hello, old friend

Isn't it strange how the Interwebs let you peek in on peoples' lives in such an intimate, yet still disassociated way? Even more strange is the fact that people actually want you to read about (and comment) upon the minutia that makes up their lives. Everyone is looking for some sort of validation and it just so happens that this is the easiest place to find it.

I won't even attempt to lie and say that I don't post what I'm cooking for dinner on le facebook. I do. I want you bitches to be jealous.

But enough about me. Let's talk about Christine O'Donnell being a witch!

Amma

She entered dressed in pure white and wearing one of those smiles that springs from some deep-down well of happiness. The entire room of thousands fell silent as she crossed the stage. It’s hard to believe such a tiny woman with a penchant for hugging can have such an enormous effect on people from every walk of life. Her crowds in the states are nothing compared to the numbers she draws in her native India.

Last week, two friends and I went to see Amma, “the hugging saint, “ at the DFW Hyatt. We walked in and got swept up in the rush of the sari-clothed crowds. I ran over to get in line where it said “Darshan Tokens”. (Darshan is what Amma calls the motherly hug she gives to everyone that meets her.) Unintentionally (I swear!), I cut in front of hundreds of people in the Darshan line. That’s right, I cut in line to have a spiritual experience. Sometimes even when I try to be good, it turns out bad. However, my accomplices in this spiritual theft were quite happy that we didn’t have to wait in line for four hours to get our hug.

Sitting on the floor in front of the stage, I took a moment to glance around the room at the huddled masses. There were black, white, brown, yellow, pink, very old, very young, middle aged, wrinkly, smooth, tall, short, and every combination in between. It felt like we sat there for ages, but maybe it was just the hard floor on my un-cushioned ass. Finally the ceremony started with a kind-looking bearded man telling of his experiences as a follower of Amma. His resemblance to another bearded holy man couldn’t go unnoticed. All the while Amma was on stage there was the cutest Indian boy of about seven sitting next to her. Eventually he got tired and fell asleep until the singing began. This was my favorite part of the service. I could close my eyes and imagine that I was somewhere in India. The music was repetitive, but joyful.

After three hours the service ended and it was time to wait in line for Darshan. We decided to get a cup of chai, but our numbers came up sooner than we expected, requiring us to abandon our tea and run into the next room. I tried to stay excited about finally getting to hug Amma, but the whole waiting in line, wait for your number to be called thing cut into the zen of the moment. It felt like a production line or waiting for concert tickets. Her followers kept asking to see my ticket and then rushing me into another seat.

Eventually I made it to the front of the line and was told to kneel in front of her. I must have had three different people dragging my arms in three different directions. Someone pushed my head down onto her ample bosom and asked me what language I spoke. “English,” I replied. Not understanding what difference it would make since Amma didn’t speak it. Amma enveloped me in her arms that were heavily perfumed with flowers. She marked my forehead with something wet. Then I was grabbed and pushed away.

Then I knelt down to try and stay in the moment and absorb some of the spirituality in the room, but a very angry man in a blue kaftan yelled at me and told me that I could not kneel there, “You are blocking the entire exit! Who told you that you could sit there?” I guess even people who are in the business of promoting peace have their off-days.

I asked someone nearby why Amma marked my forehead, since I hadn’t seen her do that to anyone else. A lady told me that it was a very good sign. That it was sandalwood paste and it had a cooling effect on the body. Maybe Amma could tell that I was in need of a little extra help.

On the whole the experience ended up being more cultural than spiritual for me. I didn’t walk away from Amma with a renewed sense of purpose, or smelling like flowers for the next few days like I had heard from others’ experiences. Instead, I walked away with some sandalwood paste on my forehead and a lighter feeling in my step. But really, what more could someone ask of a simple hug?

adventures in suburbia.

I am sixteen again, driving home Sunday evening and listening to The Adventure Club with Josh. As soon as I get home, I run to my room, shut the door, and turn up my radio to make sure that I don’t miss the next new band that I will be obsessed with.

I haven’t been home for ten months (let’s make it easier on ourselves and just call it a year.), and I haven’t listened to the Adventure Club in twice as long. Hearing these kooky voices that would never be played on a regular radio format makes me immensely happy. All I can do is smile and lay on my bed like a lovesick teenager.

Nothing gets close to the rush of excitement I feel when I hear a song by a band that I’ve never heard, and it’s actually good. People will always try and get me to like their new favorite thing, and sometimes I’ll tag along, but there’s nothing like finding it myself. It’s my own discovery. I found the buried treasure. I get to bask in the glory when I give my friends a cd and say, “Here, listen to this. It will change your life.” Yeah, that sounds really pompous, but whatever. Good music can change your life. When I no longer believe this, that’s when I will have been robbed of my youthful spirit. Then I’ll start going to Denny’s for the early bird special and voting republican.

Driving home and listening to the music of my adolescence played on the radio threw me under a wave of nostalgia. For that evening, my car was a time machine and my radio was the flux-capacitor. 

Fush and Chups, Bro

I’ve been a bad writer lately, or maybe I’ve just been living in the spirit of procrastination. Something always seems to jump up and grab my attention away from putting my thoughts and adventures on paper. So I guess this morning is as good as any to break the cycle and document some history.

Two days ago the weather turned cold. The season is a changin’. If fall is this cold, then I’m afraid my poor Texan heart won’t be able to make it through winter. Stock up on your thermals, folks. At the moment, the mountains outside my window are sprinkled with snow that looks like powdered sugar. The sky is cloudy, making the lake a steely, blue-gray hue. Even when the weather is less than perfect, the view from my window still is.

It’s been so long since I’ve written on here, I’m not sure where to begin, so I guess there’s no time like the present. As of last week, I work at a little restaurant on the lake called Botswana Butchery. It is Oh So Posh. I work as a bartender slinging cocktails and $700 bottles of champagne to the rich folk. At the end of the night my hands are sore from polishing crystal wine glasses, but it’s a good sore.

I almost did run home last month. I decided that I would go ahead and use my ticket: February 8, Auckland to DFW. I spent two weeks saying goodbye to Queenstown and seeing all the things I wanted to before leaving forever. And then, reality smacked me across the face. I would be leaving paradise to go back home to a recession economy.

The main reason I wanted to leave here is the lack of jobs in my field of study: advertising. BUT, no Dallas advertising agencies are hiring junior copywriters in the current economic situation. Imagining myself waiting or bartending in Dallas, when I could be doing the same thing here, was just a little too much to face. SO! I stayed!

This was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, besides coming over here in the first place. I actually like my job. I love my flat and my flatmates. And, looking out my window is the equivalent to doing two hours of yoga. I can have a stressful evening and then wake up in the morning and look out my window, and think, ‘Hey, no matter what’s going on, I still live here, and I still get to look at this.’

queenstown style

happy christmas

christmas in queenstown is kind of a joke, or maybe americans are just a little too merry. either way, it didn't really feel like christmas. there were very few lights, very few decorations, almost no carols, no stores smelling like cinnamon and cloves. i guess this is just the wrong hemisphere for that kind of stuff.

i worked at fergburger on christmas eve. no one told me merry christmas and a lot of people seemed bitchier than usual. or maybe that was just me because i had to work on christmas eve. i finished work at ten that evening and headed around the corner to pog mahone's irish pub where i found all of my friends. then it felt like christmas. lots of drunk irish and english people, pints in hand, arms around eachother's shoulders, singing the one verse of "don't they know it's christmas-time" that they knew.

i took a cab home to wash the smell of fergburger off me. my flatmates were asleep and my "ho! ho! ho!" fell on deaf ears. i drank some cider by the light of the tree and then we all headed out to a party in arthur's point. it wasn't the most traditional way to celebrate christmas, but it was fun. there wasn't really any point in trying to make it feel like christmas at home. we all danced well into the next morning and watched the sun rise over the mountains and river.

christmas day i slept late and made tacos for the irish. i'm slowly learning that tacos are something you have to grow up with to be obsessed with. the irish were polite and said they enjoyed them, but it wasn't like tasting home for them. they can taste home anytime they want, there's potatoes and beer all around here.

christmas is about family and home, two things i don't currently have with me, so all us wanderers in queenstown did the best we could with what we had, but it wasn't really christmas for any of us. new years, though, i think we can handle that holiday.

over the edge

there's quite a few things i have to report. i quit my horrible, soul-crushing job at the hotel. life is too short to work for ungrateful meanies. i was surprised at how easy it was to find a new job. "trials" are really big in queenstown. if you apply to work in a bar or restaurant, they'll take your resume and then bring you in for a trail, which is basically sink or swim. my trial at winnie's bar was on a friday night. winnie's is one of the four bars that everyone who comes to queenstown ends up in. it was my first time to tend bar and i did a damn good job, if i do say so myself. but i realized that i really like being on the other side of the bar. also, drunk people are really annoying if you're not drunk as well.

my next trial was at fergburger. fergburger is one of the best hamburgers you'll have in your life. they're massive and made with really fresh ingredients. i trialed for the role of "the fluffer". if you're familiar with the term, i promise, it's not what it sounds like. the fluffer at fergburger does a little bit of everything (no, not that), but mostly i get paid to talk to tourists and make sure they're happy. i just finished my first week there, and i really enjoyed it. it's not an uptight five-star environment like my last job was. my co-workers aren't afraid to have fun and joke around. i feel like i'm appreciated, even though it's not the most important job in the world.

also, i'm exercising my social skills, something i wasn't so great at before i came away. five months ago i would've had a very hard time just walking up to strangers and striking up a conversation with them. now i am well-versed in the art of small-talk. it's amazing how many interesting stories you can hear if you just smile and ask questions. the other day i walked past a table of men and heard some very familiar accents. so on my way back to the kitchen i stopped by and said, "so where are ya'll from?" you guessed it, fort worth, texas. turns out they know my dad. the world just keeps getting smaller and smaller. after that i met some girls that travelled from morocco, all over africa, southeast asia and now new zealand. this isn't uncommon. tons of kids my age do this. i never knew that so many other people had a wanderer's spirit like me.

yesterday i dragged my ass out of bed and went in to work, only to find out that i wasn't on the roster for that day. (thanks for letting me know where the roster is, guys!) since i was already in town i decided to go with my friends up the mountain to go luging. while we were waiting to luge, we watched some people bungying off the ledge there. the views are amazing and it looked like a lot of fun. so i thought, 'what the hell...i didn't get out of bed today for nothing...' and i went and bought my ticket. i made sure not to look over the edge before i jumped even though the yahoo guys harnessing me in tried to make me. i did a running start, but when i got to the edge, my brain told me, 'oh no, this is not a good idea!' i thought i stopped running, but as the video shows, i was still running on my way down. i screamed my head off and thought my stomach was going to come out of my ears. it was so much fun. i could see all of queenstown and the lake and mountains. when i got back up i didn't think i was going to be able to stand because i was shaking so much. but i did. and then we all went luging, which was also hella fun. so i guess i'm glad that i didn't know i wasn't supposed to go to work, because otherwise i would've done something lame like go grocery shopping.