Warning, fan-girl level dangerously high....spoilers ahead.

t-minus 10 minutes until the first CSI of the year..... I have been waiting since December for my fix!!!
Curse you, writer's strike!

Let the live blogging commence....

8.56 pm: 4 minutes to go. Am wondering if its wrong that I am skipping a day in my tooth-whitening regimen. Focus, woman!!!!

8.59 pm: Fucking commercials.

9.00 pm: Hello Grissom. I adore you.

9.01 pm: Hello Brass. You're pretty awesome too.

9.02 pm: Hank!!! The drooliest boxer on telly. Yes, drooliest is a real word. Grissom is wearing his jammies, making himself chicken soup and coughing up a lung. He has to make it himself because SARA IS GONE!!!!

9.06 pm: I see that Catherine has taken the time off during the writer's strike to get some more work done on her face. Leave it alone woman! You are a beautiful woman, stop plasticifying your face.

9.07 pm: Hello Greg. Poor baby is sick too.

9.08 pm: NICKY!!!! Le sigh.

9.14 pm: The whole team has got the lurgy. Poor Nicky..... and all the others of course.

9.20 pm: More of Grissom's house. This is rare, but sadly, NO SARA!!! Brass cries. Nicky looks hot. Happily Warrick has turned up for this week's performance instead of sending in a cardboard cut out of himself, as he did for the last few episodes. Perhaps there was an upside to the writer's strike after all, you know, aside from the better deal for writers and all....

9.27 pm: BOOM!!!

9.32 pm: Grissom references MacGyver. I die a little bit. Too. Much. Awesome.

9.34 pm: Flatmate tells me that she has a "really bad flu" and that I should be careful and take my vitamins so I don't get it. Note that flatmate is up and walking and talking and eating and therefore doesn't have the flu.

9.35 pm: Nicky looks fine, disses Hodges. I smile.

9.41 pm: Where is the dog? I want more Hank. Consider that perhaps Vegas might not be the safest place in the world to live. Remember this isn't a documentary. Have another sip of wine. Experience moment of sadness because CSI is over halfway done.

9.45 pm: Ben pings me online and gives me shit about being a fangirl.

9.53 pm: Grissom mentions Dave Eggers. See 9.32 pm. There is some complicated story about a bad-arse gang guy and Dante's Inferno and piss (really) and a burnt out car. Thankfully, iTunes will download the episode tomorrow so I can actually pay attention to the story instead of geeking about.

9.57 pm: Grissom receives a phone call from Sara. Sigh. Episode ends. "Coming up, scenes from our next episode....."

10.00 pm: Next week looks grim. Next week I will be home. Yin, meet yang. Happily, the one outweighs the other.

10.01 pm: Ooooh look! Without A Trace!!!

M.I A. rocks my world




Updates:
- by 7.15 on Monday morning I had already walked 2 dogs.
- I'm going home in a week.
- I need to find a summer sublet for my flat.
- I fit my jeans again.
- My cow slippers are falling apart.
- I have accumulated far too much stuff in the nearly-three-years I have lived here.
- I'm going south a week before Bonnaroo to do fun southern stuff and get shown around the place by a proper Southern son-of-a-preacher-man boy.
- The top step onto the porch and into my building is missing, replaced by a hole.
- I'm going to make bacon vodka.

I know what I *said*.....

But for serious, I challenge anyone to sit down to a medium rare sirloin on a mozzarella crusted polenta cake topped with garlic, pinenuts, spinach and green beans without requiring a glass of cabernet sauvignon to wash it down with....

In other news, I got a dress for my sister's wedding. I think its appropriately pretty and respectable, as well as being appropriately understated and not-as-pretty-as-the-bride's dress.
At least I hope I have the balance right.

I'll take you all on

Today it was Not Freezing (7 in normal, 44 in American) which makes a rather significant change from the last few months, so to celebrate I borrowed Maggie the Mega Dog and together we felt the wind in our hair and got mud on our feet and ran through the park and chased the blackbirds and breathed the air and smelled the first beginnings of spring and we were happy.

First night of your life, curled up on your own



I heard this song ages ago and really liked it, but recently I listened to it again and actually listened to the lyrics...... and fuck me its an intense tune. I challenge anyone to listen to this song and pay attention to the actual lyrics and not at least get goosebumps.
After a couple of listens I googled it, and it turns out its actually about what I thought it was about, which makes it even more intense.
Anyway its late and I'm kind of tipsy, so just listen to the song ok? Cheers.

Mr Obama I like you, but don't be such an arrogant fucker

One thing that really rips my knickers about this country is this myth that lives in the popular consciousness that somehow it is so unique and free and that the rest of the world sits around and goes "Gosh, that America is a bit fantastic isn't it?"
Yeah, its a pretty cool place, in so many ways. It does my fucking head in as well, in so many ways, but every country I've lived in, including my own, does that as well.

Obama, generally a pretty cool guy, does this amazing speech about race and justice and history and legacies and whoever writes his speeches should well be giving themselves a pat on the back right about now. But I couldn't let this one bit pass without comment.

In talking about the fact that he is the son of a white American woman and a black Kenyan man, that he has family of all colours all over the world, that he went to some of the best schools in America and is now running for office he says, and I quote "for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible"

You're kidding, right? Does he really believe that?
The implications of that phrase just do my fucking loaf, you know? That there is no other country in which the child of an immigrant can run for office, that nowhere else can a person of untraditional parentage can attend good schools and make a success of themselves, that the rest of the world lives in this time warp in which if one is born a chambermaid, one may never rise above the station of chambermaid no matter one's abilities.
That we still judge a person's suitability for office on the occupations of their parents and the residency of their grandparents. That one's success depends more on their parent's lineage than any other factor?
Sure, there are aspects of that the world over, and there might always be. Sure, where you are in life has a lot to do with your family, where you were born, the opportunities available to you because of your parent's wealth and your country's condition. I am living proof of that and won't dispute the fact that a significant proportion of my successes are due to the family I was born into.

But to imply that America is the only place in the world where it is possible for a man to overcome the conditions of his birth (if 'overcome' is even the right word, which I am not convinced it is) and run for public office (yes I know its a pretty significant office in the scheme of things, but its not like he's going to be president of the world) smacks of arrogance and insularity of the worst US-centric kind, and is exactly the kind of thing that, given the record of the last seven years, the US should be doing its utmost to avoid.

Mr Obama, please pull your head out of your arse, take a look around and get a realistic perspective on the world in which you are likely to become a very important part of.
Thank you, that will be all.

Normal inanity to resume presently.

Holy crap I am a blogging machine

Three things.....

Number one: I know there are rumours that he was a dirty pervert and while he was found innocent of all related kiddy-fiddling charges, as Ben reminds me, so was creepy Michael Jackson. HOWEVER!!! As a bit of a geek it would be remiss of me not to mention the passing of one of the twentieth century's greatest brains, Sir Arthur C. Clarke.

Number two: I am way too excited about this.

Number three: I had no water in my building for about 4 hours this evening and while that doesn't sound much like an ordeal in the global scheme of things, and really it wasn't, it just happened to coincide with me wanting to do all sorts of watery things such as wash the dishes, flush the loo and have a leisurely hair-washing leg-shaving shower. I had to wait, and I am really not very good at waiting.
Its probably character building.... most things that suck are.

OK cos I can't count, number four: In a very brief conversation with the delightful Sunshine this evening, the following phrase was uttered: "You say potato, I say fucking bitch".

Not complaining, merely observing...

The thing about living in a different time zone is that days last so much longer.
Say, hypothetically speaking, that Tuesday was a Significant Day for one's family.
One's family is at home, which is currently 17 hours ahead. To participate in Significant Day therefore, Tuesday essentially begins on Monday afternoon because I am here and they are there.
However, because I am here, Tuesday goes until the end of Tuesday in my time zone, thus making it a day and a half long.
Which is all well and good for the most part, but when said Significant Day is not so much a cause for celebration as the end of all the firsts and the beginning of a whole other thing that involves redefining normal life and there being no more surprises in this new world and generally a day characterised by terrible fucking sadness then really 24 hours is just about enough.

One Year



We miss you

Not exactly Cancun....


This is what I did on my Spring Break.
How was yours?

Given the time and the moon, you look a lot like her

I say this quite a lot I know, but how on earth did we manage ANYTHING without the internets?
I've just spent the last 10 minutes comparing flights on priceline.com for this June's Tennessee (and possibly the mythical pirate state of Arkansas) musical adventure.

I can sit here in my jammies and compare flights from Memphis to LA with flights from Little Rock to LA, and then compare a trip from here to Memphis and from Little Rock to LA with a trip from here to Little Rock and from Memphis to LA.
The verdict is that there is obviously something seriously spiffy about flying in and out of Memphis because its hella expansive compared to Little Rock. Perhaps Memphis airport is gold plated or something.

I still don't know if I am driving south or flying cos it looks like Paulie is going south a week early for a thing and I am yet to decide if I am better off driving with him early or hanging about here and flying south the day before Bonnaroo. Ideas?
He is going to be in one of the Carolinas, which according to the map in the back of my diary are both right next to Georgia, which is next to Alabama so I could go and stalk Harper Lee.
Surely between us we can find something to keep me amused for a week in the deep South (on the cheap, cos I am church-mousey in my poor-ness).

Viable suggestions welcomed.

Thanks, universe

Great.
Now, on top of the rib-shattering I-sound-like-a-character-in-a-tragic-opera-dying-of-the-consumption cough, and the snot, and the headache and all the other fun things that go with this lovely lung infection/cold double barrelled health bomb, I have a freaking toothache.
Of course, me being me, its never just a toothache is it. No. Its an ache that starts in my tooth and goes all the way to the roots and spreads right through the joint of my jaw. Basically half my face hurts.

Would someone please just put me out of my misery?

This blog brought to you by the Whinging Pom Brigade. I'm getting in touch with my ancestry....

Sparks

The tinest of tiny sparks in the settling storm: went out with some fellow single friends on VDay.
Friend One there meets a friend of Friend Two.
Friend One emails me afterwards requesting information about Friend Two's friend. I pass on request to Friend Two, who passes it on to friend. Friend replies in the affirmative, so Friend Two and I gleefully pass on the appropriate information to the appropriate parties.

Friend One and Friend of Friend Two Go and Do Fun Stuff, and plan to Do More Fun Stuff again.

I sigh, safe in the knowledge that even if my life is a big pile of turds, romantically speaking, at least its not contagious.

It's Alive!!!!!

Update from the front: I am still breathing and mostly alive.
Most excitingly, I was in fact hungry yesterday so instead of having to force half a cup of soup and a piece of toast down my throat I actually ate most of an omelette. This morning I really went to town and ate 2 pieces of toast with tomatoes on top and a banana with yoghurt, which I think is more than I have eaten in one sitting for a week. (Am currently ignoring the fact that I feel sick from eating so much.)

I can also sleep now, which is nice.

And now: time to catch up on all my work.

I can't remember the last time I was this sick. Possibly that week at the beginning of 7th form when I was off school for a week and lost 5kgs. That was 15 years ago. Hopefully it will be another 15 years until I am that sick again, this shit sucks.

Currently running on about 65% engine capacity. Estimate 75% by tomorrow.
(yeah.... spent a bit of my downtime watching Top Gear. Clarkson for PM!!!)

Bollocks Shit Arse Crap Crap Crap

- Pounding headache: check
- Urge to throw up: check
- Whole body aches and pains: check
- Simultaneously shivering cold and sweating hot: check
- Head full of snot: check
- Lungs filled with what appears to be molten lead: check
- Lightheadness and inability to walk in a straight line: check
- Missing my mum: check
- Going back to bed to throw a pity party: check

Two Things....

1) When Sophie goes out walking in the snow she doesn't let the snow get in the way of her snuffling all the things that dogs sniff so she sticks her nose right in to the snow to smell stuff and then she gets these little mountains of snow on the end of her nose and she doesn't even seem to notice but there little nose-snow-mounts just kill me because they are so damn cute and yet another thing that Sophie does that makes her pretty much the cutest dog I know.

2) The other night I had this fantastically filthy (in the best possible way) dream about totally hot TV guy but I can't say who it was because I am ashamed to admit that I watch the programme that he stars in because I have a reputation to consider goddammit and while I freely admit that I love dumb things like movies-in-which-stuff-blows-up there are some things that I just can't admit out loud so my secret TV guy crush will have to remain secret.....

(On Joan Collins)...She thought that the price of the meal would be on the house. I told her that the only thing on the house was the roof....


Sitting here basking in the glory of BBC America (we loves housesitting) and the unlimited gloriousness that is "Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares" I am inspired to write a list.

Reasons why I love Gordon Ramsay:

- He can cook like a motherfucker.
- He calls bullshit when he sees it.
- He has twelve Michelin stars yet confessed to a reporter that he bribes his kids with jelly beans to say that they like his cooking better than their mum's.
- Every third word is fuck.
- He is a chef who recognises that the key to a successful restaurant is far less about the actual food that is served than most chefs would like to think.
- He takes on the stroppiest, foulest, worst tempered people in his quest for quality food and won't let anyone out-shout him.
- He would be one of the dozen people I would invite to my fantasy dinner party. I would sit him between Anthony Bourdain and Billy Connolly.
- He takes it better than most when people call him a twat.
- He reminds me so much of a chef that I used to work with and truth be told that I still have a bit of a crush on twelve years later.
........Oh great..... now I am going to have to figure that last one out.... Thanks, blog!

OHMIGODOHMIGODOHMIGODOHMIGOD



::squeals with delights, passes out, falls off chair::

No you won't fool the children of the revolution

Oh the delights to be had, waking up without a hangover!!! I am officially too old to be crawling home at 4.30am on a Friday morning.
So because I was restrained last night when I woke up today I had all this energy so I tidied my room and swept the flat and did loads of washing and washed the dishes and now I have a pot of chilli on the stove bubbling away and I arranged a place to stay over Spring Break for some archive work in DC and I even got mine and Paul's Bonnaroo tickets organised and checked with the other members of Team Blogaroo that Tickets Were Acquired so now I think its time to settle in with my two friends Sauvignon Blanc and Bernard Black.
Hilarity shall ensue.

VD is a big steaming pile of turds

The internet's saving grace for all things VD related

Way to rub people's noses in all the bitterness of the past year's storms.
Appropriately I woke up with a roaring headache which set the mood nicely for Day Four of "I Hate Everything And Everyone".
Of course its snowing again as well..... urgh.

10.04am. That's too early for a martini, isn't it?

Really?.....

Currently the temperature outside is -8C
The high predicted for today is -5C

When the "high" is below freezing, you know something is amiss.

Perhaps its a genetic quirk that makes us choose these crazy cold places.
Right now my sister is in Antarctica. On purpose.

Beyond a Joke

Things I hate about this town today include but are not limited to the following:
- the buildings
- the weather
- the locals
- the roads
- the post office
- the location
- the birds
- the laundromats
- the trees
- the mall
- the movie theatre
- the drivers
- the street signs
- the wind (yes I know it's technically classified as weather, but I have a special hatred for it so it merits a mention on its own)

Things I like about this town:
- the Chinese restaurant around the corner
- the cheap booze
- the presence of about 4 or 5 people who don't suck

Putting the South in SXSW

The lineup for SXSW is out, and while I remain secure in my decision to attend Bonnaroo instead, I am impressed at the Kiwi content of the former.

So, if you happen to be at SXSW, go see the following

Liam Finn
Katchafire
Die! Die! Die!
Gasoline Cowboy
Rodney Fisher
Wing
The Mint Chicks
Hollie Smith
The Ruby Suns

...and see how we rock out South Pacific styles.

In 126 days....

• Pearl Jam
• Metallica
• Jack Johnson
• Kanye West
• My Morning Jacket
• The Allman Brothers Band
• The Raconteurs
• Willie Nelson
• Death Cab for Cutie
• B.B. King
• Sigur Ros
• Ben Folds
• M.I.A.
• Iron & Wine
• Talib Kweli
• Gogol Bordello
• Broken Social Scene
• Rilo Kiley
• Lupe Fiasco
• Against Me!
• Ozomatli
• Tegan & Sara
• !!!
• Aimee Mann
• Donavon Frankenreiter
• Jakob Dylan
• Janeane Garofalo
• Zach Galifianakis

Plus a bunch of other stuff.....
Music festivals are the dog's bollocks, to be sure.

I watch the stars fall silent from your eyes

Gtalk message from Ben: "What happened to you Britney"
My response: "Ummmm....... crack.....fame.....being a mental case......."
We are glad that we are not famous.

Today was spent with the delightful Caleb, who is mysteriously way more well behaved for me than he is for his parents and apparently I am the only person in the entire universe who can get him to go to sleep in the rocking chair.

The election-where-they-choose-who-gets-to-run-for-President is on today, and its quite interesting watching it unfold. The American system is odd, I must say. From what I understand, they vote for their representative, who decides who is going to get the party nomination, and from there, the people vote again for their representative to again vote for who is going to be president, but as the 2000 election demonstrated, the popular vote and the electoral college vote are two different things.
The scary thing is that from what so many of my students say, they honestly believe that the rest of the world looks to the US as a model for democracy. Without wanting to offend the beliefs of my dear American friends, I remain unconvinced that there aren't seventy five better ways of doing it. Its a shame its so late and I am so sleepy otherwise I would list them all.*

This evening was spent with my peeps, for whom dear Shawn decided it would be a good Fat Tuesday thing to cook a whole bunch of proper Mardi Gras type feast, so we happily dined upon jambalaya and gumbo and etoufee and king cake and beignets and bananas foster (only one of which I had ever had before which was very exciting) and drank Hurricanes and Zombies and now its 11.05pm and I am full and a teensy bit tipsy so nighty night.

*yeah right

So Us Is This

This afternoon I went to visit a friend in the hospital. She began her PhD the same time that I did, but is much further ahead than I am.

Four days ago she underwent a double mastectomy and reconstruction for breast cancer, and I believe she has chemo lined up in the near future, and I was so impressed at what good spirits she was in. I was trying to imagine what I would be like in that situation, and I couldn't even comprehend it.
She was sitting up, and yes she looked a little tired, but she was telling stories, and making people laugh, and taking an extra half a lap around the rooms on her walk to build up strength.
I always want to punch people who say that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, but from what I know about this woman and the things she has been through, perhaps its true in some cases?

One thing I forgot to tell her is that on the way there, my all-knowing iPod played some very appropriate music, the most pertinent being just as I came around the corner and could see the hospital: "This Woman's Work" by Kate Bush.

I know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left

The iPod knows.....

What I do on a Saturday

The Plan: chill out here, have a leisurely shower, go for a drink later on with my friend Jesse.

The Reality: Fluffy McStinkbomb, aka Sophie the dog-I-am-looking-after takes a trip outside just prior to my going-out-for-a-drink. Goes mental barking at the porch. Scares a skunk, who in turn unleashes his special brand of stinkbomb onto Sophie. Claire dry retches at the smell.

My Saturday night:
Call Jesse to say "frightfully sorry and all that, but I'm going to have to stand you up".
Wash the dog (who is at least half collie or shepherd or something equally fluffy).
Wash the bedclothes that the dog jumped on after being freshly skunked.
Clean the bathtub that the dog was washed in.
Wash the floor that the stinky dog ran over, leaving a trail of skunk-scent.
Wash the sofa cushion covers the dog jumped on that now smell of skunk.
Wash the sheets from the spare room bed the dog leapt on.
Wash the towels used to dry the dog off.
Wash the other towels used to dry the bathroom floor.
Wash the clothes worn while washing the dog.
Have scalding hot shower in an attempt to burn the skunk smell from my nostrils, as well as skin, hair etc.
Rummage through cupboards in attempt to find suitably smelly things to boil on the stovetop to drown out the skunk smell (first pot: lavender spray and cinnamon, second pot: coffee. Third pot: anybody's guess. Am considering entrails of dog).
Spray radiator heaters with aforementioned lavender spray then place rosemary on all heaters in the hope the scent will travel.

It's olfactory overload here tonight!!!
Eau de skunk/wet dog/coffee/lavender/rosemary/bleach/shampoo/cinnamon/washing powder.
My nose is confused.

Horatio Caine is my Ginger Nemesis

So, how about this whole 2008 nonsense, aye?

The sum total of things I have achieved since this semester can be counted on the fingers of one hand, provided that hand belongs to a soldier who found himself in possession of a faulty hand-grenade that detonated 2 and a half seconds after he removed the pin, thus blowing the poor bastard's hand to smithereens, leaving him with stumps in place of his fingers and a six digit settlement from the grenade manufacturer.

Holland Chase has achieved something though. Apparently the Organised Seamstresses of America are planning a party.

Announcement o'clock

Please forward to your respective news desks the following:

The list of "Things That Are Completely Awesome" has been amended to include Cloverfield

That will be all.

I'm going to Graceland

We are go for Bonnaroo*, bloggers!!! Oooh, we're going to need t-shirts.
SXSW has been scrapped for being too soon, too pricey, and possibly too trade-showy for us.

I've just looked at prices for flights to get my fat arse there, and it turns out that I can fly to Little Rock (from where HC will be collecting myself and the divine Miss S and driving** us to Manchester, Tennessee via The King's final resting place) for a whopping $185.

Awesome.

In other news, the little nose pad (thank you, Ben) thingies on my glasses have snapped off and now my super cool styling glassies are sliding off my nose. Soldering iron, anyone?

*Sounds distinctly Australian. I hope its not filled with Aussies.
**I just decided on this plan, btw.

Fatty McLardarse

I'm back, and I'm fat!!!
Turns out that a month of eating and drinking like a champion has somehow made all my clothes a bit too small.....oops. Luckily I have a date with a treadmill this afternoon.
No photos until I'm skinny and sexy again.

Still jetlagged, compounded by the fact that I got up at 6.30 this morning after a most restless night to babysit the delightful young Master Smith.

Phonecalls are owed I know..... as soon as I can construct a decent sentence.
I would however, like to take a moment to complain about the fact that on Saturday morning I was in lovely sunny summery 35C degree NZ, and now I'm here and its snowing and its a whopping 1C degree. This is why Americans use fahrenheit, because 34F sounds so much better than 1C. Cheaters.

Hello 2008

Shoulders: sunburnt
Children: delightful
Weather: summery
Home: brilliant
Old Friends: a gift
Hair: blonde
Waistline: a little larger than a month ago
Liver: well and truly punished
Decisions: being made
Life: getting on with it

Awesome.

Home Again

I've been home for 3? 4? days now, and its fucking fantastic.

The kids are awesome, my sister is amazing, my parents are delightful (ask me again tomorrow when I've spent 5 hours in the car with my mum) and I only wish my other sister could be here, but she's busy right now on a cruise ship in Patagonia.

So far I've had 2 pies, 1 meal of fish and chips, 2 L&Ps, one afternoon nap and read half a Neil Gaiman book.
I've done my Xmas shopping, I've gotten drunk with the TBALC crowd (minus the T), I've eaten a delicious BBQ with my best friend, I've been to Riccarton Mall twice, and received Lord-only-knows how many snuggles and cuddles from the children (mostly the girls because Alex is too grown up..... about an inch shorter than me!!!).

Tomorrow I'm off to Wanaka with my parents for a few days then the whole family is off to Gore Bay which Rosie has renamed Bore Gay for Christmas and New Year and I'm going to lounge around and read the 6 books I have with me and then maybe a few more (not remotely school related) and have some more naps and eat some food and drink some wine and explode with happiness.

Yes its all a bit bittersweet but my sister was right. Its so much better being home and seeing for myself how it is all going.
There really is no place like home. Especially when home is the most beautiful place in the world.

And miles to go before I sleep

Blogging from the city of angels!!!
OK, the airport at the city of angels....

I'm in the Koru Lounge at LAX, having thoroughly enjoyed the shower (half an hour, oh yeah!), the food (cheese, salads, breads, cheese, crackers, fruit, cheese, cold cuts, cheese and cheese), the drinks (L&P baby!!!) and am sitting here pretending to write my history paper.
Its nice hanging out in here with the beautiful people.
I, of course, am sitting here in a black hoodie and trainers and am getting all sorts of "what is she doing in here" looks from my fellow travellers, but fuck 'em.

There is a cute Englishman on the phone, its cozy and warm, and earlier to day I could even see the Hollywood sign from the window. This is pretty special, I think I was onto my fourth LA trip before I saw it because of the godawful pollution here.

And I am on my way home to lick my wounds after the twelve car pile-up of the last nine months but before then I have to finish this fricking paper.

The sunset over the Pacific is really something else.

From the lofty heights of one's thirties, come birthday greetings

Benjamin Joseph!
You are hairy and betrothed!
And now you are thirty!
The Rebel Alliance wishes you a happy burpday, you big geek.

Nothing but love, from Shitsville, New York

(this looks like a poem, but its really not)

t-minus 96 hours and counting

Dear American Movies and Television;

Its about time we talked about this Christmas nonsense.
Seriously, just cut it out.
I know how you love to promote the economy at this time of year, and that alone I could almost handle. People need to buy things so that other people can have jobs making and transporting and selling those things, and while I have several objections to that in principle, that's not what I'm here to talk to you about today.

My problem is the gooey, disgusting diabetic-coma-inducing cack that is shoved down everybody's throats in an attempt to promote some sort of meaning to this whole seasonal thing.
We KNOW that the early Christians shifted Jesus's birthday so that it fit in with the pagan winter festivals, they appropriated the Christmas tree and all!
We KNOW that the image of Santa in his red suit and shiny boots is owned by the Coca Cola corporation.
We KNOW that according to the laws of physics its not possible for a fat dude and his reindeer to make it around the world in one night.

So ENOUGH with this "spirit of Christmas", childhood wonder, you-must-believe, saccharine, have faith in miracles, red and green, syrupy, cavity-inducing, corporate sponsorship SHIT you continue to shove down our throats.
There is NO SUCH THING as a Christmas miracle, the whole festival is based on half-truths, appropriations and consumerism.
Its a Wonderful Life is a terrible movie, Tom Hanks is evil and must be destroyed, and if I EVER see little Cindy Lou Who I will be sure to not only tell her that Santa isn't real, but also that the Easter Bunny is a fake, that the Tooth Fairy is a ruse invented to condition her to free market economics, and that her parents lied when they said they loved her.

My blog: channelling Dennis Leary since 2004.

For serious?

There is a huge contemplative post waiting to be written about how I have somehow misplaced whatever it was that I had that made me care about anything*, and how I used to look in wonder at things like snow and stars but now I am just pissed off at them and everything else in the world, but its 8.51pm one week before I go home and I've had 2 small glasses of wine and am feeling a little intoximicated so I'm going to totally break with tradition and lie on my bed and watch CSI then go to bed.
Awesome.

*I am fairly certain that I know where I left it, I just can't look right now. Maybe next week?

In keeping with the general theme of "Things that My Life is Missing"....

I want one of these.
OK that's all for now.
Bye.

But its not my kind of scene

iTunes knows what's going on. I turn it on and the first thing to come on is Powderfinger's "My Kind of Scene", as in "its not my kind of scene".
Cos its not. Not this.

I think I had an epiphany tonight.
Everything is coming back.

Maybe its the fact that its 11.46pm and I have too much work to be going to bed anytime soon, maybe its the rain, maybe its the fact that I haven't seen my family for 317 days, maybe its everything thats happened in those 317 days that has tested us all on an atomic level, maybe its the fact that in 16 days I will be confronted with a truth that is eight months and seven days old for everyone who was there but which for me will be all too new because while in my head I know its true, that he is actually gone in the gone-and-not-coming-back kind of gone, I haven't seen their faces, the faces of those little angels who unbeknownst to them taught me to be a better person, the children who I love more than the sun and the moon and the stars, and when I see those faces and I see him in those faces then and only then will it be real.

I can't go posting things on here before I tell people in person, my people here, the ones here who matter and who have been my family. And its not like I can tell people anything, because nothing is decided yet.

But sometimes allowing oneself the option to decide evokes a sense of relief sufficient to generate real tears. Never underestimate the sheer effort it takes on a daily basis to be a stranger in a strange land.

I find a map and draw a straight line

I have had another friend invitation on facebook, and am unsure of the protocol. I have met this person once, I think, but she just happens to be engaged to the boy who broke my heart 7 years ago. I therefore have very little inclination to want to be nice to her, despite the fact that I have moved on and want everybody to be happy.

Am I too petty? Should I just suck it up? I like to think that I reserve the 'friend' status for people I actually know and like (well, most of the time....)

I talked to a friend about it, and he said I should be her friend, but I think I am just too vindictive and mean. (They're not faults if you know about them, you see....)
I think I want everybody to be happy in love as long as I am happy in love.

Le sigh......

At least I have this to look forward to:


Bring the geekery!

The Definition of Cold

-2 pairs woolly socks
-warm track pants
-long sleeved merino top
-t-shirt
-my sister's big brown woollen cardigan
-merino scarf
-polypropylene lined woollen hat
-pure wool gloves
-big heavy sheepskin coat

and it took 15 minutes of walking before I wasn't freezing anymore.

All so that this little fluffy bum could get another walk. The back yard doesn't look like that anymore. Its covered in this cold white stuff.....

In which Tyratae rocks my world and makes my day

The astute reader may have observed that I went to DC the weekend before last. There, at the National Zoo, I realised that the thing my life was missing (aside from inner peace, a recurring role on CSI and a European sports car) is a panda bear.
Now I has one!!! Thanks to the delightful Tyratae, for whom I have insufficient adjectives. She turned up at my door today on the pretence of coming over for crumpets and a cuppa, armed with a bag of early Christmassy gifty love in the shape of a fuzzy soft panda.
But now he needs a name. I was going to name him after my glorious giftgiver, until I came to the conclusion that he is in fact a boy.
To me all bears are boys, just like all cats are girls (sorry Piddy. And Puku. And Felix. And Sprocket. And George. And Matty...... Hell's bells. You're cats! You can't read! Go back to licking your bottoms) I have no idea where this gendered concept of animal identification came from, but hey. Whatevs.

So help me, you last three people who continue to tune in.
Name my panda, and, well, that's it. No prize, except for my approval (just ask my students, that's a rare commodity there!)

Name the bear!
Suggestions in the box please.

Low Red Moon, how can you sleep like a baby?

Just finished a 20 page paper...... only 2 more of those, and 2 six pagers to go, in 3 & 1/2 weeks.
Then I get to go home, for a whole month!

Needless to say my school Crisis of Faith is still going strong, but right now I am 80% certain I will come back here in January. That is a vast improvement over a few weeks ago, when it was getting close to 80% the other way. Hell, odds have been that way for a solid few months now.
All I need to do now is get all this shit done, and not freak out, and then I get some serious whanau time to try and figure out what I am doing.

It doesn't help that I am still mourning the loss of tv-links.co.uk, and that I am PMSing like you have never seen, and I need to get the little windscreen wiper motor on my car fixed and its 1.57am and its cold and I'm tired and I still haven't been able to cuddle baby Caleb cos I'm sick.

I need to call all my friends and apologise in advance for ignoring them for the next 3 & 1/2 weeks.
I also need to go to Vicky's and buy some hand cream for my mum. She has a Vicky's handcream dependency problem.
Only 25 days.......

In which Claire is overly emotionally invested in TV programmes

Spoiler alert!!!
So I just watched the latest episode of CSI, "Goodbye and Good Luck".
Yep.

There were tears.

I'm not sure if its pathetic or not, the degree to which I get invested in fictional characters. Right now I am inclined to think that its not that pathetic, but that might be the wine/emotional trauma talking.

A long time ago, perhaps 2 years ago, I began compiling a list of my favourite TV characters. Of course Sara Sidle made the top of that list, for a multitude of reasons, and now she is no longer on television. I am sure that in the CSI universe she still exists, and spoilers I have read tell me that she will be back, but for now, I kind of feel cheated.
I'm kind of pissed off that I have been deprived of my weekly Sara fix, because I find her inspiring.
She is strong and tough and damaged and and brilliant and beautiful and complicated and I can identify with that some of that sort of thing.

But now its 10.46pm and I've got a grip on myself and I have to write a 6 page paper by 9.30am tomorrow.
I just wanted to let you know that this may turn into a Jorja Fox fansite.....

Mad Mad Skillz

I'm going through a pretty major omelette phase right now, I can't explain it. When it comes time to eat all I can think about is eggy goodness, and my creative juices just go wild!

Currently I'm sitting here with the post-prandial satisfaction of one who has yet again excelled in the omelette-making stakes. Today's effort consisted of broccoli, spinach, green peppers, sharp cheese, blue cheese, garlic and chilli sauce, complemented by a rasher or two of bacon. Ok, three.

The trick to a good omelette I have recently discovered is to not put any milk in with the eggs when you mix it up. Then, once you have all the ingredients on the omelette, put a lid on it and turn the heat down as low as it can go, and deliciousness shall ensue.

I also must stress the importance of using free-range SPCA/Humane Society approved eggs, because who wants a side order of cruelty in their meal?

This lesson in the culinary arts brought to you by the giant stack of exams I have to grade by midday tomorrow.

I've said it before and I'll say it again.....

I suck at blogging.

Update: Matt, my brother-from-another-mother (and another country...) had a baby. Wee Caleb (thought you'd like that Sarah) is too cute for words, and contrary to his father's opinion, will NOT be playing rugby for England. He will play for NZ. Because I will steal him. Because he is too cute. Its worth noting that today Matt was wearing his NZ rugby jersey, and that Caleb, all of a day old, was eyeing up the mighty silver fern. Good lad!!!

Going to DC tomorrow. Ok, to Maryland tomorrow, to stay with a family friend, then to see some DC sights and museums then J's Gilbert and Sullivan extravaganza...... awesome.

Have to get up 4 hours to finish this fucking paper.
Nighty night.

Because a change is apparently as good as a holiday....



I cut my hair.

Then I straightened it.

So, in the space of a week I have gone from shoulder length blonde curly hair to a short dark straight bob. Fun times.

Also, how much do I look like Alison Janney in that first pic? Quite a lot, methinks...... although that may be the wine talking.

if only I put as much time and effort into my school work as I do my hair....

Remember, remember the fifth of Movember

Movember is here again, beware the handlebars!!!!

The Street signed up for the Aussie one, being a resident of Melbourne-town.
Go and hook a brother up. He has promised all sorts of handlebar goodness.

In other news, I carved my first ever pumpkin last weekend. Of course I couldn't carve a face or anything simple like that, I had to aim high.

So, I carved a butterfly.



Cordell carved a Decepticon logo, that was pretty awesome too.

Next day I woke up blonde and went to bed looking like this
The tattoos were fakes, only for my Fairy GothMother costume.

OK time for CSI now.

Can't blog, too much to do.

erraticism to ensue....

And while you're at it, could SOMEONE please fix the Suck Knob? It appears to be stuck on full.

I know you've heard it all before.....

So much to say....

Sang at Karaoke tonight, it was.... well...... its over. Phew

Carved my very first pumpkin tonight, and might I add, I completely kicked it's arse. Photos to follow.

Party fun-times tomorrow, so lets just see what madness ensues. Hours of fun, no doubt....

Welcome

Grace Lola Robertson, born at midday, 25th of October, 2007.

I have known her mother since I was 12 years old, which was really quite some time ago.....
I have so many good stories about Bee, I can't wait until Gracie gets old enough to hear them!
Things I am going to tell her when her ears are suitably equipped include: stories about the bucket in Amberley, letters from Bolivia, pics of her mother face down on the sofa in Wanaka..... oh too many to share with the internets!

But there is a brand new person in the world and I am very excited about it and its only 49 days until I am home so I can see her.

This blog brought to you by gushing with happiness, and secondary sponsors homesick and joyous news makes a nice change.

Windswept and Interesting



My nephew sent me this vid of Billy Connolly.
I laughed so hard I nearly puked.
One of the bajillion reasons why I love my nephew more than life itself is his comprehensive understanding of the fact that no matter how old you are, how much education you might have, or how sophisticated you might think you are, farts are still funny.

And now you have been educated, you are free to go.

I just stand by and let you fight your secret war

Reasons why I love Thursdays, by Claire.

- CSI
- at approximately 7pm today, I got out of my jammies, had a shower, and got changed into some clean jammies.
- I can do loads of work without feeling like I am working, because I am in my jammies.
- CSI
- No class, so I can work until 9pm and then do nowt.
- Did I mention the jammies?
-Also, there is this programme on CBS....what's it called? Oh yeah...... CSI. Fan geek much?

Also I know that Jorja Fox is leaving but due to events in tonight's episode and spoilers I have read, I refuse to believe the worst.....

These eyes are the eyes of the old

So, what's been going on then?
Well.

Last night, as part of the "reduce insane car insurance premiums by obtaining a New York licence" campaign, I had to sit through probably the dullest evening of my life. At one point I caught myself considering bashing my head against the desk (built for 12 year old kids, btw, with comfort-free plastic chair attached and not remotely suitable for my nearly six feet leggy frame) as to render myself unconscious to make the boredom end.

This officious little man spend the better part of 4 hours saying about 3 things. One: don't lose your little certificate, cos it costs $20 to get a new one. Two: you can book your road test online or on the phone. Three: on your road test, you will have to stop at a stop sign.

Needless to say, the boredom was interrupted only by continuous insults to my intelligence and the nearly 17 years that I have been driving.

Once the pandering to the lowest common denominator was done, he showed us a video. That was probably the highlight of the whole thing.

It was a "don't drink and drive or bad things will happen to you" movie, filmed in an A&E in Baltimore and featured lots of cool gory stuff like some guy whose leg had snapped in half, and shots of brains with stuff leaking out of them. Cool.

Unfortunately, I believe the video achieved a purpose not quite in line with its intended one. I suspect we were supposed to feel sympathy for these teenagers who got pissed and drove their cars and crashed. Yeah.....not so much.

This one kid drank a case of beer and then drove a 4 wheel farm bike into a tree. He bashed his head and had to have loads of surgery and months of rehabilitation and it was all very sad etc. Then, once he had recovered, he was off out with his mates again, drinking beer and riding farm bikes.

Sympathy gauge stuck on zero.

Perhaps this is cruel, but if a person gets deliberately wasted, chooses to drive a car or a farm bike or other vehicle type thing, then fucks themself up, then that is natural selection at work. Right there is Darwin's thesis in action.

If drunk drivers only fucked themselves up, then there would be no problem.
It when they kill other people on the road that the problem arises, when they make driving unsafe for the rest of us.

I wasn't going to drink and drive before I watched the movie, and I still won't drink and drive.
The only thing it achieved was to further reduce my sympathy (what's less than zero?) for the idiots who endanger the rest of us.

When the whole ordeal was over and I had my little certificate in hand, I stopped off at the supermarket and purchased a six pack of Smithwicks (mmmm. delicious Irish beer. I drank some and I didn't drive my car. See? Its that easy.) and a copy of The Greatest Movie Ever Made to celebrate having survived yet another level of US bureaucracy in action.

I can mock him because I am already there



Nicholas, Knicker-less, Nickel-arse....
He's thirty.
I can laugh because I am 31.
Here he is doing his best impression of a turtle, I believe at Il Casa d'Allan.

You're a dork and we loves you.

Ben, I believe you are next?.......

If my sister changes her name her initials will be E.M.O.

Today is indeed an auspicious day!!!
My sister (the next oldest up, me being the youngest) is getting married.
In Punta Arenas. That's in Chile, FYI.

We are going to video-conference it, via the marvels of Skype, so that my other sister, home in NZ, and I can be there digitally.
Holly suggested that we dress up, so I am going to put my party skirt on and go to her house and drink bubbly things. Ahh.... weddings.

So to all those boys who have been friends of mine over the years and have said to me "that sister of yours is a bit hot" I say now: you had your chance lads, and now its gone, for she is about to marry the coolest Chilean boy in the world.

If any of you happen to be partaking in a liquid refreshment this evening, I ask this of you.
First, raise a glass to my sister and her in-an-hour-and-a-half-will-be husband.

Secondly, and on a more poignant note, raise your glass to Shawn and his beloved late wife Lynette on their wedding anniversary, the first since her death.

Thanks.

Seriously. BOB FUCKING DYLAN!!!!!

What I did last night: had one of my life's wishes fulfilled.

Since I was about 14, I think, I have wanted to see Bob Dylan live. Thing is, I never thought I would be able to. One of the downsides to my beautiful South Pacific Island home is that music legends on tour are few and far between. Sometimes they will go to Auckland, or do a really expensive gig at some super-expensive resort in Queenstown, but its not often that we get a chance to see them.

However, now that I am living in New York, these things happen. So, last night I got in the car with some lovely people and we drove to Rochester and I had my little mind blown by the fact that I was sitting listening to BOB FUCKING DYLAN LIVE!!!
The Boy came with us, and confessed that he was more of a fan of the first act (who was awesome too, btw, and I will be buying his records no doubt, thank you Elvis Costello), once Dylan began he turned to me and said "Holy shit. That's Bob fucking Dylan" to which I replied I KNOW!!!!!!!

He played Rainy Day Woman, he played Desolation Row, he played a funked up blues version of Masters of War (and I died a little it was fucking epic) and closed with Blowing in the Wind.

I am still reeling from it. It will be a good few days before I can stop proclaiming BOB FUCKING DYLAN!
People here are decidedly underwhelmed by the prospect of seeing legends live, but for a wee lass from the other side of the world, its kind of a big deal.

Elvis Costello rocked my world too.

The sound of four million people in mourning

Yeah, fucking gutted.
I wanted to watch Richie's interview but stuff was misbehaving. Besides, it would probably just upset me more.

Le sigh.

As long as the French don't win. Or the Aussies. I told my sister that I would support the Springboks to win now, to which she responded that if I were to do so she would no longer communicate with me. So, go Argentina!!! It would be nice to see a non-six nations team take the Cup, and I loves me a good underdog, so Argies makes sense.

Of course, there is a lighter side, albeit not one that results in the men in black bringing home the Cup......
TradeMe: a source of hilarity no matter the occasion.
Hahaha. Choke stuck on full. I reckon that Rokocoko boy might be handy around the house.... perhaps I should put in a bid.
Do you think they would ship them to NY?

7.37am

I have less than 2 hours until my class and no I haven't quite finished the notes on my readings yet because I am a bad person and went to Ithaca last night to see Michael Franti and Spearhead instead of staying at home like a good nerd and doing schoolwork.
However, I am pleased to report that Mr Franti and friends FUCKING ROCKED MY WORLD, having spent most of the gig in the front few rows rocking out leaping up and down waving my hands in the air like I just don't care.
After the concert I declared my need for massive volumes of liquid refreshment in the form of water or similar, to which Paulie responded with the biggest bottle of gatorade one has ever seen. Of course I scoffed at our abilities to consume the entire thing; scoffing which I was gently reminded of about 30 minutes later when the whole thing was gone. Heh.

But now class is rapidly approaching and Sophie is barking and I am in need of more tea and a good hour's worth of last-minute-note-taking so that I don't make a complete arse of myself in front of my class mates.

Also, as it transpires, agricultural policy in developing African countries is more interesting than it sounds. Weird, I know.

Sunday updates

- house and dog sitting again. Much cable and doggie love.

- still recovering from Thursday night's stress. Rumours are doing my loaf.

- can't figure out why I am so tired. Perhaps I have some exotic disease.

- I know I am a sad old nana because given the choice I would rather stay in most nights. See above.

- It turns out that the sainted Sir Thomas More was really rather wrong re: Dick the Shit, and perhaps Dick the Shit was really not that much of a shit after all. My dad will be well disappointed.

- the weather is getting to be so that I can wear my slippers. This brings whole new levels of Happy to my life.

- things are beginning to be ok again, perhaps for the reason that after the twelve car pile up I am more aware of myself and what's going on and am no longer fumbling through in the dark.

- Argentina spanked Ireland today in the rugby, the Irish who were playing like a bunch of guys who had never met each other before, while Argentina proved Henry's claim that a champion team will always beat a team of champions. After the match O'Driscoll pretty much admitted as much.

- I watched Blood Diamond, and am able to admit that while he will never be forgiven for the steaming pile of turd that was Titanic, that DiCaprio boy is one ridiculously good actor.

- I also watched Life, one of NBC's new programmes. Its pretty good, and stars the ginge who was the bad mofo on the new version of the Forsyte Saga.

- my auntie is one of my friends on facebook.

- 73 days to go.

I've got a pain in my sawdust

OK this is just ridiculous.
It is currently t-minus 65 minutes until CSI.

I am supposed to be reading Douglass North's fascinating book "Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance" and taking notes for tomorrow morning's class and packing my bags for a week's house sitting and cooking dinner BUT I CAN'T FUCKING CONCENTRATE ON ANYTHING!!!

Seriously, I don't think I have been this nervous/excited/geeked out about a new season premiere ever. EVER, I TELLS YOU!!!
I went to the supermarket this afternoon to satisfy a craving by buying steak for my dinner, but there is no way I can eat. Butterflies in my stomach....... butterflies.

I wonder why I have become so invested in this programme and these characters? Does it mean that there is something fundamentally missing from my life? Perhaps I identify with them because I see pieces of me, or aspire to share their traits?

Ah, who fucking knows.
All I know is that I have been waiting for this night for four freaking months and it had better not let me down or there will be some serious toy-throwing.

57 minutes.
tick tick tick

In which Claire asks questions

1) Hypothetically speaking, if one was to have a vege-packed omelette for breakfast and Indian food for lunch, does a meal consisting solely of WeetBix constitute a balanced diet?

2) Is it wrong that I am literally counting down the hours until 9pm tomorrow, aka CSI o'clock?

3) Is it possible that I will make it through tonight's game of soccer without breaking something?

4) When will this disgusting muggy grey oppressive weather end?

5) Do you think its bizarre that I am already excitedly plotting a blog-gathering for March next year that will happily coincide with a certain giant music festival?

6) Just how fabulous are cool blog friends?

I've seen love, and I follow the speed in the star-swept night

Over the last couple of weeks I have been having a mini-crisis about how I know far too little about anything, well more specifically far too little about the stuff I am supposed to know buckets about what with being a Graduate Student and all, with the intention being that ultimately I will be an Expert on Matters of Concern but today that doesn't seem to bother me too much, for the following reasons.

- Sophie is delicious and full of snuggles
- I had bruschetta and dolmades for lunch
- Its a lovely sunny day and I sat outside in the back yard under a tree and read for class
- Said reading is approximately 40 pages, compared to the hundreds one usually encounters
- I have just awoken from a 2 hour nap
- The house I am staying in this weekend is very nice.
- I went to the Farmer's Market this morning and bought a supermarket bag half full of tomatoes for $4. If you know how much I adore tomatoes, you will recognise how happy that is likely to make me.
- Sophie and I are about to embark upon a walk in the evening breeze, complete with all the delightful dappled light that tree-lined neighbourhoods provide.

This post brought to you by late summer Saturdays.

I never did mind about the little things

It appears that some of my students have a wee problem with geography. Apparently Tasmania and Tanzania are easily confused.

In other news, I went to the dreaded DMV today and magically (finally) had all the right forms and passed the test and am now a legal beagle in terms of driving my car in the Empire State.

To celebrate, here is a puppy.

Does anyone still read this?

Also, happy Talk Like A Pirate Day. Arrrrrr!!!!

Update o'clock.

Today I wrote cheques, the sum total of which adds up to $361.13. Ouch.

This evening I baked some chocolate chippies. Well, I made the mixture up, which is currently sitting overnight in le fridge, as per instructions. I can't follow a recipe to save my life, so hopefully they won't suck. Hell, if the uncooked mixture is anything to go by, these bikkies will Rock the House. And quite possibly the Casbah, only time will tell.

Next weekend I am on Sophie duty, which entails the following. Stay at a professor's super nice house. Eat their delicious food, drink their delicious wine, and watch their giant cable telly. Get taken out for dinner by said professor's wife, before they take off for the weekend. Play with their cuter-than-cute dog and walk her a few times a day. Get paid for doing so.

On Saturday I made that boy come over and help me sand down the window frames. I am still learning how to be around him again under these new circumstances, but I think it went ok.

I am posting pictures of me because apparently they are worth a thousand words each, which makes this the longest post ever.

In a further contribution to the time wasting extravaganza that is my life, I have recently begun watching The 4400. I know its old news, but I like it so far.

Ok thats enough for you.
Except for this: today I got to snuggle a cute little kitten.
bye.

Cause what doesn't kill us now just makes us better whores

OK sometimes honesty is the best policy.

I have spent the last few months trying to convince myself and anybody who will listen that I completely hated him, that he was a complete twat and every single thing he has ever done is totally inexcusable.
That is exhausting, I can tell you, and I can't keep it up anymore.
So, in an effort to make my life a bit easier, I have tried a different tack.
Of everything in the last six months, this is the only thing I have a measure of control over, so tonight we sat down and I was honest and admitted everything and confessed to trying so hard to hate him because that would have surely made my life easier but it turns out that something doesn't become true dependant on how much we think we wish it to be so. And he explained his part in the whole thing and apologised for some parts and explained others and we talked and laughed and cried and made the beginnings of a peace and now a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I can get on with it all.

I had all sorts of wonderfully philosophical things I was going to write here but then I got talking to Ben about cricket and accents and drinking with the Irish and computer bugs so I got all distracted so now I am going to watch Eureka. I thoroughly recommend it.

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

I find myself overcome with an overwhelming Sad.
There are things that I Know in my head and I would swear the truth of them until I fell down, but somehow I cannot make my heart believe in them.

In the general scheme of things it all means very little; there are people out there who are learning how to breathe again in this raw new world, but at 12.38 am at the end of a long Monday at the end of a long desperate tragic broken summer one tends to lose perspective.

I remember everything he said and everything that we were and the wounds we caused and the way we were and I can't help but wish for an alternative outcome of events. She has given me her blessing to return to him should my heart win out over my head but I know that I would always be second to her, that he would only have me because he couldn't have her and I Know in my head that I deserve better than that but that doesn't seem to mean much to the rest of me.

I am a reasonably clever person, you know? I have 3 degrees and a graduate diploma, not to mention the scholarship I am on for my PhD. So what pisses me off no end is that I can't figure this out.
I recognise the context of it all and that context contributed to both my weakness and my inability to properly grieve at the time, but that still doesn't help me to end it all. I should be able to put this behind me, you know? But none of that changed the way we were and what he meant to me and the massive divide between what I know and what I feel.

Fuck this. Time for a beer and some CSI.

Michelle tagged me

1. Are you a bath products girl, a shoe girl or a lingerie girl?
Can I go for option 4? I do have some sexy bitch shoes, but being a good Kiwi chick I am barefoot most of the time. I am severely limited in the saucy knickers department, but that is probably more to do with body image than anything.
So, if I had to pick, I would say bath products. Although all I have in the bathroom is shampoo, conditioner and soap-free body wash.

2. You are stranded on a desert island, you are allowed to take three items, what are they?
Item 1: A large well stocked picnic hamper containing endless supplies of the finest Marlborough sauvignon blanc, loads of cheese and crackers, tomatoes, bocconcini, fresh basil, ciabatta, olive oil and balsamic vinegar, amongst other things.
Item 2: A tent, complete with air conditioning unit, screened porch, a home theatre system, wireless internet, laptop computer, and one of those fancy 2 door fridge freezer units that makes ice.
Item 3: Clive Owen.

3. Are you are Mummy’s girl or a Daddy’s girl?
That depends on who you ask. I am really one of the lucky few who has not one but two awesome parents, who have different strengths, thus I am both.

4. Beatles or Elvis?
Ummm...... Sargent Pepper Beatles and pre-Vegas Elvis. Psychoanalyse that!!!

5. Would you rather be blind or deaf?
Funny, cos I was just thinking about this the other day, and I concluded that while a life without Interpol would initially appear to be a fate worse than death, I think I would choose to retain my sight. Its all academic though, because who gets to choose?

Who shall I tag?

I am weak!!

Yes, I finally caved and joined Facebook.
Laugh it up, Tim.

If you know my real name you can add me as a friend..... as long as I don't think you're a complete twat of course....

Go on.

None Shall Sleep

Requiescat in Pace, Sr Pavarotti



Yeah, this song still gives me goosebumps.
The fact that a person can sing like that blows my mind.

And the prize for best use of a Kate Bush song in a series promo goes to.....



ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck

"It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt"

Yesterday I went on a trip.
A sort of pilgrimage, if you will.

Fifty minutes the other side of Ithaca is a small town called Elmira. Like so many towns in this part of the world, it has a grand history of industry and wealth; a history which unfortunately hasn't endured.

A significant part of Elmira's history, and perhaps the reason it is most famous, is due to the presence of a family by the name of Langdon. The daughter of the Langdon family, one Olivia Langdon, met a friend of her brother's in 1868, and two years later the couple were married at the Langdon home. The young man in question was one Samuel Clemens, who wrote under the pen-name of Mark Twain.

Every summer for 20 years the Clemens' came to Elmira to stay with the family, and in 1874 Samuel's sister-in-law Susan Crane and her husband Theodore gifted Samuel with a study at Quarry Farm, their farmhouse in the hills surrounding Elmira. It was in this study that such works as Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn and Life on the Mississippi were written.

Those who are lucky enough to have met him will know that my Dad is a bit of a Mark Twain fan. He is legendary within his Rotary Club for his uncanny ability to summon a quote from Mr Clemens for any occasion, so yesterday's mission was a bit of a Dad day. Needless to say, SOMEONE is going to be getting some Mark Twain/Elmira memorabilia for Christmas.
(Rachael, don't tell him, am going for the element of surprise)



I miss my Dad.

There's no 'I' in team...

I has a hangover.
Initially I thought I was going to die, that this just might be the one that does me in. I had composed a text message to my mum telling her it was all over red rover, but then the healing powers of my morning (and by 'morning' I mean '1pm') cup of tea kicked in, and I think I may just pull through.

Not such good news for the loo however, in a cleaning frenzy last night my flatmate managed to break the flushing mechanism, so now we are old school and one has to stick one's hand in the tank and lift the thingy up to make it flush..... all a bit much for an Overhung Saturday.

Now its time for the patented hangover breakfast ("It'll cure what ails ya!!") of fried eggs and tater tots while I lounge around in my sexy trackie pants looking super hot. Phwoar.