The Jamjar

Peacocks

Wheturangi

Mokau

You might wonder how anyone could love a beach made of black sand. This sand so fine it gets into everything, including the fabric of swimming costumes making light colours seem moldy and dirty. It absorbs heat from the sun to degrees that don't just cause discomfort, but some days actual burns. But nothing says 'home' to me (on days cloud is covering Mt Taranaki) as much as stopping at Mokau Beach and seeing this dark beachline curve along the coast.

I stop at Mokau on each of hundreds of trips from Auckland to Waitara - for a few years I took photos of the family and we have a very short record of the kids growing taller and older on the same or similar driftwood logs. It's a place to let the dog off and she ricochets between the grass and the waves, digging and rolling, chasing sticks and barking at wrestling children.

As soon as we stopped in the carpark, Tandia stripped down to skivvies and dived right down the bank and into the warm, fine black ironsand - she was instantly covered - black sand sticking to her white knickers, up her arms, over her face and up into her blonde hair. She didn't care, and neither did the dog. The sand sticking to Bailey's eyelids and making her look like she was wearing thick eye liner.

Family Christmas

Christmas Day

Christmas Peeve

After all my organising, taking a day off work and flying at a reasonable time my flight to Auckland has been cancelled and I am going to Christchrch. Joy to the world - I've ended up missing Christmas Eve with my family *again*. It's a talent, obviously.

Plus I got 'wanded' again and padded down and searched. Obviously they don't recognise my saintliness.

Sent from my iPhone

*later - on the plane parked on the tarmac at Christchurch airport*

So today has been a litany of small discomforts and annoyances. Which is a worry, as Malcolm Gladwell says in one of his books (they all blur into one in my head) that air disasters aren't often due to one catastrophic event, but a series of little events - and that's what's happening to me today - so if I don't make it - this is why.

After I got to the airport at noon today, being as early as I often am to the airport, I was about tenth in line for check-in - but it still took _45 minutes_ to get to the counter. The three counters that were operating (not counting the Business Class counter which only checks in those dudes) were all coping with family groups with passport problems. After a little while, the sheep-run had almost the entire plane's worth of passengers waiting to check-in.

When I finally got to the counter, the woman said "So I assume you know your flight has been cancelled?" and I wondered to her how I was supposed to know that information? She apologised and said, "Due to a mechanical problem with your aircraft, we are now flying you to Auckland on an alternate plane, via Christchurch. You are due to land in Auckland at 9.45pm."

"Okay," I say, "okay. I mean, what am I going to do, it's not like it's the MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF THE YEAR FOR MY FAMILY or anything, not as if they'll MISS ME AT CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER and it doesn't matter that I took a WHOLE DAY OFF WORK to FLY EARLY to GET THERE ON TIME or anything!" She looked at me, obviously, this wasn't the first time she'd heard this kind of bleating from a passenger and what could she do? I knew she was just doing her job so I smiled and wished her a Merry Christmas and made my way to my gate.

I found my seat on the plane - not, of course, my 'usual' seat - but an aisle seat in the middle block - almost my least favourite seat in the aircraft. But I settled in, pushed my bag under the seat in front of me, loaded up Bill Bryson's Shakespeare audio book on my iPhone and began listening to his soothing voice when, a very less soothing voice broke my peace and quiet.

"You're in my seat!" she said. I looked up (she's lucky I heard her, my Bose in-ear headphones are bloody good) and she said "You've got the wrong seat." I was pretty sure I wasn't in the wrong seat but I pulled out my boarding pass and held it up to her. The seat numbers matched, we had both been assigned 44D. "This is MY seat," she insisted "I booked it for my whole family!" her husband was standing there, sheepishly holding their young baby. I looked for a crew member to help - they're hard to find when you need one, and the one I found I had to ask if she was part of Air New Zealand's crew - although she appeared to have clothes that might be part of a uniform, she didn't have any badging or logos on her jacket. I let her know the problem and she asked the other woman to accompany her to find a new seat. I suggested, as I was a 'single' maybe it was easier to move me than half the child's support team. The crew member shrugged like she didn't really care who moved, and I followed her to the back of the section of seats.

She took my boarding pass, told me to "Stay here." and went up to the front of the aircraft to sort things out. She came back after a few minutes and said they were sorting it out. She asked me if I'd been waiting long at the airport. I said I hadn't been, the usual time, but added that I was disappointed to be flying via Christchurch, meaning I would miss Christmas Eve with my family, and how I'd missed it entirely the year before due to a flight mix-up (while these things are true, they were said in a way which didn't let her know that a) there was no dinner or anything special planned and b) I was the reason for the flight mix-up last year that ruined Christmas) in an attempt to be upgraded to Business Class.

The crew member, instead of suggesting Business Class seats might help comfort my broken heart, then proceeded to tell me about HER day. How AirNZ had called her at 6am for the 10am flight from Auckland to Melbourne when they could just have easily have called at 8am and then she could have had two extra hours of sleep and wouldn't be bad right now because SHE WAS TIRED! And how she was so annoyed and upset that she was going to phone them and give them a piece of her mind. How it wasn't fair, and how everyone on board felt the same way she did and none of the crew were happy. NONE OF THEM. All the time she's talking I'm wondering why I paid AU$780 for no seat, a longer flight and the experience of hearing AirNZ Crew Member's sob story about how bad her day was. I was wondering why she wasn't just saying "I'm very sorry Madam, I hope upgrading you to Business Class will go some way to making your day better."

All devices must be turned off now, we're about to leave Christchurch for Auckland.

So, where was I - oh yes: standing by the toilets waiting to be allocated a seat.

Eventually, about 15 minutes later, and five minutes after our flight was supposed to leave Melbourne, Ms Crew Member comes down the aisle with a torn boarding pass with my name on it and a new seat number 55A. God dammit, no Business Class. She walks me to my seat to find, surprise! someone sitting in it. She asks the woman in the window seat for her boarding pass and yes, again, it matches my one - and they've booked me into a double booked seat *again*.

Ms Crew Member drops me off by the toilets again, and goes back to sort out a seat. Unfortunately, after another five minutes or so, they sit me in the aisle, middle section, economy. God dammit. How badly do I have to be mucked around to get upgraded? People I know show up late for flights, mucking up the flight schedule and still get upgraded.

I'm grumpy. I'm sitting behind a screaming baby - the woman who is sitting next to the screaming baby is asking to be moved. I don't even have the energy to ask to be moved. I stare at the emergency exit remembering Gladwell's idea that plane crashes are the result of lots of little mistakes. Then the Captain's voice intercoms information about how all the computers are down and their "passenger head count" and computer print-out for people on the flight doesn't tally so they're gonna have to phone Auckland and get that sorted out.

I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever see another Christmas, let alone this one.

Another couple of confusing intercommunications and we're finally underway, about 30 minutes late and many apologies later.

This is where my luck changes - slightly - and a lesson in how it's the little things that can make all the difference.

[it's at this time that I could tangent into another, equally as long post about how I bought my Bose in-ear headphones at JB HiFi by accident and how, up to this point I'd been dead annoyed at doing so but I won't because I'm sure we've all got better things to do than write/read that stuff - so onwards, we're nearly done]

When I bought my Bose headphones at JB HiFi by accident, they came with adapters, one of which appeared to be one that plugs into the airphone jack on an aeroplane.

I really hate airplane headphones - they don't fit properly, I have to have the volume up really loud to hear anything, and then I also hear everything else - the plane engine, the trolleys, the people next to me etc etc. So when I plugged the Bose adapter into the socket and pushed the buds into my ears, I couldn't believe how AWESOME Anthony Bourdain sounded and how crap the sound on the inFight entertainment system really is. Like, it's really crap. Like an old stretched cassette tape. But awesome earbuds, I couldn't hear the baby, the people, the plane or the crew member was trying to offer me water.

I was happy again, because the Bose and because the feature movie was District 9 and it had great sound. In fact it was so great, it made all my annoyances go away - well, almost. The intercom interrupts the movie everytime the they have a message - important messages such as making sure that tray table is stowed, making sure we know that there is a light snack (and that's all you're getting too missy, don't thing $780 gets you an actual MEAL we are landing in Auckland, and you need to fend for your starving self and no, the bar is closed and we're not opening it again FOR ANYTHING - dry run to Auckland!)

Wait, where was I? oh yeh.. the intecom interrupting the movie to talk about trivia, to wonder which word has 5 'e's and no other vowels or, for those how prefer maths trivia, how many years of combined experience does the crew have, and where Santa is and please make sure that tray table is stowed cos, you know, they're fecking dangerous.

It got so bad, the woman next to me started throwing her hands at the screen everytime her drama stalled due to constant inane messages from the pilot and crew.

Me? I just rolled with the punches by that stage - happy with a great movie and awesome headphones and knowing that I would, in the end, make it all the way home for Christmas Day and that safe in the knowledge that flying 4 hours earlier than I usually do, I saved myself one whole hour in the end - but really - what price is an hour with family?

Priceless.

2:57am bedtime.

Wednesday Matinée

Holy Moly

Dear Pope Benedict XVI,

I wish to apply for the position of Saint within your organisation. I am a hard worker and a very holy person. I am very keen to enter Heaven and then intercede on individual's (The Living™) behalf.

My application for Heroic Virtue is currently being considered by the Causes of Saints (CoS) in Rome. I have been assured my application is a mere formality, and expect to be bestowed with the title of 'Venerable' before the end of this month.

Please Note: I will request that CoS 'cc you on the confirmation email, for your records.

Attached are two PDF documents with evidence of my miracles. While I understand that it is customary that two miracles occur after I enter Heaven, I think you will find that the quantity of miracles I have pulled off while alive, will stand me in good stead when discussing the flexibility of this particular point with your colleagues in the Holy See and your boss.

I would welcome the opportunity to meet with you and your employer to discuss my suitability for this role. I believe you will recognise, upon meeting me in person, not only am I Holy and Miraculous, but am in fact a Saint; and always have been. I look forward to you recognising my abilities and adding me to the Canon of Saints. Please call or ignite any adjacent bush at your earliest convenience.

Yours in all that is Holy,
Sister Michelle the Venerably [pending] Blessed Keeper of thejamjar.com

Grumpy Bastard (trivia)

Sequelae

I quite often feel like writing a post when I am no where near a computer. This might be because I am so very good at avoiding doing what is expected of me when things are expected of me: I procrastinate* like no-bodys-business. In fact I am so good at procrastinating that I have developed a way of fooling myself into believing I am procrastinating while getting stuff done. Everyone who is reading this and NOT waiting on me to finish their website/determine accommodation in the USA/post that letter/tell them about my new job/that email, will believe my every word.

And now I have determined that I can type out a post via my iPhone and post to my blog while no-where-near my 'computer' (see what I did there?) I shall decide upon another, more convoluted reason not to blog.

Which is nuts because it is something I like doing.

But I find it hard since I lost my angry. Remember back when i worked for the learning curve? Eating curries and being furious all the time? It was glorious blog-fodder. Now I am not angry anymore: well not _all_ the time: I got pretty damn furious with someone the other day but had to store the bile away because no one seems to realise how he is Ripping Us Off™ or the impact of his ignorance.

But it passed with only a few extra fractures due to bruxism.

Now I'm just sullen and depressed. The drunkywunky post (scroll down) was unusual and it was a little of column A masking column B.

And another thing: I started NaNoWrImO this year a whole month earlier and included November as well, and still managed to write less than any previous year despite having an actual storyline, plot and pretty decent character development.

I am unclear as to the point I am trying to make.

* It's not procrastination, actually - it's being worn out, and not having an ounce of brain outside work hours: that's what it is. This year is two weeks too long - has anyone else noticed this?

Half Right

Michelle: so.. what happened in the first 48 Hours?
Willo: Keifer Sutherland did something.. no wait.. was that 24? what?

Model Behaviour

I was only 8 years old when I made my first model.

It was a project at school, and we were allowed to make anything we wanted. Some people wanted to make jewelery out of plastic clay, others wanted to make cards and draw pictures. I saw the sheets and sticks of balsa wood and knew I wanted to make a boat.

There was no actual plan, but I did know what my boat would look like. It would be sleek, and fast - a jet boat - and it would be red.

My father was a diver and he liked to fish. Sometimes when he came home with his friends and their catch, they'd unload the boat from the trailer, and tip all the fish out onto the lawn. I suppose sitting inside the small dinghy marooned on a sea of grass, watching my dad sort the small sharks from the schnapper, I began to understand how boats might be built.

I carefully curved the long slender balsa sticks as far as I dared. I mitered the ends, and using PVA glue and pins I pieced the bones of my speed boat together. The struts gave strength and would provide support for the boat's skin.

Using papier-mâché, I covered the boat. I smoothed the soggy wall-paper-pasted newspaper over the bow, over the edges and down the sides. It dried crisp across the skeleton of the boat. I painted it red. I gave it a second coat more for the fact I loved painting it than thinking it needed it.

Balsa wood helped me see how I could make things all by myself. I would never have been able to make such a sophisticated project had it not been for that child-friendly material. It let my imagination become real. No adults were required!

Carrying my completed boat home I was so proud of myself. I gave it to my dad for his Christmas present that year. Poor bugger - getting a wonky, plan-less, pale red boat made of newspaper and sticks by an 8 year old girl instead of a box of chocolates or a pair of socks. He was a good dad though, and he was extremely appreciative of my hard work.

I've had a deep fondness for balsa wood my entire life. I must've related this fact (amongst all the other meaningless prattle I fill empty space up with) to Chaz one day because yesterday - on his 27th birthday - he gave me my very own, brand new, pristine sheet of balsa wood.

...and people say I'm hard to buy for!

Thank you Chaz, for hundreds of things, but most especially for always, always listening to me. For managing to pick amongst all my chattering to find the simple, and very thoughtful idea of balsa wood - which brought with it lovely memories for me of my dad.

Happy Birthday!

Wednesday Matinée

Charlie Fantastic

10 Guilty Pleasures

1. Licking the spoon
2. Returning to bed after my morning shower
3. Not telling anyone where I've been
4. Full spa pedicure
5. Eating watermelon
6. Buying Moleskines I'll never use*
7. Buying books I'll never read*
8. Buying cameras I'll hardly ever use*
9. Surfing the internet until the wee-small-hours
10. Checking my stats meter

*Maybe I'm a collector?

What are your guilty pleasures?

stuff

Too Wednesday to be random: structure

I have been composing inside my head all day. Turns out it might have be decomposing cos I feel a bit rotten.

I started on the tram this morning, with a list of things I hate. Things like backpacks - I hate that people wear backpacks on the tram. Sure, they're all hands-free and all clear-out-front - meanwhile, we poor suckers sitting to the left and right get thwacked every time back-pack-wearing-nimrod looks out the window or shifts their weight from one foot to the other. I added other things to my Hate List like people who get off the tram on the left-hand side of the middle handrail then turn right. And people who listen to their iPod (or similar) ear phones that ss ss sssiz ommpf ommpf ommfp because the music they are pumping down their ear canal is _so_loud_ that I can hear it from two seats back.

So yes, I guess I was a bit grumpy this morning. I blame the fact I've run out of Sensodyne toothpaste - but that's another story.

Then I thought I would narrow my list of things I hate down to one thing and write about Key Performance Indicators or KPIs as we in the business organisation of the world know them as. I do have some strong feelings about these little indicators of performance trotted out at quarterly reviews - but I decided that wouldn't be an appropriate thing to write about here, because a) thejamjar.com would crush under the weight of such a subject, and b) where I work they actually do a pretty decent job of the world surrounding KPIs and I would hate to have someone find my blog one day, read my rant about KPIs and think I was dissatisfied at my present place of employ and that's just not true.

I think KPIs ought to be called 'Getting Stuffs Done' or GSDs.

Which reminds me to tell you I haven't forgotten about my promise (was it a promise) to tell you about my new job (it was more of a "one day don't let me forget to tell you" than a promise, I think) which is rapidly becoming less new and has fallen into that place where I can't remember how long I've been there - it's more than 4 months, less than 6 - as a ballpark.

So then I thought I'd make a video - but my plan was a bit elaborate and involved system cards and a fountain pen so I put that one by the wayside.

Look, I'm not sure if you've noticed but today and most of lately hasn't been the most successful time for me to post words to thejamjar. Don't confuse this post with an apology for not writing, or a reason why I'm not writing - because I don't do that - it's more of a "I'm confused and a bit muddled up and.. what?" than anything else.

Tonight we went to Grumpy Bastard Trivia at Grumpy's Green on Smith Street. I managed to answer things like 'Locherbe' and 'Ben Elton' all by myself, and 'Tombstone' with the help of Fox, and Willo remembered 'Tamworth' when I couldn't think where the big guitar was. I managed to lose points by crossing out Fox's correct answer 'Titanic' and replacing in with 'Armageddon' because I thought Bruce Willis was all that stood between me and my 'colliding destiny' but apparently, it was Leo DeCaprio.

We came 5th, which was an improvement to the 7th we got week before last. And bonus of the night: I also spotted a guy wearing a tshirt that appeared to be designed by @sneak and so I took a photo of Andrew (turns out) and had a wee talk to him about buying counterfeit clothing in Thailand rather than off the legit tshirt on the Threadless site.

I'm thinking of making a graph of our results - but I don't want to commit myself to anything extra at the moment as my brain pressing against the insides of my skull as it is.

So I came home from Grumpy Bastard Trivia at Grumpy's Green on Smith Street and thought I'd tell you about it. But then I went downstairs after deciding to tell you about it and had some vegemite on toast and now I'm back in my room and the carbs have soaked up all the the clever, sharp commentary I had rehearsed before consuming that traditional antipodean supper and now the well is dry.

So instead I will compile another list: things I ended up not hating about today. They included riding a bike, getting up early, doing a load of laundry and wearing shorter than short shorts (don't ask - they weren't shorter than short shorts before I put them on).

Plus: I didn't fall off, over or into anything today.

I'd say, while not a win, I'd consider today a draw.

How did you go today?