Thursday 29; April, 1999

“you must have been REALLY bored to write me an email that long.
Procrastination so rocks though, and I understand your reasoning totally.”


My essay clocked in at exactly 2001 words. It sucks. I hate it. Let’s never mention it again.

We did “In Studio” work in TV Prod today. It rocked, man. So cool. I liked being director. I liked being vision mixer. I liked being the presenter. The camering was boring, cos once you’d framed the shot, that was all there was to it. I didn’t get a turn at being floor manager. Doing the telepromting was amusing for about a minute. Oh wait, sorry, we’re supposed to call it “autocue” because that’s what Nigel prefers and he does it for TV3. He also contracts himself out to Sky, at $25 an hour. So we had big fights about Teleprompter Boy vs Autocue Man. Communication studies students are just a wee bit odd. It’s funny, cos everyone in the studio and control room can hear different things. For example, the people in the control room can hear the microphones of the presenters, and also the mic on the headset of the floor manager. There’s a intercom running from the control room that comes out in the headsets of the floor manager and the camera men, but the cameramen have no mics, so they can’t make the control room hear them. The presenters have microphones, but can’t hear what’s going on. So yeah – well, it was amusing for me. And any of the other Tech people who are reading this. The humble reader just has to imagine comments like “tell Nigel his hair looks wet” coming from the control room, then presenters being busted for going “oh god – Sacha is directing? we’re all doomed” and forgetting that they’re wearing microphones that feed straight into the director. Shirley and I plotted to change the image that camera 3 would capture when it was cut into, but then we realised that not only could they hear every word we were saying, they could also see everything that camera 3 could see as well.

Being in the control room gave everyone a power trip.

Yes. So that was practically all there was to my day. I went up to Crackwhore in the evening to proofread, and kept myself amused by reading the various other student magazines littered around on the floor. I copied a poem I really really love out of the Massey paper. So that was cool. I haven’t really been much for poetry cos I just got so sick of all my teenage angst shite I used to write, but this one just so captured a moment I’d felt myself, so I just instantly fell in love with it. And I’m madjealous that I didn’t write it myself.

In the evening I stopped off to get Chinese food, and so there was a bit more of a walk home and it was really cold. And THEN my chinese was fucking disgusting. Life is a bitch, man.

Si dragged me off to Macdonalds in the evening with the persuading words “my shout”. My chicken burger was cold, so I took it back for a new one, which wasn’t much better. They also gave me two anemic cheeseburgers as ‘consulation’. I think they were all on drugs, man – they were SO slow. Like, scarily so.

I talked to my mother again on ICQ tonight. I can’t say I really paid a whole lot of attention to what she said. She’s going down to Christchurch tommorrow, so I asked her to take lots of presents over to Jo, but she refused. Bitch. My mother that is, not poor sad Jo. I’m still squeezing my muscles in an attempt to beam myself down there, Honey!


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