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  • Delay and pay

    English: Excavations into the sand on Hot Wate...

    Image via Wikipedia

    Have I mentioned that I’m engaged to the biggest procrastinator on earth?

    Whatever doesn’t need to be done today, he will put off until tomorrow. Which is pretty much everything outside of work. If he has two chores to attend to this week, it will be a struggle to get him to do ONE today and almost as much to get him to do the other task tomorrow.

    And did I mention that I am always right?

    May be something to do with being a woman. Or just my intuition. Or simply practicality and knowing how the cruel world works.

    I wanted to go to Hot Water Beach these holidays – the one thing I really wanted to do in the Coromandel. Instead of going there on the way to Whitianga – when low tide was at a decent hour – he insisted on stopping by on the way home.

    We got there in the end. And it was crap. For one, the weather was miserable. For another, his right arm was more or less out of action from the elbow down thanks to someone slamming into him in the pit at Coro Gold. And low tide by then was at 7.30pm. We got there as early as possible – 5.30 – to stake out our spot. And even then, it was PACKED. People squished in shoulder to shoulder, shivering in the wind, digging their toes into the hot sand, waiting patiently for the waves to recede so they could dig themselves a hot spa (some have NO manners at all. In my world, first come, first served still stands. Not so, apparently). Idiots were attempting to dig even as the tide continued to lap up against the rocks, washing away their work – and effectively ruining that spot of sand for the day, leeching away the hot spring heat. We ended up leaving after less than an hour. A word of advice – go with the biggest crowd you can find. You’ll need it to a) secure your real estate and b) do the heavy digging.

    THEN he refused to go to the ED once we got back to Auckland about 8.30pm, insisting his arm wasn’t broken, and it would be fine.

    Three days later, the day before we were both due back at work, the tingling finally got the best of him and off to the hospital we went. (First, he insisted on doing some Googling. Which invariably led to possible diagnoses of imminent paralysis.) Four hours later, we came out with a medical certificate and diagnosis of damage to the radial nerve. Now it’s a case of wait and see and hope it’s nothing too permanent. (To be fair, going in earlier would probably not have done much, but it definitely wouldn’t have hurt.)

    What have you put off and regretted?

  • What to do when you find that old stash of leftover foreign currency…

    leftover currency exchangeEver found a bunch of random foreign coins or notes rattling around in a drawer, languishing after a trip years ago? (Or in my case, falling out of a jacket pocket when bending over to pick something up?)

    Even if they’re of a now obsolete currency (franc, drachma, lira) there’s a new option for exchanging these online at Leftover Currency. They are based in London, but can be used from anywhere in the world to exchange travel money in more than 50 different currencies.

    How it works: say I wanted to exchange Czech koruna from my visit to Prague. I’d select the corresponding currency, then click on the matching banknote or coin to ‘add’ it to my online wallet. (Rinse and repeat as appropriate.) It’s kind of like a reverse shopping cart.

    The screen shows how much cash – either in US dollars, euros or pounds – I would receive in return based on the current exchange rates. Then it’s a case of filling in a few details, grabbing a reference number and mailing the currency to their office. (Londoners can drop by in person.)

    Once processed, you get paid by Paypal, bank transfer or cheque (depending on the option you chose). You can also choose to donate the value of your currency to charity instead – there are a handful of nonprofit causes supported by the site.

    It’s often difficult making it work so that you use up all of your foreign cash by the end of a trip – more so in some countries than others, depending how widely card payments are accepted there. Those coin donation boxes at airport terminals exist for a reason! But now there are more choices than ever.

  • Hello, 2012

    Orbs explode just over my head, filling the visible sky overhead in radiant reds and brilliant blues that no photo can truly render.

    I’m dancing in a $10 poncho, just sturdy enough to last the two nights.

    The crowd goes wild after chanting out the countdown, echoing around the natural amphitheatre of Waterways.

    How did I get here?

    Slopping through 15 minutes of ankle deep mud, including a direct hit to the eye by some douchebag jumping up and down in the stinking filth. Yes, I expected to get muddy. I’ve just made it past the gates for the second time, haven’t I? But I sure as fuck was not planning on an eye infection to boot. Lucky these contacts are due to be ditched.

    What the hell am I doing here? I’m Miss Priss. I don’t care how awesome the lineup at Woodstock was; I never would have survived. I’ll never make it to a Glastonbury. And if we’d been camping this NYE, I probably would’ve written off my ticket and stayed in Auckland. Thankfully, we had a house and hot showers to return to.

    So I settle into the squelching miniature swamp of my sandshoes – still damp from yesterday’s gig – and hold my tongue as the muck sloshes in over the sides and between my toes.

    I turn down all offers of booze and drugs. Even if I was into it, I need all my wits about me to navigate this swamp in the descending darkness. I don’t want to faceplant in the brown slush, or fall on my ass like the guy in front of me. And I’ll stay away from the massive mudslide on the other side of the hill.

    We’re hollering along to Shihad, the quintessential kiwi stadium rock band. Comfort Me, Run, Pacifier.

    Shapeshifter’s on, bringing the “mudstep”.

    Optimus Gryme turns up the dirty dirty dnb.

    I read a brilliant op-ed once that asserted “dubstep never got anyone laid”. It’s true. The shuffling and spazzing that passes for dub dancing is decidedly unsexy.

    My poncho is slowly ripping down the centre of the chest, and I have to physically hold it together with my hands when the rain starts. Apart from Homegrown, the weather has been crap at all the outdoor concerts I’ve been to – Big Day Out, the Foos, and now Coro Gold.

    The three skinny security guards stationed next to me start dancing. too. A drunk guy approaches and envelops me in a bear hug. I hold a can of Smirnoff for another while he videos the band on his phone, nearly nutting himself on the fence post while trying to get a better angle. He never comes back for that drink. Countless more rock up, unzip and empty their bladders a metre away.

    I’m counting down (5, 4, 3, 2,1) by myself. I’ve decided to stay up on the hill where it’s relatively clean and I can rock out to just the acts that I do like. T is off with the others in the pit, getting his arm potentially broken (trouble always finds him). It’s the perfect way for an introvert to see in the new year – surrounded by others, yet alone.

  • 100 in ’11: Franzen, Gabaldon and Gummer

    How to be Alone – Jonathan Franzen

    Summary: A collection of essays – not short stories – on society, technology and human nature.

    Truth be told, I was expecting something more poetic than this. How To Be Alone is very much rooted in reality, rather than the abstract. Chapter after chapter he rails against technology, offering a glimpse into the life of a writer who in many ways prefers the analogue to the digital.

    It opens with a touching reflection on his father’s mental and physical decline, however, and there are other highlights in the form of a chapter on his return to his childhood suburb and the oddity that is being filmed for a TV show; insights into inmates and the business of prisons; and an essay on reading and readers, which I enjoyed most. Readers, research shows, form the habit early on, whether they simply prefer their rich inner worlds, or are genuinely awkward. If they’re lucky, he writes, their parents will forbid them from reading under the covers (like mine) and they will continue reading until university when they finally come across fellow bibliophiles. There’s a certain status, or mindset perhaps, that sets adult readers apart from non-readers, and it’s nothing short of a calling.

    Apart from those three, really, I could have just as well left this book alone.

    Drums of Autumn – Diana Gabaldon

    Summary: Claire and Jamie’s daughter voyages back in time in an attempt to save their lives.

    At this stage, Claire and Jamie are happily set up in the States, but a paper clipping outlining the details of their death leads daughter Brianna to leave the 20th century and travel back 200 years to try and avert it. She and boyfriend Roger are the main focus of this book, which I can’t say is particularly enjoyable. Much of it is taken up in ridiculous, petty drama that escalates from a rape and subsequent misunderstandings (pretty much all of the main characters in the series have now been sexually violated. Awesome) that ensue. While it’s nice to see how Jamie interacts with his hot-headed daughter, whom he never expected to see in the flesh, it’s all a bit tedious, to be honest.

    Parents Behaving Badly – Scott Gummer

    Summary: Inside the wacky world of crazy competitive Little League parents, and suburban family life in general.

    After moving back to the small town they grew up in, Ben and Jili Holden are sucked into the world of Little League – Ben’s father reigned as the local coach while he was alive, but Ben himself knows next to nothing about baseball. At the heart of the story are the characters – ex-jock and power-crazed coach Del, for one, and Cyn, the sexy ultrasound tech who scans Ben’s balls one day and turns up on the pitch the next. Hilarity ensues as Ben struggles to balance making a a $50,000 furniture order for pop superstar Touche, dealing with his daughter Kate, who spends every waking moment texting, curiosity about unrequited high school crush Liza, his growing attraction to Cyn (including a random bump and grind at a Touche concert) and of course living up to the shadow of his father after he takes over coaching Del’s team, when it’s clear he has zero authority.

    I know nothing about baseball, not being American, so much of this went over my head. Nonetheless, this is a smart, sharp novel that is downright hilarious. Gummer ridicules modern music, pop culture, washed up high school has-beens and of course the sporting equivalent of pageant mothers. Parents who tell their kids not to be such pussies, glue mirrors on the bottom of their coffee mugs to blind the opposition from the stands, and generally act as if they’re coaching professional athletes, not 10-year-olds, all get the ribbing they deserve..

  • Eat of the week: Dine

    T and I did the exact same thing for our anniversary this year that we did in 2010: dinner at a fancy restaurant, and a massage (him) and facial (me).

    To be honest, I don’t especially care for fine dining. Give me downhome ethnic (especially if it’s southeast Asian) any day. Dine is the restaurant of bigtime chef Peter Gordon, however, and I was curious as to what it would turn out.

    Course 1: Ricotta tortellini doused in insanely sweet honeyed sauce. Reminiscent of baklava. Not unpleasant, necessarily, but certainly a novel flavour pairing.

    Course 2: Dahl in inari wraps with kumara salad, spinach and cauliflower raita – very Westernised, but palatable. He had fish and chips, aka, snapper with freshly made chips, and asparagus – simple and satisfying.

    Course 3: Three-cheese cheeseboard. Nothing good to say about it, unfortunately – not even the biscotti-like bread, served both toasted and fresh.

    The surroundings were stunning:

    And the service was on par with the decor. I’m not used to making small talk with staff.

    Then downstairs to East Day Spa, where I promptly dozed off during my treatment. Just a pity we didn’t get to use the jacuzzi, or even the shower:

    Best of all, it only cost $9.50; I had a $350 gift voucher I got from my old job to use up, which paid for the dinner and spa package, plus a glass of whiskey on top.

  • Merry Christmas Eve! (Because I’m probably a day ahead of you)

    I don’t usually stress out much about Christmas shopping. I’ve worked in big news for years and therefore spent Christmas Day in the office for most of the last few years. Which I totally used as an excuse for skipping gifts.

    Not this year.

    But that doesn’t mean I’m going crazy. The one year I did give presents (two years ago, I think, was the year I had the day off) I made up hampers for our two families, containing a mix of supermarket snacks, drinks and topped off with home baking.

    This year my giftgiving comprised:

    • $99 on Battlefield 3 for T
    • $20 on Secret Santa with the girls
    • $20 on good cheese and chocolate for my family
    • And whatever the cost of ingredients were for baking for T’s family (oreo truffles, shortbread, snickerdoodles. Simple and frugal).

    (For those who are wondering, I usually do get a gift from my family. We don’t usually get any from T’s, or anybody else in fact.)

    My plans for tomorrow are pretty fluid. There’ll be a stop in at T’s mum’s, and dinner with my family. In between, I anticipate cake-baking and holiday movie viewing.

    Moreso, I’m pretty excited for New Year’s – it’s been a long time since we did anything special for the occasion. Last year we also went to the Coromandel, albeit overnight for a whirlwind stop. We slept in the car and drove back to Auckland in the morning in time to start my shift at noon.

    Probably the most epic NYE I’ve ever had was 2006. T and I had just started going out officially about a week before; we went up to Mangawhai to a friend’s bach with a group – I knew them all from school but never really had much to do with them. I don’t remember all that much from that week or so, except hammocks, plenty of sun and sand, kayaking and Mudvayne’s Happy being our song.

    This year? This year is a week away – a few days at one friend’s bach, crashing at another bach further along the coast with a different group of friends, two nights of music at Coro Gold, and hopefully a trip to Hot Water Beach in  there somewhere.

    This does mean a lot of time around people. And you know how I feel about people. Fine, in small doses – so I’m bringing my camera, books and magazines for plenty of solitary time.

    Holidays tend to wreak havoc on my budget, so I’m planning to take out some cash for spending on groceries, some for the concert, and a small amount to give to our hosts. I’m not really sure how much to budget for food – we’re bringing some fresh stuff for the first few days, as well as things like bread, eggs, noodles. Groceries are always more expensive out of the city, although you do get better quality and better value fresh produce and seafood. We’ll be eating BBQ all week, I imagine – sigh – so hopefully there’ll also be plenty of salads and breads. But day trips may also well mean takeaways, and on those times when literally everybody else is getting fish and chips, it’s hard to hold out. (Hot chips are one of my biggest weaknesses, too.)

    And for petrol? Again – not a clue. It’ll be at least a tank there and back, and how much more on top of that depends on how much daytripping takes place.

    Anyway, we’ll tally up the damage next year. Happy holidays!

  • 100 in ’11: Gabaldon, Naylor and Gibson

    Voyager – Diana Gabaldon

    Summary: Great lovers Jamie and Claire are reunited across the expanse of time.

    What can I say? This is a series for fans. Twenty years after travelling back to the 20th century, Claire discovers that Jamie survived war and makes the dangerous journey back through the stones to his time.

    It’s a bloated novel, taking us from Jamie’s bleak years in prison (thankfully, it skips over a lot of time) up to Jamie and Claire’s unceremorious arrival in America. Along the way, they make the acquaintance of slaves, an awesome Chinaman with a foot fetish who trains a bird to hunt fish for him, and tons of other colourful characters. And for the first time, they leave Europe, Jamie battling his seasickness to voyage across to the Caribbean in pursuit of pirates who’ve kidnapped his nephew Young Ian.

    I was afraid of how young love might translate into mature love – two decades is not a short period of time – but Gabaldon soon has us forgetting their ages. In all honesty, I’m not sure I at 23 could hack half of what these guys endure – but those were different times.

    Intensely Alice – Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

    Summary: Alice struggles with sex, religion and death. Pretty heavy all around.

    I’ve grown up with Alice McKinley. Naylor is like my Judy Blume. These books are always good for a quick read, an hour or two of entertainment, but I’ve well and truly overtaken Alice – she’s still in high school and I’m well out of university. Thus, I read them more out of habit, or obligation, than anything else.

    Alice has always occupied the middle ground between her two best friends – shy, dark-haired, conservative Elizabeth and flirty blonde Pamela. Her antics in this book involve being accosted by a man on a plane, getting up to some innocent mischief on a hen’s night, her first overnight visit with longtime boyfriend Patrick who’s away at college, a few run-ins with police, ponderances on religion and tolerance, and the demise of a friend.

    While I’ve outgrown Alice, I still think these are great books for teen girls, and I’m going to stick it out until the end of the series, which should be fairly soon. I’ve always identified with her gawkiness and insecurities – if she was real, I would want to be her best friend. Although most of Naylor’s other characters are pretty stereotypical, Alice herself is reasonably three-dimensional and kind of the relatable everygirl.

    Neuromancer – William Gibson

    Summary: Superhacker gets one last shot at the caper of a lifetime.

    Let me just put this out there: I enjoyed Neuromancer, but I sure as hell didn’t understand all of it. Which I suppose is often the case with scifi. The author is making shit up as s/he goes, so if you don’t know what the eff is going on, it’s because said writer is talking out of the ass. Vague passages containing references to technology that kind of sound like they make sense but actually don’t say anything concrete? Check. On the other hand, Gibson also broke ground and coined a ton of phrases that we use today and are familiar, which is a relief.

    While the opening line is undeniably fantastic (The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel) the same can’t be said for all of Gibson’s prose (His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sound of trains). Rather, his strength is in pace, timing and action.

    Case was once a star hacker in a futuristic post-war world ruled by corporates, who got busted stealing from his boss and paid the price. His abilities stripped, he ekes out a living on the streets of Japan. But he’s hauled up in front of the mysterious Armitage who gives him his mojo back in exchange for Case venturing into the matrix for one last covert op involving an old-fashioned key and a creepy all-powerful family who keeps cloning itself generation after generation. Who is Armitagereally working for? Who is the mysterious AI, Wintermute? And what’s up with that razorgirl Molly Millions, assigned to work alongside Case? (Kudos for the strong woman, though I was disappointed that sex had to be brought into the equation. Always, huh? Why do females always have to exist in relation to males, rather than stand alone?)

    I’m a big fan of Isaac Asimov’s spare writing style. Gibson’s is much more free-flowing, and his plotting less definitive and expositional, but still colour me impressed.

  • Six years. That’s over a quarter of my life

    And it’s how long I’ve been in a relationship I never intended to last beyond a few months.

    Time speeds up with age, doesn’t it? It does not feel like 12 months since I wrote this post. Or nine months since this one, although it has been the year for blogger engagements.

    If ever there was a pair of opposites, it’s us.

    I’m a planner – he’s impulsive.

    I’m a saver – he’s a spender.

    I get work out of the way first – he wants to play first.

    I’m high-strung – he’s laid back.

    I’m introverted – he’s extroverted.

    I have a defined tolerance for mess and dirt – his is unlimited.

    But we’re still here. Still compromising. Still going strong.

  • Wedding WTFs

    Wedding Dress For Happy Couple in Love

    Image by epSos.de via Flickr

    “Why did nobody tell me?”

    That was the reaction from a friend upon learning just what her friends and family thought of her ex after she dumped his cheating ass.

    I can only guess that it came down to knowing that voicing such thoughts never really does any good.

    Case in point: another friend recently tied the knot with somebody that for all purposes, she doesn’t really know all that well. Everyone thought it a terrible idea, and said so. Didn’t change a thing.

    Now that I’ve met him, though – despite all the practical odds stacked against the relationship – I really do think it could work. So do the rest of us, including T (and that’s saying something; he’s just as jaded as me, if not more).

    The other two engaged couples we know? Different story. In the first case, they have no business together, child on the way or not – and it’s highly doubtful they’ll actually make it to the altar. T will be the godfather – it’s one of those offers you can’t really turn down, I suppose, no matter how disagreeable the entire situation is.

    In the other, he’s gone from long-term relationships with two class acts to someone below his calibre in every single way. We thought it a rebound based on nothing but lust. Alas, it seems we were wrong. (Call us biased. But the dude is a really good guy. He’s a catch, and she knows it – so she’s certainly not going to let go.) But what can you do?

    (Slightly off topic – I’m hoping their wedding will be a large one, which I’m guessing it will as they are the gregarious type with well-off families to boot. I don’t want the pressure of comparisons when it comes to our turn, as they will probably get around to getting married before we do.)

    It’s bad enough standing by on relationships that are all wrong.

    It’s far more worrying when marriage enters the equation.