I’ve never been to a quiz night before, ever. Let alone was I prepared to mark a veritable deluge of answer sheets that were coming my way.
My good friend Tomas Ford needed a man to help him out to organize a quiz night that doubled as a fundraiser so he can take the Crap Music Rave party across the Tasman and torment with the worst cultural garbage ever produced by minds of humanity, and with a little inducement in the form of beverages (and some cash), I decided to make the trek down to the Rosemount.
I arrived just around six, with enough time for dinner, and to sort out new supplies for Netrunner, in preparation for a competition in about a week’s time. However my dinner experience was slightly hampered when I found that my favourite spicy wings weren’t up for serving. At least their deep fried squid was a decent substitute.
And so I became the quiz marker- the keeper of answers, huddled in the ill-lit corner on the stage, with a fruit bowl on the right, serving as largely decoration, whilst the basket of chips on the left served as the real food. Turns out marking pile after pile of sheets is quite a task, especially when they have to be done faster than Speedy Gonzalez.
Then came the punters, who sat down and came up with team names- that were mostly a combination of puns about quizzes mixed with pop culture references, along with a few others that seem have to come on the fly, after a drink or two.
The first round of this trivial pursuit, was everything about that much glazed over, and at the same time, highly embarrassing era, known to man as the 80s, with an interrogation of the audience’s cerebral capacity for pointless knowledge about the more obscure material from the times. A surprising amount of people knew of the other half of Wham! But then again I’m a purely 90’s child, and have zero knowledge about these things.
For the second round, a performance poet whom I haven’t seen for about three years since I last participated in spoken word poetry (which I stopped about three years ago), Scott-Patrick Mitchell, who came up on stage to render the lines of famous pop songs as if they were poems, with the challenge of audience having to remember which song it came from.
The third round was now about the music of our times- the asinine pop songs, and the Eurovision entries, and of course, mentions of a certain British boy band and someone named Taylor. This one was a far more easier round, except when it came down to Eurovision, to which I am not impressed. Worth noting was everyone’s ability to remember the names of all five members of the aforementioned British boy band.
The fourth round was everything Australiana, in particular the good ol’ days of Australian rock legends and when triple JJJ was still considered hip and underground. The older generation had the better of the younger generation on this one.
Ending this rigmarole of trivia, is a section where Tomas Ford sings the verses of famous songs, with one line replaced by a string of blahs. For the most part, everyone else’s memory for this segment was surprisingly solid, barring with a few mistakes on the phrasing of the exact words.
The points were tallied up, by none other than me, and the winners got toy prizes (that came from a $2 dollar shop), but nonetheless the attendees had a bit of momentary fun with their triumphs. I came home with a set of paddle-pong rackets.