
While a rotten cold has struck me down, self-medicating myself with Codral and bourbon seems like the ultimate combination for live blogging the Logie Awards this evening.
For those international folk unfamiliar with the Logie: it’s not a disease, nor a skateboarding trick. It’s an Australian TV award which has a shockingly similar appearance to a particular brand of male prostate massagers (kind of NSFW, but then again, so is watching the Logies for four hours straight).
6:57 PM – Jeb says:
I’ve roped in my mate Tophe to help out with the Logie blogging tonight. Blogging an entire four hours of this nonsense is not a one-man job.
Only half an hour to go until the dreaded red carpet special. Enduring that rubbish is akin to suffering through half an hour of tortuously bad foreplay in the dark, before having the lights switched onto reveal Dicko is the “stallion” who’s going to be pleasuring you for the next four hours. Then having him fart on your head.
7:20 PM – Tophe says:
So, apparently Channel 9 had to actually FORCE Gretel to do a publicity shot for the Logies. And even then it was in that stupid top hat and with hair extensions. Gretel Killeen appears to believe her hair has Jennifer Aniston levels of mystique.
7:23 PM:
Yup… if the media are to be believed, as soon as Gretel reveals her hairstyle, it’ll be as if the Large Hadron Collider was fired up with a faulty battery. I’m preparing to belt to my nuclear shelter as I type, just in case.
7:27 PM:
I’m so excited I could scream. I’m watching a biopic on Princess Margaret on Bio while I wait. The question is – will my night’s viewing get better or worse?
7:34 PM:
The three crazed hosts of the Red Carpet special are speaking in fast forward and ending every sentence as if it’s a question. I’m having trouble keeping up already. Oh, and now Carson Kressley’s here. That’s not helping matters.
7:35 PM:
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! Carson!! I wasn’t expecting to see anyone who is actually recognised outside of Australia. But considering Queer Eye finished many years ago, his level of celebrity probably now matches Rhonda Burchmore’s, which is perfect.
7:36 PM:
Are Maybelline sponsoring this special again? They keep showing shots of this totem pole dedicated to the patron saint of bleach and tangerine tans, or something.
7:37 PM:
OH! It’s Jules Lund.
7:38 PM:
Lindsay Rodrigues can’t remember to put the microphone in front of the mouth of the person who is speaking at the time! Bless. MTV probably axed TRL just to get rid of her.
7:38 PM:
Kerri-Anne Kennerly has this disarming technique of breaking the fourth wall during interviews. It’s as if she’s barking out implanted commands in morse code via manic laughter, then staring down the barrel of the camera threateningly to activate her sleeper agents.
7:39 PM:
Shelley Craft is wearing a mirkin.
7:41 PM:
The global financial crisis kinda hits home when Red Rooster replaces Maybelline as the sponsor of the red carpet special. More product placement please! I can’t think of anything hotter than Claudia Karvan wolfing down a Rooster Roll at the entrance to Crown.
7:44 PM:
“Lisa McCune… you are… one… big spunk?” Jules Lund splutters, with all the technique of a gay man trying to pick up a girl so his straight mates don’t blow his cover. Then: “Haven’t you done well for yourself?” Rove’s asked with a nod over to Tasma Walton, as if he got a good trade-in on the old model or something.
7:47 PM:
You know with Rove & Tasma, there are old people all over the country hissing with dissatisfaction. Too soon! Too soon!
RUN Annie Lennox, RUN!! YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR THIS!
7:49 PM:
Natalie Bassingthwaighte just mentioned that her one wish is to “not trip and spill a drink on my dress”. Except she already seems a little tipsy and slurred “dress” out as something sounding like “breasts”. Let’s see how she throws together her choreography later on.
7:50 PM:
Fuck, Lindsay is DYING. Simone Jade? She just left off her entire last name! Simone Jade MacKinnon. I mean, I don’t blame her for forgetting, because I have no idea who she is either. But I have actually worked a red carpet before, and everyone’s name is on A GIANT HONKING LIST IN FRONT OF YOU.
7:51 PM:
Carson Kressley seems to be cosplaying Jeannie Little.
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Everyone seems to have a mate of a mate who’s a drug-based version of the Tasmanian Devil. Someone who runs around with pupils the size of nearby planets, manically shouting about how high they are, before collapsing in a heap mid-sentence then spending five hours staring at the pavement. When they come down, all they can continue talking about are all the drugs they’ve been doing, with a small interlude permitted only for discussion of psytrance.

My boyfriend has recently been inflicting an abhorrent form of mental warfare. Whenever he’s doing his absolute best to shit me, out comes this slow rumble:
Reading about the
I’m one of those kids who grew up in the fearless 80s with both an electric blanket and an occasional bed-wetting problem. Hey, I turned out okay! My parents even refused to replace my Target-brand electric blanket when it began exposing raw wires, assuring me “it’ll be right”.
But it’s just something I’ve learnt to live with. Carrying around a handkerchief at all times certainly does make me feel like a grandpa, but there’s absolutely no telling when my nose is going to flood like a faucet. Has it happened during a job interview? ABSOLUTELY! Does it happen when I’m trying to do something romantic and it spoils the moment? YOU BET! Did it happen when I was dancing with Andrew W.K. on stage at a concert? YES, BUT HIS SWEAT WENT ALL OVER ME SO NOBODY NOTICED!







Just like Grant Bowler’s pectoral muscles, my palate is getting spicier as time goes by (seriously, have you