Wizard of Oz

If you are up to date in looking at my pictures online, then you will naturally remember one picture I took that had an access closed sign up on a path. Of course you remember it. Well, I had decided to take a trip up there when they stopped the construction because of course I wanted to see what all the construction was about. Yesterday I went off to class and when I came back there was a house on top of that hill that I wanted to venture up. A house. There hadn't been anything when I left for class and less than two hours later, an entire house had been placed on top of the hill. For one thing, I was disappointed because was sure that they had dropped this house from a crane (or helicopter, naturally) and equally sure that that would have been really fun to see. So I'm like a six year old boy when construction starts happening in the neighborhood. It's just too fun to see big old cranes and machinery do all the cool stuff that it does. But also, I was disappointed because it had been a pretty little path leading up into flowers and sky and now there's a crappy student house there. Now I can't go up there... it leads only to some other drunken uni house that I would rather avoid than climb a big old hill to see.

I do have to say that it did give me a night of great imagined stories. While I didn't see any curled-up feet of the wicked witch under this house, I couldn't see very well and they could have been there. Also, I had some Simpsons'-inspired humour about some people joining the witness protection program, but refusing to leave their house -- so they plopped it on some random open hill. I also had visions of pudgy, drunken uni students rolling down said hill in zigzag fashion, bumping into and off of the corners in the path. I pictured also my ducks waddling up the hill to get the better pizza crusts instead of my seeded bread.

So while this house invaded my wanderlust by blocking my path, it did open up my imagination enough to make me laugh out loud on the walk home. I'm not kidding -- I am sure my neighbors think of me as the crazy lady who laughs by herself and feeds the ducks. I am the crazy duck lady, and let me tell you -- life is pretty good.

Duck, Duck, Screw the Gulls

I must return to the conversation of the birds. I really do hate the gulls, and they hate me. There is one particular seagull that is huge and fat because he picks through the garbage first. I am disappointed in myself because I really hope he chokes on the plastic bags he pulls out of the garbage cans. They all spread the garbage out on the sidewalks and he gets his fill and then the other tiny birds are allowed to eat. How tyrannical is that? Honestly. They also swoop down on tables at outdoor restaurants just as people are walking awayto get their fill before the waitstaff can clear the tables. They still screech at me no matter where I am or what I am doing, and yes, it is me specifically. They are wretched birds.

The ducks, however, are wonderful. I love my three ducks that come to my window more than any other ducks, but it's hard to tell which ducks are mine when they aren't outside my window. Is it normal for ducks to travel in threes? Because I always assume that when I see a group of three ducks somewhere near my flat that they are, in fact, my personal ducks. Even if they're not my ducks, they are still far better than the evil gulls. One of my new favorite things is to watch ducks float downstream. They get lazy and stop swimming and they float down the water and it looks so funny. I have been known to laugh out loud at the ducks in the botanical gardens. Perhaps this is why the ducks like me, but people think I am crazy.

There is the possibility that I only fear birds that have pointy beaks, tempers, and hate me. But let's look at the options here... If you are kind to me, I give you food; if you are mean to me, I hope you choke on plastic in the street. I think the ducks really have this program down.

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

While I am enjoying my new culturally different experience here, I felt the need to tell you about a trend I have noticed. I've actually been meaning to talk about this, but my verbose nature has prevented me from doing so until now. People here are dirty hippies. Naturally, I love it. Many adult women who have babies and small children have dreadlocks. One particular woman had her dreadlocks dyed pink and was telling her child that she was no pushover. Also, she wasn't wearing shoes, and her children weren't either. This wouldn't seem so strange, but we were in the mall. Many people here just can't be bothered to wear shoes and I have to love the freedom of it all, but am also confused by the logic behind it. As I walked to the library this morning, I noticed several broken beer bottles scattered about the streets, two literally rusty nails and other various sticky, smelly, and mysterious fluids. I don't mean to be prissy, but ew! For all the people who freaked out with Britney went into a public restroom with no shoes on, welcome to the land of horrid feet maintenance. I would like to say it is only the many dirty hippies who free themselves from the restraint of shoes, but many people dress like this: nice pants, nice shirt, tie, and no shoes. I like to be sure that they haven't come from work like this, but there is no such guarantee.

Now I have been tempted to join the movement, but you know... I mean, you absolutely know that the second that I would walk outside barefoot I would get five rusty nails, a used hypodermic needle, and a puddle of eerily cool yellow liquid all over myself. Maybe that makes me a paranoid, germphobic American, but hey, I like me this way. Power to the people, and free the foot and all that jazz. But if I befriend some of these well intentioned hippies, you know they are going to be wearing flip flops upon entering my humble abode. I mean, ew.

I am getting more tempted to put my hair in dreads. How awesome would I be? I really don't think I could pull it off, but here you don't have to. It's not a statement, it's a hair style. I don't even need to reek of pot or anything. Course now that I cut all my hair off, I would have just a mini froh (I am so unsure of how to spell this, and spellcheck is no help!!). But please. If you know me at all, you know that this is my dream.

Now I Get It

So I finally have a busy schedule again and I had several moments yesterday that reminded me why I wanted to come all the way across the globe. All of the international kids went on a tour of the peninsula nearby. It was great because we were just driving through the country and it was so pretty! Pastoral, but near water, so there were sheep and flowers and hills and an ocean all in the same area. Gorgeous. I got to see two penguins up close (look forward to pictures when I get my new power cord in the mail), a huge seal that I saw charge some girl who got too close, albatross, and the ocean. There were beautiful sights and a peace and calm that I just don't get to experience on a regular basis. These are the kinds of sights that make you feel lazy for not yet windsurfing, bungee jumping, or skydiving. I loved it. The land truly is inspiring and that was exciting, but then also...

Social life has rejoined me. Last night I walked in the rain with friends to a jazz bar and had New Zealand wine. I was talking with people from France, Malaysia, Switzerland, and New Zealand even. :) I just stopped and looked around and had to smile. This is what I wanted to be doing and I do know I could have gone a lot of different places to do it. But I am here and loving it. It's the kind of environment that reminds you that there are so many people who do so much and know so much and you just want to stay afloat. I want to learn like five new languages and know all about international politics and hear all kinds of music. So while this entry might not be hysterical, laughing at me and the birds (which do still hunt me), I just wanted to say that I wanted to remember that there is so much more to this big old world we live in and I certainly do remember that.

Some Things Never Change

So I finally took some of my dad's advice. I know, we're all shocked. He told me not to resist going to the international student party just because it was the international student party. He was right, it was really fun. It was my first time out and drinking New Zealand beer (which is pretty good) with people and I liked it. But it reminded me of college, which I think is okay because it is a college. But I realized that I really missed being out and about and meeting new people. I even missed the drama that comes in trying to get a group of ten people from one bar to another one several blocks away. If you don't see the drama that would rampantly ensue, then you obviously weren't in a sorority. It was even fun to see drunken groups of guys on their front porch desperately trying to encourage the party of the century in their house. I also enjoyed hearing the ghetto booty music that I thought was reserved for fine establishments like Northside and Buddy N' Pals. Turns out, people here like to use music as a diversionary tactic for their desire to grope and rub up on each other too. Granted, I don't want to leap headfirst back into the drunken abyss of college life again, but it's nice to visit sometimes.

Drama can be good because it keeps life interesting. I like seeing the unique relationships that develop with a mixture of alcohol, and after seeing that party last night, I wonder why all "mixers" don't start with a heaping portion of alcohol. I know that the drinking age is higher in the States, but please? How much easier would freshman orientation be if it was booze soaked and organized by the university? Maybe someday it could happen in the fine schools and not in the house parties where freshman girls are lured with alcohol to waiting boys' doors, but I guess they like their system better.

On a completely random note, I need to mention two animal stories to you. On my way to the library today, I saw a dog like Bailey. This story will really be more funny to those of you who have had the privilege of meeting Bailey. I immediately when into pouty, tearing up face because I really miss my dog. But then I realized that this dog didn't really look like Bailey, but I couldn't figure it out. I looked at her haircut, her leash color, nothing. I then realized that this dog was obeying commands and walking correctly. I no longer missed Bailey because this dog was nothing like Bailey.

Second story involved ducks. I have three ducks now. They come to my window in the afternoon and I give them bread, pita, or tortilla depending on my stock. Well, evidently they got awfully tired after mowing down on my pita and attacking each other for my pita (I hate when they fight), and two of them hung back and fell asleep by my window. They looked like real people, with slowly nodding off and having their heads fall down only to jerk them back up. One of them even shook his head to wake himself up!! I kid you not. So now, my love affair with my ducks has only flourished in seeing them be absolutely adorable.

The End.

And So It Begins

So I went to international student orientation today. Yeah, I know you're ravenously jealous. Regardless, it was a rather informative time. I am super excited to do yoga, stained glass work, and be part of wine tasting group because, for the most part, I can. Needless to say, their recreational organization is composed of more than intramurals. In addition to all that, I can take lessons in windsurfing, mountain climbing and pretty much any other random activity you can think of. I also discovered that there is a gym here that I can use for free (if you pretend we didn't pay astronomical fees to be in the University anyway...) and I will now take advantage.

Also, I realized for the first time today that after years of being disappointed that I hadn't chosen to go to "a real school," I am actually at one now. This school has a city wrapped up in and around it, and that's pretty cool. There are over 2000 international students here, which almost amounts to all the Valpo kids who didn't stay in their rooms all day. (I mean, seriously, who were those pale kids who won all the academic awards... puh-lease.) The only down side to my academic life here so far is that I have all night classes. I only have class three times a week, and none of those starts before 4. Getting a job that will be fulfilling wll be harder than I thought, as well. Turns out they have teachers for professional tutoring places and now I have to scrounge. Ah, whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger right? (Whoever said that is so crappy.) Either way, I have made the dismal realization about myself: I like routine. I hate to say it, but I am looking forward to the dependable monotony of academia. Granted, they trust their students here and that means that most of the work is done on your own schedule. Even better... I get to set up my own routine. Control freaks like myself can delight in such privilege.

Does this mean my blog entries will soon be riddled with boring observations about education and its impact all over the world? Of course it does, and you should be interested! Okay, okay, and you can still depend on flighty, random observations of life because I am flighty and random. Cheers to that.

Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson is dead. He "fatally shot himself," which the rest of the world calls suicide. I was shocked by this, and I hate it all at the same time. I'm sure most people would relate him to the quirky, drugged out character that Johnny Depp played in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I think it's okay, Depp was evidently quite true to character and I liked him. Liked it enough to read The Rum Diary, which I dare say is one of my favorite books and was a driving force in maintaining my sanity on this cross-the-globe journey I recently embarked on. Granted, it was his only novel and was written early in his life, to be published nearly thirty years later, but I think the point of the novel still struck home, speaking to people who were running, searching, traveling, hoping to find something and only finding themselves. And not in that cheesy, psychobabble kind of way, but the way where you hope for a distraction, only to find yourself sitting there waiting to be dealt with.

I have a habit of developing deep, long-lasting crushes on authors I like (imagine my disappointment when I realized that David Sedaris was gay...). I was obsessed with Hunter S. Thompson. Plus, there is always some bad-boy mystique about a guy who feels so comfortable in the void and abyss of drug induced vision. So being me, I went to the library and took out every other book they had by Thompson in order to continue our love affair. Unfortunately, I was horribly disappointed. He has become, over thirty years (but for me only a matter of days), a paranoid babbler. I do not discredit or even dislike people with radically different political views than mine, mostly because I don't think I know enough about politics or history to judge. Still, this was not a political distaste, he was just babbling! I couldn't understand how his beautiful, troubled insight of the eternal traveler had become someone who couldn't keep on one topic long enough to support his claims. Yes, he started a brand new kind of journalistic fiction, sure, but I have never been a fan of anyone becoming famous for being the first if that "first" wasn't that good. I'm sure he was a popular icon in the same way Michael Moore is today; half the people only buy it because the other half are buying it. And I'm sure it was good that he made the headway in fiction that he did. But to me, I was just disappointed to see that all his rampant drug use hadn't done anything but eat away at the mind that I had loved. He wasn't comfortable in the drugfilled abyss, he had merely fallen in headfirst.

Now to see that he commit suicide in his fortified compound in Aspen... What happened to the man that wanted to travel everywhere and never settle down? Now, that traveler who looked out onto open seas with no other desire than to cross them lived in a fortified compound. He was trapped in a world of his own making. It's just so sad. I wish his mind hadn't lost its luster. And part of me still feels bad now because he was such an intensely private man, and here I am writing like I knew him and I didn't. But the point is, I don't know that I really would have liked to. Unless it was 35 years ago and he could tell me what he saw on his travels that he wished he would have remembered. I just wish he could have reminded himself.

Starbucks/Kryptonite... Same Dif

They have a Starbucks here, as well as a McDonald's and Burger King. I don't like going to foreign countries and eating at places that I would settle for in the States. If you've had the privilege to travel to foreign countries with me, you will know that I will refuse to go to these places. My mom and aunt had to almost literally pull me kicking and screaming into a McDonald's in Stockholm so they could get Pepsi and cookies. (Hah! Ratted you out for that one!)

But you see, shamefully I admit I have a vice. I adore Starbucks. I can't help it. I can pretend it's coffee when really it's just a sugary treat. I like the atmosphere of a Starbucks, with its fake fireplaces and comfy chairs and windows looking out onto busy streets. Knowing this about myself, I refused to go in, knowing that once I went in, I was never coming out. Well, after the Festival Extravaganza (no, I still haven't found out its true name), it was a bit chilly and I knew a coffee would be oh-so-good, so I went in. And it was everything I thought it would be. The other side of this is that I love caramel. You put caramel and coffee together and I'm in frickin' heaven. I wanted to say no, but I couldn't. Please... could you?

Liar.

See, one of the nice things about Americanization is that in a place where every single thing is brand new to me, I can go in one place where it isn't. I went in there and sat down and felt like I was in familiar territory. So was it stupid to pay for a five dollar cup of coffee? Yes. Is it even slightly ignorant for me to refer to it as coffee? Yes. Does it most likely have the caloric content of a Thanksgiving meal? Yes. But for one second could I be in a place where I wasn't the inexperienced, new kid looking around for some semblance of familiarity? Yes. And for that, dear friends, I will adore Starbucks and all the evils it represents.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Last night, I had a very Annika-style scare. At about two thirty in the morning, my doorbell started going crazy and someone started knocking somewhat frantically at my door. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I rarely answer the door when I'm not expecting anyone at high noon, let alone 2:30 in the morning! A lot of things went through my head at that moment: It's probably just some drunken idiot, I do live in a college kid area. Or... it could be someone trying to rape and pillage me. Or... it could be someone who is about to be raped and pillaged and needs my help. Or... it could be a ghost (yeah, that's why I shouldn't watch scary movies, and I did just see a poster for the sequel to The Ring). How did my body react when I was thinking all these things? I sat frozen in bed like as if I moved, the drunk, burglar, victim, or ghost would know I was there and this information would somehow have an impact on my predicament. Soon, I became mad at the mysterious evening caller. I wanted to call the cops, but I couldn't exactly remember the number (it was late, after all), and also, I don't like cops. I figured that the mystery guest would soon be gone, and then cops would keep me up the rest of the night making me feel like a scared, little girl. Sure enough, a minute or so later, the knocking and incessant doorbell ringing ceased and so, logically, I could now go back to sleep. I, however, thought it better to jump at the slightest noise in my party-zone neighborhood and not go to bed for two more hours.

The sad part is part of me was feeling guilty because it could have been the victim option. I half expected to see blood spattered on my door this morning and feel the utter guilt for someone's death. Of course, there was no such blood, but I did see 7 empty beer cases on my way to church this morning. Sweet. So I guess it was fair not to answer the door in my p.j.'s at 2:30 in the morning, but I still feel like a girlie wuss.

Festival Extravaganza!

So I went into the center of town today because I heard there was a fair of some sort. It was great! There were singers that I would say were dressed in drag, but they were women dressed as women. One had her hair in Princess Leia buns with a spiked mohawk going down the center of her head. They were singing songs like "These Boots Were Made for Walking," but with accents, which I found hysterical. Puts a new spin on things, I suppose. Many more bands were performing on different stages, but I liked the weird ladies the best.
I had also heard there would be tons of food there, and there was, but they are not the vegetarian friendly dishes I might have hoped. For all those who knew me in my carnivorous days, you would have been proud that I refrained from the meat; they had kabobs of every make and style, with sauces that were spicy, smoky, and just plain smelled great. But I did not succumb to the temptation of the meat and went home and had some soup because, once again, I love soup.
I also inadvertently joined Amnesty International. I know my political minded readers will probably find several reasons that I shouldn't have done this, but when it comes down to it, I like that they defend human rights. They probably like sell babies for ads in papers or something equally evil they they just don't tell people, but oh well. Maybe I was blown over by having someone to talk to about something of worth (it has been a while), but I just liked the idea of what they do. The kicker was when they described a woman who was supposed to get stoned to death because she had a baby outside of marriage. Well, given my dear friend with her new baby, yeah, I don't want them to die, so why should that lady?
Either way, I should just tell people no blindly when they want me to do something, because as my dad always told me, I am the marketing exec's dream come true. I also found some less costly and defining nice deals on decorations. Decorative tiles for my bathroom walls (to accompany the stone body parts) for only five dollars a piece! For the land of the impossibly expensive crap, that was a mighty fine deal.
So I got to see that life in Dunedin has its festivals, with its fun food that I can't eat, but lots of little crafty things and music that I love. Let's see what other interesting things I just happen upon!

I'm a Big Kid Now

In the States, I was always assumed to be younger than I am. I got carded last summer to get into an R rated movie. Yeah, in my spare time, I am a 12 year old girl sneaking into Charlie's Angels Two. So, over the years, I have gotten used to being thought of as "young." My brother and I also just realized that we are both well into what is known as adulthood. I was shocked. I don't think of myself as an adult; this is why, of course, I have thrown myself into more schooling. Boo real world, yay youth and irresponsibility. Since getting here, however, I have not been treated as the youth I see in the mirror.

Course approval went utterly smoothly for except for the fact that every queue I entered assumed me to be a graduate student. Yes, okay, I in fact am a graduate student, but I usually have to convince people of that! Then, today, I ventured out to do big girl things. I needed a bank account here in New Zealand. I did it, all on my own. I have never done any kind of banking all on my own (and for good reason!). But, the woman who worked with me for half an hour to set it up ("not as much paperwork as in the States," my fanny) told me numerous times that I seemed quite well set up and planned for. Shocking! No one at a bank has ever been nice to me (and for good reason!). Then, I decided to get insurance, like renter's insurance. This is already more adult than I have ever seemed. I asked her to differentiate the various plans. She explained them all and said, "Most adult renters pick this one because it's considered midrange in price and coverage." So I pointed at the one below it and said, "So I should take this one then?" And she replied, "Well, you can pick whichever one you want, but you could go with the one that the other adult renters pick, too." Shocking!! She was calling me an adult!

You know, if people aren't careful, I'm going to go back to the States in two years really thinking I am an adult. And then where will we be when I get carded to get into an R rated movie?

If I Were a Rich Girl...

As a budding teacher, I am quite familiar with writing prompts. You know, the hypothetical questions we have to come up with so that you kids will actually write. Well, one of the typical ones is what would you do if you had a million dollars, or whatever sum of money these days that would mean you no longer had to work. And no, we'll ignore the obvious desire to quote Office Space, "Two chicks at the same time." I mean really.
For a long time, I said I would teach or be a cashier. I know... but I really do love teaching and the way kids can keep you young and old all at once. The cashier thing? I just liked it. I like small shiny beeping objects, so cashiering was really great. In the past few months, I have been living the life of a nomadic drifter (as compared to the non-drifting nomad) and I have re-evaluated my "what if" scenario. I would be utterly social, and not contribute to society at all. I know that given my last blog entry, you may think this odd, but I want to be the eccentric old rich lady. I would have brunch with my friends, go to movies, theatre, travel, explore new areas forever. I would live in one area until it had bored me thoroughly, then go to a new one. Screw working. No one typically appreciates what you do as a teacher(or anything else, for that matter), so why be noble and good for society? I'll appreciate what I'm doing, and isn't some gratification better than none? There is so much world that we never get to see, so why not do it? Well, the most obvious reason is that I don't have this unnamed sum of money that would provide me the means for this wandering life.
But it certainly gives me a dilemma. When I do become a teacher (and not an eccentric old socialite), do I tell the kids that if I didn't have to I wouldn't be teaching them? Um, yes. I will tell them. Little brats should appreciate what I'm doing and what life I've sacrificed for them. Plus, I think kids respond better to the idea that my ideal life does not include teaching them about dangling participles.

Grass is Always Greener

I'm bored. Yup, it's finally happened. I'm not lonely, I'm not terrified, I'm just bored. School doesn't start for a couple weeks and I've shopped the bulk of my shopping. I've been the museums, art galleries, and the movie theatre. I've explored all the paths within walking distance... it's time for some friends. Sure, sure, I've got my elderly crew from the church, met some normal neighbors, and even met another American here, but still... It got me thinking how that social butterfly/lone wolf pendulum sure does swing.

In junior high (the angst filled years) every teenage girl thought she could be more popular and life just wasn't giving her the chance. I could always find some reason that I wanted to leave the house to be social, only to be thwarted by the evil restrictions of my parents. There was always some social obligation you just couldn't make it to, family reunions and baptisms be damned. During this tumultuous time of life, I decided I was a social butterfly.

Then there was high school where you inevitably decide that you are better than the social network. I had true friends who would stick by me to the end. I didn't want mass popularity of the high school royalty, I was better than that... I was a loner. (Who hung out with her best loner friends all the time.)

This personal revelation stuck with me until college, where I joined a sorority. Doors of social opportunity opened like floodgates. You know, parties, and it wasn't so much floods as it was beer. But still, the social interaction took up not only every weekend night (you know, starting with Wednesday night), but the whole of every day because now you had sisters! I don't mean to bash the sorority system, it was a great and wonderful time for me and I have made fabulous friends for life. But... there wasn't a piece of your existence that was purely yours. Everything from my favorite shirt to my friend's birth control (long story) was borrowed or flat out stolen. Hair spray, food, movies, CD's... nothing was safe from the bonds of sisterhood. Especially while living in close quarters, you couldn't pee without company. Being at a small school besides, you couldn't eat the veggie egg rolls at lunch without the whole campus finding out. The novelty of socialite bliss sputtered out about junior year. It was then that I decided I was a loner.

I have believed that until today, where I am a stranger in a strange land. I have been here almost two weeks and I need to chat to someone. I look at spas as places me and my new friends are going to get mani/pedis. I look at a cute restaurant as a place where my new friends and I will have Sunday brunch and catch up on each other's weekly gossip. I buy clothes that my new friends are likely to want to borrow. I am re-entering my socialite phase. Luckily, I have discovered that, much to everyone's surprise, maybe I just want what I can't have. :) So I am out to discover way too many friends that I can later complain about wanting more time away from! The grass is always greener...

Obsession

I have a couple new obsessions I thought only fair to mention. The first is old people, naturally. The church that I now fully intend to become a member of has a more elderly congregation. There are some younger patrons, but I dare say they are the boring ones. I met Nora last week, who pulled me safely under her wing and instructed me to come back the following week and attend lunch with "the whole group." So I did. They are fantastically interesting people. Most of them are well educated, dwarfing once again my intellect. Their knowledge of the world surrounding them is outstanding, encouraging all who speak with them to immediately read ten more books... today. Besides being intelligent, through nature and nurture, they are quite well-traveled. I found at least three people who were not only familiar with Wisconsin, but Madison and Milwaukee as well. Keep in mind, they don't just go to boring Midwestern towns either! Russia, Asia, the Polynesian Islands, nothing is new territory to these people. They are outrageously witty and a few even have that driest of dry humor that I do so adore. I have often scolded myself for not finding enough time to discuss life with those who have actually lived through it and ended with a sense of humor. Luckily, they find me entertaining as well and I hope to become fast friends with them all.

In a connected way, my other new obsession is the ocean. My dear friend, Nora, and her good friend, Iris, took me driving all over the city and finally showed me to the beach. Not the industrial stinkpot that is the harbor, but the true ocean was finally revealed to me. I love it. I asked what the next major land in my way was, and was told South America. For reasons I don't entirely understand myself, I love that the wind and water bring with them stories of faraway places. I almost wish each little particle could tell the story of the things it'd seen. There is an exciting liberation that comes from such wide open water whose origin still confuses me. What is it about water that is so inspiring? The continual change and progression? The seemingly unending calm? The openness of the territory? Oh, who knows? Why try to define it? It's wonderful and I love it and hope to spend much time there!

Little Known Fears

When you go somewhere new, I don't even care how far away it is, and you go by yourself, you have to encounter certain attributes of life that you don't typically have to. I would like to dedicate this blog to the little known fears that I have that I had to come to terms with thus far on my New Zealand adventure.

Bugs-
Oh yeah, the books will tell you that there really isn't much bug life here. Sure, there isn't when compared to Northern Wisconsin in the woods, in the rain, near the river, when it's hot. Still, people, put screens on your windows, or at least on mine. I had a few huge fly situations, but I decided to live and let live. I'm not thrilled about flies being in my flat, but in their defense, they're not thrilled to be there either. My limits were tested, however, when I encountered the biggest spider I'd ever seen in real life. Naturally, I find the spider when I am coming out of the shower. Normally, I would scream for someone else who lived there to either take care of it for me, or do reconnaissance with me. There isn't anyone else here! I had to run and get a shoe, attack it with all of my being, listen for the eerie crunch that a thing that size makes, and clean it up. Ew. It took me a while to not wear shoes again, but I conquered it.

Museums-
Okay, yeah, I do like museums, but I have a little known fear sprung from many recurring dreams that the people, animals, etc come to life and try and kill me. I think this is entirely normal. I went to the museum by myself today and of course wandered into the "animal attic." In one room, all the animals they had were stuffed into cases... they included bears and tigers and big, huge birds. We know my relationship with birds is already quite tense. Then... here's the kicker. Monkeys. I don't like monkeys to begin with because there is too much awareness in those eyes. I had to force myself to go through this room or I would have had to beat myself mercilessly later. I practically ran past the three monkeys. It was close, I thought I saw one of them blink.

Dining Alone-
That's a biggie until you do it. I like doing it now, it gives you a chance to just sit and be and think, all while getting a meal you didn't have to cook. Wonderful. Sheer joy.

I suggest to all (two) faithful readers that you do these things not because of your solitude, but because of the advancement of spirit. Kill bugs, fear dead animals, and dine alone. Words to live by.

Technological Era

I begin today's blog by stating that I am so pissed at myself. I got a stupid virus. I clicked on that link, you know? The one that is screaming, "I am soooo a virus!" Just because, maybe instead of a virus, it's a link to the meaning of life. How could I not click on the link? Well, the next step was to uninstall AIM off my computer. So now I have no friends, none of my thousands of away messages, and no access to my family. Still, the computer immediately slows down, completely not caring about the sacrifice I just made for it. I just shut 'er down and wait until I can take her someplace to get better, which as it turns out, is the library. Yeah, they have sweet people here. And it didn't cost me anything -- take that Valpo EIS desk.

I have to explain to the computer guy (and you can picture him in your head) that I have a virus and how I got the virus. He laughs kindly (so maybe he's not that guy), and gives me a thirty page book to complete. This book contains instructions on how to salvage my computer on my own. Yes, I can hear the widespread gasp. "Annika's going to try this on her own???" That's what I tried to tell him, but he said I could do it. So after scanning, I have four viruses, and 29 cases of spyware. Stupid link. Do you want to know how long it took me to do all thirty pages? All the day long. I am completely not kidding. After I had cleansed the computer in ways that made me feel invasive, I re-downloaded aim only to have it pop up the annoying away message link, meaning that yes, my whole computer could be re-contaminated. I have to re-scan for viruses, and re-scan for spyware, after of course, again uninstalling aim. Then I have to continue as before.

Now after all this, I finally have aim, but I can't get into my blog, hotmail, anything requiring a password unless I go down to the computer lab. In the rain. Uphill both ways. So I sacrificed all this, dear friends, to keep aim on my computer, much to the chagrin of the help desk guy. Says it's crap and I have to agree.

Welcome to the Jungle

Today I went out a-wandering as I tend to. I decided to go a new direction and found myself walking steadily uphill until I hit the Water of Leith. Yes, that is the water that runs by my flat, but evidentially it's a busy little bee because I found it quite a ways from home.

A path ran next to the Water of Leith and I have never been one to turn down an unknown path into the woods. Now, I think that one of the aspects of American living is that we are not accustomed to real, true wilderness. Most of the states have been taken in as part of human existence. That situation, in itself, is not a bad thing, but I consider myself lucky to have experienced true wilderness in the land my dad owns in northern Wisconsin. I need to say all this as a preface for my natural revelation, so stay with me. Even in the woods up north, I haven't ever really felt uncomfortable. I know the woods fairly well, my dad has taught me enough about the woods so that I understand them, and I have been going there since I was a baby. In the woods up north, there are bears, deer, bobcats, porcupines, coyotes, and various other unknowns. Granted, usually having a pistol nearby will make anyone feel more comfortable in the woods, but you understand my position.

I was not comfortable in the woods by the Water of Leith. I cannot with any kind of conscience describe this as "woods," for one thing. It was a jungle. There were so many rich shades of green, I couldn't understand how we had gotten just one word for this varied color. The trees had creeping, vine-like, spindly branches that seemed to crawl, twist, and grow even though I knew that they were not actually moving. Some of the trees had so much of this creeping branch, that it looked like matted, wild hair cascading down into the rushing water. For anyone who has ever uttered the words, "the silence of nature," you don't know what you're talking about. The sound of the water was gushing, echoing back on itself in the hollow under the trees. The various insects made a chaotic cacophony of buzzing and humming. Wind, too, screamed through the hollow between the branches and the moist ground. Not only was nature deafening, it also had that muted sound of moss and dew and leaves enveloping the sounds as they were being created. I had to continually remind myself that there weren't any wild animals in the whole of New Zealand, so animals couldn't possibly come running out of the green overgrowth on either side of me.

Also, the air turned eerily cold as soon as I walked under the leafy balcony. Although there was a path, I felt in entire wilderness and a kind that I had never before been in. The sound of my feet on aged gravel felt intrusive and wrong in this natural atmosphere. Being there, I understood why people have a certain comfort in living in cities and seeing our own concrete jungles. I could entirely understand the need to bring concrete here so I could have something solid, human, and relatively permanent to make me feel comfortable. I realized that the love of nature that I have is so thinly veiled fear and awe. Had I tripped and fallen into the water, not one part of nature would have cared. Nothing about nature is forgiving. I can see why people like to put trees in a row, have flowers line their little houses, and even have zoos with fences. I enjoy seeing nature, but its chaos is absolutely terrifying.

I thought about Tsunami and how nature can so quickly and coldly turn on anything, including itself. I thought of the hurricanes in Florida and seeing houses collapse as if made of popsicle sticks. Security in this world is so shallow. Even to say this, though, creates a feeling of a harsh, evil, anthropomorphic Nature. What's even more distressing, is that this isn't even true. There isn't a personality. It's just a chain of events, which makes all of existence so coincidental.

The moral to my story is that I think there needs to be an awe and respect for the fragility of existence at all, let alone the inconsequential nature of the specific existence I happen to be leading. Maybe I had forgotten that because I hadn't spent enough time out there, instead of in here.

Bratty Little Brat

So my maternal little clock has been ticking in months of late. I don't think that's so bad, especially considering the grand old age I have already come to. I mean, people are settling down, have their own little rugrats, so I... flee the country. Fine. I still have my weaknesses to seeing small children in their constant endearing innocence. Sometimes, though, sometimes the world reminds me why I am not chomping at the bit to have my own little munchkin.

I went to the grocery store (yes, for the fourth time this week. Shut up.) and I had decided to purchase a plant, which was going to solve my need to nurture. I was meandering through the store buying things, when I saw this cute blonde boy sitting in a cart. He smiled up at me and I smiled back. So far, so good. He looked directly into my eyes, chucked his toy the ground and demanded to me, "Pick it up!" (Now, you truly need to imagine the accent here, which we'll just pretend is English just because you can probably imagine that. Some little wanker just threw his toy down and said, "Pick i' up!") Little brat. My smile instantly faded, and I rolled my eyes, which I think this kid should only get used to. So he said it AGAIN! At this point, I looked over to his mother who said, "Aren't they so cute at this age?" But she meant it. I recreated the eye rolling look that had worked so effectively on the smaller of the wankers and went on my way.

I did not purchase a little plant today for two reasons. I decided they are too needy. (What, you need water again??) Also, the brand name of the plants was Lil Cuties. Yeah. No explanation needed there. No ankle biters for me for quite some time. Thanks for the reminder, bratty little brat.

Feet

For quite some time now, I have been trying to appear not American here. What I mean by this is that I don't want to look like the wussy American who can't get along without her cell phone, her car, or her Cosmo. (Two out of three ain't bad... I needed that Cosmo, man.) So I have been frolicking about walking everywhere. I would buy loads of stuff that I needed to start up my flat and would refuse to get a taxi ("Bah, I can walk... I'm used to this!"), would wander up the hilly distance just to see the scenery, and walk to the nearby flat office instead of calling because "it's just round the corner!" Well, guess what. I'm American and my feet are killing me.

I have been up and down every hill, street, trail and store for the past week and I have blisters, my calves hurt, and I just might call a taxi to go to church, which is about four blocks away. Call me a wuss, but I mean, honestly... is it my fault that I grew up in a place where it was nearly impossible not to have car?? Granted, I may have had my lazy times at Valpo, like when Kimmie drove me to class... in Neils... from Scheele. I mean, she was already leaving anyway!! And it was snowing! But I certainly am paying for those snide years of non-walking now. I will deny it to everyone I meet here, saying I hadn't even really noticed the need for extra walking, but I currently am debating putting bandaids on my legs where my toothbrush holder cut me through the bag I was carrying for 20 blocks.

So sue me. So I grew up in America, land of opportunity, freedom, and a freaking car ride to the store.

The Birds

So I went out a-shopping again today. Seeing as how I have finally convinced myself that carrying too many bags really is painful, I was able to take a leisurely stroll home instead of the usual frenetic jog/walk. I get to walk a scenic little route on the way home and I am looking at the Water of Leith and some pretty buildings (see my pictures link... plug, plug, plug) when I think I hear someone making fun of the birds. At first, I think maybe whoever that is just doesn't like birds. But then, this mocking gets taken to the extreme. No bird sounds that mean or squawky... But then I realize that it really is a bird making these noises. Not only that, the bird is pissed at me!! I am clearly invading some kind of territorial boundary by walking down the path. Now a few people are staring at the bird and laughing, including me. This seems only to further infuriate him. With crowds now surrounding us, I must decide how to handle the bird. I have inherited only a slight fear of birds, knowing this thing could fly up and peck my eye out or something, but I can't let the hoards of people see me bullied by a bird!
So I do the only thing I can do... I pretend to see a friend calling me from ahead and run to catch up with said friend. After fake waving, I ignore the people looking to see to whom I have just waved. I turn quickly round the bend of the path, where only one bystander has seen my quick maneuvering. He (it would be a he, wouldn't it?) says, "No worries... woulda done the same myself. Cheers." And walks off laughing.
Bloody birds.

to Z

Well, here I am at long last in New Zealand. After a bit of to do, I got my keys to my flat. I have gotten a few decorations and necessities, but all that can get a bit boring. So instead I will list some things that are different here than they are back in the good US of A. (Because lists are so vastly more interesting than decoration...)

1. They are not taxi drivers, they are cabbies. Nothing else.
2. Yes, they are toilets, and no that's not vulgar.
3. Instead of carts, they are trolleys.
4. People say cheers more often than they say "the."
5. I can't understand anyone, and, well everybody still can't understand me.
6. Their cows and horses look anorexic. Perhaps the people aren't the only overeaters in the States.
7. The Cosmo here tried to make us love Britney again, and had inside stories from prostitues' lives encouraging women to "give it a go" and not be so uptight.

That's all for now... keep looking for more inside scoops from the land down under the land down under!