Just another memetic Monday

Ok, it's not Monday. It's Sunday right now...I just found it very hard to find a synonym for memetic that started with an 's'.

I caught this meme from Steingruebl World Enterprises and thought I'd pass it along. For those of you new to the idea of memes on blogs, this is a little cousin of the traditional game of tag. If you read this meme you've effectively been tagged. You can now, if you choose to join in on the fun, continue the game on your own blog or in the comments page of this post.

Gift Quiz

1. "What was the best gift you have ever received?

The last Christmas I spent in the US before moving to New Zealand, my sister Monica put together a photo album for me. Each page has a little button that allows a short recording to be made. She had each person in our family put a picture in the album and record a message on that page of the album. It's the only place that I've heard some of my family members' voices for a year now, and it's gotten me through I don't how many homesick moments. Thanks, Monica. I don't think you know just how perfect a gift that will always be.

2. "What was the worst?"

Underpants. Without a tag. From a friend. In the third grade. Even as a kid I realised that, the cool My Little Ponies pattern aside, they were a pretty weird present to give a friend. I never wore them and never told my friend that I never wore them.

3. "What's the best gift you've given to someone else?"

I'd probably say that it's a three way tie between gifts I've given to my husband and two of my nephews. For our first wedding anniversary my husband and I took an anniversary/belated honeymoon trip to Europe. That was probably the best three week gift unveiling that I've ever experienced.

For Christmas a few years ago I gave my two of my nephews some special pictures I had taken the previous summer. That summer I had grabbed my camera and a nephew, in that order, then proceeded to execute a series of perfect "take your own picture" manoeuvres with each nephew. I framed these photos, tied ribbons around them, and gave them to my nephews before leaving the country. The following summer my sister's house was endangered by a forest fire. My sister, her husband and each of the boys were told to evacuate one evening on very short notice. The only personal items these nephews of mine chose to take with them other than their overnight bags were these framed pictures. Evidently they meant a lot to the boys and that means a lot to me.

4. "The worst?"

When I was very young I tried to make a gift for my father. When you're a poor 7 year old what else can you do? I chose colorful pipe cleaners as my medium of choice and decided to sculpt a wire-frame style fly fisherman (modeled after my ace-fisherman father). He would be sitting in a float tube, and holding a fly rod that bowed under the weight of a promisingly large fish. When I finished, my grandma assured me that it was perfect and I put it in a box, wrapped it kid style with plenty of tape, and set it under the tree. On Christmas morning dad opened my gift and looked at it in silence for a moment before stating, "how pretty...what is it, sweetie?" I think he felt pretty bad about having to ask, and I know that I felt pretty bad about giving him something that he couldn't recognise. The fuzzy fisherman didn't stick around on his dresser for very long after that morning. I think it was best for everyone involved to dispose of the horrid thing and put the mutual embarrassment behind us.

5. What did you get this holiday season?

I got some boxes of chocolates from a few of my students (before the school year let out-what gentlemen) a lovely artisan stoneware plate from my mother, groovy home made pot holders and pillow cases from my grandmother, and an absolutely fabulous day in with my husband. Peter and I watched a movie, played a game, took a walk in the rain, then cracked open a bottle of champagne with dinner. No fuss, no travel, no gifts...just each other. Absolutely perfect.

6. Where did it sit on the best to worst scale (best being 1, worst 10)?

Overall I'd rate the gift situation as a 2. The only way it could have been better was if the weather had cleared and allowed us to BBQ on the beach New Zealand style. As it was, the Xmas lasagne was pretty satisfying. And it always kicks ass to receive thoughtful gifts from loving family members.

News of the weird

As if the xmas season couldn't get weirder, it turns out we have some Chuck Palahniuk fans here in NZ:

Drunk Santas storm cinema, leave children confused

Behaving childishly, and loving every minute of it

Yesterday Peter and I did something neither of us have done since we were very young: we flew a kite. Peter was inspired by a few friends of ours who took him kite flying a few weeks ago. He found it more fun than expected, so we decided to venture down to the kite shop to get one of our own. We gawked at the kite-making bench that took up more space than the display floor, and the decorative dragon models that would undoubtedly snap in a light breeze. The guy who ran the shop had accessories for paragliding, para-boarding (skateboarding behind a big kite), kite fishing and all kinds of other fun things. Since there's always a breeze somewhere in Auckland kites are evidently a popular passtime.

We decided to get a small parafoil, which is a kite without a frame that catches the wind and inflates, creating lift. With a groovy purple, green and black tail it would look good from the ground and be an easy learner's model. It was reasonably priced, and because it doesn't have a frame that we could possibly crush in a bad landing we felt good about the purchase.

Here are the pics from our day out. We went to North Head Reserve, a hill in our neighborhood that always seems to have a bit of a breeze, and had a perfectly fun afternoon.


There were a number of other people out that day, including some paragliders. They drew a pretty good crowd as they hopped easily down the hill to catch the updrafts off the water. They attracted more of a crowd than we did, but a few kids wandered over to see what we were up to. Most of the time the gliders hovered over the hill, never far from the ground.

Below us at the beach a number of kite surfers bobbed in the water with kites ready, waiting for the breeze to pick up at water level. It looks like kites are a pretty popular toy for grown-ups. Peter's eager to try kite fishing next, so watch this space for pictures of a new rig and possibly something dredged up from the sea.

Randomness

When I bought my current cell phone, I had all sorts of ideas about what I could do with it. You see, it's one of those fancy 'smart' phones. It turns out that a smart phone does marginally more than a 'dumb' phone, except you regret buying it more because you never use the extra features.

Well, one thing that my phone *does* have is a reasonably convenient camera. Occasionally when out walking around, I'll take pictures with it, intending to do something with them. In reality, they sit on my phone for ages until I delete them.

Not this time! I here submit an assortment of blurry, indiscernible, or otherwise baffling pictures downloaded from my phone. All pictures were taken by me, as far as I know. Perhaps you can help me figure out what's going on?

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10.

Heads Up, Y'all

In an unashamedly pathetic move that will undoubtedly earn me some seriously bad mojo in the blogoshpere, I would like to use my family blog to bring your attention to my personal blog, nzontheheartofgold.blogspot.com.

I've put up some plans for a project that I need international help with. If you have about $3 US burning a hole in your pocket and want to know how to make people smile in New Zealand, check out my most recent post there.

I'll say no more. You curious readers can now go off to satisfy your curiosity quickly.

One Laptop Per Child

By now, most people have heard of the OLPC, a.k.a. the XO Laptop, a.k.a. the $100 laptop. If you haven't, feel free to toddle on over to Laptop.org or, for a shorter synopsis, Wikipedia.

The goals are noble: giving poor kids in developing nations access to the some of the things that we now take for granted in more developed nations. Think of the OLPC as a relatively cheap care-package containing a full compliment of educational materials designed for individual and classroom use, a library of literature, a communications platform allowing them to communicate with peers via the internet, and other fun stuff like music composition software and games. The thing is nearly indestructible, can be manufactured reasonably simply (creating jobs within the country), and is largely user-serviceable inside and out.

The technology behind the thing is pretty cool too. It represents a re-thinking of what a computer is. Rather than measuring its performance based on clock speed or gigabytes of storage, its metrics for success are the number of things that you can do with it. Can you read its screen outside in the sun and the rain? Can you share any activity or project you are working on and collaborate with your peers? Can it find its way to the Internet on its own in sub-optimal conditions? Can it be dropped down a flight of stairs? Can it be taken apart by a child? Can its software be inspected and modified by a child?

The OLPC project is a non-profit project and they've accomplished amazing things so far. A lot of brainy people at MIT and elsewhere have clearly put a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and creativity into the design. Now they are at the stage where they are trying to get over the initial production hurdles. Governments of developing nations don't want to be the first to put down money for a run of the things until they can see whether they'll be successful.

To kickstart the production, the OLPC project has launched a "give one, get one" program to finance the the first round of production. For the next few days, US and Canadian residents can buy one laptop for a poor kid in a developing nation, and one laptop for their own kid (or themselves) for $400--$200 of which is tax-deductible.

If you've got the $400 to spend, I recommend you do it. Thanks to my sister, Heather, I've placed my order. I don't know if the project will ultimately be successful, but I'd like to think that it's shown enough promise so far to warrant ponying up some money to see the project continue. I think I'll also be trying to spend some time developing content for it.

If you're on the fence about the project, check out David Pogue's review of the OLPC in the NY Times. Actually, I probably should have just linked to his review. He explains it much better and more succinctly than I can. That's why he's the tech columnist for the NY Times and I'm not. Also check out his video of the OLPC in action.

Sorry if this all has sounded like a commercial. I've been meaning to write about it for a long time, but haven't gotten around to it. Even if you can't afford the $400 right now to purchase a unit, I encourage you to familiarize yourself with it. I hope this is the future.

Taking the piss out of New Zealand

For those non-Aussies and non-Kiwis out there this post is not an update about how I'm keeping up with my toilet habits. No, this is a celebration of the word 'piss' in the New Zealand lexicon and character.

In America this particular word has nothing but a bad rap. As a noun it refers to body waste, as a verb to similarly waste something that should be put to better use, and, when used as a slang term, it describes a state of anger. Piss is one of the 7 Dirty Words George Carlin rallies for as unfairly banned from use on network television. There is no positive context for the word piss outside of certain medical conditions.

Here on the other side of the planet this four-letter beaut is used in a more light hearted and jovial way. When you 'take the piss out of' someone here you are mocking them to bring them down a peg. Sure, this could be done in a malicious way, but for the most part it's a light-hearted national pass time. No one is exempt from mockery here. National figures, revered figures, honoured individuals, friends, neighbours, enemies and idiots are all subject to having "the piss taken out of them." Mockery is the great leveller.

I've been considering this phenomenon lately because New Zealand has been in a tizzy since the All Blacks lost their recent match with France and are now out of the Rugby World Cup. Initially there were quite a few angry/long faces around the streets and work places. People who were typically pretty jovial around work were actually bitter and non-communicative this last Monday. The Headmaster at our school made a speech at assembly that had the feel of an obituary. He called for the students not to feel let down or resentful toward the team or the referees that are now blamed for making bad calls. Instead, he encouraged the students to send emails of support to the team to let them know that they are still "our boys".

It's no secret that Kiwis take their rugby seriously. The All Blacks hold an elevated status of nearly divine proportions. Saying anything against the All Blacks typically earns you either some well-deserved flack for being an ignoramus, or suspicion that you're in cahoots with Australia. Either way you get mocked mercilessly and then assaulted with statistical and anecdotal information aimed at bringing you into the fold. Kiwis have rallied admirably around their team and their devotion is unrelenting. Definitely a good quality, right?

But this week I've heard, for the first time, Kiwis taking the piss out of the All Blacks. Now I may be wrong, but up until now I've always thought that the AB's were exempt from any mockery by Kiwis. Now I'm convinced that taking the piss out of people is indeed a national pass time with no exemptions. Here are a few jokes I've heard around the school this week:

Q: What's the difference between a tea bag and the All Blacks?
A: A tea bag typically stays in the cup.

Q: How is an arsonist smarter than the All Blacks?
A: An arsonist doesn't waste five matches.

Our International House of Pancakes

We've been doing some inter-continental pancake recipe sharing lately. The Head Chef(s) at Steirgruebl World Enterprises posted a fantastic Buttermilk Pancake recipe that they've taken to making on weekends. It's fluffy, crisp, delicious and everything that the chefs claimed these pancakes would be. The truth in advertising is just as satisfying as these breakfast gems. Find the recipe here.

We really loved it but found that we rarely had buttermilk around the house, and frequently forgot to pick some up from the store the day before we wanted to make pancakes. So we started fiddling with what we typically had in the house and developed a modified recipe that is now a well-loved standard in the house. If we want to add berries to the mix, we still us the SWE recipe as they are fluffier and make space for fruit better. After a few rounds of the "oh, we don't have enough (enter ingredient here)" game we came up with something much akin to SWE's recipe but a little different.

The big difference is that we use a bit more wheat flour and substitute a yoghurt-milk mixture for the buttermilk. We liked the sweet flavour that the vanilla extract added, and so kept it, while cutting out the white sugar. My sweet tooth seems to by dying a slow death as I get older.

2/3 Cup White Flour
1/3 Cup Whole Wheat Flour
1 1/2 Tsp Baking Power
1/2 Tsp Baking Soda
1/2 Tsp Salt

1/3 cup plain un-sweetened yoghurt
2/3 cup milk
2 Tablespoons melted butter
1 egg
1 Tsp Vanilla

Mix wet ingredients together, then add salt, baking soda, baking powder and sugar. Mix until integrated, then add flours a bit at a time. The batter should be slightly lumpy, but pour smoothly.

Heat skillet over medium heat. Pour 2x 1/4 cup measures of batter into the skillet, cooking two cakes at a time. Remove from heat to a warm plate (in a warm oven works well). We like to layer banana slices and bacon inbetween the pancakes and drizzle maple syrup on top. The salty/fruity/maple-ey combo is pretty good.

If you make these and find a different way to make them, please share your changes. I'm always on the lookout for a good pancake.

Shangri La

I have many strong feelings about living in New Zealand--most of them positive. Unfortunately, most of our friends and family manage to catch me when I'm feeling surly about things here. It stands to reason that, when I'm feeling good, I'm off enjoying myself and not talking to you all. Conversely, when I'm feeling least charitable toward my adopted home, I tend to look for friends and family to commiserate at. The result is that I often project an unnecessarily negative view of life on the upside down part of the globe.

By this point in my life, I've come to realize that the weather has a huge bearing on how I'm feeling at any given time. Because I've vowed to relearn some of the math that I've forgotten from high school, and in honor of my cousin Geetha who is studying to become a math teacher, I'll graph this relationship for you. You can see it's a linear relationship described by x = y. If you can imagine x being some measure of happiness, and y being the overall "niceness" of the weather, this graph works. Unfortunately, the relationship between hours of sunlight, precipitation, and my mood is a bit more complicated. I gather that relationship probably requires differential calculus and would be a much prettier graph.

My supervisor at work has mentioned the possibility of me supervising a Masters or Ph.D. project. "Umm, you do realize I have an undergraduate education in Liberal Arts, right? I mean, I'm not exactly a kung-fu math wiz," I say. That doesn't phase him, "That's okay, you can go a long ways on just differential equations you know." Right. Baby steps.

Anyway, this is mostly a super geeked out way of saying that the weather is getting better here in Auckland, and I'm rediscovering the perks of living in paradise. For example, the other day I was riding the bus home from the ferry terminal and had a fun coincidental experience. The Richies Bus Company allows drivers to listen to reasonably cool music (which probably explains why they are generally much friendlier than the Stagecoach bus drivers). Over the radio I hear the familiar intro to U2's song One Tree Hill. When I hear Bono get to the line where he mentions One Tree Hill, the bus rounds a corner and I can clearly see across to the actual One Tree Hill for which U2's song is named.

Just to keep you interested, here is an actual picture from my daily ferry commute. Sorry about the poor quality of my phone's camera.

Finally, as some of you already know I've started unicycling. My coworker Peter kindly brought in a couple of unicycles for us to play with, and I got hooked. Peter is a pretty hardcore unicyclist. He commutes regularly from near One Tree Hill to the central city on a 36"-wheeled unicycle. Furthermore, when I purchased my unicycle from his company he hand delivered it to the office--via unicycle! With the box for my unicycle cradled under his arm he rode from roughly Mount Eden into the central city through dangerous Auckland traffic. He said he got some strange looks from a bike courier headed the other way. I'm sure he did. Peter, of unicycle.co.nz, you've earned your bit of fame on our blog. Sorry I caught you with your eyes closed. (Yes, this is how he showed up at the office)


Here's me in my unicycling infancy. Peter is much better at this than I am and doesn't flail around nearly as much.

Make a guess, win a prize!

Peter and I heard a song in a restaurant this weekend that was just too fun not to share. The lyrics are posted below sans title, artist, or sound file. If you guess the English title of the song you will be the lucky winner of a Mystery Prize from rainy/sunny New Zealand!

Our contest rules are simple:

1. The first person to post the correct answer in the Comments section of this post wins.
2. Name must be present on the winning Comment to be valid.
3. One entry per person.
4. Void where prohibited.
5. Winners will be contacted personally by the Prize Giving Committee. Prizes may take 2-4 weeks for delivery and include shipping and handling.

And yes, this is a dare to those of you living in the Southwest. Can you figure out the title to this song without pasting the lyrics into a Google search?

No rompas más mi pobre corazón
Estas pegando justo entiéndelo
Si quiebras poco más mi pobre corazón
Lo harás mil pedazos quiérelo.
No soy lo mejor ni tu única opción
No tengo más partido que mi amor
Dime algo baby bien
Ya no me hagas perder
Serás siempre mi nena como el sol
Te gusta vivir bien te juro que tal vez
Yo pueda darte algo de valor
Obtengas con amor y con mucho calor
Lo que nunca llegaste a tener

No rompas más mi pobre corazón
Estas pegando justo entiéndelo
Si quiebras un poco más mi pobre corazón
Lo harás mil pedazos quiérelo. uuuuuu

Ve y dile a tu mamá que no abra la ventana
Cuando te visito por las noches
Que tu tienes que ver si te puedo convencer
Para que tu me quieras como soy
Me he andado por las ramas
Por vigas y por nada
No tengo mas motivo que tu amor
Dime algo baby bien
Ya no me hagas perder
Serás siempre mi nena como el sol.

No rompas más mi pobre corazón
Estas pegando justo entiéndelo
Si quiebras poco más mi pobre corazón
Lo harás mil pedazos quiérelo.uuuuu

No rompas más mi pobre corazón
Estas pegando justo entiéndelo
Si quiebras poco más mi pobre corazón
Lo harás mil pedazos quiérelo. uuuu


Good luck!

American Pie

New Zealanders love pie-not the kind of pie that most North American continent dwellers love, though. Kiwi's have savoury pies, which are small pot-pie sized pastry shells filled with meat and gravy. Sometimes they are topped with mashed potato instead of a top pie shell in an effort to cut the calories, but it doesn't help all that much: they're still basically gravy and starch. They come in vegetarian varieties and gourmet varieties, like curried sweet potato or pumpkin and lentil, but these aren't as popular as the good 'ol beef flavor.

Pies are a well established high-calorie delight for much of the country, kind of like hot dogs are America's favourite nitrate flavoured fat log. They're everywhere: convenience stores, grocery store freezer isles, festival events, schools, and special bakeries dedicated just to pies and sausage rolls (a sausage wrapped in pastry crust). There's recently been moves to ban their sale in school cafeterias because they're so unhealthy. Judging from the vocal backlash to this law, though, I doubt it will get very far. Kiwi's have a pretty strong love for their pies. I know the boys I teach are practically up in arms about it.

I've eaten a few pies at this point, and I have to say that I'm not sure that I'll ever get over my preference for pie as a dessert item. They don't do fruit or sweet pies as frequetly here and certainly not the same kinds of pies that you come across in the States.

In an attempt to make pumpkin pie, we found that they don't have the ubiquitous canned pumpkin in grocery stores. What takes up the space at the back of these peoples' pantries? What do they give away during food drives? When we asked around no one had even heard of pumpkin pie. In fact, the typical response was, "ew, pumpkin in a can?" Many Americans have found this lack of canned pumpkin decidedly un-cool, especially around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and 4th of July times. Some have even resorted to buying cans of the stuff when they visit home and bringing them back in their luggage. We have to have the stuff, and most Kiwis don't understand that until they've had a taste of pumpkin pie.

Since the precooked stuff is nowhere to be seen we had to cook some of the fresh pumpkins sold in grocery stores. The best recipe for pumpkin pie we could find was on the Cooking for Engineers site. We then looked up instructions for how to cook fresh pumpkin, grabbed grandma's recipe for pie shell and set to it. It turned out perfectly. The easiest way I've found to cook raw pumpkin is to just gut and cut it, put the pieces on a plate in the microwave, and cook for 7.5-8 minutes per pound. Large hand sized chunks seem to be the optimal size for even cooking, one pound at a time. Don't worry about cutting off the skin. It's much easier to cut it off once it's cooked and the flesh is soft. One pound of raw pumpkin will yield just about 15 oz worth, which is the average size of a can 'o pumpkin.

We've since turned a number of Peter's Kiwi co-workers over to the Pumpkin Pie loving way of life. A Canadian co-worker of mine has mentioned that she really misses the stuff, so her and her British boyfriend are next on our hit list. Some of my other co-workers overheard us talking about it and now they've asked me to bring some in to the office. If I ever get sick of teaching I could probably make a good living at this.

To balance out the scales of cultural swapping we've taken to making our own Kiwi pies at home. We stuff them with Mexican mole or carne asada filling to make them healthier and much tastier, though. Gotta get our Mexican fix.

American Independence Day in New Zealand

Happy 4th of July!

Yes, I say this after reading shocking news about "un-American" actions by our political officials. Yes, I say this as an American who's living in an country who's official head of state is The Queen of England. And I definitely say that as a person who is wholly jealous of those consuming BBQ grub and watermelon, not to mention blowing things up, on a hot afternoon.

There's something about a 4th of July parade that is quintessentially summer. Even if we had had access to a parade down here, it wouldn't be the same. On the 4th we got a freakishly heavy amount of rain, including some sleet, and our front yard is now basically a bog. At the moment we're running the heater, as it's a very humid and cold 55 degrees. Think a cold summer morning up at the cabin after a thunder storm in the early spring.

But the night of the 4th, as we were lamenting the fact that our family members were likely to start blowing things up within a few hours, we heard the thud of large explosives going off. We thought it was the nearby Naval base at first, as they're prone to holding ceremonial cannon firing practice at odd hours. (We have no fear of the sounds of artillery fire coming from the Navy base: their total fleet could probably be counted on my fingers and toes.) Instead it was a rather large and beautiful fireworks display being set off over Rangitoto Channel. We gave our dinner on the stove a stir, grabbed our glasses of wine and stepped outside to see what the fuss was all about.

We live about 5 minutes walk from a beach that looks out to Rangitoto Island not far off shore. Someone was setting off a display from a barge inbetween the beach and Rangitoto and we could see the fireworks from our front yard. Our neighbour in the apartment next to ours came outside to watch it with us and wished us a "Happy 4th of July!" I was wishing we could have watched the show from the beach. Instead we waded out onto our soggy grass with our glasses of wine and watched the highest-shot rockets bloom over the corrugated metal roof of the neighbour's house. Everything else was a masked glow below the tops of the roofs. The show was brief, maybe 5 minutes. When all was done we went inside to a quiet dinner of central asian plov, as it's the best meal to have on cold winter's night, and another glass of wine.

All in all it was a very surreal night. Here's a file photo of the channel and Rangitoto Island. I climed a hill on this shore and saw a few flat barges bobbing out in the water. I'm guessing they were responsible for the good show the previous night.


I could use this opportunity to rant about the state of Democracy in America these days, but I won't. I'll instead relate a short conversation I had with some Kiwi's a few weeks ago. Some old co-workers of mine from Wellington came to Auckland and I met them for drinks in the city. The conversation made it's way to differences between the subjects that kids study in different countries, specifically the US and New Zealand. I mentioned that I was surprised to see high school "social studies" as two seperate departments, history and geography, and that it is only required that students take two classes in either department at the school I work at. That's two classes over 5 years of high school.

One of my co-workers mentioned that she had spent a few weeks observing in a US school and was very impressed that the kids had to take at least three years of history, two of which are usually US or State history and that Civics was required. Here, it's ok if kids take two years of history about other countries. She mentioned that the US students she talked to had a very good sense of where they came from, were much more savvy about current events, and knew quite a bit about national trends and attitudes toward larger ideas or philosophies.

My Kiwi co-worker, on the other hand, said that she was never required to take a single New Zealand history class when she went through high school. The first time she leared about the Treaty of Waitangi, the founding document for the country, was at University when she took a class about the professional obligations of public service sector employees. American kids, on the other hand, get a full dose of the Constitution from an early age.

It made me feel proud to know that we, as a nation, are proud of our past. Sure it wasn't all rosy, but we're able to see the good for the bad and know that we have a hand in improving whatever bad situation we happen to find ourselves in (hint, hint). Americans have a tendency to gripe and complain but our civic involvement is fairly high compared to that of New Zealand. New Zealanders vote in high numbers, but volunteerism is low and most will readily talk about how cool other countries are ("You come from America? What are you doing here?").

Americans have a good sense of ownership (or entitlement, depending on how you look at it) of their country. Most would say that they are proud to be from America and most Kiwis are quick to point out that this makes American's very friendly toward them when they visit the States. This same co-worker pointed out that the Americans she met were very wiling and able to share the history or unique characteristics of their city or region. As a tourist she appreciated the info and a friendly face.

That's something I miss here. The information I most often get from Kiwis is directions to the best restaurant in town, and then directions to closest city that is bigger than the one I'm currently in.

Tiritiri Matangi: Once long ago...

Once upon a time (two and a half months ago), I didn't have a care in the world. I sat firmly in the two week long school break between the First and Second Terms of the year. I had plenty of time to enjoy the last of the warm autumn weather. This is a story of what I did with one such day.

Since coming to New Zealand I've discovered how my comfort levels and my knowledge of what's going on in my natural environment are inextricably linked. Maybe I've been spoiled gowing up in Montana, but I miss seeing deer and elk and squirrels and bears right on the edge of town. Even snakes and muskrats have a place in my nostalia centres at this point. Since New Zealand doesn't have any native mammals other than bats and sea lions, and there are no reptiles here, that means I had to acquaint myself with bird and insect life. The bugs are creepy and slimy and cool, and the only one I really needed to know about was the Whitetail spider. It's not deadly but can give you a nasty bite that is rumoured to turn your flesh rotten if not attended to properly. You can learn more about them here. We've found a few in our house here in Auckland so far, but we seem to have gotten rid of them by this point. That means that birds are much more interesting.

A girlfriend of mine, another recent transplant here from Missoula, lives in the Bay of Plenty. She volunteers at a bird sanctuary that skirts her property in the country side and we've started talking a bit about the various kinds of birds that we see and hear on a daily basis. By the end of summer we decided that we would like to spend a day on Tiritiri Matangi, an island bird sanctuary off shore just a bit north of Auckland. She came up the night before and we were out early the next morning to catch the ferry to the island. It turned out to be the perfect day.

To start with, our ferry was greeted at the sancuary by a small pod of bottle nosed dolphins. This was the first time I had seen dolphins in the wild. I thought about trying to get a picture of them playing in the ferry's wake. I couln't stop laughing at the 50 some-odd people who kept herding from one gunwale to the next as the dolphins swam back and forth under the boat, though, so no pictures. We had a nice side-to-side motion going from all of the hustling back and forth. Kids and adults alike were having a great time; even the struggling boatie (that's Kiwi for a person who drives a boat) was smiling as he somehow managed to pull the boat up to the dock without slamming into anything.

When we stumbled off the ferry we were greeted by Greg the Takahe. He's an old timer on the island who's gotten pretty used to the people who come to gawk at him and his fellow island dwellers. He stood quietly next to one of the Department of Conservation workers while she told us about the island and how we shouldn't bring mice there. His much younger mate, Cheesecake, hid demurely in the shrubs, waiting for him to finish. Evidently Greg's a bit of a cradle robber; Cheesecake was only about 2.5 years old, while he was a ripe old 15. All I can say is, way to go, Greg.


A little history is required here. I'll make it brief. The island was once owned by a family named Hobbs. They quickly cut down the vast majority of the trees to make way for pasture land, as was the agricultural practice of the day. In the early 1980's the island was bought by the Department of Conservation, which promptly recruited an army of volunteers to re-plant hundreds of new trees in an effort to establish a bird sanctuary. Islands are particularly suited for this purpose, as many native bird species here are endangered because of threats posed to habitat, food sources and nests by introduced pests like possums, rats, voles, skinks and domestic cats. Greg is a pretty good example of why these pests are so dangerous: he can't fly and doesn't have any evolutionary defenses mechanisms build up against mammals. It's a good thing in one sense, though. He made for a pretty convenient photo op...and tour guide.


As a new comer to the island I was impressed by how well the vegetation had grown since the '80s. For the most part trees were standing at and above the 12 ft level and the bird population has surpassed expectations because of the good cover. There were a few glimpses of what the island would have looked like had the deforestation not taken place. This Pohutukawa tree hovering over Hobbs Beach must be over 100 years old, or so our volunteer tour guide told us.

Tiritiri Matangi is a small island, so Sara and I were able to see basically all of it in one visit. This was our view from our picinic site. Just off to the left we could see the occasional kite surfer, but for the most part we gawked at the nearly two dozen bell birds hanging out in the tree above us. The racket was wonderful as we ate our sandwiches. Bell birds are little greenish-yellow guys about the size of if a large finch. Their call is warbly with a higher-pitched lilt to it. Sara wanted to see these most of all, so our trip was doing pretty well by the time we sat down for lunch. Bell birds are pretty hard to come by on the main islands and we considered that another good omen for our trip.

Because nothing's more boring than reading about birdwatching, here are a litany of photos that I took, along with a few notes about the birds that they show. I only took pictures of the coolest birds that you can't find flying around most places other than New Zealand. Alas, most of them didn't turn out. These are the creme of my pitiful crop. Enjoy!

Red crowned parakeets feeding and bathing near the track. They're the little dark-green spots at the centre of the photo.


A Pukeko. We have some of these hanging out in our neighbourhood, too. They are an Auckland/Northland icon. They look a bit like a malnourished goose and can only fly enough to get to the top of a short tree, where they like to scream at you for making them use their weak wings.


The view looking out on Fisherman's Bay.


A rare Brown Teal duck. There aren't many of these left on the planet, so I'm pretty happy to have had them practically shove my feet aside to get at whatever it was that I was standing on. Sorry for the blurry photo. Evidently they were pretty hungry when we stumbled onto them by their pond.


Note: Only one bird was harmed during the making of this blog post. As I was typing this a Blackbird with striking orange rims around its eyes and an orange beak decided to go Kamikaze on the glass surrounding my front porch. Upon hearing the thud I opened the door to find the poor little thing talons-up on the front stoop. Rest assured it will receive a poper burial under the Morning Glory tree in the yard. Please add "window glass" to the official list of threats to New Zealand bird species.

Seattle Espresso

Just outside the Auckland ferry terminal sits the "Seattle Espresso" coffee shop. Being U.S. expats, we tend to notices all things American here in New Zealand. Needless to say, walking past Seattle Espresso every day is a bit of a head trip. On my way to an interview a few weeks back I was dragging, so I decided to stop in for a bit of Seattle Espresso and purchase some performance enhancing drugs there.

"What's the deal with the Seattle branding?" I asked the woman behind the counter. I expected them to say that the owner was from Seattle. Or maybe they had a sister in Seattle and they fell in love with the espresso there. Possibly they'd come clean and admit that it was just a marketing gimmick. Nope. "We import our beans from Seattle," she replied.

You've got to be kidding me, right? I suddenly felt very sheepish standing there with my cup of espresso. I'm no geographer, but I'm pretty sure that coffee is grown nowhere near Seattle. Yup, Central and South America, Sub-Saharan Africa, Indonesia, and Madagascar seem to be where most of the brown stuff comes from. I realized, chances were better than not, that my coffee:

1. Was grown somewhere south of the equator.
2. Was shipped via container vessel north to Seattle.
3. Was offloaded from a container vessel, divided up by a middle man, and distributed to some coffee roaster in Seattle.
4. Was roasted.
5. Was packaged into some sort of flavor-retaining packaging.
6. Was then probably air-freighted back across the equator to Auckland and delivered via courier to Seattle Espresso.
7. Was ground up and put under high pressure steam to extract only best oils and flavors from the well-traveled bean, was mixed with some frothy milk and put into an insulated paper cup and served to a guy who used to live (relatively speaking) very close to Seattle.

Sustainable? Only in Dick Cheney's wildest fantasies.

I'm not ready to give up my newly found addiction, but I think I'll be making a conscious effort to buy coffee that was at least shipped raw to New Zealand and roasted here.

NZ medical fun: Part II

I went in for my follow-up visit yesterday to the doc. (Follow-ups are half-price within 48 hours you know.) Anyway, the doc pretty much figured that after four days, I probably wasn't too likely to have appendicitis. Likely culprit? Salmonella or giardia.

The docs ordered some tests done and I should know for certain within the next couple of days. I think it's mostly a moot point though as I'm feeling about 95% today.

Anyway, this wasn't intended to be so much of a "How's Peter Doing?" sort of post. I more wanted to give a little glimpse into what seeing the doctor in NZ is like.

In general, it's a lot like going to a clinic in the US, but with a bit less waiting than I've ever seen in the US. Your experience may vary. Both doctors that I talked to seemed knowledgeable and willing to speak to me frankly and in technical terms. They have a network of medical diagnostic labs here, so any time you need to have blood work or any other testing done, you simply go to the closest branch. That's extremely handy. And, being NZ residents walking in off the street, two doctors visits cost a total of $105. Not super cheap, but definitely better than paying a premium for health insurance plus a deductible. There are some "frequent user" programs that can drop those prices even more.

It looks like I won't get to experience a kiwi appendectomy after all, but from what I've seen of the system, it works. Gee, who'd have thought? Socialized medicine works? Shocker!

First experience with NZ medical establishment

So, almost three days ago, I started having a low grade fever and chills. Pretty standard. Chilly weather has started, and I pretty much figured that I was about due for a case of the sniffles.

Well, about two days ago, I started getting some mild pain in my lower abdomen. Nothing to write home about, nothing bad. Well yesterday that mild dull aching pain migrated and seems to have localized itself in my lower right abdomen. Ugh.

I called the local hospital and asked if I should come in. They referred me to a medical advice hot-line staffed by registered nurses. She asked me a bunch of questions about the pain, the nature of the pain, any fever, etc. She then cautiously said that I should probably take a trip in to the doctor and recommended a 24/7 clinic here on the North Shore. I asked her if I should go in now, or wait till morning. She told me it was my choice, but that she'd suggest going in now.

I met a doctor who poked and prodded my abdomen. I had the classic textbook symptoms of appendicitis--pain that starts below the navel and eventually settles around the appendix. However, I didn't have severe pain and I didn't have "guarding" or uncontrolled tensing of the abdominal muscles when poked in the appendix. Pretty suspicious stuff, but nothing to get too worked up over. He recommended drinking plenty of water and sleeping on it. Presumably it would be better or worse in the morning.

It's morning now and I don't really feel better or worse. After I have a chance to wake up a bit, I think I'll probably call back in to the clinic and ask, "now what?"

In Other Easter News...

You'll be pleased to note that 16,121 bunnies were killed in Central Otago during the annual Easter Bunny Hunt this year. As a major pest in New Zealand, Kiwis are pretty pleased with the haul.

Another story in today's paper reports that the Easter kiwi (that's the bird, not the fruit or the person) has been voted the preferred Easter mascot for New Zealand by the people at the Makenzie Easter Show in Canterbury.

Maybe we'll see chocolate kiwis popping up in the seasonal isles of the supermarket next year.

Montana Jazz Festival - Tauranga review

Easter weekend we hopped in the car and headed down to the Montana Jazz Festival in Tauranga (yes, New Zealand). Being jazz aficionados from Montana, it's a little strange seeing Montana logos, jazz, palm trees, and beaches all in one place. We're familiar with this excellent Montana Jazz Festival. Additionally, we spent some quality time with our good friends Tim and Sara who also moved from Missoula to New Zealand and are now living in sunny Tauranga.

Tauranga was clearly the place to be over the Easter holiday. New Zealand has a silly law that causes most businesses to close Easter weekend. I say it's a silly law, because most kiwis don't even go to church. Enacted 17 years ago, it's not like the Easter weekend trading law is some sort of grand old tradition. I'll go on record as calling it a lame, anachronistic "blue law" that has no place in a secular country.

Tauranga doesn't suffer from the trade act because it has a jazz festival. I think it's because we jazz types are in cahoots with Satan, and he knows which strings to pull to get an exemption. I'm not sure what it means, but in Tauranga, you could even get some "coffee up your jazz."

As we arrived downtown, it was clear this was a big festival. A number of roads were blocked off and the sound of one band bled into the next. As we walked down one street, we saw the NZ Air Force band playing an excellent rendition of Stevie Wonder's "Superstition." Hey, that's pretty funky. The female vocalist singing most definitely had pipes. They finished to boisterous applause despite playing a small side-street venue. Then they launched into another Stevie Wonder chart. They must have been doing a Stevie Wonder tribute gig. Hey, they're an Air force band, they can get away some kitsch--it is a festival after all.

But as we walked from venue to venue, I noticed that everyone we heard was playing covers. They weren't just covers, but covers of pop music done "jazzy." The jazz we heard were mostly standards. There's nothing wrong with playing some of the standards, but it felt a little tired to hear the most standard of standards against a backdrop of jazzy pop oldies.

Out of the approximately 15 songs I heard, some 12 were clearly identifiable covers or "ultra" standards. I hate to sound like a whiner, but a steady diet of (I'm not making this up) the theme from "Love boat" or a swing rendition of "All Along The Watchtower" started grating on me.

By the time we decided to head back to Auckland, I'd pretty given up on hearing jazz. It was fun; it had a nice carnival atmosphere (complete with bouncy castles, jugglers, and escape artists), but it wasn't really a jazz festival in any way that I was familiar with. It lacked authenticity. I began to realize that the festival was a ruse for bars to sell a whole lot of food and booze on Easter weekend.

Fortunately, on the way back to car we found salvation. There was a little trio setting up down one of the side streets. They had their white hippy van parked next to them, their dog lazily lying in the shade.

And I'll be damned if they weren't playing honest to goodness real jazz. They had some rough transitions in spots, but they were playing together and off of each other. And for the 40 minutes that we listened, they didn't trot out any pop covers.

Tim asked what their band was called. "Do you have any suggestions?" they laughed. This was in sharp contrast to pretentiously named groups like the Grant Winterburn Experience. Thank you, anonymous band. You saved Easter.

...

As a postscript, anyone near Missoula in April should go hear the Buddy DeFranco Jazz Festival at UM. Bob Mintzer is going to be there, and he's brilliant.

Move along, nothing to see here

A plaque in Devonport:

How I'm spending my summer non-vacation

Did you know that everything is the opposite of the US in New Zealand? Students go to school in the summer, boys play jump rope in high school, and teachers can actually pay the bills on a first year teacher's salary.

Of course I'm speaking with a bit of hyperbole, but not much. Indeed, it's summer right now and school started for me 5 weeks ago. While I was baking away in my office last week I wandered over to the window to get a bit of a breeze. My shared window looks out over one of the sports fields, and what do I spy on the far edge of the PE activities but a group of students playing jump rope. Blink, blink. At a boys' high school. Blink, blink. Later that day I was talking with the boys on the tennis team I manage, and I mentioned that boys don't jump rope in the States. Nor do they usually play volleyball competitively in high school. They were aghast; volleyball is one of the more popular sports for boys here. "Skipping rope is just...well...fun," they added. We all had a good chuckle about those backward Americans that were stuck down in the Northern Hemisphere.

Of course there are those things that span cultures as well. Boys still scratch themselves flagrantly in public places, their feet smell just as bad (if not worse) down here, and I'm realising that teaching is basically the same no matter where you do it. Given a little support and respect, every day can be productive and enjoyable. And, of course, we all have our off days.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) my life is revolving pleasantly around my work these days. Sorry about the lack of blog posts, but I just haven't really done much in the last month or so. I get to work while the sun rises over Rangitoto Island, which I can barely see from my office window, and I typically don't finish my day until about 6 pm. Monday nights I go back to school for an evening Maori language course that is run through our Community Education department. Teachers study for free and partners get in half price, so Peter's taking a Russian conversation class on Tuesdays.

Saturday mornings I cheer on the tennis team that I "manage." I've not been asked to coach, but instead to organise a group of boys to play socially. We practice once a week if they are done with their homework and I go to their matches every Saturday to keep score. So my Saturday mornings are spent outside in the sun with a group of friendly young men who enjoy playing a sport simply for the fun of it. Things could be worse; I could be asked to coach pee wee soccer in the suburbs of America.

I've had some requests to share my experience teaching in New Zealand schools. My goal is to set up a separate blog for that purpose. Watch this space, as they say, for the upcoming URL. I'm probably going to get that going come the end of the first quarter of school. That's coming up in-yikes!-4 weeks. Man! Time flies when you're having fun.

Pictures of my school will be forthcoming as well once I figure out if it's legal for me to go snapping photos of my workplace to post on the net.

Did you know? (Plus a summer update)

California redwood trees have been imported to Aotearoa. I took this picture at the One Tree Hill Domain in central Auckland:




Rest assured, California readers, that you will not get homesick here.

On another note, summer is treating us well. I sort of feel like we've just arrived here in New Zealand. Despite many of the disparaging things we've heard from many kiwis about Auckland, I have to confess that I'm really liking it here. In retrospect, moving down in time for a second winter was ill-advised and probably soured us on Wellington. Fortunately, summer erases all problems.

Yeah, traffic's bad, but it could be a lot worse. Yeah, public transit could be better, but I can mostly get where I want to get on it. Yeah, finding real chiles and tomatillos is nearly impossible. But all of this has the spectacular backdrop of beaches, ferns, grass-covered volcanic cones, shimmering water, and impossibly blue skies.

The only thing I can really complain about these days is that I'm getting a touch bored staying home while Roni goes to work. (What a problem to have!)

So, I've officially started looking for a new job. Words cannot express how much more relaxed I am about finding a job this time. Roni's job pretty much pays our bills, so I feel like I've got some more leeway to do fun stuff. I'm going to look into doing some contract work. It's less stable than a "real" job, but it's potentially more lucrative and would give me opportunities to take time off if and when I have a project that I want to chase after.

Right now I'm sitting in a coffee shop blogging, brushing up on my programming skills, and studying for the Russian conversation class I'm taking on Tuesday evenings.

Yup, life is good. I could get used to this.

Devonport auto show

The other day, while driving home, I was struck by a strange conglomeration of surprise and surprise at my lack of surprise. Here's a photo:


My surprise: Hey, there's a Corvette. You don't see many of those here.
My lack of surprise: Huh, (look carefully now) it's got a California licence plate.
My surprise at my lack of surprise: It's got a California license plate???

Okay, I'll admit it, we drove right by the turnoff to our house so that we could tail them. We had to get a picture. Unfortunately, my cellphone was the best we had. I was driving, and Roni didn't know how to use the camera on my phone. Sorry, this was the best picture we could get.

Anyway, upon closer inspection we realized that, not only was this a California registered Corvette, the steering wheel and driver were on the traditional American side of the vehicle. Very odd.

We thought about following them and asking them about their car and why they had it in Devonport, but we decided that would make us look too stalkerish. In retrospect, anyone who loves their car enough to ship it to New Zealand probably wouldn't have minded bragging on it to a couple of American emigrés.

Trivia:
Corvette rhymes with courgette, which is what they call zucchini here. Messed up, huh?

Living in the 'net boondocks

The stages of culture shock are reasonably well known:

1. The honeymoon stage ("gee ,everyone / everything is so different and nice")
2. The irritation / anger stage ("why the heck do they do that?")
3. The rejection stage ("oh, it's kiwi, it must be bad")
4. The integration stage ("eh, when in Rome. . .")
5. The reentry stage ("Were things really like this before I left?")

I preface this entry with the qualifier to point out that things could really be worse. We live within a 5 minute walk of the beach. I get a great view of the Hauraki Gulf and Auckland's majestic harbor bridge when I walk down the driveway to the mailbox.

Ultimately, however, this story is fixed somewhere between points 2 and 3 on the culture shock list. Those who are faint of heart and those who are enamored with New Zealand's telecommunications infrastructure are advised that this author intends to express some particularly vitriolic sentiments about New Zealand telecommunications.

First, a little history: When we arrived in New Zealand, one of the first things we did was to look for a café with wireless internet access. Auckland, City of Sails, home to approximately 1.2 million people, is a modern, cosmopolitan city. By contrast, Missoula is a city of under 60 thousand, surrounded by a vast expanse of rural. In Missoula, the coffee shops have offered free wireless internet, or 'wifi,' for several years. In fact, Missoula's wifi hotspots came to several local bars and even to the Mount Olympus of microbreweries, The Kettlehouse. (As an aside, people sometimes ask us if we miss anything from the States that they could send. Yes. We miss Double Haul IPA from the Kettlehouse. It comes in shippable cans.)

The state of wifi in Auckland, however, was a bit different as we soon found out. We stopped into a handful of non-Starbucks coffee shops along Queen Street, the cosmopolitan center of Auckland, and asked, "Do you have wifi here?" Most responded, "Huh"? A few responded, "Uh, no."

Hmm. . . This doesn't look promising. Well, we needed to tell the family that we made it alive, so we swallowed our pride and went to a Starbucks. "$10 / hour for wifi?! " Well, that clearly wasn't going to be sustainable. So, we economized on internet usage and found other internet cafés that were (*cough*) less posh than your average Starbucks (and not even in the same ballpark as our local coffee shops in Missoula).

We went through a dark period in Wellington when we ended up buying dial-up access just so that we could search for jobs online. But, I found work and we moved into a slightly more permanent apartment. We could get broadband! In our own house!

We were so excited, we hardly even cared that our broadband was:

1. incredibly slow
2. required us to pay for a phone line that we didn't need or want
3. limited the amount we could download (In Missoula, like most places in the US, broadband is unlimited)
4. cost twice as much as the service we left in Missoula (above and beyond the $30/month phone service that we didn't really need).

This was all okay until a variety of factors led to us moving north from Wellington to the warmer and much less windy climate of Auckland. Upon planning our cross country move to Auckland, one of the first things we did was to schedule a service move with Telecom for our phone and Internet. We were very explicit about timing. I was planning to take some time off to do some personal skills development, and the Internet factored heavily into those plans. We didn't want any screw-ups. We called well in advance.

Fast forward to our arrival in Auckland. After a long hard day's drive, I decided it would be nice to kick back, check my e-mail, and catch up the news. So, I plugged in our networking stuff and got ready for some much deserved web surfing.

Nothing.

Okay, let's do some troubleshooting (as you know, I'm rather proud of my Shaolin-like computing abilities.). About 2 minutes of troubleshooting later and I've decided to see if I can even get a dial tone off the phone line. I plug in a phone and listen. "Hey, hon! I can hear the ocean in here." Frack.

The next day, we go to the neighbor's apartment, introduce ourselves, and ask to use her phone to call Telecom. While we're making small talk with our neighbor, we ask her if she ever has problems with her phone. "Oh yeah," she says, "Since we had a big lightning strike last year, everyone in this area has been having odd problems."

Oh, boy.

I reach Telecom, report the fault, and they tell me that it's going to be over a week before they can get a technician out to look at the problem. I, downtrodden, hang up. No, wait! I come from America, land of consumer activism. Didn't a Montanan just win a New Zealander of the year award for her work in consumer advocacy? She even lives up here in the North Shore!

The next day, I called back to Telecom and very politely told them my predicament and asked them if there was any way they could expedite the technician. (Word to the wise: always be friendly with anyone you speak to at any tech support group. Being rude exponentially decreases your chance of a favorable resolution.) "Yeah, we can get a technician out in 3 days." Not the best, but better than the previous estimate. I take it.

Finally, Telecom Technician Day comes. We are elated. After digging around at our jacks for a while, and poking around outside, we have a dial tone and Internet! We are elated. . . .

Later that day: "Does it seem like things are really slow?" I ask. "Yeah, it does," says Roni. "Does it seem like a lot of pages won't load on the first try?" I ask. "Yeah, it does," says Roni.

I get back on the phone with Telecom and explain the predicament. They say they'll get a tech out in about a week. Yay.

Technicians come, technicians go. I estimate I've called Telecom about 15 times in the last month and a half. I think Telecom has sent a half dozen technicians. I have case numbers with Telecom's technical support, Xtra Broadband's (Telecom's broadband partner) "advanced ADSL helpdesk," Telecom's customer support, and one of Telecom's line repair outsource providers--plus a couple other case numbers that I can't remember where they go to.

Last week we had a very friendly line technician come to our apartment. He determined the problem was definitely not in our house, but in the main line servicing the area. "Oh yes, that lightning strike last year really caused a lot of problems in this area," he explained. Unfortunately, he couldn't really do anything. It was another group's responsibility, and (wouldn't you know it?) he can't see the fault anymore anyway. Of course he couldn't see the fault; our DSL connection drops intermittently. He told us to let them know if we continued to have any problems.

I've decided I need to ramp things up a little. I started using a network tool called 'ping' to determine when our connection goes down. (I apologize to the techies for the oversimplified explanation. I also apologize to the non-techies for the overly technical explanation.) Basically, what I've been doing is saying "are you there?" to Telecom every three seconds for 24 hours at a time. If Telecom responds, I know that our connection is still up.

In one 24 hour span, our connection might drop as few as 20 times. 10 hours in to the current test, it has already dropped over 40 times. D'oh!

"Pinging" doesn't just tell me how often our connection drops. It can also tell me how long it takes information to cross our scratchy lines to Telecom. The time it takes for us to talk to Telecom would not make a satellite internet provider proud. (Satellites beam a signal over 22,000 miles and are notorious for high latency pings.) Ouch.

We can't even carry on an instant messenger conversation without frequent interruptions. A common conversation looks like this:

Friend: "Hi, Peter. How's it going?"
Peter: "Great. How are you doing?"
Friend ". . ."
Friend ". . ."
Peter: "Are you there?"
Friend ". . ."
Peter: "Damn."

There are plenty of reasons to move to NZ. If you are an IT professional or must otherwise rely on an internet connection for your livelihood, New Zealand probably isn't right for you.

Anyway, I called back to Telecom today to let them know that, yes, I'm still having the problem. They're going send a tech out sometime next week.

Beef...oh, so THAT'S what's for dinner!

Continuing on with our "Things to Eat in New Zealand" thread of blog entries, we have a few new gems for all of our devoted readers. Some of you may remember the Great Wallaby Incident of '06 we wrote about a while ago. Well, for all of you living in cattle country, here's another meaty wonder just for you.


Peter immediately started laughing in the grocery store when he saw this and snapped a picture with his cell phone. I just sighed; I had seen this before in other supermarkets. What has the world come to? And just what were these sausages made of if not beef? They had no ingredient label, so my mind just had to wander through all of the worst case scenarios as we walked by the sheep's kidneys toward the kleenex isle. The best thing I can say about these sausages is that they were much cheaper than any of the other items in the meat case. Needless to say we didn't get any.


We also saw this product near the checkout stand. Part of me actually wanted to by a box, just to compare it to the original. I know that they call raisins 'sultanas' here and that it probably tastes exactly like it does in the States, but still. Unfortunately, like most of the imported food here (and a lot of it is imported), it cost way more than I wanted to pay for it. We're in the process of sifting through the markets to find the cheap and healthy locally produced food. It's not proving an easy task, but since when is anything healthy or responsible easy?


I'll end this post with nod to all of you Futurama fans out there. I actually found this product at a dairy (aka convenience store) in Wellington. Not only was is Bachelor's brand food product (conjuring up images of Fry living on specially formulated brown stuff in the year 3000), but it claimed to be the UK's favourite mutilated vegetable matter.



My official review is mixed. It was better than I expected it to be-reminiscent of the condensed Campbell's split pea and bacon soup I loved as a kid-but still a cylindrical mass o' mashed vegetable that tasted just about as good as something like that can. I would only recommend this product to people with a nagging and sick sense of curiosity who also have $2.50 to spare.