RuPaul's Drag Race season 8 recaps

The shadiest Drag Race recaps on the web. Get ready to death drop, queens!

The Bachelorette Australia recaps

One woman, 14 desperate men, mucho LOLs. Oh, and Osher Gunsberg.

The Bachelor Australia recaps

Sequins, spray tans and sex - it's season 3 of the world's stupidest dating show.

RuPaul's Drag Race Season 7 recaps

YASS, HUNTIES! Every episode of season seven recapped for your reading pleasure. Let's get sickening!

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Crap ad countdown

Today I'm returning to one of my favourite topics here at Bland Canyon - crap ads. Previously I've written about the gloriously failed Coke Zero campaign, the creepy Maccers campaign, sex in advertising, the crap Jila commercial and the even crappier Subway commercial, all of which pissed me off in some way or another.

I'd like to continue that theme with this, my personal countdown of the worst commercials currently annoying me on the telly. Starting with:

7. Toyota Rav 4


This ad gets a mention purely because of its involvement in this story: a few Sundays ago I was sitting down to some breakfast in the kitchen with a bit of Video Hits on in the background when I heard the delightful sounds of The White Stripes' Blue Orchid drift through from the other room. "Huzzah!" thought I, as I am yet to see the video clip for this fabulous song. Off I darted - only to be greeted with a bloody RAV4 commercial. So, for blatantly stealing a fantastic song and advertising a car with it, I nominate Toyota in seventh place.


6. Lenards Chicken


Not a particularly annoying ad, as it's fairly quiet and the background music is unobtrusive enough for you to ignore the whole thing altogether, but because it starts with a gut-wrenching, sick-making, vomit-worthy closeup shot of a knife slicing through a raw chicken fillet (it might not sound bad, but you get close up enough to that shit and you'll feel sick too) I am nominating it in sixth place.

5. Ingham Chicken


On a bit of a chicken bent here, sorry about that, but this ad REALLY shits me. Ingham have come up with a bizarre campaign for their chicken products that is accompanied by the slogan "Makes any mum a great mum". Now, apart from the whole "Mum" thing being one of my pet hates in ANY advertising campaign, I find this one particularly offensive. It seems to suggest that anything other than perfect behaviour makes a woman an "average mum" - but that she can redeem herself by heating up some frozen chicken pieces. And what makes an average mum? Apparently it's being a bit unlucky in a festive situation (as in the one where the mum pops a champagne and breaks a fishbowl with the cork), or swearing a bit (as in the one where the mum yells a bit of probably well-deserved abuse at a dodgy driver), or my favourite, not being a PERFECT 1950s HOUSEWIFE when washing your husband's clothes (as in the one where the mum accidentally dyes her family's white shirts pink). Ingham - get fucked.

4. 'Hide and Seek' Victorian tourism ad


When is Victoria going to get over itself? It's like the whole state suffers from some sort of personality disorder, and someone needs to scream "YOU'RE NOT FRANCE, OK? GET OVER IT!" That said, this campaign is possibly a controversial addition to the list because it's very well shot, very watchable and it has a lovely little song that sticks in your head. On the surface, it's quite nice. However I've just watched Wolf Creek and now I see this commercial for what it REALLY is - a short horror film.

The original ad:


For those who haven't seen it and can't be bothered watching the above: a young couple, who have obviously been holidaying in a bed and breakfast of some sort in the south of France Victoria, try to extend their stay by escaping the manager by naughtily running through various picturesque locations and hiding in the vineyards, while he chases them around. LIKE JACK NICHOLSON IN THE SHINING. Seriously, the man is creepy. He dances between the vines with a maniacal smile on his face as he looks for his victims missing house guests. All that's missing is the axe in his hand. Not only this - then he carries their left-behind suitcases into a shed and stows them, smiling, on a shelf, ALONGSIDE HUNDREDS OF OTHER BAGS OF HUNDREDS OF OTHER MISSING HOUSEGUESTS. Where are they all living? In the vineyards? Maybe six feet under them. I say again: Wolf Creek. I think the slogan should be changed from "You'll never want to leave" to just "You'll never leave". It's possibly more appropriate, especially if you happen to stay at this house of horrors run by a madman in the Yarra Valley.

The Run, Rabbit, Run soundtrack is scary enough as it is (in fact I believe it was a pro-ally song during WWII written about Hitler - great), but I swear if you put some screechy violins in there instead you'd get a one minute movie straight from hell.

In fact, I KNOW you would, as I've done it myself using music from Donnie Darko. I'd like to think it's what the ad was TRULY meant to be - properly menacing.


Visit Victoria? I'd rather go to Snowtown, thanks.

3. Dominos 'So Puff'


Didn't Dominos learn ANYTHING from Coke Zero? Or for that matter, Poochie?


Hey kidz, Domino's is PUFF - TO THE EXTREME!


Guys, you can't just "invent" coolness. That sort of shit is straight from the anti-cool textbook. You can't just start calling things "puff" and hope that DA KIDZ will jump on the bandwagon. Apart from which, the word "puff" is ridiculous anyway, and even if someone ACTUALLY cool were to come up with it, it would probably make them immediately uncool. Seriously, I don't even think Johnny Depp could get away with that shit, and he's pretty much the coolest person in the world. And aside from ALL of that - puff pastry pizza is a revolting idea in the first place. Bronze medal for Domino's.

2. Metropolitan Plumbing


Non SA readers might be a bit lost with this one, so here's a basic rundown of the ad: Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing. Metropolitan Plumbing.

Nuff said.

And the coveted first prize for most annoying, worst ad currently on TV goes to...

1. SA Road Safety


I'm sorry, I know it's worthy and saving people's lives and everything, but this has got to be the WORST jingle ever written or sung.



Click to watch the horror for yourself


If you can (for just a moment) get over the indescribably awful sound of those children singing off key (No need to BEEEEEEEEEEEE in a hurry...), I'd like to ask: WHO WROTE THESE LYRICS?? "There's lots of cars going here and there?" Bob Dylan should take note, he has clearly been usurped.

I have to clutch my ears, run to the TV and pull the plug out of the wall every time this ad comes on. For my money, I'd rather endure those horrific watermelon ones, or the ones where kids get slammed through windows, than to have to hear this jingle ever again.


Well, that's my list. Any additions (or angry words of criticism) are, as always, more than welcome in the comments.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

D to tha muthafuckin C!

I believe I've mentioned in previous posts (ie: this one) that before I moved out into the bachelorette pad (ie: when I was freeloading off my dear mum) I would spend much time parked in front of Channel V or MTV watching video clips on The Foxtel.

I knew every band, every song and every clip - rarely was I faced with a band I had heard nothing about. Some people might call this nerdy. I called it cool.

Anyway don't worry, because all that's changed now and every time I flip through Rip It Up I have no idea what they're going on about - all these indie bands have crazy names and wear crazy shit and it just makes me feel a bit...old. NB: If anyone is interested, I feel that 'One Foot Mexican President' is a great name for a new indie band.

So today after turning on Video Hits for the first time in ages (now that I am without The Foxtel, Channel 10 is the best I can do) and properly watching some new video clips, I felt moved to write something about a "new" hippity-hoppity group called Bliss 'n Eso.

Now perhaps this is just me being out of the kids' loop again, but I've never heard of these dudes before, although after checking their website out I recognised a song title I might possibly have heard blasting out of Sanity or a 12-year-old's Ipod on the bus, I can't remember which - Up Jumped the Boogie. You know the one - sort of like a lamer Limp Bizkit.

NB: If it turns out these guys have actually been around for 25 years and are one of Aussie hip hop's most seminal rap acts, please don't go all Richard Kingsmill on my arse in the comments - I don't actually care.

Right, so anyway this is Bliss 'n Eso:


Spot the similarities...


BLISS: "Dude, you can't wear your DC shirt, I'm wearing my DC shirt!"
N: "It's ok man, I'll put my hand out like this and obscure it a bit."
ESO: "Oh nooo, but I'm wearing my DC shoes! Think that'll be ok?"
BLISS: "Word, man."


I'd like to say this is a one off, but:


Deja Vu...


BLISS: "Oh man, we've done it again!"
N: "I told you I was going to wear my DC shirt to this shoot, so don't even go there."
BLISS: "It's ok, I'll stick my hand out again and cover it up."
ESO: "I wish I'd worn my DC shirt. All I had was this faux graffitti one from Jay Jays."



Can you spell SPONSORHIP DEAL, boys and girls?


BLISS: "Oh for god's sake, man!"
N: "Dude I couldn't help it - it was the only clean one I had! Mum put all the other stuff in the wash."
ESO: "Same with me, sorry."



Hardcore hip hopsters one minute, tree huggers the next.


BLISS: "Great, only one of us turned up in DC this time."
N: "Yeah we got your text message."
ESO: "But what the fuck are we doing in a rainforest, man?"
BLISS: "Our publicist said it was cooler than posing in a graffiti-filled street. It's less obvious."
ESO: "What about the train tracks down under the bridge?"
BLISS: "We're going there next."



Where everybody knows your name....


BLISS: "Shit man, I don't have any DC left to wear!"
N: "Neither do I! It took me five hours just to get out of the house this morning."
ESO: "It's ok guys - we can just wear these promotional hoodies instead!"
BLISS: "Isn't it a bit uncool to wear your own merchandise?"
ESO: "Nah man - remember what the publicist said? It's BRANDING."
N: "Yeah, branding is cool."
ESO: "Plus we look Australian AS posing in a pub. Awesome."


Rock on, Bliss 'n Eso. I hope you make a shitload of money and we never have to hear from you again.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

A speed freak's got my Motorola...

misc_rantsFollowing on from the brilliant string of weekends I've had lately (one of which included a spectacular relationship execution) comes one more sad chapter in the tragic life of PetStarr - another Saturday to add to the pile of shitty Saturdays I've been enjoying of late.

After a sensational Friday night of Ying Chow dinner, Lotus Lounge cocktails and Garden of Unearthly Delights beers, accompanied by frequent claims of "Isn't my new mobile phone great? I love it soooo much..." and "Isn't my new mp3 player great? I love it soooo much..." (yes, I think you can probably see where this is going) I went back to the highly unsecure premises of a friend where I promptly passed out...

...only to wake up the next morning to discover that SOME TWUNTING COCKBADGER had removed the screen from the back window, crept in and made off with my handbag (containing aforementioned new phone and mp3 player, in case you didn't work that out) while we were sleeping.

This SCUM SUCKING PIECE OF ARSE also took my mate's new phone and wallet, managing to make off with probably around $2,500 worth of shit. He probably didn't even need headlights to drive home - the blinking dollar signs in his eyes would have lit the way.

Combine this joyous event with an utterly awful hangover (almost up to Nha Trang jam jar standard) and the legal requirement to vote in the state election, and you got one hell of a shitty day.

As I sat outside the polling booth with my lonely fundraiser sausage in bread, suffering from some severe post-beerfest shakes, it ocurred to me that my life at the present moment is rather like a country song. It's lucky that I don't own a dog, because it would surely die at some point within the next week if I did. (I did, however, tell my mum to keep a close eye on hers.)

I think it might possibly go a little something like this (and make up your own tune, it's more fun that way):

SOME SPEED FREAK'S GOT MY MOTOROLA

My boyfriend left me last Saturday night,
Mumbling something about it not "feeling right",
I was going to ask him why he'd said it
But he said his mobile was out of credit...
He hung up. Oh yeah, he hung up.

So I moseyed on down to a pub in town,
To drink some beer and some sorrows drown,
Sat with a group of bright young things
And noticed they were all wearing rings...
They were engaged. Oh yeah, in a bitter twist of irony they'd all just gotten engaged.

By the next weekend I was feeling alright,
Wanted to go out and party all night.
Got a few beers down at the pub,
And several more rounds at the Fringe Fest club.
By another few beers on Rundle Street
I was struggling to even find my feet,
So I said to my mate "Your place, or mine?"
He said his and that was fine.
We caught a taxi. Oh yeah, we didn't drive drunk, we're good citizens, we caught a taxi.

Woke up in the morning and my bag's been nicked,
Wallet, keys, phone - the whole box of tricks.
Yes, some speed freak's got my Motorola
And if I ever find the cunt he'll be sorry he stole her
No, I don't normally refer to my phone as a she
But it rhymed with Motorola and that suited me.
Yes it rhymed with Motorola and that suited me.


I'll add in the next three inevitable verses when my neighbour's dog dies, I find the love of my life and then lose him to leprosy and then have a car crash, so stay tuned.

Suffice to say after all of this fun I am in a severely foul mood, and have been enjoying Bender-esque moments all weekend, along the lines of "Everyone is a bastard but me" and "Death to all humans".

And in a moment of futility, if anyone knows anyone who recently acquired TWO Motorola RAZR V3 phones (one silver, one black) and a bright orange Creative mp3 player - kick them in the nuts, twice, and then do a citizens' arrest. Alternatively, if anyone knows a skank with a dodgy boyfriend who has recently acquired a new-but-not gold vinyl sack-style handbag with a silver buckle, break her face and report them both to the police.

I only hope I can continue to serve Adelaide's blog reading community forever by enjoying such an unlucky existence. Love to you all.


Another one bites the dust in less than 6 months...
Some girls just get all the luck.



Like this, but orange...

Monday, March 06, 2006

Welcome to Dumpsville, population: PetStarr

In a stunning conclusion to the series of breakups that I have endured over my last three relationships, I have once again been unceremoniously dumped by my latest beau on the opening weekend of the Adelaide Festival of Arts, thereby ending a hat trick of dumpings which can truly only be admired for their similarity and overwhelming patheticness.


Just $21.95 at Amazon.com


The first dumping, in 2002, was almost mutual and quite endurable. The second, in 2004, was an out-of-the-blue-are-you-kidding-me-it's-over-where-the-fuck-did-this-come-from complete shock to the system. (However I later discovered this guy was a complete and utter twunt, so in hindsight it was definitely a good thing.) The latest dumping continues along those lines, being a bolt-from-the-blue style relationship execution, cruelly handed down via phone on Saturday night.

Hey, at least it wasn't via sms:

U R DUMPD
ITS OVA
NOT U = ME


At any rate, being somewhat a veteran of surviving dumpings during a festive period (Christmas, Valentine's Day, the Festival of Arts - I've had my heart broken at all of them) I thought I'd put together a Practical Chick's Guide to surviving a boy tragedy when everyone around you is having a rocking good time. After reading this simple set of instructions you'll be able to depress everyone around you, bringing them all down to your level of misery so you won't feel so alone, SO, SO INCREDIBLY ALONE.

Ahem.

1. Location, location, location.


When being publicly dumped at a festival, gathering or concert, remember that location is everything. You want to maximise your own personal tragedy to gain the sympathy of others and turn the world against your bastard unfeeling ex boyfriend. At the very least you'll be centre of attention for a while. Try to position yourself in the middle of a large group of people, preferably still, quiet ones who are watching a performance like say, oh, I don't know, The Dancing Sky. Then cry. The people around you can all steal furtive glances and wonder what's going on - it will give them a thrill. Admittedly, finding a good location can be difficult if you're the victim of an "ambush dump", but try to keep the mood going until you're somewhere good enough to stage a performance.

2. "I'd like to thank the Academy...."


Once you've got your location sorted, it's time to let rip with a real Oscar-winning performance. Think Gwynnie when she realised she had no boobs to fill out that pink Ralph Lauren number, and turn on the waterworks, girl. You'll be amazed at how good it feels, particularly when strangers start turning to you and offering you tissues. And is that mascara running down your cheek? Excellent work.


Her parents are probably right though.


3. Just add alcohol.


After a while of this you may start to forget why you're crying in the first place (particularly if it was only a short relationship) so it's probably time to refill the tank. Grab the nearest waiter and start on the red wine. In no time at all you'll be back on the misery horse, usually accompanied by bouts of Tourettes. You'll be blubbing away and wailing at your friends about how unfair life is and how good you and your ex were together, if only he wasn't such a DICKHEAD, but really he was the only man you've ever loved, that ARSEHOLE, what's his GOD DAMN PROBLEM, you had such fun together, that COCKHEAD....

4. All the small things.


By now you've probably brought down the mood around you considerably, and succeeded in making your ex look like the bastard he is, which means that for now, you've won. Until you stumble home to bed (or home to someone else's bed, which requires an entirely different set of instructions) you might want to find bitter points of irony to harp on about to increase the tragedy level of the situation. Good examples include:

  • "I'm still sick from the cold he gave me... The cold lasted longer than the relationship. WAAAA!"


  • "I only saw that 'He's Just Not That Into You' book on sale in the shop the other day, and congratulated myself for not needing it. WAAAA!"


  • "I'd only just hung up the phone from telling my girlfriend how good the relationship was going when he called and dumped me. WAAAA!"


That should get you through the first night at least. And hey, feel free to put in repeat performances at different venues - during the Festival of Arts this is eminently possible, given the amount of shows on all around town. Who's going to recognise you as the same girl crying at the last gig he went to? And if you do get recognised, you can just pretend you found a new man in the meantime and got dumped again.

And if you need more advice in your life, check out my Practical Chick's Guide to Attending a Cricket Match. Should be really useful now that footy season's started.