Call off the hounds ...

As of yesterday, July 15th EDT, Football World Cup (2014) is over.

That makes it now the middle of July.

Today I grudgingly accepted the grim fact: the last time I spewed forth some mental musings on this Blog was some time ago, BEFORE the World Cup started. A long time before ... like, the end of February.

So that makes it ... (fails at quick math) ... way the hell too long ago! What happened ... were we under attack by commie hordes? No, no ... Was there a viral pandemic? Zombies?

Hmm, no ... Did New Zealand run out of beer, wine and scotch?


Ha ha. Hardly.

Oh, yeah. I know what it was!

I went to a beer fest. In early March.

Sadly (and yes, absurdly) the reason a beer fest stopped me from writing blogs isn't exciting, thrilling, or highly mockable (well, maybe that last one ...).

Here's the rumpus.

I didn't succumb to alcohol poisoning. There was no tragic (or humorous) fall from a great height (nay, not even greater than 5'19" off the ground!) I wasn't stung by a bazillion bees. A sheep did not trample me, nor did a clutch of angry chickens peck me nearly to death. My cats (Dex and Squeak) continue to be nice to me too.

I went charging out to said beer fest – an outdoor one in the fantastic Martinborough area just one hour outside Welly – in the warm summer sun (remember my northern hemisphere homies: seasons are reversed down here! So while February means the darkest, dimmest, snowiest, coldest, cabin-fever-est times for my compadrés north of the 49th ... it's the peak of summer fun here!)

This was clearly a good reason to be outside, in the sun, drinking
fantastic New Zealand craft beer. Even though I got mortally wounded.

I was feeling jaunty – confident, even! My legs were seemingly strong. And so I decided not to take my usual crutch to lean on, thinking bravely (or was it stupidly? Hmm, yes, maybe ... ) that I'd progressed well enough at that point to go "sans crutch".

And, I knew there'd be plenty of places to sit down at the fest, if walking from beer tent to ale stall started to wear me down.

I was wrong.

I got to near the end of the fest, and started to feel mighty sore in one of my legs ... and, long story slightly less longer, in all my wandering around in quest for beer on an uneven paddock –  I gave myself a large enough blister to cause me to spend a week in hospital.

Yep. I was floored by a blister.

"Feed me, Seymour!"

Hospital visits had been 'thin on the ground' for me, up to that point, so this was a setback. I was sure I wouldn't be back in the tender loving care of the CCDHB any time soon. This was a setback that hit me mentally as much as physically ... and, hospital visits always seem to confuse and derail me from any newfound habits and old established routines (like Blog writing, attending beer fests, sitting outside to feed my wild Kaka parrot pals, and making fruit smoothies in the mornings before work).

So five months later, I'm glad to report that a grip was finally got, on this fine July morning ... and, "Ahhmm Bach", as a famous Terminator once said. (No telling who Mozart was ... )

That's absurd enough right there ... derailed and detoured from a few of my usual routines, by a blister.

But of course there've been loads of crazy shit happening in my orbit, and around the world, in the last five months. You'd think something as absurdly crazy with the likes of Rob Ford venturing off to a "rehab" spa (which apparently served poutine, doughnuts and ice cream, and, allowed him to come and go as he pleased) would have perked me up to deploy mockery via this e-plinth.

Nay, not even the much anticipated annual trouncing of the Toronto Maple Leafs out of the NHL Stanley Cup Playoffs (they didn't even qualify) roused me from my self-imposed sabbatical. (Although much time was spent privately mocking, taunting, and jeering at my Leafs-fan friends in and around the woe-begotten Toronto area).

A familiar annual scene, just prior to this woeful team
hitting the golf course ...
and most of the OTHER teams advancing
to the quest for Lord Stanley's Cup!

The Winter Olympics went by, with much fodder for pointing a satiric finger at (Russian midget badass Vlad Putin was up to his usual shenanigans, and not one Leafs player made the Canadian hockey team that ultimately won the Gold Medal ... and, the two Leafs who made the American team fizzled and sputtered like the soaking wet, limp road flares they are).

Indeed, it was tempting times! There was mockery afoot ... However – I was having a good bit of fun being lazy, and particularly, enjoying the Bloggish meanderings of Don over at Brew-Ha-Ha, as he upped his ante and began churning out one excellent screed after the next, in rapid fashion. (Hey, Brew-Ha-Ha is all about drinking beer and having fun, then writing about it ... and the merry antics that would inevitably ensue in Don's orbit, as each beer drinking session was, as always, mega-fun).

As well, over in Oshawa, Glenn was offering up some fantastic musings with his new Blog, IPA Tales. In the interim, when there was a short breathing space between these two talented dudes blasting out their own brands of mirth and merriment, the online chatting with Don, Glenn and Cat kept me grinning, too.

A magic moment at Donny's Bar and Grill "Skype Party" - L–R, it's
Cat, Don, Glenn, and then tiny-Me in the lower right corner there.
Many, many beers were consumed ... and many more laughs were had.

As did one particularly hilarious live, real-time, in the e-flesh, it's-happening-right-now (sorry Glenn!) Skype session with the three of them (firmly ensconced on the patio at Donny's Bar and Grill) swilling myriad high-octane IPAs in the (finally!!) warm summer sun.

(I say "finally" as it had been one hella-long, cruel winter for the faithful there. The snow finally melted enough to find the patio furniture, and so Don hosted the swill-up and BBQ ... a daytime alcoholic [and merciless] assault on the brain cells for all concerned).

I joined, in e-spirit, with many drinks to match their fierce and rapid intake, from my stylish perch atop the Valley known as Aro here in Wellington – staring into the computer camera at this merry trio, and laughing like the inebriated loon I am. Or, was. OK, is. Usually.

This was a much safer activity than wandering around on wobbly legs through a large, uneven cow paddock at a beer fest, without a crutch. I sustained no blisters on this day, safely ensconced in my comfy computer chair. And from aftermath reports, it seems I fared far better than some of the participants in Burlington! Not having a car, I received NO tickets on this day, either. (Sorry again, Glenn!) Nor did I have to call in the CDC to detox my bathroom (is that a safe zone yet, Don?)

So! This morning I woke up and decided "Today's the day!" It was time to get back into this Blogging saddle. (Mind the spurs!)

What finally lit the proverbial fire under my ass, you're asking?

The stylish, suave, and psychotically insane serial killer
Hannibal Lector, is played by the equally stylish and cryptic
Dutch actor Mads Mikkelsen. You never know what
"Hannibal the Cannibal" might feed his dinner guests!

Not sure. Yesterday, I had just marathon-watched the two full existing (so far) seasons of a gore-fest of a show, Hannibal – a really stylish, well-filmed and crafted gore-fest, with a great cast, and loads of 'easter eggs' throughout the episodes ...

... teasing little hints harkening back to the two movies from whence this show begat (Silence of the Lambs, and Hannibal. And maybe the third movie, Hannibal Rising, which I haven't seen).

The show features some great Canadian actors too, like Brampton's Scott Thompson (ex-Kids In The Hall), Montreal's Caroline Dhavernas, and also from Brampton, Lara Jean Chorostecki ... but the show does NOT include Kate Upton, Megan Fox, Kate Beckinsale, Jennifer Connolly, Emma Watson, Emma Stone, Scarlett Johannson, Olivia Wilde, or even Mila Kunis. I'm told many people get confused about these actresses being in this show. They're not. So, I'm glad to be able to clear this up all at once!

Just to avoid confusion – these folks ARE in the show, Hannibal.

Perhaps immersing myself in this blast of crafty creativity knocked me back on track (re-railed me?)

Who knows? Maybe it was seeing the end of the World Cup, and realising: "Holy shit, half a year's gone by! Time to saddle up again, dude!"

All I know is, it feels good to be doing this again.

Oh and, just to be 100% absolutely crystal clear, this photo to the right -----> is a cast photo of the Canadians who DO appear in Hannibal.

The photo below depicts many excellent actresses ... but like the ones mentioned a few graphs above, they, too, do not appear in Hannibal.

Nope! None of these fine and talented actresses appear in Hannibal at all! Glad I could clear that up!

Now let's see ... what else has been going on in the world of the absurd, loopy, and downright certifiably nutty?

I'll be back soon to let y'all know!

Until then, I'll still be ...

White-knuckle taxi driver fever

Lately I've been having a bit of fun quietly comparing and contrasting the sorts of taxi drivers I get who pick me up on workday mornings.

But first, a bit of backstory – since losing the second (my left) leg to amputation a year ago July, my mobility has dropped drastically. When I was just one leg down and living up here on the wild aerie-cliffs of the Valley they call Aro, I was easily managing the walk down the hill and then along the flat streets to my job in Welly's CBD.

Then off came the second leg. And that took a serious chunk of wind out of my sails. I couldn't walk far at all, at first. And for some time after.

So, I quickly got used to catching a cab from my house, down to the closest bus stop. This isn't an extremely far distance, but, it is downhill, at a fevered pitch, which I suddenly realised was an impossible traverse. (Until just recently! I've been doing the walk! More on this in a future Blog).

Walking on the flat ground is challenging enough when you're missing both legs below the knee ... inclines and declines are really no fun whatsoever. And nigh-on impossible just after a big op. And ... TRULY impossible, but hilarious, with 7 or possibly 14 beers on board ...

Now, after catching many such cabs (five days a week) I've noticed my cabbies fall into a one of a few distinct categories.

The Combined cabs are sometimes festively painted with "green" icons
like this Tui bird, denoting how green the cabs are. And many are
hybrids – petrol and battery things.  The newest ones are quite
tiny, however, and folding my lanky self into such a cramped thing
(with legs that don't really bend all that easily) can be an amusing sight.

I stick to one taxi company in town – Wellington Combined – primarily because they're the only ones who accept my half-price Gimp Special taxi card. (It's one of the MANY bonuses of being a double amputee!) They are also the best taxi company in town, for the high percentage of drivers who speak English, who are presentably dressed, and, who know their way around the city really well.

However – not every driver can handle my super-narrow, super-steep, winding, crazy street.

Some can. These are the folks who confidently zoom up and down my narrow street without a care. They can also reverse and turn a cab around on a dime (if we had such things as dimes here). These cool cats are obviously the best of the lot – they're usually fun to chat with too.

There are a good number of drivers who lack some – or all – of these basic skills, however. Reversing seems to not be a requirement of this company (or they faked it really well in a large, flat, empty parking lot when they did their tests).  But the best one not to have (for my purposes of noticing absurd behaviour) is the one about being comfortable driving on a narrow road.

A lot of these wanna-be pilots are of the white-knuckle variety, too – with zero (or perhaps even negative) confidence on narrow roads. They demonstrate this instantly, with two hands in a firm death-grip on the wheel, one extremely tense foot planted mercilessly on the brakes, barely inching down the road. And they look like owls, staring grimly head, NOT blinking.

Now my road isn't anywhere near as death-defying as this. But
watching some of these cabbies drive ... you would think it was!

Now when I say my road is narrow, it's not like an Incan pathway through a forest. Nor is it an insanely high rocky cliff miles above the earth. It is high though. And the road is a fair bit narrower than your standard city street.

There is ample space between the cliffside/parked cars, and the guard-rail side overlooking a potential death plunge into the valley hundreds of metres below.

This aspect of the drive is clearly demonstrated by the confident, good drivers when I ride with them.

None of these people have ever dinged a parked car, nicked a guard rail, or driven us off over the edge, to die in a fireball of calamity, down in the gaping maw of the jungle far below.

Yet.

No, Marvin Martian isn't
aiming to disintegrate us,
you panicky cabbie you!

But the non-confident ones approach this descent like it's a blazing Space Shuttle ride into an unforgiving atmosphere, while dodging space junk and flaming meteorites.

Or while being pursued and shot at by evil marauding space aliens.

While this isn't precisely what a Welly cab's dash looks like, they do
have most of these toys and implements. There's the 'next job'
dash computer, a stereo/radio/iPod player, doo-dads for climate
control, receipt printer, and credit card machine.  Now if YOU
were in mortal fear of dying by death-plunge down a steep ravine,
would YOU be monkeying with this stuff, while also trying
to drive and avoid dying in a flaming wreck? No. No you would NOT.

While this makes me grin (and secretly hope their over-compensating won't result in the above-mentioned careening plunge into the valley below) ... what REALLY rustles my jimmies are the scaredy-cat ones who start out with both hands white-knuckled on the wheel ... then seconds later, they decide to remove one hand, and start punching buttons on their dashboard computer (or the stereo, or the air/con...), like the magic buttons are going to fire off stabilising rockets, or training wheels out the sides.

This is classic cabbie behaviour, most times. When they're on a flat road, with no immediate or imminent death threats from cliffs, parked cars, space aliens, astroid fields, dinosaurs, moose, or long sudden drops into a rocky abyss nearby ... they monkey with the dash computer, looking for the next trip they might be able to pick up after they drop me off. In these benign conditions, this makes sense.

But when they do this manic fumbling around, rapidly jabbing at the computer buttons WHILE they look like they're about to soil themselves in abject fear of the mayhem and doom my road may spring on them ... I have to wonder, what is going through their minds?

The less-than-good drivers are also guaranteed make comments about the road while attempting all this. My street's name is Mt. Pleasant Road, and they almost always make a jape about how it "ain't so pleasant". Ha ha.

Moo. A beef bovine of the type that once was
farmed up on the cliffs where I live. 

I love trying to get them to laugh, as I explain that the road is simply the old cattle path from the days of yore, when cows were led down the cliff to the slaughter houses below (this is TRUE!**) ... and when it came time to make an actual road, they didn't make the cow path any wider. They just paved over it.

This rarely gets a laugh (well, I chuckle), as the drivers are, as mentioned, practically blind with panic. More often, though, my jests (but TRUE STORIES!) seem to encourage more frantic button-pushing on the dashboard screens.

** Bit of historical background on my 'hood – There was at one time, in Welly's early days, a large cattle ranching operation here. Yes, up on the very cliff-tops I live on. Beef cattle. 

I am in fact living in a turn-of-the-20th century house (it has since been modernised) which got its start as a ranch-hands' lodgings. Every so often the ranchers would march these steers down the cliff-side, to the slaughter houses below ... along the very pathway that would eventually become my paved street.

This is not an isolated incident here in Welly. One 'hood over from me, in Brooklyn, there was once the largest dairy-farming operation in all of Wellington, on a cliff-face just as precarious as mine. 

For some absurd reason, the invading English thought cows of all kinds would prefer living atop cliffs

While cows are a thing of the past up on the Aro Valley
cliffs, there are some roosters and chooks nearby! I hear
them in the mornings ... along with a few goats.

and mountains, rather than in the grassy fields from whence they came, before getting shoved onto a boat to come to New Zealand. 

As well, there are many modern suburbs up the sides of the myriad cliff-sides that surround Wellington. These started out life at the same time as the cattle and dairy ranches, by being established way up the sides of mountains. Just like how they situated their cattle operations, these merry seagoing Brits also seemed to think that blazing up hill, through jungle, to make narrow trails to live on perilous cliffs was the proper thing to do. 

Do long ocean voyages make people completely lose their marbles? The evidence seems to indicate this is so. Hey, look at me. I'm a guy with two missing legs living up here. The usually-simple act of just leaving home to go to work is a pretty huge challenge. So while I have no urge to go "full retard", and obtain and manage livestock up here ... maybe my marbles got temporarily misplaced when it came time for me to pick a place to live?

Maybe.

On the non-absurd side of the taxi coin, I do get plenty of cabbies who are good drivers (as mentioned), and who like to chat and have loads of great stories. Lots are from other countries, and their backstories are cool and enthralling. I've toyed with the idea of doing a "Cabbies of Wellington" blog at some point.

Maybe, Part II.

Anyway, let's post this puppy.  In this blog, I haven't yet mentioned beer, IPA beer, beer fests, craft beer, craft beer pubs, or the many fine craft beer breweries of Wellington in this blog (oops, but it appears I have just now!) I add these words now, shamelessly, in hopes to inspire more 'hits' on this Blog today ... as all these topical and beery things are popular searches on the net.

Taxi drivers? Not so much.

Now, IPA-swilling, craft-beer-brewing cabbies ... I bet THAT'S a topic that's just WAITING to bust wide open!

I remain

And don't forget your supplemental reading for extra points!

Tune on in to Brew-Ha-Ha to see what zany beer antics Don has been up to! There have been some trips to local crafty breweries in and around Toronto ...
Then crank the dial on over to Glenn's new blog, The Pizza Dude's IPA tales! Glenn is really, really hooked on IPAs now ...
And finally, fine-tune your internet box for fun and enjoyment with Cat over at The Cat Came Back ....

Sevens Redux

If you've been following along with these adventures at home, last week I presented the "preamble" blog to me heading out the door to attend the Sevens festivities/absurdities.

It's Wednesday here now, a solid FIVE days after I spent the day down there at Queen's Wharf.

I had plenty of time to do a follow-up on the weekend, but once again, I got distracted by being a lazy, shiftless procrastinator.

So. The rumpus! Fun was indeed had. How could there not be fun ... at such a thing?

But a few things changed. It had been three years since I last attended this fun thang – two of which were due to recovering from being de-legged, and one where it rained the whole time (in fact, from a day or two before the festival/tournament started).

Well. This time it rained a bit too! But not at the start of the day, when I went down to Queen's Wharf, and Bin44, to meet with a few like-minded folks like Manchester Simon and Kyrgyzstan Alex and South African Aimee, to take in the costumed and alcohol-fuelled madness. It was a nice sunny day

It's all about the costumes. And if you're a straight guy, it's
all about the hot babes in slinky costumes.

right from the start, when I woke up ... right up to about 3 pm, when we found ourselves dashing through a sudden downpour to traverse the short distance over to Chicago's patio to watch New Zealand play their first game (against Fiji, who NZ lost against!) of the tournament, because Bin44 no longer had a TV of any kind.

But I get ahead myself.

I was first on the scene at Bin44 right at the stroke of noon, and I snagged a table. It was just starting to fill up there, and costumed funsters were already plentiful.  I ordered up a new IPA I'd never tried, a Yeastie Boys "The Right Stuff". Verdict: most excellent! I also got a huge salad that had chicken and a poached egg and tons of veggies. I reckoned it was a good plan to have something healthy before the rampant boozing started ... which it did, as soon as I finished the salad.

Yep, costumes make the fun! Of course booze fuels the costume-wearing, and the general manic behaviour
that goes along with the wearing of costumes. This is the first collage of two ... 

Straight away, I noted Bin44 had NO TV. Last time I was there they had one. I figured they'd at least have that going, tuned to TVNZ for the free live coverage. I also noticed that the configuration of Chicago's patio (right across from Bin44) had been completely swapped around, so that we could NOT see their giant screen from the Bin44 patio. I thought that was rather rude and childish ... but I didn't know the extent of their churlishness, yet, at that point ...

And a bunch more of the better costumes. Some creative entries here. Also, some babes.

Simon showed up, and two other pals Sarah and Lou ambled by enroute to the Caketin (they had tickets). Simon and I synched up our drinks (this is remarkably easy to do when there are just two people in a group ... with 3 or more, the drink synching is akin to herding cats. And the level of difficulty of said cat herding increases exponentially with each drink consumed) .... and started into observing/ogling costumes, and commenting on same. We checked the schedule and noted that New Zealand was about to play at 3 pm.

So we opted to temporarily abandon the really GOOD beer and go have some of the sub-standard swill Chicago serves, long enough to watch the game on their huge screen.

Except - they didn't show it. They had NO actual Sevens games on the screen.

What DID they show, you ask?

The screen displayed ... the drunken, costumed people who were staggering around in the patio area in front of the screen. And, the drunks who were standing up on a ledge closer to the screen, to get a better look at themselves on the big screen. Also, some people who clearly went to a gym a lot who were down to their skivvies in a big outdoor hot tub. They, too, were drunk, and given to fits of standing up and dancing, and attempting to get everyone else to look at them.

But no actual Sevens games.

This new IPA from Yeastie Boys
was indeed The Right Stuff!

So, we chugged our low-rent, mass-produced beer and quickly went back to Bin44 to formulate a new plan, over a proper craft-brewed IPA (returning once again to Yeastie Boys' fine fare – The Right Stuff). We had a few other bar choices in the immediate area (like, within half a dozen steps) to check out, and see if they had the games on a screen.

I suggested we try Foxglove, as THEY had screens all over the place, the last time I was there ... and so, the new adventure was afoot! We ducked around the corner into that bar, to discover they they indeed did have a bunch of screens. Also, a lot more costumed revellers (but thankfully, no hot tub – hey, if the hot tub in front of Chicago was full of women, I'd have allowed it. But there were far too many frat boys in there).

But, sadly, Foxglove had even worse beer than Chicago's.

However ... we were now into Hour Four of drinking, so at this point it didn't matter quite as much Bin44 and bring them in to Foxglove, and in doing so, we'd have a match made in drunken heaven ... but then Aimee showed up for a brief while, and then at some point we somehow synched up our drinking again (with THREE people, even!) and went back to Bin44 and met Alex. A German girl Simon knew as a client showed up a bit later too. These two girls were really quite sober, as they had (for some reason) chosen to actually go to work that day. So they were just now starting in on the imbibing. Hmm.

Inside that seething mass on the deck of Foxglove, we found screens showing
some Sevens matches! Also loads more be-costumed revellers. But
sadly – shitty beer. As Meat Loaf said ... 2 out of 3 ain't bad.

when it came to exactly how long we hung out to watch a game or two, swill bad beer, and take in more zany costumes. It briefly occurred to me to try and figure a way to go get some good beers from

Throughout the day, Simon had been industriously keeping track of the names of the good beers we tried at Bin44. He was typing them onto the Notes app on his phone. I had to admire his perseverance. I stopped counting the number of beers consumed on nights of unbridled fun a long time ago ...  We'd try something new, then go back to the tried-and-true IPA. This was a sound plan, until we suddenly realised by 6 pm we were having a lot of other beers between a bunch of IPAs. So, we were succeeding in getting quite sloshed.

Simon was starting to slide off his high stool, so he opted to slink on down to a lower chair next to a table. There were apparently people at this table whom he knew. Alex wanted to go towards other craft bars in the city ... after that, my notes get fuzzy. Or blurry. Not really sure ...

So, conclusion?

Overall, this visit to the Sevens was fun! But, not as super-crazy fun as in the past. That is primarily due to not knowing beforehand that Chicago's setup had de-evolved into a big silly frat party, without any option for yelling at a big screen and the team of rugby players you're supporting. If we'd known that, we could have avoided that absurd idea, and more sensibly divided our time between Bin44 (best beer and food options) and Foxglove (lots of screens scattered about showing the matches, and, loads of zany costumed drunks and hot babes).

Weirdly and absurdly, the "no screens/no broadcast at all" thing really skewed my reality for a moment or two when I realised what was happening. I got over it, fast enough. But ... seriously, Chicago and Bin44? Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot?!

When I first got to the Queen's Wharf area,  and noticed no TV at Bin44,  I fathomed they'd given up on having a TV – because Chicago is a big silly American-style sports bar and has loads of them (and oddly none of those were showing the Sevens matches inside, either) ... and, during previous Sevens weekends, Chicago had the games up on their massively huge rented bigscreen for all to enjoy.

Chicago's setup was essentially now just a huge costumed pissup without a hint of anything Sevens-like.  Which was the whole reason for this weekend-long festival. Which was ... stupid.

It was like some complete moron had taken charge of Chicago and just haphazardly decided: "Who needs to see rugby games on this weekend called Rugby Sevens?! I know! We'll aim cameras at the drunks and they can watch ... THEMSELVES on the big screen!"

There were a couple of other "WTF?" moments from the weekend, too.  As usual, some stupid reporter angling for a down-side, sensational aspect to the whole thing will stir the pot – by begging and prodding  Sevens organisers and cops for negative quotes about the drunken, costumed revellers. Which ... absurdly ... is the main driving reason why the bars and stadium make so much money in such a short period of time, and, which give cops the opportunity for a bit of overtime, and, more money.

Every year the organisers and cops always have their canned response: "Well there were a few people who went too far, but overall it was OK". This year, however ... there was whinging. Someone must have REALLY been pestering them for just such bits of whining.

Even though it wasn't many people who needed ejecting from the stadium, compared to how many were well enough behaved, there were vague rumblings about "needing to do something!" and "we'll look at options for next year!" Much like weather reports, these sorts of vague and pointless statements are quickly forgotten the next day ...

However, when translated, these sorts of vague statements mean ... someone who has NO clue how to have fun is now in some level of management where they can make senseless decisions and make the event less fun for everyone.

The last thing that really rustled my jimmies on this most fun of weekends ... the grand-prize winner of Best Costume for the event ($10, 000!) was some witless jackwagon who was aptly named Steve Skidmore.

Skidmore won the prize, then had the fecking GALL to whine: "This place is an absolute zoo, I'm not coming back," he said. "They have to have a good look at what's going on here." 

Here's Steve Skidmore in his
$10K winning ensemble.
Skidmore is a dick.
And a whingey
toolbag of a bitch.

Nice bit of protesting on you there, Skid-boy. 

Say, why don't you REALLY and PROPERLY protest the thing, and give that $10K to the first runner up? Or to a charity?

No, no, he's keeping the dough. He's got shit to buy.

And of course, he didn't just stumble into this event for the first time, and throw together a quick costume, not knowing what was going to happen all day long. 

No. 

Skidly McWhingey knows all too well what happens at the Sevens. He's been there plenty of times before.

So he KNOWS there's drinking and loud, crazy, lascivious behaviour. 

So fuck you, Skidly. 

We don't WANT your kind at our fun event. Back to playing bridge and crocheting with you. 

Well. We'll take what we learned at this year's Sevens and hit the fun zone again next year, better armed with where to go and what to do.

Now, for the rest of the summer's potential for fun!

There are upcoming beer fests of course, one of which (BrewDay!)

More impending fun! And yes, I'll be attending!

I'll be heading to on March 8 – it's in Martinborough, which for the uninitiated is a 1-hour train ride out of Wellington.

Martinborough is primarily a winery region, but of course you can build breweries anywhere (and yes, we WILL come!) So it's an all-day affair of tastings and food and fun. Then, a drunken train ride back into Wellington where I'm certain the fun will continue ...

Until then, I'll be

... and you can put on a crazy costume and be whoever or whatever you like!

Supplemental reading list – do it! Now!

Please be sure to tune on in to all things crafty-beer-like and fun over at Brew-Ha-Ha, where my mate Don is up to the usual high-speed, alcohol-fuelled antics!

And then hit up Glenn over at 'Shwa Stories and find out what it's like to be a man who has suddenly and happily found salvation in proper craft-made IPA beers (we finally got to him!)

Then be certain to delve deep into Cat's musings here at The Cat Came Back ... wherein, our blogging mate waxes eloquently about HER love for all things crafty and beery!

Good timing

Vacations!

There can never really be a BAD time for them, now, can there?

But sometimes those fun little stat holidays that show up throughout the year can really be extraordinarily timely.

Here in New Zealand (for my northern-hemisphere homies ... you outlanders currently up to your frozen giblets, covered in polar-vortex splooge) we get a lot of holiday days during our summer months. (This includes December before Xmas, and well past January 1 ... as this is our summer). I'm knee-deep in the hoopla of summer and these exciting holidays now, as we speak.

There are the regular 3 and 4-day weekends that never change (where you get a Monday, or a Monday and Friday off. And there are a few "floating" days that appear on a specific day in the month no matter what. So sometimes you have to get creative (like Enron-math creative!) in how you might be able to factor a mid-week holiday day into a nice long weekend.

This coming week, we have a national holiday called Waitangi Day. It has to do with the signing of the treaty where the English formalised the invasion and take-over of New Zealand from the native Māori. You know, just like how Canada and the USA got started. It was, essentially, a heist. Or as Frankie Boyle explains: (Click to view a :10 second video of Frankie Boyle outlining the essence of how a lot of countries get started).

Much like every holiday in Canada and the US, it's another day off work for most folks here, which also means a good excuse to go drinking. There are concerts and tributes and whatnot, but mostly, it's a day off.

LBQ is a cool, fun craft beer bar here, and this
Thursday - Waitangi Day - Panhead takes over the taps!

And, as the Good Timing Fairy would have it, on Thursday, one of the super-fun craft beer bars here – LBQ – is hosting a Tap Takeover by one of our top local brewers, Panhead! So guess where I'll be on Thursday afternoon!)

Waitangi Day falls on Thursday.

Which leaves Friday as a sitting duck for most people to take it off, too (as an "annual leave" day) ... which is one of those sneaky end-around-runs I talked about up there, for making a floating holiday day into a long weekend.

This particular time, it all adds up to a four-day weekend. Not too shabby - for the cost of one annual leave day (we get a minimum of 4 weeks of them here every year, and I'm up to 5 weeks now), we get a four-dayer.

This is ESPECIALLY timely on the "Big Fun" scale, because the annual Sevens Rugby Tournament starts here in Welly on the Friday.

I have expounded loud and long on this Sevens event before. It's a bunch of rugby teams from all over the world (Canada included!) playing this 1/2-sized, scaled-down version of full Rugby matches. The clue is in the name ... there are 7 players aside instead of 15 (a full rugby team), and the games are much shorter (7 minutes a half, for a grand total of 14 minutes**). It's an offense-fest, and a speed test.

Each day of the two-day tournament features 20+ matches. It's fast, it's furious. It's fun ... and for lots more reasons than just fast, furious rugby. It has a LOT to do with drinking, and, the wild costumes the fans wear!

** (Due to the short duration of each half of a Sevens rugby game, it is entirely possible to miss a whole game, as you leave your seat and attempt to go for a leak and a beer run in a crowded bar, or the stadium ... yep, take if from an expert. Missing a match is extremely easy to do).

Yes, the costumes ... THAT concept is mostly the rumpus! There is no rule that says you, as a fan, HAVE to wear a crazy costume. But here in Wellington, home of the New Zealand leg of this Sevens tourny, Wellington fans do. Bigtime. HUGE time. And not just individual costumes – people get together in large groups and dress everyone to a theme. There is a contest, with a good chunk of change as prizes, for best costumes in various categories.

The part of the costume thing I like are actually three parts.

(1) Hot babes – Loads of really hot women dress up in slinky, revealing costumes. No surprise there why I find that appealing. For you North Americans, think "Hallowe'en", and the sorts of costumes hot babes wear to parties. Yeah.

Now factor in that drinking for the fans is just about as fast, furious, hard and heavy as the rugby action on the field.

(2) Superheroes – there are lots of really cool and well-executed superhero costumes too. These are worn by both guys AND girls. As The Avengers, Superman and Batman (and affiliated characters) from Marvel and DC have really been popular in movies lately, I'll expect lots of these sorts of outfits. It's here, too, that women can tweak a superhero costume and make it WAY more sexy than what the costume traditionally is meant to portray.

(3) Other really wild bursts of creativity – There'll also be lots of sci-fi themed outfits, cartoon characters like The Simpsons and The Flintstones, and many other sorts of creative, interesting or fun outfit themes you can imagine.

And yes, as mentioned, there is drinking. Easily accessible, relentless and heavy ... excessive in some cases (lightweights happen, much like on New Year's Eve). But the whole tourny, from a fan perspective, is clearly an alcohol-driven bit of fun (like so many things in New Zealand are!)

The two main choices for viewing the games, and the costumed fun and hilarity, are either buying a spendy ticket to the stadium (which I've done a few times, and is excellent fun), or just front up for free at one of 5-6 bars around the Queen's Wharf area and drink there. Pretty much every costumed reveller shows up there too, throughout each day (the tourny start at Noon on Friday, and people start amasssing at these bars then ... however, many people start drinking WELL BEFORE noon. And given that the day before (Thursday) is a holiday ... yeah. It's going to start out in high gear when the first game kicks off at noon.

Bin 44 is a great little spot on Queen's Wharf, that now
features excellent craft beer. I'll be right there, on that patio.

My plan this year: front up to the bars at Queens Wharf and meet friends there. It's location-specific too, it'll be Bin 44, the relatively new Craft Beer Bar there. In previous years it's always been Chicago bar, which is a blast (and they have the huge jumbo-tron style screen for watching the games). But they only serve the bog-standard "big boy" mass produced beer. And as you well know, if you've been following my blog, when given the choice between good craft beer and that other boring sludge? It's crafty beers all the way.

So – that's just about the most perfect equation imaginable for "good timing" ... a really long weekend to stretch out the fun, with a couple of days afterwards to recover from it. Oh, I didn't mention, I'm taking the Monday off work too. You know, for ... reasons. And science! Science, because 5 days off is "> greater than" (aka: a lot more) fun than 4!

Now as evidence of how much fun goes on at this Sevens thing ... here's a montage of costume photos from past Sevens events. I snagged a bunch, but there are endless more I could have grabbed. This will give you the idea of what's in store for the casual viewer camped out at Bin 44 or any of the other bars in the Queens Wharf area:

So you get the idea – just endless blasts of creativity and hotness, in the sun, with drinks, over two days.
Oh and some great rugby matches too!

And as an added bonus, here are a whack of my own Sevens photos from years past: 2007 2008 2009 2010.

Now as also mentioned, I'll be in the middle of all this from about noon on Friday. Traditionally Canada plays either the first or second game, so it's good to be down there, with beer in hand, near the big screen, to watch and cheer on my countrymen's rugby boys as they tilt away and do their best.

Also, it's wise to have a really good lunch so as to avoid the rookie mistake of pouring a lot of beer into an empty stomach.I will of course have cameras at hand (my phone and my pocket digital) so expect a follow-up blog with loads of current photos soon after.

I may be able to manage that on the Sunday or Monday just after the big finalé on Saturday. For certain, I'll blast a few up on Facebook as the day unfolds. And you can bet there'll be many photos of absurdities ... when you mix sun, drinks and crazy/sexy costumes, you know nuttiness is going to happen.

After all ... heavy drinking, in the sun, in disguise, is the perfect SUB-equation for hilariously absurd photo opportunities! (Yeah, bitches, MORE SCIENCE!)Ah yes – I left out the other really good aspect of this week and all this fun.

The work week that kicks off tomorrow is only going to be THREE days long ... and just FOUR days next week.

Go Canada!

Oh and as per usual, be sure to tune in to Don's merry beer drinking blog over at Brew-Ha-Ha! He's been hard at it, researching heavily, and mixing it up bigtime in his quest to know more about the various beers at hand!

And a big shout-out goes to my pal, and fellow Canadian Rob Martin (and his mates!) as they embark on a two-week journey of fun and adventure, touring the South Island – they'll be arriving in Wellington (from some dairy farm up north) to catch a ferry on Waitangi Day, which is super good timing to join me at LBQ for the Panhead Tap Takeover!

Yours, in maximum fun ...

Rack 'em, stack 'em, put 'em in a list

Pre-Ramble: I started this blog well before the end of 2013 ... in fact I believe it was even before I started my extra-long Xmas holidays (23 days off!) before Xmas. 

It would seem Procrastination got the better of me. 

Or more precisely – Procrastination teamed up with Sloth, then found Gluttony hunkered down on a couch, drinking and eating ... Thirst and Greed joined the fun soon after. It was a mob scene, I tell you. I was defenseless. 

Or ... was I?

Ha ha. Riiiiiight.

It didn't take long for me to get right-comfortable-as, as a key part of this in-activity scheme, with my newfound mates (as mentioned above). I reckoned I'd get around to writing SOMETHING once Xmas day passed ... then, OK, it's New Year's Eve, I'll kick it all off on January 1st! Yeah, that's the ticket!

And here it is January 22. 

Those fat bastards (mentioned above) took forever to get off my couch and leave.

Here's what I managed to fling onto the keyboard around December 20th or so: 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So here's 2013 about to end. And as per usual, everyone who writes a blog is cranking out a "best of" or "top" list of things they found this year.

It's an easy way out.  A "gimme" method of filling up space in a newspaper or magazine, or (ahem) a net blog. And why not? Lists of things (with descriptors like "Most insane ever!" or "The most awesomest, amazing, mind-blowing tips about things you never even thought of, once!") have become what people read. Or at least, what lazy writers flop out, which is really just laziness perfected to a finely honed edge. Look at previous e-babblings, copy, paste. Head to bar to meet friends and make dramatic proclamations about how the year-ender piece is in fact a piece de resistance ...

I noted the other day, while chatting to a mate, how Rolling Stone Magazine was once (many years ago) a fantastic thing to read – there'd be news and photos about my favourite bands, amusing stories about rock star-level shenanigans and tom-foolery while said bands were on tour and partying. There'd be at least one in-depth and well-written feature on something topical and interesting.  And for me, if I was lucky (and IF these guys were sober and had submitted their copy on time), a piece by either Hunter S Thompson or PJ O'Rourke – guaranteed to have me laughing out loud – and wondering, as a writer, how I might ever hit these sorts of lofty, high-water marks in such a prestigious publication.

How can we take mags like Rolling Stone and
Esquire seriously these days?
Really. Who would pick these things up to read? It's all lists.
There's nothing gripping or captivating about
this thing at all any more. Oh wait. Mila Kunis made
TWO covers?! OK that's interesting. Must find out why.

Now all Rolling Stone is, is ... lists. Top albums, top singles. Best things. Must-listen-to items. What did you miss!? Hey, remember what was great in the '70s?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And that's about where I stopped in '13 ... a beer lured me away, then those evil swine I mentioned before ... and so, now, I continue ... 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those Rolling Stone lists are tiny bits of fluff that can be read (on your smartphone or iPad or laptop) while sitting on the toilet ... or on a bus ride to work (ideally with your pants ON, in this instance).

Or for lists of any other kind ... all it takes is a casual glance at Twitter – the ultimate of laziness, 140 characters per post, to either minimally inform your dazed/hungover brain, or tease you into clicking further to see the entire list. But you'd need to be SUPER keen on seeing that huge massive 5-bullet-point list! Oh fuck ... it's a goddamn SLIDE SHOW. Seriously.  Come ON! We're BUSY HERE! I need to pick a different song on Spotify! (More on Spotify in a sec – and, apologies to my Canadian mates, you've done SOMETHING to piss the Spotify gods off, you can't get this service there ...)

The focus of these music-based lists are getting quite specific and esoteric. (They pretty much have to  – there's only so many ways you can keep posting up new-ish lists about music).

And I'll admit, I've used a few of these lists to help fill in some gaps in my music collection from bygone decades*, and/or explore new things that I otherwise might never hear about. For instance, I keep trying out the newest rap/hip-hip fad. And it's consistent ... I don't like it. Now now, not before.

*(There are a couple of "gap years" where I missed a fair bit of music, while I was in Vancouver – the late 80s and early 90s. I missed a lot of Grunge, specifically, due to being knee-deep in the hoopla of serving beer at a nude beach, and focusing on all sorts of the associated fun ... that somehow made me NOT be near radios when the stuff was being played). 

Hunter S. Thompson, always a go-to writer
for pure fun and wisdom. In that order.

But I sure miss the quality reporting and long features of the "old" Rolling Stone ... in Hunter S Thompson's case now, it'd be pretty hard for a dead guy to continue submitting copy (although I'm certain the RS Editors can likely cite more than a few times when Thompson was so whacked it was as if a dead guy had fallen face-first onto the keyboard). And some time ago, PJ O'Rourke stopped being a tremendously funny, insightful and thoughtful writer, and he turned into a grumpy, un-funny, Republican/Conservative curmudgeon.

And as we all know, as soon as someone turns into a stuffed-shirt sort of creature and starts taking themselves seriously, that's the end of the funny. All that's been coming out of O'Rourke's keyboard bashing for some time now is rich-old-white-man-Republican-wanker whinging. I'll put Dennis Miller in this camp too. Crikey, you guys used to be screamingly hilarious! How the mighty have bloated and fallen ... but as they say, every conservative is just a liberal who got robbed/mugged/beaten/shot.

So, yes. Lists. There's the rumpus!

I'll bite the bullet and jump on this bandwagon too ... (there's a couple of clichés to get the ball rolling!) Because at the end of the day (oooo, easy cliché pickings here!) there've been a bunch of absolutely crazy (most mind-blowingly insane ever!) things happening this past year.

Crazy, drug-addled, paranoid, sociopathic guys in charge

This never changes. Every year we have 'em, front-and-centre – fuckwits on parade, in the printed press, on TV and the net. Somehow,  even in these modern times, the dummies don't seem to get that everyone has a camera in their pocket now, and will be filming their dumb-ass antics when they get drunk (or are just being themselves) and insist on fucking up in public. Folks gleefully film it all. And a moment later, they Tweet it for all to see.

In the recent past, we had guaranteed headline-makers ... guys like 'Shrub' (George Bush Jr, or "Dub-yah", as he paraded around in all his red-neck, inept, thick-headed glory). And his boy-wonder, Dan Quayle. But social spastics aren't exclusive to 1st world empires. We have endless examples of loopy leaders of 2nd and 3rd world countries too.

And, neck-and-neck in the race to see who's the most insane of all are the loony-tunes religious zealots, from every religion, and their stone-age methods of mercilessly torturing AND killing their own countrymen/followers, mistreating and savaging women, and the ensuing wars (both civil and the other fun kinds) that inevitably break out.

I love the brilliant American comedian Doug Stanhope's take on this: "You know religion is the reason behind every single war. When was the last time you heard a news report like this?
'Extreme violence, destruction, and hundreds of casualties were reported today when a large group of Athiests attacked an Agnostic stronghold ...')

These two chuckle-heads were front and centre on
Fuckwit Row in '13. But they're still just lightweight
chumps compared to the TRULY swinish and bastardly!

So what about this past year? Can't say much more about Rob Ford's rapid-fire onslaught of stupidity in 2013 that hasn't already been said ... but we can keep watching, as he is certain to keep dishing up the dopey doings! He deserves a spot of honour on this list of absurdities ... and just as complicit in this fat-boy farce are the so-called lawmen there in Hogtown. Yep, we're still waiting for the Keystone Kops in Toronto to actually do something police-like and charge Ford with one of the half-dozen laws he's ADMITTED PUBLICLY to breaking. (What's up there, T'ranna Koppers? Evidence AND a confession isn't enough for you? The guy is pretty much convicting himself. Maybe you should step AWAY from the Tim Horton's counter!)

*And this just in TODAY – yet another Ford video has surfaced, this time it's His Redneck-ness, really drunk, in a restaurant, trying to be funny with a REALLY bad Jamaican accent attempt ... swearing about cops and other things. So much for his reigning in the stupid, blackout-drunk behaviour ... and how's that gym workout going, there, Tommy Robby Boy? I see you managed to find a gym that serves Tim Horton's donuts, beer, pizza and poutine, too! Well done!

And, that chucklehead Kim Jong-Un over there in North Korea – yeah, that mental midget needs the Absurd Spotlight aimed at his fat crazy head (with that trademark lopsided cereal-bowl-haircut-by-a-blind-guy), too. Add Dennis Rodman to the mix here too – after two WTF visits to Kimmy Boy's home turf for ... um ... reasons ... he is back in the USA and has checked himself in to rehab. Or a mental home. Or something. For ... reasons.

While all of these feeble-minded shit-heels inspired jaw-dropping reactions of "WTF!?" ... they're still low-rent, no-class pikers when it comes to prime-cut swine ... the guys who really love to throw down and show how it's done ...  livin' large on their own citizens' stolen largesse. Compared to the suave shenanigans of guys like Italy's Silvio Berlusconi (who seemed well on track to rival Caligula for his blasé attitude with his not-very-well hidden "Bunga-Bunga parties" featuring teen prostitutes), amateurs like Ford and Jong-Un are just embarrassing themselves when they think they're all world-class and shit for being weird and crazy. You two schmucks still have your training wheels and diapers on, in comparison.

Rich white guys and their idle-rich games

Heading this list are the "athletes" who participate in what has to be THE prime example of elitist, rich-bastard hobbies – America's Cup Boat Racing. Specifically, the ones from New Zealand who somehow managed to get their asses handed to them after almost winning the whole thing, only to have the USA team come from behind and win 11 consecutive times (they had to come back from minus–2 due to some strange penalties they'd incurred!)

Even more absurd: some marketing genius succeeded in passing off the multi-million dollar Kiwi yacht as "The People's Boat". Umm. "People", as in "proletariat"?  Riiiight. People like ... Bill Gates, or any one of a dozen oil-rich Arabs, maybe! Yet most absurd of all ... the Kiwi press, and many regular Kiwis, bought into this tripe.

Cricket is the "spinning rims" effect on the
time/space-going-backwards concept.
Like this. Only this has way more
action, excitement and thrills than cricket.

Cricket gets an honourable mention here, too. In a game that's so slow it actually seems to be making time go in reverse (like, you know when you see those bling'd out pimp cars with the spinning rims that make it look like the rims are going BACKWARDS instead of forwards? Yeah, like that)  ... we still have guys who insist on cheating and match-fixing?

Dudes ... we can see what you're doing, at all times, because you are either standing really still, or sitting around drinking tea. You can't get away with this cheating stuff unless you "fix" the game so there's actual action, and stuff happens a lot faster. And a lot more.

Music - or lack thereof

Once upon a time talented musicians like Queen, Genesis, David Bowie, Elton John and Alice Cooper ramped up their stage shows with some glitz, glam, weirdness, and even horror . They went into this concept with talent and good music ... and added the visual craziness to back up the great tunes, making live concerts a wondrous and mind-boggling adventure. (Well, and the drugs and alcohol that audiences were hoovering down prior to said shows helped a bit too).

Now it's the antics that are driving the business ... with nary a whiff of talent in the mix ... but, with a generic, monotonous sonic blur of copy-cat, no-talent blather making it nigh on impossible to differentiate between most pop songs today, the bizarro media blitz of costumed antics comes first. But just try playing the music without the smoke-and-mirrors of visual shenanigans and ... what do you know, it's generic, monotonous crap. Yep, I'm looking at YOU Miley, and Katy, and Gaga, and any of the other interchangeable ass-clones cluttering up the pop airwaves.

Not all of 2013's music was this heinous, of course. It was just a bit harder to find. However, thanks to a few good radio stations (Radio Hauraki here in New Zealand,  and  LA's Radio Paradise, to name a couple), the good stuff is front and centre there ... both old AND new. No Miley, no Kanye, but heaps of great musicians like Jake Bugg, Fleet Foxes , Pearl Jam or Wolfmother ... or Blue Rodeo, Arcade Fire, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Joe Bonomassa, Portugal - The Man, Killers, Rush, Arctic Monkeys ... KT Tunstall, Emily Barker ... you get the idea. Musicians. Who write, sing, play and perform it all, themselves.

But I know what you're thinking ... wait, RADIO? Yes (well, 'net radio, but yes, RADIO).

Yep, I'm older now, get off my lawn, why I oughta  ... I get my kicks from 'net radio, for the most part. I do sometimes try Spotify (see below) but my music listening routine is either a net radio station (to hear new stuff or a surprise-mix of stuff I know) or, I deploy my own playlists on my iPod (which is part of my iPhone).

Which means I'm never subjected to the likes of today's pop music. Except when I'm tricked into seeing something on TV about it. In the olden days before the 'net, I had FM radio as the salvation from the dreck of AM pop music. Today, I have my own playlists, guaranteed good radio stations, and Spotify.

So yeah, there were LOADS of great musicians and music in 2013. Just not loads of places to hear it. Unless of course you're switched on and plugged in (wirelessly of course!) with your smart phone or tablet to on-demand music services like Spotify or Rdio. These 'net services are a GOOD idea! It's new music you want to hear, instantly, on line ... or music you know and love from bygone days, also instantly available on demand.

Interestingly (not absurdly!) this has thrown the olde-skool model of the music business into a tizzy, as musicologist Bob Lefsetz often writes about – no one has (or wants to bother making) time to listen to entire albums any more. Everyone's armed with labour-saving devices like smartphones and tablets ... and yet, there's only time for music we like, and we want it NOW. No waiting, no fluffy album-fillers. No random-playlists like on a radio station. And it has to be low-cost, or free.

And those two 'net music apps provide it – just whack the app of your choice on your device, and you're good to go!

Bands/musicians who are any good, who write, sing and play their own good music, succeed (see, it's here that you aren't distracted by the antics of Miley crashing around on a wrecking ball, naked, licking a hammer, with her tongue lolling out of her head – all you hear is the music, or what's being passed off as same ...)

Bands good enough to get loads of airplay on Spotify et al (and YouTube) have a fan base, who want to pay to see said bands play live – and that's where and how bands make their money. Odd concept – they actually have to go to work (performing live) to earn their money!  Kind of a sensible, not-absurd idea.

Wars and violence and other antisocial, bad, death-dealing behaviour

Yeah. This shit goes on every year. Same thing, different despot/dictator. Funny how all this crap is driven by the males of our species, usually driven by a religious protocol (as mentioned before, up there, at the top) ... with the only exception being would-be World Police (the USA) showing up to throw soldiers and assloads of money at the problem, to  "keep the peace" – but only when oil is involved.

The only difference lately has been, downtrodden populations are rising up and kicking ass and fighting back (see: Egypt and Syria) ... and women who've been singled out for persecution (and death) due to stone-age bullshit like religion and culture are showing up online, exposing the male-cultural-religion-driven bullshit (another good thing the 'net does!) so we can all see how stupid and senseless it all is.

Maybe soon, with enough news and 'net exposure, this sort of thing will stop.

There WAS some goodness in the year! 

Here in the crafty beer capital of New Zealand (and yeah, I'll say it ... THE WORLD!) – Wellington – things have just gotten better and better with beer choices and the associated fun. 2013 saw lots more new craft brewers, AND brew pubs sprouting up. And even in long-established bars and restaurants, craft beer is becoming one of the options, alongside the mass-produced, boring, bland brews of yore.

And of course fun festivals and theme nights in said pubs continue to flourish. Going out for fun AND a new brew experience is now easy-as!

So much so that I sort of temporarily lost track of how much I love wine (New Zealand wine especially). But that was just a minor setback, brought on by the frenzy of suddenly being mobile again, and being out in the hoopla of crafty beer bars with tons of crafty beers at my beck and call  ... 

I've recently put some balance back in my imbibing, and have brought the "XX"% of wine I swill (compared to beer) back up to about 50/50 once again. You see I don't prefer one over the other. I like both about the same (and add another 50% in there for properly mixed cocktails, and flagons of single-malt scotch, and port, and good tequila, and ...) well you get the idea. 

Ricky Gervais makes excellent points
in a really funny way. He likes animals,
and certainly doesn't suffer fools gladly.

Like so many athletes these days, I give at least 150% every time I have a go at fun. It's not for jeebus, or any of the other 2,870 recognised deities in recorded history ... 

... Ricky Gervais put it succinctly when he was badgered about being an atheist: 

"You're concerned I don't believe in god? Oh, which one? Zeus? Hades? Jupiter? Mars? Odin? Thor? Krishna? Vishnu? Ra?…” If they say: “Just God. I only believe in the one god,” I’ll point out that they are nearly as atheistic as me. I don’t believe in 2,870 gods, and they don’t believe in 2,869".

And although it's trendy to say so, I don't do it "for the kids" ... I do it BECAUSE I CAN! Freedom, baby. It's a good thing.

Peek-a-Boo, the NSA sees what you did there ... and other 'net shenanigans

This just in! The USA's spy agencies are spying on EVERYONE'S email, texts, and phone calls, all over the world! Never before has this happened!

A fun movie that still holds up
16 years later! And yes, the NSA
knows you are watching it ...

Um ... yeah. Back in 1998 there was a fun Will Smith / Gene Hackman movie called "Enemy Of The State". In that movie, it was revealed that exactly the same sort of spying was going on then, in 1998 ... over the burgeoning new World Wide Web, and phones.

And certainly long before that, spies were likely lurking and skulking in bushes outside your house, with a glass against the window, feverishly scribbling down all the subversive, illegal, drug-fuelled mumblings coming out of your mouth, as you ranted and raved at the TV.

So yeah. It's been going on forever, folks. The pioneers were stringing each other up over muttered plans to steal each other's chickens.  Romans skewered anyone who looked at them in a Spartacus sort of way. Catholics ran around killing pretty much everyone suspected of not being ... catholic.

It's just the media who thinks it's all going crazy now.

The main idea is: don't do crime-y things on the net, and don't talk about your schemes and heists on the phone. Do like they do in the movies: if you're going to talk about shady things with your cohorts, go to loud strip bars, or have conversations next to waterfalls or rapidly flowing tap water. That screws up the mics bigtime! Totally! I have seen it on CSI!

The FBI and other heavily-armed dunderheads showed up here in New Zealand to arrest Kim Dotcom, a large, merry German fellow (now I guess NZ is the 51st state, if the American FBI can function here at will ... nya-nya, Canada! New Zealand beat you to it!) Kim had a bit of an internet

Kim Dotcom just wants to have some good clean
internet fun. And you should too!

business going on, and there was some confusion as to what was copyrighted ... and so of course that's a great reason to send in a huge team of FBI guys armed to the teeth, in total Die Hard style, to arrest him.
Turns out everything the FBI, and the New Zealand police did was illegal, stupid, and wrong. So Kim's cool and good to go, although he's still in the process of suing the bejabbers out of everyone involved for their Nazi tactics, and, their fuck-wittery.


Weather bombs
Or, what everyone used to call ... weather. Of the season you are currently in. Right now.

In December this past year, friends in the climate-ly opposing ends of the spectrum (and of the world – namely,  Australia, and Canada) have all been whinging like crazed, wild, drug-addled dogs about summer, and winter, respectively.

It got hot in Aussie (it still is, now) because ... IT'S SUMMER ... and it does this EVERY SUMMER.

And at the same time, in Canada (can you guess what's up there?) it's cold and snowy, because IT'S WINTER. Oh, the humanity. The whining. The bitching. The moaning. Hey, you schmucks continue to choose to live there! Suck it up, buttercups! Or, you know ... move someplace nice!

Likely these are the same people who inexplicably have spent 2013 posting up the worst-quality photos on Facebook and similar social networks ... I'm not talking about Instagram-filtered tragedies, made to look horrendous on purpose.

These photos are just your average run of the mill snapshots. Only ... what in holy hell are you doing?!

They are out of focus, poorly lit, insanely framed, horrible things ... completely awful, and offensive to mine eyes! What is happening, people? Never before have cameras (from a tech standpoint) been so top-quality and idiot-proof, so it can't be the tech ... and cameras in smartphones are pretty close to that quality too! Are you TRYING to take shit photos? Have you all hired Michael J. Fox as your personal photographer?

Please, for the sake of our sanity ...  STOP IT! Take a lesson! Or give your camera/phone to someone without the hangover-shakes, or malaria, or the heebie-jeebies, to take the pictures. Or maybe get your precious-snowflake child to draw something in crayon. ANYTHING would be better.

Other stuff
I'm sure there were other mega-absurd things worth mentioning about 2013, but as mentioned, I stupidly put off thinking and writing about the year-end idea for too long. Then, over Xmas, I drank like a thirsty trout. So I've likely forgotten some things.

Oh! Here's some stuff. Some great and talented people died (eg: Nelson Mandela, Peter O'Toole, Lou Reed) and certainly lots of right-royal bastards cakked it too (eg: Maggie Thatcher, one of the two Boston Marathon bombers). Some jackwagons continue living even though it'd be nice to see them make the "Cakked It" list soon (Dick Cheney; any other US politician of the Republican nature who beaked off about poverty, wages, human rights, homosexuality, or anything they knew NOTHING about; religious nutbars of ANY race (but especially any members of the Westboro Baptist Church). Hurry up and DIE already!

Some great new Tech Toys showed up in '13 (new iPhones, new other-smart-phones, iPads, tablets, operating systems, Google Glass, and loads of apps that are fun and functional). You already know the details about these if you care about such things. Shiny tech toys are FUN!

I'm certain there's a fantastic reason for the Miss BumBum contest
that happens in Brazil every year. I just can't remember it now.
More research is clearly required!

Ah! Almost forgot – the gratuitous sexy women photo! (Sorry Don!) Brazil apparently has this thing called the Miss BumBum contest every year. For ... reasons. This is not absurd, in the least.

During my ongoing productivity lapse since December, my beer-addled mate Don over at Brew-Ha-Ha has been beavering away through the booze fog, putting out a few great blogs! Check in with him for all the crafty beer news and associated alcoholic fun you can handle! Meanwhile my other bloggin' mate, Glenn,  down the snowy Canadian road at 'Shwa Stories has been just as slack as me ... come on Glenn, we need some more good stuff from Oshawa and surroundings! I think there's a player on the Leafs (Mason Raymond?) who has proven hard work and determination sometimes pays off ... now, since his surprise training-camp appearance, he has proven himself in spades as a top player – how about a follow-up interview with him?

Now I need to get the brain engaged and think about the actual, real, paid work I do that puts beer & wine in the fridge ... hahaha right ... more importantly, I need to keep an eye peeled for all the new absurdities that'll no doubt be marching across my transom soon!

Stand by for a photo-filled fun blog shortly after February 7, as the Rugby Sevens in Wellington are once again upon us! It's a whole weekend full of costumed, sexy (notice that picture, above? Yeah, like that), booze-fuelled fun! (And I promise MY photos will be clear and in focus and make sense!)

Yours, in Absurditum Maximus ...