“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.”

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.

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.

The road to the ski field was icy. Instead of salting the roads, cars driving up the mountain equip their tires with chains. It was a novelty!

Milford Sound waterfall

Vicky

Jill and Niamh

Each print is 50 centimeters square, framed and signed.

I wasn’t sure how to price them so I leaned more towards affordable. I’ve always wanted to exhibit my photographs so this opportunity is exciting. You can see more of my work on Flickr.

Wish me luck!

She’s 18 years old, irritable and set in her ways. She has a routine and I must follow it, or she roams the hallway crying like a banshee. It’s pretty cute.

The tips of her ears were cut off because of skin cancer. She doesn’t shed hair, she molts. And sometimes she smells like urine.

I’ve been tweeting about my days with the cat for the last three weeks.

As her days are limited I try to make her happy. I hope she lasts until this Thursday, which is my last day housesitting.