Grandpa wins! And other news.

My request for car name submissions pretty much confirmed what I already knew: that my Grandpa is the only person who reads my blog. So thanks for the suggestion, Gramps! Manuel it is.

So far Manuel has been a swell car—he’s taken me safely up to Napier and back for my Christmas roadtrip. However, much like my Thanksgiving experience, I found that Christmas without the fam (even though we don’t celebrate) really sucks. But on the bright side, I’ll be ringing in the New Year with my urban family when friends LauraLe from SF and Jane from Christchurch join A and me for a couple of wild days in Wellington. And from here, LauraLe and I will be heading up North for some much needed fun in the sun. Beaches. Wineries. Sheep sheering. We’ll be taking in all that the North Island has to offer.

Grandpa, I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

Now accepting submissions.

I just bought a car. And not just any car—a manual. So now on top of driving on the wrong side of the road, I also have to deal with shifting with the wrong hand. It’s scary as (this is New Zealand speak—they like to add the word “as” to adjectives for emphasis). But it’s also sort of exciting. Ashley thinks it’ll help stave off Alzheimer’s, kind of like doing Sudoku.

Anyway, I’m thinking that my new car needs a name. In high school I drove the Blue Beast. Then there was $*&%@#$ Piece of &%*@. And my last car was lovingly called the Tin Can. I recently drove a campervan named Murray. And I was frequently a passenger in a Mini Cooper named Wills (after Prince William before he turned ugly). I guess if this car was red, I could call it Hot Ginge after Prince Harry, but it’s white, so that won’t do.

What do you think? Any suggestions? Is Mr. Thornton too much for a Suzuki Baleno?

It's pretty cool, I guess.

My friend Melissa and I have an unnatural obsession with Napoleon Dynamite. Randomly, yet at frequent intervals, we like to bust out with a, “Tina, eat the food.” Or, “Your Mom goes to college.” Or, “And here we have some boondoggle keychains. A must-have for this season's fashion.” Anyway, you get the picture.

So over the course our weeklong roadtrip, we were humming an endless loop of Jamiroquai’s Dance and practicing our sweet moves at every stop. This is the result:


Though nothing can compare to the original:

Gosh.

Gone fishin'.

It’s pretty crazy the difference 12 months can make. Last year I was obsessed with spinning class and high fashion. This year it’s spinning rods and high tide. On Sunday I went fishing for the first time, and it was surprisingly fun. Of course, I had quite a bit of help, but I did bait the hooks myself and then stab the fish I caught in the face after I reeled it in. And I think I probably could stomach hacking its head off and gutting it, too, now that I’ve witnessed the proper way to do it. I can’t decide if this makes me barbaric or simply practical.