Nothing to report

No, really. Wedding planning is on-going. We're going to see the Hurricanes tackle the Highlanders in tonight's Super 12 Rugby game (Go 'Canes!) I'm having a garage sale tomorrow in preparation for moving, and in recognition of the fact that we're getting some nice presents for the wedding. I had no idea how much of my clothing I have owned since the end of high school. It's hard to let go, but man - what was I thinking? Like the flower patter jumper was going to come back in style? I actually found myself wanting to keep stuff "for when I get pregnant." What?!? Like I'm going to want to wear that 1989 Gap oversize shirt just because it will fit over some hypothetical baby bump? Rationality was been inserted into the process, largely by A. He is bringing to this marriage a dining suite and two beds. And about 10 pounds of clothes for both he and M. They own almost nothing - he is the anti-pack-rat. For those of you who still have your 2nd grade short story/art collection, it is unfathomable. And I fall into that category. But my system now is to put the clothes in a box for about a month. If I don't go looking for it at all, I don't need it, and it can go.

Selling stuff is also a GREAT excuse to go out and shop.

It's a lot of self-absorption

I have become one of those terrible people who speak incessantly about themselves, and usually on only one topic. I assume that my upcoming wedding is the most fascinating thing in the world, and others are dying for the latest update on how I have matched the placecards with the ring pillow - which I have. See - I'm doing it again!! But while I expect interest in the wedding, I am suffering from great guilt over the shower and the bachelorette party. I invited people to these events as a means of showing that they were included in my life, even if I couldn't afford to take everyone to the actual party. Now they all feel obligated to buy gifts. Sort of an uncomfortable feeling. The "gimme" aspect is not what this is all about, though I'm not so principled as to refuse to accept presents. Part of it, too, is that my man and I are in our thirties. If we've gotten this far with ratty old dishtowels, we can probably go out and buy our own. My good friend here and organizer of the shower (bless her!) keeps saying that it's a way for people to express their happiness. I wish I could believe that more, since I really think the consumer culture has subsumed a lot of folks' good feelings. Perhaps I should be less cynical and just enjoy? Definitely.

Hot. DAMN hot. So Damn Hot...

I read once long ago that you can be best of friends and not be able to tolerate travel together, and be mortal enemies who can endure otherwise withering cross-country car rides with nary a conflict over radio station or Cracker Barrel vs. Waffle House. Actually, that's not quite what I read, but more my own stamp on an old idea. I have a few friends that I travel with splendidly - we have the same interests, the same clean/dirty ration tolerance on accomodation, food and overall hygiene (in order: some bugs OK, no bugs OK, a little dirt never hurt.) Some of my dearest friends, however, who pull me out of despair, are indespensible at cocktail parties and receptions with a visiting Queen make me want to jump out of any mutually confining moving object after 2 minutes. This does NOT make them "bad" in any way - travel is a highly personalized form of self-expression. I loved wandering the interior of Azerbaijan and staying in a place with no lights, a walk to the loo, mosquitoes and a lot of gold teeth. Fabulous vacation! But lest you think I am ranting against those who are not strictly the Four Seasons, give-me-namebrand-soap-or-give-me death-types, I have a confession to make.
I am in Samoa. For the weekend I went to "the big island" of Savaii - normally a two day trip I condensed into one. I stayed in a "romantic" beach fale in Salelologa. Yeah, right. I arrived to find a rather run-down collection of grass huts (a beach fale has, by nature, no walls, just grass matting, so I expected that.) My particular "chalet" was very open, giant cockroaches, mosquitoes everywhere, an aggressive cat, and an amorous local staff member. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't stayed at Samoa's premier resort for the preceding two weeks? I was very unhappy, and if there had been a Four Seasons within 1000 miles, I would have been on it in no time flat.
I hate heat. Especially damp, humid heat. I get cranky and irrational. (Hey, stop nodding, you!) I have never performed well when hot, hence my penchant for Russia. And so I, too, am a fussy traveller. I thought I could handle "roughing it" and laugh off a tough time. But perhaps I am getting older? Or perhaps travelling alone is losing its romantic, introspective, Jack-Kerouac overtones? I just felt old, tired, sweaty and smelly. I fly out to NZ tonight, and can hardly WAIT to take a shower.
But I'm still up for touring Central Asia in a rented car if anyone wants the challenge - it'll just have to be in late Fall or early Spring...
The title is from Good Morning, Vietnam, FYI.

Antarctic Dreams Rained Out

Many of you may have seen the movie "Groundhog Day" with Bill Murray. I am living it. Instead of returning from a fantastic trip to McMurdo station in Antarctica, I am on Day 4 of waking up in Christchurch with a 4:45 AM phone call calling off the trip for 24 hours. Actually, that's not true. Wednesday morning we got on the plane and flew three hours before we had to turn around. Apparently the weather down there is crazy - it's snowing and moist - almost like rain. But it NEVER rains in Antarctica, so apparently global warming, believe in it or not, has affected weather patterns. And so.... I am hanging out in Christchurch, rapidly running out of clean clothes. If we don't go Friday morning, I'm going to have to throw in the towel, and head back to Wellington, my dreams of an Antarctic exploration dashed forever. (Note the tone of melodrama and self-pity... I think it springs from being bored, bored, bored!)
My next e-mail will contain more exciting info, like wedding details and the weather report for Wellington!
Signing off, awash with self-pity ;-) Dorothy

Back Pain

I wonder if there is a certain level of stress that people can't live without, and so they focus on trivial incidents in order to achieve that adrenalin rush? Why do I ask? Ummm... no reason. No, I've been very concerned lately about my schedule and making sure everything is just so... in May and June. My partner thinks that I am insane for planning further out than the coming weekend, but that is why we get along so well. My North-East US neuroticism is complemented by his Down-Under laid-backness. I hope. If not, it'll be a helluva life together!

Perhaps it's just the holiday season? I haven't been to the gym to work off my holiday face-stuffing, as I am suffering pretty bad back pain. I dutifully go to the physiotherapist, as prostitution is legal here and I am leery of "massage parlors." He said I have a stressed back. So perhaps it isn't me, it's just certain muscles that are worried about my packing arrangements six months from now? While i haven't worked out (triathalon still looms) I am eating immensely, with lunches planned daily, and holiday parties at night. Had a great time last night, drinking with the Government Opposition. Have I mentioned how nice Kiwis are? Free beer, good converstion and the ability to put up a Christmas tree in a public building without fear of a lawsuit. Sometimes I think staying here permanently wouldn't be so bad. Better to worry about back pain than imminent death.

I'm Back - Did You Miss Me?

My trip to America was a revelation. I've never seen my home through the eyes of someone whose only point of reference is Hollywood and trashy reality TV shows. It's an astounding place, full of different-colored, different-beliefed, different shaped (man, we're fat!), and definitely different economied people. I took the opportunity to tour NYC, which I have never done as a tourist. Statue of Liberty. King King's Empire State Building. Ellis Island. And of course, the highlight, when I turned the wrong way and we tried to walk by Madison Square Garden during the Republican National Convention. The little one was in heaven b/c there were men with sub-machine guns everywhere - guns are an oddity in NZ, and the police don't even carry them as a matter of course. I think he took a whole roll of film of just SWAT men.
Wellington is a nice return, if a bit cold. I've got visitors up the wazoo scheduled for the next few months, so for now I enjoy the calm. The opportunity to go to the gym - did I mention I've signed up for a tri-athalon in February? I must have been drunk.... thankfully, it's a "women's" event, and the distances being covered are short. However, I have to swim in the South Pacific, and we ain't talking wash-that-man-outta-my-hair S. Pacific, we're talking penguins and icebergs. I'm investing in a new bike... and a wetsuit!

The Rock vs. An Avalanche

*A modified version of my e-mail update*
Are you reading this post with trepidation? Worried that I haven’t written in so long I must have joined a cult and am now only writing to sweetly inquire after your credit card number so that we can finance Sultan Bawanagathei’s message of peace, love, harmony and gold Rolls-Royces? Or perhaps I am writing following some horrible debilitating accident that has left me immobile for months and you – you callous friend – have not seen fit to send me an e-mail asking if I was alright, as I slowly regained the use of my lips!Well, don’t worry. I’m fine. (Never normal, but doing alright, thanks for asking.) Wellington is in the midst of winter, still a difficult concept for my northern hemisphere brain to comprehend. I have actually had a burst of activity here in the past month, a welcome break from the relatively low-key goings-on that typify diplomacy in New Zealand. (Washington, DC counterparts: I leave at 5 PM – eat your heart out!) Earlier in August, I used up some leave and convinced my buddies to avoid responsibility and take Friday off to ski. We headed to Mt. Ruapehu in the central North Island, where I’d been once before last year. When I was there in ’03, the first day all of the lifts were closed due to high winds – someone got blown off of a chair lift, which was seen as a possible hazard, despite the fact that you can’t really file a lawsuit here. The second day, all the runs were open, but there wasn’t a lot of snow, so the only way down the mountain was to ski the top half and ride the chairlift down. This year, however, yowzah! I was much more impressed. The guys took snowboarding lessons on the beginner slope. I did about 6 hours of straight skiing, and didn’t hit the same run twice. In fact, they have so many trails that at one point, I thought I’d gotten lost, since I couldn’t see another person. I had to hikeup a hill – in ski boots, so my quads are quite fit now. (“Look for the positive in everything” was my mantra as I almost passed out from exertion.) What I like about Ruapehu is that it’s an active volcano, and they have guidelines along the runs on where to ski if the lahar (volcanic mud collected in the top crater) suddenly spills over. OK – THAT’s a normal hazard on a skifield! Not quite on par with Chechen rebels in Georgia, but you make your own drama, right? Yesterday, however, there was a HUGE avalanche in the South Island, originally planned by the staff to ease the snow weight, it got out of control. No one was injured, thankfully (since I’m on duty this week!)The second day, I did something I’ve wanted to try for years – I took a snowboarding lesson. Not that this should come as a surprise to anyone, butmy level of athleticism is pretty low. And I have no balance. It’s a hard sport! That and it was overcast and the ground was ice. It was funny to watch, though, because the kids taking lessons would fall over and get back up. The adults would fall over and then try to discuss with the teacher what they’d done wrong and rationalize why and how they fell. As if physicsexplained our inability to pick something up on the first go. No excuses for my performance, but I broke my tailbone about 18 months ago, and it tookone great big fall to remind me that it hadn’t healed properly. I’m such a wuss, trying not to cry with this shooting pain in my rear-end. How do you look genteel rubbing your own bum? You don’t. Thankfully, the guys were sympathetic, albeit natural athletes who whizzed by me after one day of lessons. I braved the pain as long as I could, and seemed to get the hang of it, but they had me on normal foot, and I think I should have been goofy. (Insert obvious barbed comment here!) So, maybe I’ll try again in the future, but for now I’ve crossed something off my list of things to do.Merely seven days after our chilly ski adventure, I was winging my way to Apia, Samoa for the Pacific Islands Forum, a gathering of Pacific Leaders working to promote economic growth, good governance, regional security, etc,etc. The U.S. is involved in the Post-Forum Dialogue, as we have territories as well as great interest in the goings-on in the Pacific. I landed on Saturday morning, which was odd since I had already had a full Saturday in Wellington. I made the dateline work for me – a three day weekend, and no Wednesday on the way back! It was about 90 degrees hot and humid. And it’s winter there. Our delegation was headed by the Assistant Secretary for the region, a high-ranking guy who has been working in that region for decades. He’s out point person on North Korea, so lots of folks wanted meetings. Rather sad, really, “welcome to Samoa, you’re going to spend the next two days sitting in one chair having meetings for 10 hours a day.” Ok, not so sad for me, since we had two notetakers, and I managed to sneak in some quality pool time and even a day of vacation snorkeling at a place called Lolamanu, on the eastern tip of the island. It was incredible – my coworker stopped counting different fish when she hit 57 in about 3 minutes. And the coral was healthy and about 20 feet from shore. I’m spoiled, I admit. And now, to the reason for the title of this e-mail. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson was in Samoa during the Post-Forum gathering. Forthose who are scratching your head, he was a WWF wrestler “Can you smell what the Rock has cooking?” against such favorites as Hulk Hogan, etc. He now does action films, including the new movie “Walking Tall,” and he did some film called “Rumble in the Jungle” I think with Stiffler from American Pie. Anyway! He dominated media coverage, with noone paying any attention to, say, Australian Prime Minister Howard. I had managed to miss all Rock sightings, but when we got to Lolamanu, there was a woman who brought out our woven mats, which go on the floor of the fale (hut) so you can get out of the sun. She said in halting English that the Rock would be in the nearby village very shortly. She kept saying “upstairs,” but everything was one story, so go figure. We said that actually we’d rather go snorkeling, and didn’t need to see the Rock. After a look of mixed shock/horror/disgust, she tried again. “Many white people.” We had to laugh – I think many white people is a good thing? An assurance that we wouldn’t be the only out-of-towners? I have no idea, but we replied that if they had many white people, they didn’t need any more.
A short description of Samoa, since few will likely visit. One, it’s apparently more beautiful than American Samoa. Two, Robert Louis Stevenson lived there. His grave and house-museum are up the mountain near Apia. I didn’t have time to go, but heard they are worth the trip. Three, Samoan men are very friendly. Watch your back, ladies. Literally. (Of course, they’re very attractive as well…) Four, not a lot of restaurants, but thereare enough good places to eat that a two-week vacation would be filled. Five, for any who know “South Pacific,” Aggie Grey, proprietor of Aggie Grey’s hotel, is thought to be portrayed in the musical as Bloody Mary. Aggie Grey’s is an institution in the South Pacific, and if you know any WWII GI’s who visited Samoa, I’m sure they remember it fondly. Ahem. Six, the women wear sarongs or island-print dresses. The men wear lavalavas, aka a skirt. Secure in their masculinity, and practical for 100 degree temperatures. Seven, most of the houses (fales) don’t have walls. I guess there are no issues of concern over things being stolen, although I didn’t ask. People will spend money getting electricity and water first, and then worry about buying and building walls.

Sorry my notes are short and not as thrilling as past years, but the beauty of New Zealand is how easy it is to live an approximation of an American life. They even have cream cheese at the supermarket. I will test this theory as I depart for the US on the 26th, for a couple of weeks of relaxation. Of course, I timed my visit to NYC to coincide with the Republican Convention, but it adds to the excitement?!

Long time, no sea!

Huge storm on Wednesday. Wind gusts of up to 180 kph (about 120 mph.) About a foot of rain in 24 hours. And the weird thing.... everyone came into work. The roof of the airport blew off, and the ferries and trains were cancelled. Yet, almost everyone showed up to their desk. It wasn't even mentioned internationally as a hurricane. It was just a heckuva storm. I need a reality check! Japan was all over the news as a hurricane with rather delicate gusts of 100 kph attacked Tokyo. They're hardy folks, there Kiwis. I am slightly less hardy, and did have to put in an order to have my roof fixed when I was awakened by a leak directly over the foot of my bed (which was busy housing my feet.) Winter down here can be brutal, not least because the storm and its winds came directly from Antarctica. Cold doesn't begin to describe. When living in St. Petersburg, it would routinely drop past 20 below (Celsius.) I was fine, but it was dry cold - here it's mould and damp and misery.
I wish I was a penguin.

Chocolate Rock Vacation

The human body has an incredible capacity for chocolate consumption. Whereas I get full after only two handfuls of broccoli, and entire chocolate bar can mysteriously disappear down my gullet and I'm hungry three minutes later. It must be because the chocolate particles already have many little fat cell friends to hang out with, and the poor broccoli are lonely in their healthiness, travelling through my bloodstream like nomads....

Just found out that, while in Samoa the Rock will be there. I am going to a Charity Dinner where he is the star. I find that, dare I admit, more exciting than meeting the president of Nauru. I guess that means that I am not 100% dork, but may still have some cool genes intact. I'm sure they'll disappear when I turn 30.

Oh, and I will only be in Apia for a week, due to a change in plans. That gives me time to come home, unpack, repack and then head home, home, home!

My IQ probably peaked in elementary school

My friend Violet has a pithy post on her blog (sorry, password protected, no link!) on how quickly her ego cycles.  I sympathize as I alternate between supreme intelligence in the face of incredibly insipid individuals and the soul-crushing realization that my IQ probably peaked in elementary school.  This latter has become more apparent as I negotiate on a rather prickly bi-lateral issue that involves nuanced and often biased interpretations of certain aspects of international law and emotional attachment to patriotic ideals.  I'm in over my head.  But I wonder if I'm the only one that sees it that way, as I have been told in the past that I come off as fairly competent when engaged in these discussions.  I guess we never see ourselves as others do, and I know I'm my own worst critic.

Anyway, insanely busy - headed off to Samoa in early August and from there to the States for a vacation.  You can't imagine trying to plan your packing list for 6 weeks, when the temperatures will vary from 40 to 100 degrees, business attire and casual wear.  I welcome the challenge if it gets me R&R at home!!

holy matrimony, for very unholy reasons

  (Another new post appears below)
In other news, it appears that my job wants to force me into holy matrimony, for very unholy reasons.  Apparently travelling with a partner around the world from posting to posting involves the employee paying for every last one of the partner's expenses.  That can be quite expensive as those of you who have bought tickets to, say, Tashkent can attest.  I'm sure the policies are designed to prevent even a whiff of an allegation that gay relationships are OK, but part of me wants to yell, "It's the 21st Century!"  New Zealand is debating a law on Civil Unions, and many of the arguments on the sanctity of marriage, the importance of the fabric of the family, etc would sound familiar to Americans.  But before I get off topic, I would like to take my current partner with me.  I can not afford that on my salary.  He could not work in the U.S. unless we were married.  Ergo, I must either marry solely for financial reasons, or "live in sin" in a foreign country!  I know it all sounds very dramatic, but with the dearth of life-threatening incidents here, I have to create my own drama. (Ooh, I do recommend, though, that you check out Hamas' recent endorsement of the New Zealand government.... What!) Wacky things are afoot down under...

I'll assume it's a "British thing" and leave it at that

Well, then, it's been a while, hasn't it! Last Saturday I attended the Bledisloe Cup Rugby Test Match between New Zealand and Australia.  The NZ All Blacks trounced the Aussies, both winning the game and (in my opinion) winning the fight that broke out of the field.  The weather, true to form for this lovely town, was abysmal.  The wind in the stadium actually swirls like a tornado, so when the ball is kicked it is likely to go sideways and backwards.  (This could have contributed to NZ's win, as those types of conditions are tough for visiting teams to replicate.)  Our seats were uncovered - it was cold and wet, and by the second half even my underwear was wet.  Thankfully, we had a couple of warm beers purchased at exorbitant prices to help pass the time (!)  Complaining aside, the game really was awesome, and I look forward to catching a few more international tests before I leave next year.  No- I have no idea why they call them tests, I mean it's a real game, not a practice, but since they call them Cricket tests, too, I'll assume it's a "British thing" and leave it at that.

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.