Remember how when I first moved here I said Kiwis seem to be friendlier than people from home? I think I take that back. I'm not saying that the small number of Kiwis I know are unfriendly- that would be a stupid lie. But they are shy by nature. Much like the bird. Especially Kiwi girls. You know it's weird when I'm the most outgoing person around.
In public they seem even shier. For example, my flatmate and I generally go for a bit of chocolate at this one fancy chocolaterie downtown on Sunday mornings (The best time for chocolate- oh, and by "mornings" I mean around one in the afternoon.) The same girl always works on Sunday mornings, and we come in and try all different kinds of dark chocolate, every week. Same routine. And every week, we'll try and talk to her. It always looks like this:
Me: Ooo! Can I try the Lavender? Man, I love eating flowers.
Mike: Eew. You're a chump. I'll have the Smoked Paprika, please.
Me: Mmmm. Can I try the Rose?
Mike: Lemon Pepper, please?
Me: [To girl-at-counter] Sorry we keep making you run back and forth, giving us samples.
Girl-at-Counter: ...
Mike: Oh, this peppermint is nice. [To girl-at-counter] So you're here every Sunday, huh?
Girl-at-Counter: ...
Me: I'll buy the GeraniumHibiscusVioletHyacinth, please.
Mike: Peppermint and Lime Chili, please.
Girl-at-Counter: [Takes our money, gives us change] ...
Me: Bye!
Mike: See you next Sunday!
Girl-at-Counter: ...
And that's even more outgoing than the first time we went in. My goal is to be her friend by the time I leave this country.
In other exciting news, I got two dressers the other day, so my room is looking more complete. Alex and I moved stuff around to make space for the dressers and also his things. I worked on that all Friday instead of research for my thesis.
I have to write about my trip to Auckland and the train ride Alex and I took through the countryside where we saw Mount Doom, but I really should go into the office now. I'm an hour past my self-made deadline to be there.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Club Ivy
I learned the other day that the club whose sign I have as my profile picture is actually the only gay club in Wellington. Or it's just next door to the only gay club in Wellington. Or something like that. Anyway, I was pretty honored.
I had a fabulous weekend. Friday night I went to bed at nine thirty- a perfect time to go to bed. Saturday I woke up at six to get ready for field hockey try outs to see which team Victoria University would put me on. I haven't played in four years, hardly ever on turf, and never in the style they play, so I'll probably be on a bad team. But at least it will be a team, and playing field hockey makes your butt look nice. In the evening my friend Michel flew up from Dunedin, where she's studying. We at dinner and went out and had a generally rowdy time. The next day we went to the weekly produce market, lounged on the beach in the hot hot New Zealand sun, and made vegan pizza with my flatmate. Can you say idyllic?
I've been thinking recently about winter here, and the fact that nobody in this country weatherizes their houses. I'm not sure if it's really expensive, or disastrous to the environment, or what, but houses are not insulated and most of the windows are thin and drafty. You would think this wouldn't be a problem, but there's also no central heating. So when I complain that it's forty degrees here in a few months, I really mean forty degrees in my bedroom or when I get out of the shower. I wonder if you can really get sick from being cold all the time- I generally disregard comments like that. Although my grandma knows her shit, and she's always worried that I'm not dressed warm enough in winter. (This coming from the woman in cotton calico dresses in January, to the girl with leggings underneath her jeans and three sweaters on, sometimes two coats.)
I've been preparing for Alex's arrival in the country in a number of ways:
1. Finally bought a plane ticket to go meet him in Auckland when he lands.
2. Got a new comforter cover, so the poor guy doesn't have to sleep in a pink bed. Although this new one is floral...
3. Bought a coat rack to hang on the wall to make room for lots of jackets.
4. Bought a paper lantern to cover the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, making sure it hangs high enough that he won't smack his head on it every day.
5. Placed bids on dressers online so we wouldn't have to leave our clothes in piles on the floor.
6. Ate the rest of my Camembert.
I guess really I've just been using his arrival as an excuse to redecorate, or decorate in the first place. And eat cheese.
Last night I dreamt about the children I used to work with when I did early morning childcare. I went back to the school and my favorite ones jumped on me and yelled out "Miss Ivy!" and I picked them up and carried them around with me all day. Soon I'll send them a postcard with a Kiwi bird on it or a picture of some mountains and the beach. Maybe their teachers will explain to them where New Zealand is.
Today I worked on my thesis for about ten hours. I also ate and checked email and things, but I stuck to my books and computer for that long. I love to work and feel great about starting a new project, but let's just say it's a good thing I joined a hockey team, or I'd be coming home via cargo ship.
I had a fabulous weekend. Friday night I went to bed at nine thirty- a perfect time to go to bed. Saturday I woke up at six to get ready for field hockey try outs to see which team Victoria University would put me on. I haven't played in four years, hardly ever on turf, and never in the style they play, so I'll probably be on a bad team. But at least it will be a team, and playing field hockey makes your butt look nice. In the evening my friend Michel flew up from Dunedin, where she's studying. We at dinner and went out and had a generally rowdy time. The next day we went to the weekly produce market, lounged on the beach in the hot hot New Zealand sun, and made vegan pizza with my flatmate. Can you say idyllic?
I've been thinking recently about winter here, and the fact that nobody in this country weatherizes their houses. I'm not sure if it's really expensive, or disastrous to the environment, or what, but houses are not insulated and most of the windows are thin and drafty. You would think this wouldn't be a problem, but there's also no central heating. So when I complain that it's forty degrees here in a few months, I really mean forty degrees in my bedroom or when I get out of the shower. I wonder if you can really get sick from being cold all the time- I generally disregard comments like that. Although my grandma knows her shit, and she's always worried that I'm not dressed warm enough in winter. (This coming from the woman in cotton calico dresses in January, to the girl with leggings underneath her jeans and three sweaters on, sometimes two coats.)
I've been preparing for Alex's arrival in the country in a number of ways:
1. Finally bought a plane ticket to go meet him in Auckland when he lands.
2. Got a new comforter cover, so the poor guy doesn't have to sleep in a pink bed. Although this new one is floral...
3. Bought a coat rack to hang on the wall to make room for lots of jackets.
4. Bought a paper lantern to cover the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, making sure it hangs high enough that he won't smack his head on it every day.
5. Placed bids on dressers online so we wouldn't have to leave our clothes in piles on the floor.
6. Ate the rest of my Camembert.
I guess really I've just been using his arrival as an excuse to redecorate, or decorate in the first place. And eat cheese.
Last night I dreamt about the children I used to work with when I did early morning childcare. I went back to the school and my favorite ones jumped on me and yelled out "Miss Ivy!" and I picked them up and carried them around with me all day. Soon I'll send them a postcard with a Kiwi bird on it or a picture of some mountains and the beach. Maybe their teachers will explain to them where New Zealand is.
Today I worked on my thesis for about ten hours. I also ate and checked email and things, but I stuck to my books and computer for that long. I love to work and feel great about starting a new project, but let's just say it's a good thing I joined a hockey team, or I'd be coming home via cargo ship.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Old Tofu
Have you ever let an open block of tofu sit in your refrigerator for far too long, then decide to cook it? I have. It's not making me sick, because what can be wrong with tofu? But it does taste a little bit like cheese.
It's Thursday and I continue to trudge through the Mansfield letters- actually, that's not being fair. I totally enjoy spying on this dead woman's life, and her letters are so beautiful, but ever since she was diagnosed with TB they are just so sad.
I went to the beach yesterday with my friend Keoni. I'm not rubbing it in- soon it will be warm in America and goddamn cold here- I'm just telling you a story. We lounged in the sun and ate lunch and I read while he worked on math problems. Most of the afternoon, a very tan, wrinkled figure lie face down in the sand in front of us. I just assumed it was a sixty-something year old man in a speedo, but presently a woman in her thirties and her children approached whoever it was. A very fit, active looking grandma sat up, tieing her bikini straps and apologizing for having been asleep. Her daughter sat down, and the carrot topped little girl and boy proceeded to crawl all over the women. The little girl was probably around five and the little boy two or three. They took turns running up and down the beach. Well, mainly the little girl (with little round glasses bouncing) ran up and down the beach while her little brother tried hard to catch up. His fat little legs looked like they had no knees and they flew out at strange angles while he tried to get his hips to keep them in line. Keoni and I watched them for awhile over our books and although the little girl seemed to be practicing screaming most of the time, it was still a Good Day at the Beach.
Some days I wonder about New Zealand. Wellington seems like such a go-get-'em city, but then again all the shops close around six. I suppose I should really be all for that- less work! more play! but it just seems like such an oxymoron. Also, sometimes I need groceries at eight o'clock. But I suppose I should embrace this slightly less capitalistic society, and for the most part, I do. I think I'm just spoiled rotten most of the time. I'm used to unlimited broadband.
It's Thursday and I continue to trudge through the Mansfield letters- actually, that's not being fair. I totally enjoy spying on this dead woman's life, and her letters are so beautiful, but ever since she was diagnosed with TB they are just so sad.
I went to the beach yesterday with my friend Keoni. I'm not rubbing it in- soon it will be warm in America and goddamn cold here- I'm just telling you a story. We lounged in the sun and ate lunch and I read while he worked on math problems. Most of the afternoon, a very tan, wrinkled figure lie face down in the sand in front of us. I just assumed it was a sixty-something year old man in a speedo, but presently a woman in her thirties and her children approached whoever it was. A very fit, active looking grandma sat up, tieing her bikini straps and apologizing for having been asleep. Her daughter sat down, and the carrot topped little girl and boy proceeded to crawl all over the women. The little girl was probably around five and the little boy two or three. They took turns running up and down the beach. Well, mainly the little girl (with little round glasses bouncing) ran up and down the beach while her little brother tried hard to catch up. His fat little legs looked like they had no knees and they flew out at strange angles while he tried to get his hips to keep them in line. Keoni and I watched them for awhile over our books and although the little girl seemed to be practicing screaming most of the time, it was still a Good Day at the Beach.
Some days I wonder about New Zealand. Wellington seems like such a go-get-'em city, but then again all the shops close around six. I suppose I should really be all for that- less work! more play! but it just seems like such an oxymoron. Also, sometimes I need groceries at eight o'clock. But I suppose I should embrace this slightly less capitalistic society, and for the most part, I do. I think I'm just spoiled rotten most of the time. I'm used to unlimited broadband.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Sundays
"It is Sunday evening. Sometimes I feel I'd like to write a whole book of short stories and call each one Sunday. Women are far more 'sensitive' to Sundays than to the moon or their monthly period- Does Sunday mean to you someting vivid and strange and remembered with longing-- The description sounds rather like the habits contracted by Jean Jacques Rousseau when his blood was inflamed by his youth- or like Gordon Campbell lying on his bed reading the Police Court News- but I don't mean that- Sunday is what these talking people call a rare state of conciousness- and what I would call- the feeling that sweeps me away when I hear an unseen piano."
-Mansfield to Beatrice Campbell, 14 May 1916
I guess I've never explained why my blog is called Strawberries and a Sailing Ship. Like the awesome quote above, I lifted it from some of Mansfield's personal writing. I thought it was kind of fitting and mainly beautiful.
Today is certainly one of those Sundays when you feel slightly nostalgic about everything and the world is full of vibrant greens and blues and reds and fast-moving, fluffy clouds. Earlier, I went to a produce market in town with my friend Jill and got tons of bell peppers, fruits and lettuce. Everything was so fresh and so cheap- and a lot of it was really foreign looking, too. You should see the massive, bumpy sweet potatoes they have here, called kumara. Three different types, too, looking like three different wrinkly old men. I like to think of them shouting at each other from their respective bins in the market. I just spent like five minutes trying to think of what one old man kumara would say to the other, but I think I need to work on my old man dialogue. Or get a life.
After the produce market, Jill and I went to some home stores b/c she's moving into a new flat today and needed things like a comforter. I got some hangers and a laundry basket, then came home, baked a squash and did some laundry. Apparently in New Zealand every kind of squash is called a pumpkin, and they don't have American orange pumpkins. My flatmate Blair said this a little too zealously, like "Oh, and we don't make jack-o-lanterns here, either." I'll show him. We'll just have a green or brown one, come Halloween. Or maybe a butternut squash jack-o-lantern. I could make it look like a totem pole.
The squash I'm currently eating looks like a flattened pumpkin and an acorn squash put together, but it doesn't really taste like either. It tastes like...heaven. Sweet and nutty and orange. I'm going to chop some up and add it to some couscous with raisins and dates and walnuts and cinnamon and chili flakes. Maybe a little sauteed onion, if I'm feeling ambitious. I've lost some weight since coming to New Zealand, and I'd like to chalk it up to my healthy cooking, although I think really it was just because I was deathly ill last week. Too bad.
My friends and I went to a beer festival downtown yesterday. I'd like to say that I found a few favorites and selected all the local breweries, but by the time I tried three different beers I was smashed, and I don't remember much of what I tried. After all, it was two in the afternoon when we got there. Also in the middle of a tropical storm. I don't think I've hung out in that much rain ever before.
Classes start this week, and although that really doesn't mean much to me since I'm not taking any, it does mean I should start working on my project like a nine to five job. Starting...tomorrow. I don't want to mess up the romance of this beautiful Sunday, so I'll read something for fun instead.
-Mansfield to Beatrice Campbell, 14 May 1916
I guess I've never explained why my blog is called Strawberries and a Sailing Ship. Like the awesome quote above, I lifted it from some of Mansfield's personal writing. I thought it was kind of fitting and mainly beautiful.
Today is certainly one of those Sundays when you feel slightly nostalgic about everything and the world is full of vibrant greens and blues and reds and fast-moving, fluffy clouds. Earlier, I went to a produce market in town with my friend Jill and got tons of bell peppers, fruits and lettuce. Everything was so fresh and so cheap- and a lot of it was really foreign looking, too. You should see the massive, bumpy sweet potatoes they have here, called kumara. Three different types, too, looking like three different wrinkly old men. I like to think of them shouting at each other from their respective bins in the market. I just spent like five minutes trying to think of what one old man kumara would say to the other, but I think I need to work on my old man dialogue. Or get a life.
After the produce market, Jill and I went to some home stores b/c she's moving into a new flat today and needed things like a comforter. I got some hangers and a laundry basket, then came home, baked a squash and did some laundry. Apparently in New Zealand every kind of squash is called a pumpkin, and they don't have American orange pumpkins. My flatmate Blair said this a little too zealously, like "Oh, and we don't make jack-o-lanterns here, either." I'll show him. We'll just have a green or brown one, come Halloween. Or maybe a butternut squash jack-o-lantern. I could make it look like a totem pole.
The squash I'm currently eating looks like a flattened pumpkin and an acorn squash put together, but it doesn't really taste like either. It tastes like...heaven. Sweet and nutty and orange. I'm going to chop some up and add it to some couscous with raisins and dates and walnuts and cinnamon and chili flakes. Maybe a little sauteed onion, if I'm feeling ambitious. I've lost some weight since coming to New Zealand, and I'd like to chalk it up to my healthy cooking, although I think really it was just because I was deathly ill last week. Too bad.
My friends and I went to a beer festival downtown yesterday. I'd like to say that I found a few favorites and selected all the local breweries, but by the time I tried three different beers I was smashed, and I don't remember much of what I tried. After all, it was two in the afternoon when we got there. Also in the middle of a tropical storm. I don't think I've hung out in that much rain ever before.
Classes start this week, and although that really doesn't mean much to me since I'm not taking any, it does mean I should start working on my project like a nine to five job. Starting...tomorrow. I don't want to mess up the romance of this beautiful Sunday, so I'll read something for fun instead.
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