The Lovely R took this wonderful image of a local Native Pigeon (Kereru / Hemiphaga novaeseelandiae) in our blossoming bird plum and I think he's going to post a couple more in his own blog if you'd like to take a look.
In spite of these scattered moments of visual relief, the last few weeks before the last few weeks of winter are the fucking worst, man. I may have said that before, but here we are again with the nothing happening and the sun rolling along the top of the hills like a soggy ball of toilet paper and shitty spring rain starting and mud mud fucking mud. We don't get anything as glamorous as thick, settled snow down here and it rarely drops to 0º C, so the arse end of winter just ends up being too cold to do anything worthwhile without any of the traditional northern hemisphere distractions. You guys up there have it sorted with all the festive overeating, presents, sparkles, cosy holidays and shit.
None of that for us here in New Zealand. No, we get all the fun of staying home, mostly in chronically under-heated and largely uninsulated houses, wondering when the roof's going to start leaking again and how we're going to afford that next load of firewood. If you've got any room left on one of your eighteen credit cards you go on some fucking budget package holiday to Samoa and sit somewhere much hotter than you expected scratching infected insect bites on a saggy plastic chair while a local brings you elderly canned juice in a coconut and someone's brats fight in a pool seasoned with flying fox shit (yes I used to live in the tropics). Decisions, decisions.
We can never afford to go on a holiday so we just sit here and bitch and remember when we could afford to go to film festivals in town, even as students. If you're sub-30 you probably don't believe that was a real thing back in the day but I remember hitting like five-ten fillums in one week and still being able to afford a $9 plate of tiger prawn noodles at the fucking Nanking Café in Christchurch on a student benefit.
Everything's shit these days, isn't it? I'd fucking hate to be 18 now and I'm sorry for everyone who is.
The word pffuffehneh refers to the sound bouncing around between my ears when I hiss my twenty-ninth pissy sigh for the fucking day in the grip of that very special boredom that precludes imaginative speculation, meaning you can't write, and shits on all constructive alternatives, meaning you can't be bothered to do much else. So I'm just sitting here revelling in my arrhythmic bradycardia and cussing out lightbulbs for being too fucking yellow.
In spite of these scattered moments of visual relief, the last few weeks before the last few weeks of winter are the fucking worst, man. I may have said that before, but here we are again with the nothing happening and the sun rolling along the top of the hills like a soggy ball of toilet paper and shitty spring rain starting and mud mud fucking mud. We don't get anything as glamorous as thick, settled snow down here and it rarely drops to 0º C, so the arse end of winter just ends up being too cold to do anything worthwhile without any of the traditional northern hemisphere distractions. You guys up there have it sorted with all the festive overeating, presents, sparkles, cosy holidays and shit.
None of that for us here in New Zealand. No, we get all the fun of staying home, mostly in chronically under-heated and largely uninsulated houses, wondering when the roof's going to start leaking again and how we're going to afford that next load of firewood. If you've got any room left on one of your eighteen credit cards you go on some fucking budget package holiday to Samoa and sit somewhere much hotter than you expected scratching infected insect bites on a saggy plastic chair while a local brings you elderly canned juice in a coconut and someone's brats fight in a pool seasoned with flying fox shit (yes I used to live in the tropics). Decisions, decisions.
We can never afford to go on a holiday so we just sit here and bitch and remember when we could afford to go to film festivals in town, even as students. If you're sub-30 you probably don't believe that was a real thing back in the day but I remember hitting like five-ten fillums in one week and still being able to afford a $9 plate of tiger prawn noodles at the fucking Nanking Café in Christchurch on a student benefit.
Everything's shit these days, isn't it? I'd fucking hate to be 18 now and I'm sorry for everyone who is.
The word pffuffehneh refers to the sound bouncing around between my ears when I hiss my twenty-ninth pissy sigh for the fucking day in the grip of that very special boredom that precludes imaginative speculation, meaning you can't write, and shits on all constructive alternatives, meaning you can't be bothered to do much else. So I'm just sitting here revelling in my arrhythmic bradycardia and cussing out lightbulbs for being too fucking yellow.
But I prefer that to working for fucking Amazon. Read the NYT piece on their hiring practices? You should. It's nightmarish.
And hilarious. The nihilistic misanthrope in me enjoys the thought of so many compliant dipshits sucking the eyeballs out of each others' heads for the kind of money no self-respecting materialistic arsewipe would bother crossing the road to piss on.
As far as I can see, Amazon's biggest accomplishment is duping overqualifieds into paying for their own workplace parking and diming out their colleagues for the chance to do the utterly menial shit that happens there. For the honour of selling sweatshopped planet-trashing garbage faster than the dickhead in the cubicle next to them or hey, devising slicker methodology for doing the same because that's... next level worth-affirming savant shit right there? If you've ever wondered why you can't buy my book from that fucking place, (I know you probably haven't because no one really does) there's a clue.
And you know that all these cage-reared people insist on free-range eggs. Chickens start doing terrible demented things to their companions when you treat them badly- everyone knows that.
Bitches, walk away. Get some fucking dignity and pick up some perspective while you're at it and no, you won't find it at Amazon but you might find it on the footpath after you've been escorted to the exit by security. We may not be able to eat dignity and perspective, but we're just poisoning ourselves with the crap we amass in their absence. And everyone happily shopping at Amazon should pat themselves down and maybe locate their bloody consciences because you're feeding that fucking troll with all your lazy clicksies.
If you tolerate this, then your children will be next.
I don't even have kids and the thought of this blighted cowardly ingrown shite stabs me in the fucking uterus.
*EDIT There is a leopard seal chilling on a wharf in downtown Dunedin. I am happier.
And hilarious. The nihilistic misanthrope in me enjoys the thought of so many compliant dipshits sucking the eyeballs out of each others' heads for the kind of money no self-respecting materialistic arsewipe would bother crossing the road to piss on.
As far as I can see, Amazon's biggest accomplishment is duping overqualifieds into paying for their own workplace parking and diming out their colleagues for the chance to do the utterly menial shit that happens there. For the honour of selling sweatshopped planet-trashing garbage faster than the dickhead in the cubicle next to them or hey, devising slicker methodology for doing the same because that's... next level worth-affirming savant shit right there? If you've ever wondered why you can't buy my book from that fucking place, (I know you probably haven't because no one really does) there's a clue.
And you know that all these cage-reared people insist on free-range eggs. Chickens start doing terrible demented things to their companions when you treat them badly- everyone knows that.
Bitches, walk away. Get some fucking dignity and pick up some perspective while you're at it and no, you won't find it at Amazon but you might find it on the footpath after you've been escorted to the exit by security. We may not be able to eat dignity and perspective, but we're just poisoning ourselves with the crap we amass in their absence. And everyone happily shopping at Amazon should pat themselves down and maybe locate their bloody consciences because you're feeding that fucking troll with all your lazy clicksies.
If you tolerate this, then your children will be next.
I don't even have kids and the thought of this blighted cowardly ingrown shite stabs me in the fucking uterus.
*EDIT There is a leopard seal chilling on a wharf in downtown Dunedin. I am happier.
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