - let's go back to primary school.
A textbook will tell you that an apostrophe is either used to signify an omitted letter or letters from a word, or to signify possession.
One doesn't have to be a geek or even good at English to get the damn thing right.
But I'm not about to turn this rant into a lesson in grammar. That's what teachers are paid for. Obviously, though, not paid enough; it seems learning how to punctuate correctly has neatly slipped off the school curriculum.
Perhaps it's not all the fault of teachers. Ignorance of the apostrophe - along with correct spelling - has been exacerabated by modern forms of communication. Which isn't going to go away in a hurry. Which, to the anguish of geeks like myself, means the English language is only going to be twisted further and further out of shape.
And now, to add insult to injury, it seems even journalists - the last hope we have of preserving true English - are now falling prey to "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em"...
But when someone jams an apostrophe where it shouldn't be, I want to scratch my eyeballs out and scream with rage and pain and sheer frustration.
Why, oh why, can't anybody get it right these days? There seems to be an urgency, a desperate yearning to thrust that tiny mark into a word whenever an 's' appears. And, considering how often the English language is beaten down into almost code form for the sake of faster, easier communication, it makes no sense that anybody would take the time to ADD another character.
And yet, I could put money on coming across at least one monstrosity every day:
"Boat's for hire" (a sign in Tapu)
"Closed on Monday's" (outside a certain cafe in Matamata)
"I saw you're sister in the weekend!" (on Facebook)
Right - let's go back to primary school.
A textbook will tell you that an apostrophe is either used to signify an omitted letter or letters from a word, or to signify possession.
One doesn't have to be a geek or even good at English to get the damn thing right.
But I'm not about to turn this rant into a lesson in grammar. That's what teachers are paid for. Obviously, though, not paid enough; it seems learning how to punctuate correctly has neatly slipped off the school curriculum.
Perhaps it's not all the fault of teachers. Ignorance of the apostrophe - along with correct spelling - has been exacerabated by modern forms of communication. Which isn't going to go away in a hurry. Which, to the anguish of geeks like myself, means the English language is only going to be twisted further and further out of shape.
And now, to add insult to injury, it seems even journalists - the last hope we have of preserving true English - are now falling prey to "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em"...
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