An abundance of love is never a bad thing.

An abundance of love is never a bad thing. But the philosophy student in me begs to differ with every absolute statement. Case in point - I am headed home for a visit in August. Ten days of showing my Kiwi buddy my native land. Should be exciting - invigorating - a total nightmare. Scheduling is rapidly proving more difficult than a presidential visit. 51 hours in Los Angeles, with a possible swing-by visit of a) high school friend, b) uncle, c) local NZ consul. Anywhere from 6 to 36 hours in Philadelphia, a mandated minimum 24-hour trip to NYC, requests for side visits because-i-haven't-seen-you-in-ages to New Hampshire, Washington, DC and Ohio. Hmmmm... ten days, 10 cities? (Not counting the 27 hours of plane travel!) Not the restful beach vacation I'd imagined. So, I guess I must forego the love, and stick to my own priorities. At LEAST two days on the beach, doing absolutely nothing. At LEAST one day in Philadelphia. And who knows beyond that. What makes it all so difficult is the fact I'd like to see all of the people mentioned, but not at the expense of what was designed as a vacation.

Maybe I'll just set up digital video conferences and conduct round-table discussions on my life? Technology is wonderful...

Happy Midwinter!

Before I forget, Happy Midwinter! Down here we're celebrating Matariki - the Maori New Year, when Rigel (the star) appears on the horizon, along with the Seven Sisters.
So, happy shortest day of the year - it only gets better from here!

I sprained my ankle imaginary jump-roping in high school

I am limping for the first time since I sprained my ankle imaginary jump-roping in high school. (Followed shortly, of course, by the infamous incident where, while trying to negotiate the main staircase at school I fell and twisted the other ankle.) Athlete of the year, I am obviously not. But last night was a hard-out, full-on indoor soccer match. We had no subs show up, which meant 30 minutes of sprinting in a cold shed on the waterfront against a fully-rested and well-subbed team of Kiwis. We got clobbered. Literally and figuratively - my right knee is swollen, my shin is the color of madonna's '80s eye shadow, and there is an imprint of the soccer ball pattern on my thigh. Weirdly, though.... I feel cool. It's like a badge of honor - I got my butt kicked, but hey, I'm athletic and "hard core." No need to mention the fact that I whined like a baby all last night, and may use the injury as an excuse for an expensive full-body massage this weekend.

I have friends who are bored with linear thought

Thanks to those of you who have contibuted commentary on my blog-ness. I received a number of responses from intrepid and objective outsiders, very few of which have anything to do with my blog topics. I include some of my "faves."

a)people in Thailand have really long names, but usually introduce themselves to foreigners with a nickname, like "D" or "Pond"
b) if you are bored in Samarkand, Uzbekistan, I can hook you up with a woman with lots of English-language novels
c) New Zealand was discovered largely as a by-product of Cook's voyage to Tahiti to witness the transit of Venus
d) my blog apparently gives the impression I am depressed/cranky all of the time - I'm not, though, it was just a bad week. So, please stop offering me your spare Prozac prescriptions. We have socialized medicine here, and anyway- I'm OK....
e) I found that I have friends who are bored with linear thought, and I find that strangely satisfying. Linear thought is for the overly left-brained.
f) If calculated mathematically, the proportion of friends remaining in the States to friends overseas is 41.6. Since the answer to the meaning of life is 42, I figure that's a good sign.

I also found out that, unless the list is really good, which this one isn't, I don't like making lists in my postings.

If it was any better then all those shits that live in Auckland would move down here

Off to Rugby tonight - Manu Samoa vs. Scotland. A typical Wellington day - a bit rainy, overcast, with wind gusts to 130 kph (74 miles per hour.) One of my compatriots heard a nasty rumor that the game would be cancelled. Since I have two rambunctious kids attending the scrum-viewing with me, I thought I'd better check. I called the ticket company, and in true Kiwi fashion (aka laid-back), he said, "but it's too late to tell people if it's cancelled." ?!? So, what - everyone has to schlep downtown to get a personal no? He went on - "anyway, the weather would have to be really, really bad for us to cancel a rugby game." As he says this, I'm watching small children blow across the street, schoolbags ballooning like umbrellas ahead of them, wet hair smacking across their face, only to be halted in their dangerous trajectory by lamposts, large buildings or moving cars. Good thing the weather isn't bad. But I suppose when you're in Wellington, bad weather is a 7 point earthquake and, compared to that, storm force winds are a small price to pay. As architect Ian Athfield said "it's good that Wellington's so windy and difficult a lot of the time because if it was any better than all those shits that live in Auckland would move down here."

As I give a tongue-in-cheek assessment of this beautiful city's weather, I should mention that the mayor of Auckland, NZ's largest city by far, with all of the attendant problems that that implies, stated that Auckland was the engine of the country, and Wellington was merely "a port town at the bottom of the country." (Um, OK, yes, and?) adding that "Wellington needs Auckland. We don't need the capital." Last time I checked, most countries actually do need the capital, and I'm sure that, at its heart, Auckland is happy to be politican/Parliament free. But as the Mayor noted: "Margaret Thatcher once told me it's not important to be liked. It's only important to be respected." And Maggie would know....

Easier than 60 Million Possums

It's Friday! Helluva a week. Visitors from out of town, which is good (get out of the office to meet fun people) and bad (must plan painfully detailed schedule including potty breaks and phone calls home for 5 grown humans for 4 days.) I did have the distinct honor (?) of getting to see the Department of Internal Affairs make NZ passports. I also had the Immigration Service use my name as the "sample" for entry and exit from the country. Creepy - they know all of my movements. Very big brother - and surprisingly, more so than in the U.S. I suppose it's a question of scale, and NZ's 4 million are easier to track. (Easier than the 60 million possums, apparently.)

-Recieved confirmation today that my cell phone bill is the highest of all my co-workers. Sorry, guys, no more calling home!

My spirits soared, and I only lost two balls

Happy Memorial Day! As we just celebrated ANZAC Day last month - the Down Under version of Memorial/Veterans' Day, I felt that I had celebrated the military sufficiently, and used the Monday to do errands - like the glamour of getting my car inspected, and the luxury of getting a back massage (see below.)

But Sunday I did the unthinkable - I went golfing! NZ has more golf courses per capita than anywhere else on earth. Fifteen dollars Kiwi for 18 holes. Of course, it was freezing, and the ground was wet, and there were two very New Zealand-esque holes that involved a 50 meter vertical drop surrounded by bog. However, I was stunning - given that I had not played in a year. The ball went straight, my spirits soared, and I only lost two balls. Golf is a very self-fulfilling sport. If you play well, your confidence is high and you only get better. Hit a crpapy drive, though, and you'll be in a river in two strokes, swearing as you hopelessly thrust your expensive club into some brown gooey muck. I figure it's like being a supermodel. If someone paid me to look thin and gorgeous and pouty, and that's all I did, I'd be great. If someone paid me to golf all the time, I'd be fabulous. Unfortunately, I'm tied to the mundanity of a 9 to 5, and probably happier anyway. I like to eat, and too much golf hurts my back.

Wearing the cranky pants

The question is, am I actually, really in a bad mood today? I don't think so, I just think that when I woke up this morning, it was dark, and I accidentally put on my cranky pants.

I've checked the guru of all information, google.com, and it tell me it could be a result of not enough sunshine. Or the pills that I take. Or the pills that I'm not taking. Or allergies. Or insufficient "me" time. Or too much therapy. Or Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder. Maybe it's road rage? Iron deficiency. Vitam C deficiency. Sugar overload. Caffeine overload.

That's IT! I haven't had a cup of coffee today - problem solved. And now back to today's "news." Have you ever had a situation where your professional esteem is dependent on the work of others. And those others not only don't care about the quality of work, but appear to be actively uninterested in even completing requested tasks on deadline? OK - not a very hypothetical situation. I'm just frustrated because I don't want my boss to think I'm totally useless. I have been pushing the other people involved, but what can you do? No-one's career is ever as important as your own, and all people, regardless of how magnanimous they seem, are looking out for #1.

Then again, it could be worse. I could live in Auckland.

Perhaps it's Rooted in my Biological Clock

I suppose I could say my mood improved. I was quite happy all weekend, even though my golf plans were dashed. The weather was beautiful. Kiwis are perverse. We couldn't golf because the weather "could" have gotten bad, which I found frustrating at first, but with the uncanny sense of accuracy that so many of these antipodeans possess, it started raining right around our proposed tee time. How do they do it?

So, I solved my funk the old fashioned way. Oh, no, not sex. And not chocolate. So maybe not the old fashioned way. I rearranged my furniture. There is some backstory here, perhaps rooted in my biological clock. About 6 months ago, I started to feel rootless, so I looked into buying a house. Housing prices are obscene both in the U.S. and in New Zealand right now, so my hopes were quickly dashed. So I thought about buying furniture - a lovely ottoman, some armchairs, a leather couch combination. But my house isn't really that big, and I don't know where I'll be living next. So I finally minimized my dream, and settled for rolling the piano across the carpet, putting the dining room in the front entryway, and nearly decapitating myself (and my boyfriend) trying to move a giant, painfully heavy china cabinet. The cabinet is still in the middle of the room- I may have to leave it there as a testament to interior design modernism? Anyway, it was all vv therapeutic. I worked up a sweat (burning calories!), and my house looks better, and now I'm inspired to throw a dinner party. So, kids, the moral of the story is, when your dream of spending over $200,000 is dashed, move the couch. It satisifes the nesting urge without a 30-year debt hanging over your head.

Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

I should never have gotten up today. A terrible overwhelming feeling first thing in the morning that it's going to be a bad day is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Day was total crap. Not one productive thing accomplished. I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm surrounded by incompetence.
On the bright side, I had the distinct honor (?) of attending a baby shower today. For those of you unfamiliar with the custom, it puts normally intelligent, social, influential women together in a room and alternately forces them to gurgle and coo like clucky hens, subjects them to horrifying games and forces them to eat a helluva lot of baked goods. I am still in a sugar coma. One of the games - creative - but ultimately mentally scarring - was to identify 10 different candy bars that had been melted into baby diapers. Yep, that's right. Identify the "poo-y" diaper. (OK, they're called nappies here, not diapers, but you still get the idea.) Singlehandedly, this afternoon managed to not only not/not make me want to have kids, it's put me off of chocolate bars for life. Yes, the baby clothes are cute. No, being that pregnant is not. The ability to create life is sacred, I know, but the inability to bend over and tie your shoes is nothing to envy.
The only thing that could make today worse? Having to go to a political rally this evening. Oh, wait. I do. And I just found out today that I have been tenured at work. On the one hand, awesome! I'm permanent. On the other, I can no longer claim overtime, so I am going to witness a political knock-down drag-out as the cap of a 12 hour day with no ideas of financial recompense to soothe my burning ears.
Thank god the weather forecast for tomorrow (I'm scheduled to play golf) is absolute crap. I'd hate for my funk to lift anytime soon. Grrrr.

Dr. Spock I'm Not

I am recovering slowly from the "Basta Pasta Party." I think, perhaps, that the waiter's uncanny ability to refill my wine glass with a strong Italian white while I wasn't looking may have contributed to my downfall. I don't like more than two glasses with a meal, but I was so wrapped up in an intriguing conversation on anti-Americanism (I'll get back to that topic) that I may have inadvertantly hit 3+. Ouch. Ok, it wouldn't have been painful, but I needed to get up extra early this morning to tour a visiting Research Vessel as part of my Dr-Spock-Science-Officer duties. I was expecting a glamorous and intricate tour of the complexities of scientific research conducted on the unpredictable Southern Pacific Ocean, but the charming man doing the tour said that this was his first time on this particular ship, and he was unfamiliar with how catamaran-style boats fared in nasty seas. Of course, at that hour, I was feeling a bit green even thinking of rough seas, so I pleaded pressing deadlines and "toodled" back to work.

Bring Your Own Pasta, We'll Provide the Water

Trapped at work until late, since the Italians are having a "Pasta Party" at 7:30, and it's too far to head home and back. I'm still not sure if the title of the party means I need to bring my own pasta dough, and they'll supply the hot water, but I think you can't go wrong with a bottle of wine. Thankfully, that's one thing we are seriously long on here in Middle Earth.

So, I thought instead of doing more work that would be done badly because it's late and I'm distracted, I'd try blogging, since my ability to send out fairly regular e-mail updates to y'all is failing. It's not that I don't mean to, it's just that nothing life-threatening seems to happen here. I have a normal life with acceptable social outlets for my highs, lows, frustrations and triumphs. Therefore, I don't end up with such pent-up words that I need to type it all out and justify the oddness in my life through feedback from friends and family. But maybe I can commit to writing a little prose infrequently on this site. Commitment. Damn. I must be nearing 30....