The Hybrid

On my recent trip to New Zealand we were accidently given a Toyota Camry Hybrid hire car to speed around at or under the speed limit in.  Drive responsibly, kids.

The securing of The Hybrid must have been the result of a processing error or a shortage of normal cars or something because I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t want it, because hybrid cars are for self-righteous eco hippies and I didn’t want to be put into that whacky hemp basket.  I mean, if you’re that concerned about the environment, then walk.

It's just like your car.

As it turns out, I loved driving the Labradoodle crossbred vehicle.  It was quiet, economical, loved meeting new cars, didn’t bark once, often retrieved lunch and roadkill hedgehogs for us, and wore a big pink pom-pom on its boot.  Cute. 

The jury is still out for me on whether it was a crossbreed, a product of human intervention, or a mongrel that came into the world when its mummy and daddy met on a dark highway in remote New Zealand, sans human mediation.  It’s a big mystery for sure.

One of the key issues with driving around in a car that is a novelty item is you have to deal with endless man ‘me sees car, me likes car’ questions, because males like talking about cars and they apparently love talking about hybrids, because they are just so interesting to talk about.

What I had to deal with on one occasion:

How does the car handle?                 

Well, it has wheels and they drive on the road.

Is it economic?                                   

Well, it's probably a false economy.

It sure has nice lines.

I don't even know what that means. I certainly don't know why it matters.

How does it reverse?

I call on the little elf who lives in the place where there should be an engine or whatever and he reverses for me.

Tennii business

It's Australian Open time again!  How is it here again already?  Like moths through the hourglass, so are the lights on Rod Laver Arena.  I don't know if that makes any sense, I just write down whatever crap is emitted from my brain.  Anyway, it seems like it's always January.

And I'm sick and tired of you hanging on me, January. You make me sad with your eyes and you're telling me lies.  And stuff.  If you're not familiar with Day 70's pop music then this post has presumably gotten off to a shaky start.

One of my favourite things about tennis at this time of year is watching from my air conditioned lounge room as crowds in Centre Court sweat bucketloads of beer and champagne out of their pores.  As much as I'd love to go down to Melbournio one year, it is just so much more palatable watching in front of the flatscreen box.

I also like the order at the tennis and the fact that people don't generally get about with slimy fried chicken containers on their head as per any Australian cricket game.

And the Ball Children are pretty impressive. And scary.  They get smashed in the face by a Federer ace and just stand there.

You'll probably need a longer cord.

I'm pretty sure those ballbots are Trons, because when they get their rare glamourous closeup you can see an input/output junction on the backs of their necks.

And in the tradition of anything Apple or Samsung, you have to go out into the world of shops searching for the 2 km ballbot USB cord yourself. And then you have to make sure they are in range. It's hit and miss really; a bit like Federer's game these days.

In 2010 a ballboy unfortunately peed his pants during a game.  It happens.  But usually not with an audience of millions of judgemental home viewers.

They had to replace the ballbot and put sawdust down, or whatever you put down when somebody throws up. Then they had use the blower to dry the court but the blower had no gas in it so it took forever.  I know this because a player TALKED ABOUT IT IN THE PRESS CONFERENCE.  Yep, therapy for life for that little ballbot.

Journey to Middle Earth

The Magic of Mordor
I’ve just returned from a splendid journey to the south island of New Zealand, or Mordor in Middle Earth as cyberhobbits may prefer it. New Zealand is banging, as the kids say these days.  Though given I do not fully understand their interpretation of banging - I’m reasonably sure it has nothing to do with carpentry - I will just call New Zealand out as ludicrously amazing. Breathe taken away, etc etc.

You know when people tell you “you have to go to *insert any country that is not in the middle east*, it is amazing"? Well, you have to go to New Zealand. I am not kidding around; if you are into babbling brooks, alps, glaciers and hobbitses, you MUST go.

Since that Tolkien dragon fantasy book series, Bossman of the Bracelets or whatever, was turned into a movie trilogy and filmed in the NZ alps, the poor country has really struggled with being typecast as a land of jaw-dropping, breathtaking scenery.  While New Zealand laps up the attention, their rightful punishment is bothersome holiday-makers and day-trippers by the fast and furious busload.

The scenery is nauseating - pass me a bucket - and if you stare at it long enough it will ruin any other scenery you will ever see in your life in other countries that aren’t as pretty. Thanks a bunch, New Zealand.  But it’s true; I now can’t look at a mountain without comparing it to NZ’s remarkable alps. The alps are actually called The Remarkables, and it really is a toss-up between Switzerland and this place in my humble opinion.

I can’t stand Lorraine
As beautiful as New Zealand is, it didn’t stop fucking raining for the eight days I was there. When it wasn’t raining torrentially, it was sprinkling annoying drizzle into one's face. However, it just meant that I had the Mordor experience rather than the Hobbiton experience, which was just a little bit more amazing.

I’ve never had the best relationship with rain. As an Aussie I’m supposed to get all excited whenever it pelts down because of our droughts and bushfires and other annoying factors that come into play when you live in a fucking desert, but I really don’t care for rain.

And when you hate on the rain those people who own “gardens” that they have to “water” “every day” get all cranky. Never mind that rain literally falls from the sky, these people think Australia is going to plunge into a psychotic apocalyptic nightmare where rogue water bands will kill us all just for a drop of it.

So when you go to NZ, you’ll need to get yourself some type of self-contained breathing apparatus – yes, SCUBA gear. Because it rains lots.

I haven’t even started my tour debrief of Cardrona, Wanaka, Queenstown, Franz Josef, Fox Glacier and Hamner Springs, so I'll have to capture all that in another post.

Christchurch UnZud, Interrupted

I've just returned from a whistle stop tour of New Zealand, which involved making a bunch of brief appearances and interesting yet random speeches about the botched evolution of New Zealand's famed tectonic plates in various cities, town and small remote villages of the South Island.

I was enormously well received, except where I wasn't. Like that one time in Queenstown, but I probably won't go into that in any great detail. One travelled with one’s old school friend, who is not old at all but quite youngish like oneself.

We began our journey through Middle Earth in the beautiful city of Christchurch, that place that decided to build itself directly on top of the Pacific and the Endo-Australian tectonic plates. That crazy town town straddles both dem plates, a planning strategy that straddles the boundaries of completely nuts and the worst idea ever. We did a little tour of the city of Christchurch, which was devastated in the 2011 earthquake.

This:

About 30% of the city's buildings are still standing and operational, while the rest have either been razed or are being held up with all manner of scaffolding. It seems most businesses have either relocated to other premises outside the city or have moved on from Christchurch altogether.

Although, as if often the case in cities devastated by hardship, innovation and industriousness have fashioned a new settlement.

The brains trust of the Christchurch city Re:START project have developed a village of funky, colourful shipping containers that will temporarily house a multitude of businesses, including designer shops and coffee shops, until those businesses decide on more permanent dwellings. It looks pretty impressive and adds much needed colour to a once beautiful city that is recovering from immense loss.

I seem to be out of blog practice, which will make charting the other eight days interesting.