Every Day For A Year #13

(If the concept of this is a little hazy, tiptoe back through the archives here for some good ol’ fashioned penny-dropping. If you totally get the concept but feel like an animal-themed distraction, that’ll be that one here. But come back. I’m nothing if not needy.)


So we’re up to the baker’s dozen of Frosty photo posts!
That expression always bewildered me. It always made me assume that bakers were stupid, or over-achievers, or wasteful, or had bad business sense. Unless they’re referring to Tom Baker and the Tardis in some way, which is still confusing, because I still have no idea what a Time Lord has to do with delicious crusty rolls. And now I want a delicious crusty roll.

What? Oh, right.

Q: What do Frosty and those Easter Island statues have in common?

A: Quiet dignity and rock.*

One of the tops-est things about a lot of these shots is, I reckon, their quietness.
Is that just me? Because things have been just me before, like my attraction to blokes with one wonky eye and my singular interpretation of the Wombles theme song. See, because I thought they just had self-esteem problems, and regarded themselves as ‘common’, not realising that Wimbledon Common was a...
What? Oh, Right.

Enjoy.



*And also some of the shadowing in that last one. Seriously. Check it.

Shebangabang's Next Top Model Series Two #3

Episode three, eh? The episode by which we’re supposed to have learned everybody’s name (we haven’t), figured out who we love (we haven’t), who we hate (we haven’t, although we’re pretty sure it’s Holly) and by which we realise that seeing girls being rolled around inside a plastic ball touches us in our special place (that shit is hifuckinglarious).



The episode by which we reach brunette saturation point.


The episode just before the makeover episode.


WHATEVER, EPISODE THREE.


The Judges

Sara Tetro
Imagine you’re about to give a speech at a conference or a graduation or something. Imagine you’re waiting, on stage, while someone else gives their speech first. You had cheese and oysters for lunch. Your stomach gives a brief gurgle, like a duck drinking yoghurt for the first time. You move one step closer to the microphone as the previous speech sounds as if it’s winding up, anticipating your moment. You realise slowly and with horror that you need to fart. You don’t want to wait until you’re holding the microphone, because you don’t know how sensitive the microphone is, and hence how audible any bottom-burps will be to the audience. You let out a tentative gaseous slurp, just as a nervous gauge of how drastic the full fart will be. It dawns on you with a desperate sweaty panic that you’ve inadvertently released a tiny pebble of solid along with the fart. At exactly that moment, you’re introduced, and it’s your turn to speak.


Yeah.


That’s how tense Sara Tetro’s shoulder pads are.






Chris Sisarich

Oh, don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do, Mr Sisarich. It’s pretty clear that you’ve been shopping around New Zealand, finding the world’s stupidest hats to wear in an attempt to avoid looking like a completely lickable man-lolly. Weeeelll it’s not going to work.


Even if you don’t take the stupid hats off.


Please take the stupid hats off.




Colin Mathura-Jeffree
Look, Colin Hyphenated-Surname. I’ve given you a chance. I told you last week that I needed more than just a bow tie, and what do you bring me? A mo’-freaking bow tie plus vague, under-achieving polka-dots.


Not.


Good.


Enough.


Granted, you made a bit of an effort with your first tie of the episode, but you know what an elongated bow tie plus slightly wavy hair plus broad appeal to teenagers equals?

That’s right.


Now you have a choice. Either bring me some chicken or make with the fashion outrageous.


Here’s a hint: I’ve already eaten chicken today.


The Icksint
Your weekly guide to understanding words and phrases used across the dutch.


Dynamusm! = Showung how excited you are to be waist-deep in mud.


Long Rid Hear = The one and only thung a twun hes go-ung for her.


Smills Like Shut = Rotorua


Shitted Dreams = What you have if you’re elumunated.


Noo-Vuss = entucipatory concern.


Cruss-chun – Someone who believes in the Holy Trunutty. You know. Crucifuckshun end shut.




Budgetirry Lumutations
You know what a hamster costs? About five bucks.
You know what a bucket of mud costs? Depends on how much you can get the bucket for.
You know what’s better than seeing skinny stupid girls running around in a hamster ball right before they get smeared with mud?
Chris Sisarich’s nipples, but that’s about it.
Damn, I love this cheap-arsed show.




Bist Buts


• Get yourself a plastic bag – one of those clear ones from the fruit shop will do. Half-inflate it. Now go to the third drawer down in the kitchen and get all those chopsticks that you save but never use. Put them into the half-inflated bag. Now hold onto the bag tightly and shake it as violently as you can. That’s what models posing inside a giant inflatable ball look like. You’re welcome.


• Rotorua smells bad. It’s the kind of place some air-freshener would come in handy. Right, Aafreen/Febreeze?


• Danielle inside a massive ball equals three massive balls. She lists her three choices in life, which are going on the dole, getting pregnant, or getting up and doing something. There are only three things, because she’s already ticked ‘having lots of freckles’ and ‘being fucking terrifying’ off the list.


• I seriously still don’t get the twins. One gets pooh on her in a paddock, the other one (maybe) wears a beret with a giant bow on it. These two things just scream ‘writing on the wall’ to me.


• I moved in really close to Dakota while she was miming shooting herself in the head, and you know what I could smell? Crazy. I could smell crazy. It was delicious.


• This is a special message to the New Zealand’s Next Top Model production staff member who came up with the idea of putting the modules in underwear, massive earrings and neck-breakingly gigantic headdresses and plonking them straight into an expanse of burping mud. The message is this: Come here, I have a kiss on the lips for you.


• Photographer Jackie Meiring says that Courtenay has a tendency to look a little startled. That’s basically because she can see both into the future and around corners. BECAUSE SHE’S GOT WIDE-SET EYES, GET IT? It’s funny because it’s mean.


• Enough full stop. With the fucking full stop. Top knots exclamation mark.


After a but of delubberation, Jamie is sent home. Y’know. Jamie. The brunette.
No.
Me neither.

E haere ra, Jamie! We’ll miss you like a cute freckle we just found on a limb that’s about to be amputated.

Shebangabang's Next Top Model Series Two #2

Right, that’s it.


I’m sick of making fun of models and the Kiwi accent.


From now on these New Zealand’s Next Top Model recaps will be respectful, analytical, and in good taste.


KUDDUNG!


Oh my god. The modules are hanging from the sky. ES UF.


The Judges


Sara Tetro
Okay, so I’m definitely throwing some points to Lady Tetro’s hairstylist this series. Last year whoever was doing her hair accidentally had their finger frozen into the ‘on’ position on a hairspray nozzle, presumably an unfortunate side-effect of travelling here by time machine from the early sixties. This year, the problem just seems to be big shoulders and ruching. Baby steps.


Chris Sisarich
Again comparing Chris’s look this series to that of last series, I seem to remember a lot less hair and a lot more silhouetted nipple. MAKE WITH THE V-NECKS, SUNSHINE. Mama’s got some ogling to do. You could learn a lot from our own Jez “Chest” Smith in that respect, in fact I’d be happy to help video-tape the lessons. Also, apparently you said some stuff this week. Well done, I guess.


Colin Mathura-Jeffree
Oh, Colin Hyphenated-Surname. You don’t understand. Like the Lohan family, the weather in Antarctica and the Catholic church’s attitude towards condoms, I rely on you for extremes. And what do you bring me? A bit of wavy hair and a bow tie. So kind of halfway between this:

And this:

Which, admittedly, some would argue is halfway between losing your bicycle and watching porn, but only to the people who get that reference.


Put simply, Colin: get the crimper out or go home.


The Icksint
Don’t get me wrong – I know that Australians are hardly upstanding examples of talking good and that. It’s just that... well... we do tend to put the vowels in the right place. What I gather you were trying to say, though:


Denglung = What you’re doing in a harness for a photo shoot.


Unsane = Mintal. As in “Thus house us mintal. AAAAAIEEEEEE!!!!!”


Twust = Something unixpicted.


Kuss Of Dith Un The Undustry = calling your client’s clothes ‘dusgustung’ during a chellunge.


I Feel Like I Need To Be Punched = It feels like I’m dreamung.


Bellay = a dance discipline that apparently helps you look graceful when you’re hanging by the ceiling from your crotch.


Unduvudual Aviluations = That bit where the judges talk about you and stuff.


 Budgetirry Lumutations


One can only assume that most of this week’s budget was blown on insurance. When most of the suspense in an episode comes from actually suspending the show’s contestants above things, you do up the danger a smidge. Hence the complete list of props used for episode two, itemised, is below.


One bus.


One wooden ladder strung between two trees.


A painting of some clouds.


A curtain.


A harness.


An electric fan.


Fifty-five woollen beanies.




Bist Buts


• I think it’s safe to say that, as a hairstyle, the top-knot has now been done.


• In every Top Model series in every country every year, the modules are required to run through their new luxurious digs screaming at the top of their barely post-pubescent lungs. IT’S THE LAW. Non-screamers will be punished by being starved to death and forced to live with at least ten other emaciated bimb... oh. Oh, I see. One of the girls describes the house as being “This crazy indoor/outdoor mixture”. So... so your basic bricks then.


• I can smell bitch, and it’s not just because I haven’t changed my sheets in a while. Let’s keep an eye on Holly and Amelia, shall we? Meanwhile, Courtenay can keep one eye on the front door and the other one on the shed out the back. They’re some seriously wide-set eyes you have there, sweetie.


• I hope I’m not alone here, but with the exception of a few of the stand-out girls (the prettiest, the bitchiest, the twins, the oddest-looking and the stupidest), I seriously have no idea who any of these girls are. For now I think I’ll just refer to about eight of the modules as ‘the brunette one’. And of course to Aafreen as ‘Febreeze’.


• While the girls pose on a bit of wood in the woods, Colin Hyphenated-Surname makes up for his underwhelming attire with a few little pearls. To Dakota, he says “Don’t squat like you’re going to have a...” and then trails off. Going to have a what, Colin? A baby? An unexpected bowel movement? A look at yourself in a hand mirror? To Estelle, he says “Please don’t pee your pants. This lovely forest can’t turn into a rainforest”. I'm fairly sure Colin has been reading Proust.


• I just checked. Yep. Danielle’s still terrifying.


• I just checked. Nup. Still don’t get the twins.




An elimination occurs, and Estelle is given the ol' heave-ho. E haere ra, Estelle! I kind of remember who you are. You’re the girl who is eighteen kilos lighter than you used to be. Isn’t that amazing? Because now you only have to haul fifty or so kilos out the door.

Shebangabang's Next Top Model Series Two #1

So there I am in my lounge room, lounging. Quite gracefully, as it would happen, considering the heat, the humidity and my usual penchant for sitting like a brickie with a burr in his jocks. Just eating some pineapple, listening to the neighbours argue, trying to be all witty and contentious on Twitter, and all but ignoring the television.


And then I heard it.

Sara Tetro's steely, urgent voice, asking me a question.

Asking me who.
Wull be.
New Zealand's Nixt Top Model.

SHUT. UP.

I didn't know it was even screening in Australia yet, otherwise I would've prepared myself for writing recaps. Just the usual - keyboard, snacks, gin, a fact-checking pencil, a thousand typewriters, a thousand monkeys. and a thousand tiny little nappies.

But I didn’t prepare myself. So this is going to be a bit shit.

Or of course, for my New Zealand readers:

A but shut.

The Judges

Sara Tetro
I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I think this series, Sara Tetro might have stopped dressing like a sixty-year-old maiden aunt attending a funeral. UT’S THE APOCALUPSE!. Well, except for the leopard-print scarf. And the exaggerated jacket shoulders. And the yellow blouse. And the – look, we’ll just see how it goes, okay? Consider yourself on notice, Tetro.

Chris Sisarich
Don’t try to fool me with your dinky driving cap and waistcoat affectations, Chris. Even if you started wearing stonewash overalls, you’d still make me smile in a minimum of four different places. Welcome to another couple of months of being salaciously objectified, darlung.

Colin Mathura-Jeffree
At first, I was too busy being thrilled/horrified at seeing Colin Hyphenated-Surname on my screen again – out on the pier, with his hair blowing in the wind in its own wantonly follicular way – to notice that he was wearing a duffle coat. A DUFFLE COAT. With toggles. So I’m going to give you a choice, Colin. I would normally insert a picture around about now to help illustrate your usual magnificence/terror-inducing ensemble, but if you’re only going to make half an effort, then so will I. I Googled “duffle coat”, and just picked the first two things that came up.
Take your pick, Colin. Who’s it gonna be?

Bear or trainspotter?

LIFT YOUR GAME, SON.
The Icksint
I see that those New Zealanders are still insisting on doing that vowel-origami thing. STULL. Oh well, as long as they keep speaking like they’re sucking on a lozenge, I’ll keep coming up with the lexiconographic goods. That’s a ‘ductionirry’, for those of you playing at home. We’ll start with some words and phrases that you’re sure to hear quite often during the series:

“I’m not here to make frinds” = I have no friends. Fuck, I’m skunny, but.

“I dudn’t know what to ixpict” = I’ve never watched a reality show in my life. There are so many twusts!

“The suspinse us kullung me!” = But the malnutrition and cigarettes’ll probably get me first.

“Guv her a clep!” = Give her some applause and/or gonorrhoea

Budgetirry Lumutations
This is the section where we look at New Zealand’s Next Top Model under the fiscal microscope, carefully and painstakingly choosing the moments which illustrate that the show’s budget is perhaps stretched a little thin, like the last bit of Vegemite in the jar, or Kyle Sandilands’ career.

This week, one of the leisure activities organised for the girls was this:

Throwing knives at a board.


I believe that’s this section done for this week.

Bist Buts
It’s all such a blur. I promise to take actual notes next week, but for now the buts that stood out for me were:

• Holly’s chin. One could engrave glass with her facial features, overstuff a couch with her confidence, and feed exactly one ant an underwhelming morning tea with all the flesh on her bones.

• Darling little Dakota claims that before she auditioned for the show, she was ready to start working in “adult entertainment”, so dire were her straits. All three judges gasp, and Sara offers her a hug. “No, no”, she says. “I just mint I was go-ung to call the bungo down the bowlung club”.

• Aafreen is gorgeous, haughty, emotional, and sounds like a brand of air freshener. I give her three weeks tops.

• Courtenay has, putting it nicely, fairly wide-set eyes. Putting it less nicely, she can see what her hair looks like at the back without using a mirror.

• Does anyone remember that series of America’s Next Top Model where they had twin contestants, and we were all like “they’re only there because of the storyline”, and they’re like “no they’re not”, and we’re like “yes they are, because they’re fugly and stuff”, and they’re like “you have a point?”. Yeah. That.

• Colin Hyphenated-Surname says of one girl “If she was chocolate pudding, I would eat her with no spoon”. Compensation claims for trauma due to mental images of Mr Mathura-Jeffree with brown smears around his mouth can be addressed to:

Make The Lambs Stop Screaming, Clarice
Rotorua
Because That’s The Only Kiwi Place Name I Can Think Of Right Now
New Zealand.

• If I had a Rottweiler, that Rottweiler would be scared of Danielle. I suspect she may be awesome, but it’s hard telling that to the little bit of wee that comes out every time she’s on the screen.

And yes, we all know that this series has already screened in NZ, so we all know that the internet is full of information about who has already won.
Let’s just live in blussful ugnorance and enjoy the ride, eh?

Looking at you, Sisarich. Looking at you.

Every Day For A Year #12

(If it's your first time here, you can catch up on all the previous rectangles and their associated premise here. If it's not your first time here, then you've earned yourself some breakdancing here. If the stage names don't get you, the spandex surely will).

So, it's been about eight months so far. Frosty's been pointing and shooting his little heart out, capturing his surroundings every twenty-four for your viewing pleasure, but have we really learned anything?
What do we know about Frosty?

We know he likes textures, angles and shadows.
We know he likes buildings, cities and architecture.
We know he likes music.
We know he went overseas.
We know he's not averse to jumping into the air, inviting us into bathrooms and occasionally getting his kit off, all for the sake of a self-portrait.
We know he really likes eating meat.  Although that's probably just me and a couple of his other friends who actually know that. Seriously though, dude can scarf down a steak like a constrictor around a capybara.

And we know he's damn good at this shit.
Enjoy.