Showing posts with label Big Brother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big Brother. Show all posts

Monday, May 09, 2005

Baffling Moments in the History of Popular Culture #1

* Chrissie Hynde recording a duet with New Zealand's Russell Crowe.

* Yoko Ono records Walking on Thin Ice.

* Walking on Thin Ice becomes a Dance hit.

* INXS' search for Michael Hutchence that began with Terrence Trent D'arby and is culminating in a reality TV show where people compete for Michael's old job.

* Gretel Killeen and Saxon Small doing it.

* The success of Rove McManus, the bastard child of Tony Barber and Jimmy Hannan.



Monday, April 18, 2005

Crystal Dig Goes Horribly Wrong

We've had enough of Claire's new bestie Pippa from New Zealand. We are not covetous and we are not paranoid, our disquiet is shod by a long history of witnessing the sideshow of unsteady people who misconstrue Claire's purity as weakness and attempt to manipulate her, only to be shocked into suspended animation when she exposes them by letting them know she really can see their souls. We've seen them come and go, so the other day when we went round to Claire's for her half yearly crystal dig on a waning moon we were in for another spectacle. Pip was there, sitting on Murray's Jason Recliner, next to Claire in her's, watching The Bold And The Beautiful on the huge TV (Claire has the biggest and best tele of anyone we know, including our former friend Sir Elton). The arm rests of Claire's recliners are so greasy from wear that your arms can slide off, so it was hilarious to see Pip top to toe in Trelise Cooper looking like a kooky fairy caught in a grease trap. We had to be nice to her because the crystal digs are sacred events. Things got a touch hairy when we mentioned that the tattoos the Maoris had in Once Were Warriors were really cool because Pip tried to belittle us by starting on about the 'bourgeois gaze'. We didn't snap, we didn't send bad vibes; we took it on the chin because we knew Pip was feeling empowered by this intellectual nonsense and we generally find it's best to let these kinds of people think they have the final say.

Pip was constantly referring to her much younger boyfriend back in Auckland, and the more Baileys she downed the more explicit her talk became. Claire was too gripped on the Greyhound Races on Foxtel so Pip zoned in on us. It turns out the young man has spent time in ashrams in Bali where he learnt the fine art of Tantrism, and he has taken her to raves where she has had ecstasy. Another Baileys and she's telling us (with graphic detail) of the pleasures she derives from his tongue piercing. It's been some months now since our hospitalisation for post traumatic stress disorder induced by the Gretel Killeen/Saxon Small coupling but we are still vulnerable and need to avoid certain situations that can trigger re-experiencing phenomena such as dreams and flashbacks so Pip was really playing with our nerves. Claire sensed the emergency and took her eyes off the dogs to ask Pip to go smudge the backyard with sage in preparation for the crystal dig.

When the doorbell rang Pip ran to answer it as we were still vaporising on the carpet. It was Grayam, Claire's grandson who'd come down for his Gran's dig from Byron Bay because his moon is in Virgo and it was a Virgo moon on the wane. We've heard a lot about Grayam from Claire as she has been concerned by his lack of spiritual depth, suspicious that his interest in mysticism is merely to find out when he will be famous. He hangs around with a superficial boy called Oscar Humphries, a child of an Australian icon who, in an autobiographical piece for a major broadsheet wrote:“Celebrities have groupies and fans and adoration and love on tap and gushing praise and requests for autographs…I want that. If I were famous girls would want a piece of me and I’d give it to them.” Last year Claire spent a lot of time absent healing Grayam when he became lost in cyberspace. He was constantly posting on the forum at vogue.com.au Apart from chatting up the Voguettes he found a place where he could freely discuss his right wing views. As he walked into the room he seemed like any other brand of awkward youth in floppy jeans with holes and paint spots. Pip rolled a joint and passed it to Grayam who sucked on it so hard we thought the dust buster had turned itself on. We didn't partake as we know Claire feels it interferes with the energy of the crystals so Pip kept rolling and Grayam kept sucking. They engaged in a flirtateous discourse about joint rolling techniques with Pip quick to point out that she preferred the Hawaiian Method. Grayam asked Pip if she had been to Hawaii and Pip said "no", she learnt it in Berlin. Then Pip told Grayam that he had a unique look and asked him if he'd ever modelled.

Just at the point where we'd had enough of Pip's red-eyed pawing at Grayam the alarm on Claire's stove went off; it had been exactly six months since the crystals were buried and it was time to dig them up. Claire was particularly excited because these were the crystals she had used for extensive healing sessions with a footballer (no name). The crystals' energy had become dangerously depleted. They were cloudy, and had begun to repel Claire's attentions, hence the six month cleansing period. We instinctively marched behind Claire into the backyard, assuming Pip and Grayam would be following. We shovelled for about an hour without stopping. We did not notice the absence of Grayam and Pip, such was our focus, even though their presence would have lightened our load considerably.

After our excavation was complete with the re-energized crystals home in Claire's Healing Box we went back inside. The scene we observed there was, in short, vulgar. Grayam was pouting into Pip's camera phone, with Pip slurring about 'the new Travis' and mms'ing his image to her friends at Chadwicks and Mercedes Fashion Week. Now, Claire is a tolerant person but there is one thing that boils her blood and that is male models. It really is the worst thing that could happen to Claire. When we saw that look in Claire's eyes and heard that throaty hum we knew to stand back. With hands splayed by her sides she began to sing as she approached the couch whilst singing;

There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a papercup


Pip starts to sway her shoulders in time with the beat. Deadpan, Claire inches towards her continuing her song.

There's a battle ahead
Many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me


Pip openly grieves for the late Paul Hester.

Hey now, hey now
Don't Dream It's Over
Hey now, hey now


Pip trys to start a debate as to whether Crowded House were an Australian or a New Zealand band. She clearly wasn't getting it, it was time to put her out of her misery. We said, "Philippa, this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, it's a crystal dig, you are being sung*, we suggest you go". We called Murray to come and sit with Claire as she was extremely shaken. We bundled Grayam and Pip into the car and drove them home. We're choosing not to tell Claire that Grayam got out at Pip's house.



* Ancient Australian Aboriginal justice ritual in which the victim is literally "sung" to death.

Monday, August 02, 2004

Seeking Closure

We need help. And the sooner the better. Friends have sneered at us at dinner parties when we question the Gretel and Saxon 'friendship'. Our peers have branded us as conservative and that really hurts. Our feminist wimmin friends point out that if Gretel were a man, no-one would question it. We didn't know feminism covered pouncing on children. Does that mean Michael Jackson is a feminist? On top of all of this, 'the visions' won't go away. In fact, they are more frequent and more terrifying than ever. We have begun counselling, and in group the other day Courtney suggested we confront our fears. She says we are projecting our ageist ideals onto Gretel and Saxon and that the reason why stems from events in our early childhood. It could even have been something in utero. It became clear that we had to see the couple with our own eyes. So we went to the Final Eviction After Party.

The party was really out of it. We tried to distance ourselves from Trevor and Breea because all of that 'I love you' stuff was getting out of hand. Gretel and Saxon were keeping pretty much to themselves. Everyone around us was saying how happy they look together. A former contestant remarked that Gretel's perfect for Saxon because 'no-one understands what it's like to be in the Big Brother House'. By the end of the night we were somewhat more at ease. Gretel and Saxon are just like any other couple who enjoy spas and eggs benedict for brunch. Saxon's mother was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling relieved and politically correct we wandered back to our room at Palazzo Versace. We ordered some coffee to drink with our pillow mints. We were watching cable and it was some time after midnight when the room went dark and cold. A strange glow emanated from the television and it was hissing. All of a sudden it came alive with the following digitally enhanced horror:

Gretel is in labour. She looks like she's been there for sometime. Her Russian hair extensions are ragged and a couple of them have fallen on the floor. Saxon is crying floods of tears which is making Gretel angry. Saxon pulls himself together and stands behind his lady. As Gretel makes her final push Saxon's mum crashes through the birth canal, landing feet first at the end of the bed.

Our counselling continues.



Friday, July 16, 2004

I just woke from this nightmare

I am having brunch with Gretel and Saxon. Saxon's Eggs Benedict are delicious, a recipe he has learned from Nigella. Gretel looks languid. She is wearing a petticoat and high heels. After brunch I leave the couple alone doing the dishes. Suddenly, the sounds of a vicious argument come from the kitchen. I can hear raised voices and smashing plates. Saxon is vehemently denying ever having stained the Peugeot's seats with baby oil and talcum powder. I hear him stamping his feet. Just as I am about to call her, Saxon's mum crashes through the door, screaming at Saxon to go to his room. Crying, he runs to his room and slams the door, shouting that he hates us all.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

More terrifying visions...

I'm lost in the Gold Coast hinterland. It is dark and I am running. My mobile phone has no signal. I am in a frenzy. In the distance I can hear running water and a strange whirring sound, not unlike that of cog-wheels in constant motion. I surge forward through the bracken into a clearing. Through the chlorinated mist I can just make out two naked bodies lowering themselves into a bubbling spa. I'm not sure, but I think I can see the silhouette of a pacifier protruding from the male figures mouth. I inch closer, squinting in an effort to get a better view. When I am approximately 5 metres away, I recognise them: it is Gretel and Saxon. I am badly shaken and reach for my Xanax, but another vision, more frightening than the last, causes me to drop my tablets onto the mossy ground. To the couple's left Saxon's mum is astride a pedal-powered outdoor generator. She pedals furiously, periodically dipping her elbow into the spa, monitoring the water temperature.

Big Brother Botches Bree's Boot-off

According to BB central, Bree was wrongly evicted and has since been reinstated as an official housemate (HM). It is with some suspicion that punk and blanket observe these happenings.

Is it really possible that a reputable and sound company like Legion Interactive has made such a mistake? We know ratings have been low this year, Big Brother, and we fear that the show may be suffering from the publicity surrounding Gretel Killeen's relationship with former contestant Daniel "Saxon" Small. These rumours are particularly alarming given the couple's musical aspirations. The whole Gretel/Saxon phenomenon has disturbed us greatly. Over the years we have watched Gretel shine, mesmerised by her razor-sharp wit and bedazzled by her sometimes curious costumes. Phrases like "I hope I look that good when I'm her age" have been known to spew from our mouths. Our image is imploding. We are woken during the night with frightening visions such as this:


'Gretel and Saxon are lying in Gretel's bed, the breeze gently blowing through her open window. Just as she is about to join Saxon for another 'coupling' Saxon's Mummy pops her henna'd head through the window. She wants to know if her little boy would like some bircher muesli and some fresh nappies.'