Greetings from New Zealand; the Canada of the south
Well, Fergal and I have been "tearing" up the south island pubs for 5 months now. We always go out trash talken that we are going to paint the town red and close down every pub within a tank of gas but usually around 10:00 we are dragging our-sorry-selves back to our SEPERATE homes for a nice cup of camomile tea and bed.... But for Greymouth 10:00 PM actually IS the absolute zenith of decadence so I guess we are a couple of bad boys after all ..... I would get a bad-ass tatoo but they are just too ouchy. Unfortunately our drunken rampage is comming to an end. Fergal's contract is up next month and he is headed back to the UK. Everybody keeps asking me what am I going to do after he leaves. I think the answer is obvious; detox, rehab and try to get on the "A" list for a liver transplant......and do I really have to do all 12 steps?
But then I think it may be premature to commit myself to a life of pious sobriety. I've been watching the cooking channel now and then to enhance my pathetic cooking skills and noticed that the secret that seperates the abysmal from the great chefs is that the great ones add wine to everything so I tried it: to venison roast, to coq-au-vin, to cheerios.... it really works! Then one day last week in the middle of creating my first true culinary masterpiece (my opus 1) "uh-oh" I had no wine. Not to panic. I also learned from TV that a good chef can think on his / her ( New Zealand is very P.C.) feet and improvise so I grabbed a handy bottle of gin, put on a couple or 10 splashes and popped it all in the oven at 175 degrees CENTIGRADE for 25 minutes and voila....I rule. Iron Chef watch your back.
And talking about Political Correctness, sometimes these Kiwis drive me nuts. You have no doubt all heard about the mass murder at a mosque in Christchurch a few months ago. It was a terrable thing and the whole country did a fantastic job of supporting those affected which was very good. But then came a gush of soul searching, hand wringing and politically correct mea culpa from the lefty leaders as if the people of New Zealand did something wrong or there is rampant racism or islamophobia which enabled this to happen. Believe me the Kiwis have nothing to apologize for. The killer was some random crazy dude from Australia who chose New Zealand specifically because it is so open and welcoming and to demonstrate that no place is safe. It's maddening that so many feel guilty for something that wasn't their fault.
On a happier note Sarah and her beau Andy just left last week after three days of shamelessly POSH Kardashian "camping" and hiking along the Routeburn Treck down south of Queenstown. The weather was unbelievable. We where 3 days on the trail under cloudless skys which down there is highly unusual and with absolutely stunning views of the Southern Alps. I booked the trip through a company called "Ultimate Hikes" and they provided all the transportation and trail guides but most importantly the private lodges along the trail. At the end of each day, out in the middle of nowhere, we had our own 4 star rooms and beds and showers and heat and fancy dinners and breakfasts and box lunches and a bar. No more tent camping for this cowboy. We also spent a day doing adventure stuff in Queenstown and on the way back to Greymouth a helicopter ride to the top of the Franz Joseph glacier and then local stuff around Greymouth and of course no one leaves without a finding little New Zealand gold. But most importantly Andy fixed it so I can connect to my U.S. HBO and Net Flix accounts so if I don't write any more on my blog it's because I am binge watching something on TV.
Laura and her main squeeze Matt where here last month. They said they came for a visit because they love me but I suspect they were really checking up on me for Helen; assessing my chances of surviving on my own until September so Helen can adjust my life insurance policy accordingly. I really believed that the Abel Tasman track that I took (forced) Laura and Matt on would be pretty easy since it was along a string of orange sand beaches. The beaches were really cool but between each was a lot of up and down through the bush and over the rocky headlands jutting out into the sea. We did thirty five miles in 3 days, staying in communal huts - rustic but adequate, sleeping in communal bunk beds and eating dehydrated food and energy bars and hanging with adventurers from all over the world. Definitely tougher then the Routeburn Track with its' small chocolates on freshly fluffed pillows every night. We had one night of pouring down rain but woke before dawn the next morning to clear skies. We had to get up at O-dark thirty to make the low tide crossing across a mile wide estuary to pick up the trail on the other side. There were several low tide crossings along the way but this was the longest and I thought the coolest part of the trip - wading knee deep in water, crossing a giant tidal flat opening eastward to the sun rising over the Pacific Ocean. Very cool! Long story short we all made it and in a unanimous decision by the judges (me) the 2019 award for toughness on the trail goes to Laura and Matt. After that a few days in and around Greymouth panning for gold, checking out the kiwi birds, rubbing elbows with some locals and driving the coast road - still I think the prettiest road I've ever been on. And now that everyone who is coming has come and gone I don't have to clean my house ever again. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
I guess you all know by now that Rachel had her baby and so is now more convinced than ever that epidurals are the next best thing to those to-die-for Louis Vuitton strapless hooker-red stilettos she's been pining over for 6 months. Those of us who know Rachel best; me, Laura and Sarah, where taking bets on how long after Helen left Virgina it would be before Child Protective Services showed up but Rachel and Bryan, as it turns out, are great parents and little Benjamin is doing just fine. She gets her nurturing skills from me you know. Anyway, next week I am headed over to the hood in Virginia to hang with my new best homie Ben in his crib in his crib and make sure he chooses, as I did, the road less traveled, which will make all the difference
Lastly I need a ruling on something from some local Chelan residents. (No, not on the morality of my whiskey for gold scam which buy the way is turning out to be quite profitable.) I just got back from my ususal 5 mile run and as aways I was running commando, No not that kind of commando. I just never run with wires on my head relentlessly piping in that Godless abomination they call music these days (Hey you kids get off of my lawn!) I could see maybe Rock and Roll or the stock market report but that blasphemy...No. I like to always maintain total situational awareness and keep all my senses open to, and my mind free to be seduced by, the world's randomness. It also keeps me from being killed by cars comming up behind me. Which is to say my mind is free to wander and I passed a local school with an old basket ball court and two little Kiwi kids chucking up baskets. Well, you know how thoughts lead on to thoughts and I started thinking about "little" Joey Harris and how he totally schooled Steph Curry in the NBA 3 point contest and then I epiphanied maybe we should start calling him "Joe-3" It just came to me. It's a gift I guess. So what's the ruling?
Dr. Jay
