“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 saw the Wellington Phoenix win a few games
• I ran seven kilometers in the Wellington Round the Bays and finished in 34:32, which is about 8 minutes per mile
• I attended Webstock with my colleagues. It was inspiring and my favorite speakers were Shelley Bernstein and John Resig
• Last week I weighed 60.1 kilograms, or 132 pounds. I’m close to my fat goal. Soon I will be in a permanent fattened state
• I’m consistently winning cash in poker tournaments. I’ve placed second, third and fourth in 180 player tourneys
• I had my first bloody nose. It was scary
• Xero Personal was released this week. I love it, you should check it out

§

Last weekend Louie was in Wellington on a holiday. Our worlds are so different.

“They have 2 pound cocktails in London,” she says.

I look at her in disbelief. How do they measure that? Can someone drink two pounds of alcohol? How many liters is that? Alcoholics.

I say, “Are you serious? That’s almost a kilogram.”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Two British pounds. They’re cheap, not heavy.”

Over the weekend the dough went through three stages of fermentation and proofing. Most of the time is spent waiting for the dough to do something.

Shaping it was tricky, because if I rolled the dough too much, or pushed it too hard, it would degas.¹ If the dough lost the gas created by the yeast, the holes would disappear and the flavor would change.

The bread is pretty good with dips and oils, except the bottom is a bit crispy. Because the loaf is freestanding, I need a buy a baking stone to stop it from burning.

I’m happy with the way it looks and tastes. The book I have is excellent.

_{1. Who knew degas was a word? Because of school, I only see Edward Degas, but I’m guessing it’s de-gas, as in gasoline. I will use it from now on in this context: “It stinks. Did you just degas?”}

The recipe¹ is from the book titled The Bread Baker’s Apprentice: Mastering the Art of Extraordinary Bread by Peter Reinhart.

Besides listing recipes the author also talks about the different chemical processes in bread making. The most surprising idea I learned was that the dough is kneaded not only to mix the ingredients, but to raise its temperature so the yeast activates.

Kneading was the fun bit even though it was a workout.

I also needed to take the temperature of the bread while it was baking. Each loaf needs to rise to a certain temperature, depending on the type of bread. In this way, bread is like turkey.

§

My flat mate saw me kneading the dough.

“That looks sticky.”

“Yes it’s sticky. I think I need to add more flour,” I said.

“You know my mom has a bread machine. You can borrow it if you want to make bread.”

“…”

“Would you like to borrow it?”

“No, you fool! I need to feel the dough between my fingers!”

_{1. Strangely this bread required brown rice, honey and buttermilk.}

I have one complaint about my new abode. During our first morning together it tried to kill me.

It was a normal start to a normal day. I woke up late, as usual. I hit walls while walking to the bathroom and I fiddled with the temperature of the shower. I noticed the tub was unusually curved. When I groggily turned to grab the shampoo and sing like Ferris Bueller my feet lost their grip and, as usual, gravity was pitiless.

I fell in the tub. I was embarrassed, even though I was alone. I carefully stood up, dressed myself and went to the doctor. I thought I fractured a rib.

After giving me a series of hugs to assess the damage to my rib cage the doctor said, “You probably have a small fracture. Don’t be a pussy and go to work.”

Apparently I like to start a new year by breaking bones. One year ago I broke my toe. January is a dangerous month.

When I told a colleague at work I slipped in the tub, she said when her mother fell in the bath she broke her nose. When I told Richard about my accident, he said his grandfather died from slipping in the tub.

Be careful, reader. Tubs are dangerous.

Besides watching the polo, I:

• “bid” in my first charity auction, which raised money for the Ronald McDonald House
• played roulette in the Christchurch Casino, and walked away a winner
• drove along the Summit Road by Lyttelton
• walked through the Christchurch Art Gallery and smelled the roses in the botanic gardens

The polo started before noon and I was nervous. What was the etiquette? Was the match like the scene from Pretty Woman? Are we expected to stomp divots with hookers? Should we bring extra change to give to the poor, as if we were tossing stale bread to pigeons? Polo has that air about it.

When we arrived I snuck inside the marquee for reconnaissance. I registered our names and we were allocated seats for lunch, which was served after the second chukka.

Watching the game was fun because I’m scared of horses. When the polo “ponies” galloped past me, my heart skipped a beat. Horses are big.

During the fourth chukka a player was hit by a polo mallet. After he dismounted, his hands tried to catch the blood falling from his nose, without touching his nose. So I guess it was broken. He forgot his harden up pills at home so he was replaced with another player.

§

Last night was the New Zealand premiere of The Lovely Bones. We found a good spot along the red carpet outside the Embassy and waited for Peter Jackson and Susan Sarandon. It was my first movie premiere.

Sometimes living in New Zealand is exciting.

• celebrated Keith’s birthday in Martinborough
• ate Thanksgiving at C. & C.’s house with other members of my New Zealand family. So good! I had two helpings of turkey and two slices of pie for dessert. The evening ended with short blacks and port as the digestif
• joined a gym

And to briefly recap this year’s blogs I:

• broke a bone in January and pierced my ears in October with Amber
• travelled to Hawaii to see my parents, attended Mark and Jill’s wedding in Ireland, visited Sarah and John in London and backpacked my way through the South Island with Dan
• sold photographs at the New Zealand Affordable Art Show in Wellington. This was the first time I sold work to anonymous consumers
• modelled shirts for Webstock. This was the first time I modelled anything

This year has been better than average. I’ve snapped thousands of photos and some of them are worthy of the wall.

Work is good. Xero has grown so much since January 2009. During the past few months we’ve developed Xero Personal, a tool to help manage personal finances. Xero Personal makes me giddy.

At the start of each year I make a list of achievable goals for the next 12 months. The list reminds me to think about the future and throughout the year I endeavour to achieve each goal. Ordered by the level of difficulty, here is a rough guess at the start of my 2010 list:

• fire a gun. I’ve never fired a gun. Apparently an American who hasn’t fired a gun “should be shot”
• travel to a new continent. This will either be South America, Africa or Antarctica
• place first in a poker tournament. This is difficult as it depends the level of skill in the tournament
• publish a short story. This goal is old, and never marked as achieved. Finishing stories is difficult for me
• gain five kilograms. Fat chance, I hope

I rarely achieve an entire list. Gaining five kilograms will be impossible. But damn it I’ll try!

I hope you make goals and think about the future. Life is too short to fart around.

As gambling is legal in New Zealand, I play and lose tournaments at the Lanes, a local ten pin bowling club. I’d like to think my skill is improving, but it’s hard to say. My goal is to win a tournament in the next six months.

Although the game can be frustrating, the poker community is great. Not only are its members diverse, they share a unique vocabulary. For example have you heard of the flop, the turn, the river, a Dolly Parton¹, an Anna Kournikova², a bad beat, a boat and a nut flush?

That’s only a few. During the night you can someone say, “I had pocket nines and flopped a boat. He was on a flush draw.” I love the language.

Besides poker I play ping-pong every week with Andy. Again I don’t win, and when we play I focus on how to lose gracefully. I refuse to spit the dummy!³

Through two months of gaming I now realize I have an addictive personality. First poker, then ping-pong. What’s next? How do I become addicted to something productive?

<sub>1. This is when your two starting cards are nine and five, live the movie
2. This is when your two starting cards are ace and king. This is named after her because it looks good but rarely wins
3. A dummy is a pacifier. To spit the dummy means to throw a tantrum</sub>

• You should buy swag from the Webstock shop. They’re comfy and hip. And who’s modeling the men’s shirts?
• I sold work at the New Zealand Affordable Arts show in Wellington. There were 563 artists in the show and together we made $992,000
• I attended Mark and Jill’s wedding in Ireland last month. The wedding was beautiful and I am so happy they invited me
• Dan visited me for two weeks this month. We flew to Christchurch, hired¹ a van, and drove around the South Island. Highlights include hot springs, glaciers, fjords, beaches and sheep
• Amber and I pierced our ears

§

It was great seeing Dan. We met at 15. He drove me to school in the morning. His car was a broken station wagon covered in bumper stickers, bonnet to boot.² What I remember from English class is learning the word “dilatory” and thinking “that’s Dan.” Back then, he was always late.

Especially in the mornings, we usually left late for school. It made me nervous, you know, as we studied in a Catholic high school and God burns kids who are late to class. So on the drive I was usually uneasy.

Then he would stop for a bacon-filled bagel.³ Torture. When we parked I would run to class and he would saunter. He charmed the teachers with piety and respect, so they all adored him, like he was a joy to have in class.

My relationship with the faculty was strictly master/servant. Once my math teacher, Mr. Glennon, rummaged through my bag and took out my gym shoes. He opened the window and chucked them outside during an exam. The class stared. I think he was trying to break the tension. He looked me in the eyes, raised his arm and pointed at the window. He said, “Get your shoes.” The class snickered.

I dove through the window headfirst.

Master, servant.

<sub>1. rented
2. hood to trunk
3. I know I’m skinny, but his appetite is impressive. On our trip he ate all the time</sub>

“Do you want a separate bag for the washing powder?”

“No thanks.”

“What about a separate bag for your meat?”

“No that’s okay.”

She takes the wine bottle, scans it and puts it in a paper bag.

“Am I going to be charged for that?”

“What, the wine bag?”

“Yes.”

“It depends if it’s in a separate bag. Do you want it in a separate bag?”

“No thank you.”

She scan the milk. She looks at the bag of groceries. She looks at me.

“No. One bag. Please just one bag.”

“I don’t think it’s going to fit?”

“Oh it will fit. Make it fit. Pile it on top.”

§

Some local grocery stores have started charging for plastic bags. What a guy does to save a nickel!

If they were brown paper bags like in America I wouldn’t mind.