I may be a year older this week, but I still look young. If you want to stay youthful, here are my suggestions:

• have good genes
• chew your food
• laugh a lot
• cautiously enter serious commitments

My dad always said he had a full head of hair until he married and my mom always said her hair turned gray when she had kids.

As I am unmarried, and without children, I’m happy to say I have a full head of dark blonde hair. I’d like to keep it that way.

The only commitment that causes me stress is a silly plant. I fight the urge to chuck it out the window every weekend. It should be dead because I rarely give it water, but apparently it thrives on negligence, like your gut does from your lack of exercise.

§

In December Katie and I fired guns in Newtown. As an American in New Zealand, I talk about guns a lot. Usually I take advantage of the idea that all Americans own guns.

For example, when we told Katie’s brother we fired guns, he looked at me in shock and said, “What? You’ve never fired a gun? But you’re American!”

“Well, I owned two guns that I bought from Walmart, and oddly I miss them. But I never fired them,” I said.

“Wow, seriously?”

“No.”

We went to the Wellington Pistol Club. They have a firing range outside, in Newtown.

We went because she wanted to know what it felt like to fire a gun and I felt an obligation to fire a gun, being American.

I was an excellent shot, but felt nothing except for the sheer delight and pleasure of being a good shot. Katie was a bad shot, but she had so many feelings from shooting bullets she still had fun.

Also note we went shooting after my holiday party, so I was a little drunk, thus relaxed, ergo kicked ass at hitting the bull’s-eye.

A father and son ran the pistol club. The father looked like he was trying to run a reputable business, while simultaneously trying to market guns as “safe,” as if guns are only made to fire bullets at paper.

The son looked like his best friend was Halo.

Was I disturbed holding weapons that could potentially kill someone? No. But I was disturbed by this:

“This is a .22 caliber pistol. You can pick it up and hold it,” the father told us.

“It’s heavy,” I said. “What’s this kind of gun used for?”

“Murder,” the son said.

I shit you not.

The father’s eyes darted between Katie and me, and then he glared at his son and said, “Don’t be weird.”

A friendly note to you, pistol owner, when someone is learning to fire a gun, and is slightly drunk, don’t joke about murder. I had nightmares!

§

In high school a friend was playing basketball outside. Suddenly bullets started whizzing past his head and he found himself caught in a gang fight. He was shot in the back. The bullet went through his spine and subsequently he was paralyzed from the waist down.

One week he was walking through the corridors in school and the next week he was rolling through them.

Sometimes his feet would move in his wheelchair, and when he noticed a priest he would quip, “Stop trying to heal me, you’re not Jesus!” He has a sense of humor in his condition.

So naturally my whole life I’ve been against guns, but now I can see their appeal. Especially because I’m an amazing shot.

While growing up, some of my friends had summer cottages along the lake and other friends drove to famous landmarks with their parents. My family drove to Florida every summer. Driving away from a hot summer towards an even hotter one makes as much sense as taking a hot bath in Death Valley. But July means summer vacation, free from the burden of school. It’s the only time a family can holiday together. By the time I was a teenager I hated it, so I avoided Orlando until this year.

Within a week of arriving in Chicago my family flew to Disney in Orlando, Florida and we spent ten days together. I was nervous. Before my nieces and nephews were born, I was the youngest boy in my family, the second youngest child in my extended family. I’ve never been around kids. Babies, yes, but they only dribble.

The first day at the Magic Kingdom was shocking. Everything seemed tiny, like I was walking through my primary school hallway and thinking were the lockers and chairs always this small? But the parks are made for little people, and it seemed like they had fun, I think. It’s hard to tell. Children are hard to read.

For example one day at Animal Kingdom it was around 37 °C (98 °F). To battle the heat we decided to go on a water ride. It was a large family raft, where everyone sits together, and as the raft floats down a river it’s squirted with water. But my niece didn’t want to go because she didn’t want to get wet. She was a little irritable from the heat. She lost the battle with her parents. She got wet. As the line was unusually short we wanted to go again but she fought and whined to stay off the ride.

At home my sister asked, “What was your favorite part of the theme park today?”

“The water ride,” she said.

What.

My brother-in-law told me to practice safe sex.

§

New York was the same size. Most of my favorite spots were different. I stayed a few blocks away from Central Park with a friend I met in Wellington. Throughout my stay she was plagued with psoriasis, which made her itchier than a baby with chicken pox.

Her doctor asked for samples of everything her body secreted and excreted. Urine, saliva, feces. It was three days of planned meals and frequent visits to the toilet, to bag and tag her leftovers. She boxed her stuff to post to California, where her preferred doctor practiced.

On the way to the mailbox we were distracted by mannequins and shop windows along the avenue, so we ended up browsing merchandise with a box of excrement in tow. “Megan, I don’t think we should be carrying that through these stores,” I whispered.

She laughed, “Don’t worry Timmy. No one knows. It’s our little secret.”

She calls me Timmy because once upon a time she found me similar to the retarded South Park child in the wheelchair.

§

A few years ago, after a friend in Wellington drove through America, someone asked her to describe the states in one word. She picked consume. At the time I couldn’t see it, but because I returned to Wellington with two suitcases each weighing 25 kilograms (55 pounds), I can see her point.

Most tourists want to see Los Angeles or New York, skipping Chicago altogether. Big mistake. It’s clean. There’s a big frickin’ freshwater lake. It feels friendly.

My friends in the city showed me their favorite bits of their neighborhood, and their pride reminded me of the time Amber arrived in Wellington. I took her to all of my local spots and we had a great time. I still felt the same when I landed at the airport in Wellington. It’s good to be back.

“It’s one of my favorites,” I said.

“I know, right? Can you believe a girl saw it tonight and called it a sissy red?”

“She did? Why’d she do that?”

“Because she’s a bitch.”

§

I met an American from Chicago this week, and we talked about the city and the experiences of moving to New Zealand. She said, “After telling someone I’m from Chicago, I hate when they say ‘from one windy city to another’ or something else about the wind.”

20 minutes later we were standing in a circle, with strangers. Someone asks her, “So where in the states are you from?”

“Chicago,” she said.

“From one windy city to another, eh?”

If you’re moving to Wellington from Chicago, expect a lot of wind talk. Whether you like it or not, it’s where our cultures try to connect.

§

Next Friday I’m flying to Chicago for a seven week holiday. If any of my kiwi friends want something from America, let me know. I have a large suitcase.

I could only watch the surfers because I’m just a beginner. Those waves look small but they’re easily 12 feet high. I saw a man’s surfboard snap it half.

Some other remarkable memories from my three week vacation:

• a street peddler attempted to sell me tickets to a shooting range where I could fire “real guns”
• a customs official asked if I brought marmite. I asked if it was illegal, and she said, “No, I just don’t like the stuff. Yuck.”
• some Hawaiians are fat. Bigger than midwestern fat. I think their island genes compound the fatty foods
• a stranger gave me a lift, and I asked him what to see in O’ahu. He said, “I don’t know. I usually drink with my friends. It’s safer that way.” I didn’t ask
• my parents and I saw lava flow into the ocean at Volcano National Park

I mostly slept in the sun. It was so warm…

§

Thanksgiving Dinner 2008

Toasted Le Moulin baguette with:
Cream cheese & caramelised onions

Apple pie & cream
Christmas fruit mince pie

§

Catherine made everything from scratch, even the coleslaw! Here’s a photo of my adopted family in Wellington. Catherine (the chef) and Craig (the sous-chef) are on the right:

And here we are at the end of dinner, waiting for dessert:

So good! It reminded me of dutch apple pie, without the cinnamon.

Thank you so much C & C, it was superb!

Fascinating!¹ After seeing this I wanted to know how New Zealand compared to the United States. For example, how would the same salary be taxed in Illinois and how would those taxes be spent?

Based on the United States federal budget of 2008² and the net pay calculator for the state of Illinois during the 2008 tax year, here’s the American tax statement:³

Let’s compare any amount over $500 between America and New Zealand:

So what sticks out? America: social security, defense, unemployment, debt and war. New Zealand: transport, social development, health, education and defense.

That’s a cynical and dangerous look at the tax breakdowns, but even so, the War on Terror would proportionately receive almost twice as much tax as the Ministry of Defence.⁵

And what’s that? Interest on National Debt?

Is New Zealand even in debt?

Surprisingly, I would pay more tax in Illinois than in New Zealand (over $2,000 more). And Americans don’t even have the same benefits as Kiwis, like public health care or financial support for accidental injuries. Plus, I don’t need to file a tax return in New Zealand (which is a service I would pay for, and apparently do). Why does the IRD receive so much money?

Which makes me wonder, if you could allocate your tax dollars to specific departments, would you? For example if you don’t want to finance “proactive war,” would you give that money to your favorite department, like the National Aeronautics & Space Administration?⁶

Decades ago this wouldn’t have been possible (logistical nightmare) but this type of government seems feasible today.

Although, it scares me to think about the nutters who would give their tax to the Department of Defense.

But it could be a way to clearly see where the people want their money spent.

<sub>1. This year I started tracking my personal finances. I concluded after two months I am an alcoholic, and if I didn’t drink my wages I would be a millionaire.
2. The budgets from 1996 to 2009 are available online. View the budgets here.
3. The calculated proportions of the budget does not distinguish between income tax, payroll taxes, corporate tax, excise tax, customs, estate and gift taxes. It’s all lumped together, so the figures are at best estimates of how the government spends income tax.
4. Illinois state tax is an additional 3 percent, totalling $2039.16. This brings the total taxed to 29.51%.
5. Spelling defense with a “c,” blasphemy!
6. I did go to space camp, after all.</sub>

Designers (sometimes me) are different than developers (almost everyone at the presentation).¹

For example, before the presentation began, Kirk had an announcement:

“After the presentation we’ll give out a keyboard as a prize, so stick around,” Kirk said.

I said, “A keyboard? Excellent! Is anyone in the audience musical? Can anyone play a song?”

…

“No, it’s not that type of keyboard,” Kirk said. “It’s a Microsoft keyboard.”

…

I was the only person in the room who thought it was a musical keyboard.

The presentation went well, and it was fun to meet new people in the IT community. If you went to the presentation, thanks for coming!

Update: the presentation has been posted to Slideshare.

_{1. Although the title of the presentation made some girls bite the bait! Design can do that.}

“I didn’t cheer for the Yanks,” man number one said.

“I have a shirt that says the US bombs the world. I should have worn that,” man number two said.

Yea, as if the rugby players care. And that shirt is uninformative and lame. Where’s the wit?

_{1. A rugby tournament between 16 countries}

“Hey! You!”

I turned around and saw a red faced man wearing a bright blue vest, which identified him as library staff. He looked like Michael Moore because of his glasses and the fat belly, but he sounded twangy.

“Who gave you permission to take photos?” He barked.

“Oh. Do I need permission?” I asked.

“Yes in fact you do, you need my permission before you take photos inside the library, and you haven’t asked me, so you shouldn’t be taking photos.”

I was shocked into silence. The conversation went on for a bit, and it ended badly.

“Well next time you want to take photos you need permission,” he said.

“Don’t worry, next time I’ll ask for sure!”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Oh.”

§

As I walked out of the building he followed me to make sure of something. I don’t know what.

I still can’t believe a librarian yelled at me! Now I have to avoid the library until I recover my ‘I can do anything because I’m free’ ignorance.

I only wanted a picture of the library so I remember what it looks like.

“Shorpy is a blog about old photos and what life a hundred years ago was like: How people looked and what they did for a living.”

The past looks so poor.