And so it seems we come to the end.

Chris has accepted a really great job in Nashville. Tennessee. USA. Home of the Grand Ole Opry and the Country Music Hall of Fame and barbecue. They don't eat a lot of Marmite there. Zach will grow up with a very different accent. We head back in May.

We are excited. To be honest, we have been quite homesick for some time. As amazing as this New Zealand adventure has been, I am ready to start a new chapter. I'm a little sad to say, but it looks like this may be the end of dunedinyank. Technically there are a few months left in our New Zealand stay, but I can barely get my act together to update this blog, so I'm afraid it's time to part ways, devoted readers.

(As an aside to family and friends, I may start a new password-protected blog when we get settled in Nashville so you can keep up with all of our excitement. If and when that happens, I'll let you know.)

I'm not really one for mushy goodbyes, so I think the best way to end this will be a list of things we'll miss about New Zealand and a list of reasons I'm excited to be moving on. These are long lists, so I'll divide them into two parts. Here goes Part #1.

Top Things I'll Miss About New Zealand

1) Media. You turn on the TV news or open a newspaper in New Zealand and you can't help notice that it's unbelievably boring. Someone tells you what happened, then they get a quote from one side, and a quote from another, and they move on. There are no pundits. No "media personalities." No crazy graphics, no banners rolling across the bottom of the screen. No yelling, no crying, no panic, no vitriol. Civility. The thought of returning home to any of the U.S. cable news channels makes me want to pull the covers over my head.

2) The baking. Yeah, yeah, New Zealand is pretty. You've heard that already. But what no one tells you is, these people can bake. Savouries and scones and afghans and pies ... oooh. A special shout-out to our friend Fiona, Kiwi baker extraordinaire.

3) Safety. Okay, so Kiwis love to tell you that they do, in fact, have crime, and they will talk about the gang problems and tell you about that one guy who went crazy fifteen years ago and killed a bunch of people in that nearby town. All I know is I've felt safer here than I've ever felt in my entire life. Maybe it has something to do with the lack of panic from the news media (see #1 above). Maybe it's because we moved here from a transitional neighborhood in a fairly high-crime city, so I was pretty hardened. Whatever the reason, I have never once felt uncomfortable or harassed here, even as a woman walking by myself. It does not occur to me to lock my car doors while driving, even when I'm going through the "bad" part of town. When I hear a strange noise at night, I assume it's our creaky house and not some crazy person out to get us. I enjoy this feeling immensely.

4) Health care. This is a hot topic (see #1). By saying I'll miss Kiwi health care I don't mean to insinuate that the U.S. doesn't offer excellent health care (because it does, since we can afford it). I'm not saying the Kiwi system could easily be implemented in the U.S. (because it couldn't). I'm saying I'll miss the lack of hassle. Maybe I'd feel differently if I was really really sick and needed ongoing treatments or major surgery -- I don't know. But between the pregnancy, well-child visits, sick child visits, and sick mama and daddy visits, we've used the health system a LOT during our time here and we've always received excellent, efficient care with no associated paperwork headaches. I absolutely adore our family doctor and could probably devote an entire post to the aggressive care she's given us. Once she told me not to worry about making an appointment if Zach ever seemed sick -- just bring him in and they'd make time to see him. It's been good stuff.

5) Time. Americans work hard. Really hard. It's part of our charm. It's part of what makes us -- us. But for all the lip service we give to saying that family time is the most important thing, we rarely act like it. Kiwis (and much of the rest of the world), on the other hand -- they know how to separate work and play. Here, there's no shame in taking long (3-4 weeks!) vacations. It's not uncommon for women to take up to a year of maternity leave. When there's a public holiday, everything truly shuts down. No running to the grocery store -- they have the day off. When the evenings and weekends roll around, you don't see Kiwis typing madly on their Blackberries. It's been a real treat to slow down for the two years we've been here. It's been a real treat to have my son in a place that didn't expect us to get right back to work, that allowed us to enjoy our time with him, free of guilt.

6) So much stuff to see. I'm really annoyed that time and budget won't allow us to see more of this part of the world before we go. We still haven't been to Abel Tasman. We still haven't been to much of the North Island. I'm very sad we didn't make it back to Australia. I would give my right arm for a week at the beach in the Cook Islands, or Samoa, or Fiji. But such is life. We've seen more of the country than many New Zealanders (and this is not an exaggeration ... I'm shocked at how many people here have traveled all over the world but barely know their own country), and we've been fortunate to do so.

Okay, that's it for now. I'll get started on Part II. Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion.

Boo.

Every day at work, I spend about a twenty minutes engaged in a cultural dialogue with the other researcher in my department, a Kiwi who was born and bred in Dunedin. She is quite bubbly and outspoken and she has travelled rather extensively in the U.S., so we regularly have a little back-and-forth about our two countries.

Our conversations about the United States tend to go like this:

Her: Help me understand the electoral college. It hardly seems democratic that your presidential vote has no effect if you are in the political minority for your state.

Me: Look thoughtful and try to remember what they told us in 12th grade government class. Give up. Shrug.

My questions about New Zealand tend to be much simpler. (e.g. Me: Is there any good American-style pizza in Dunedin? Her: No. And I agree that the pizza I had in America was much, much better than anything I've had in New Zealand. Sorry. Me: Will you proofread this letter I wrote to check my NZ English? Her: You forgot to put a "u" in "behaviour.")

Today I wanted to know if Kiwis celebrate Halloween. Our conversation went something like this:

Q: Do Kiwis celebrate Halloween?
A: Eh, sort of.
Q: So, I should expect to get some trick-or-treaters? I should have some candy on hand?
A: Eh, you may get a few, but don't worry if you forget. They don't necessarily expect it.
Q: What do you mean? Isn't candy the whole point of trick-or-treating?
A: Well, they know that some people won't have it, so if you don't have it, they won't care.
Q: You just answer the door and say, "Ooh, nice costume. But we're not giving you candy." ?
A: Basically.
Q: And that's okay?
A: Well, yeah.
Q: Nobody eggs your house?
A: No!
Q: Do people carve pumpkins? (in retrospect, I now realize this was kind of a stupid question, since we are going into spring here and pumpkins are going out of season)
A: Nah.
Q: Do people have costume parties, like for adults?
A: Nah. I mean, if you want to have a costume party it wouldn't be the weirdest thing ever -- especially since you're American people might expect it from you -- but generally, no.
Q: So it's just a handful of kids, wandering the neighborhoods, maybe or maybe not hoping to get some candy?
A: Pretty much. What day is Halloween again, anyway?

I don't know why this conversation depressed me as much as it did. It's not like I'm a huge Halloween person. In the States I was usually digging through a thrift store on October 30, frantically trying to find something to pass for a costume. Last year we had to shut off the lights on our house and sit in the dark because we ran out of candy at 7:30 (except for the peanut butter cups which I saved, of course). But still, it is an important day to mark the season, act a little silly, eat miniature candy bars you would normally never buy, and drink beer with your friends. I believe I am going to miss it. Eat a Reeses cup for me.

A very happy birthday to my dear Daddy-o! I love you!!!

Congratulations, Laura & Anthony!

My dear friend and longtime roommate Laura is getting married today at a swank resort in Mexico. As most of my devoted readers know, Laura is extremely important to me. We have seen each other through countless fun times and not-so-fun times. We laugh at the same things. She handles my moods. I count on her to tell me the truth when pants make me look fat, and I count on her to tell me this in the gentlest way possible. When Chris and I got married, Laura was maid of honor extraordinaire -- throwing fabulous pre-wedding parties, fixing my makeup, helping me use the toilet while I was wearing the most cumbersome wedding dress ever, etc. She rocked. For so many reasons, I really should be at her wedding.

Luckily, Laura is also very understanding about the whole living on the other side of the world thing, and has allowed me to serve as "honorary matron of honor" from afar. It's a nice thought and all, but I still feel like a lousy friend for not being there in person to help her get ready, to remind her to relax and enjoy herself, to have too many drinks at the reception and make a rambling speech about what a fantastic person she is and what a lucky guy Anthony is to spend the rest of his life with her.

So I guess this will be my speech. Laura and Anthony: I see the joy that you bring each other, and I am thrilled to see you come together in marriage! I send you all of my love and wish you many, many happy years ahead!

Raindrops on Roses

I'm not going to lie to you. It's been a rough week.

Nothing bad has happened, exactly. It's just a severe case of the blahs and my insomnia is acting up and I've been really homesick and missing my devoted readers. I can't blame it on my new job, since the work promises to be interesting, everyone treats me well, and I can pretty much come and go as I please. Maybe it's that I'm still coming down from the vacation high. Maybe it's that there's no end in sight to this dreary grey winter (though we did get another little glimmer of sun today ...). Maybe it's simply that after three months in a foreign country, you tend to stop marveling at how delightful and interesting everything is and start noticing everything that bugs you.

Whatever the cause, I am determined to beat the negative voices into submission. Let's take a cue from Julie Andrews twirling around in the drapes and make a list of a few of my favorite (Kiwi) things:

• Unlocked doors. I never thought I felt particularly unsafe at home (even though, at times, we lived in a "transitional" neighborhood), but it astounds me how much safer and more relaxed I feel here. Half the time I forget to lock the car doors, just because I'm not thinking about it. When I hear things that go bump in the night, my automatic response is, "Gee, our rental house makes some weird noises," and not, "Agh! A meth-head is breaking in with a gun to murder us in our sleep!" Another American couple here in Dunedin tell us how their 12-year-old daughter is allowed to walk or ride the bus pretty much anywhere she wants around the city centre -- something the family would not have considered anywhere else they have lived. This is not to say that New Zealand is crime-free -- like any place, it's got it's share of wackos -- but for one reason or another there is not the same culture of fear.
  

• Scarfies. This is the long-running nickname for the university students here in Dunedin, because of their penchant for scarves. Especially now that I'm working on campus, I get the biggest kick out of observing their antics and especially their often extremely questionable sense of fashion. The girls seem to favor black leggings or the tightest jeans they can possibly squeeze themselves into,* paired with some sort of hoodie and/or elaborate scarf arrangement. But the most amazing thing is the total disregard for matching footwear to an outfit. Brown cowgirl boots and black leggings? Check. White Ked-like sneakers and black jeans? You're good to go. As for the guys, about 90% of Dunedin men under the age of 25 have unapologetically horrible hair, which I find endearing. Lots and lots and lots of hair gel. White guys with dreadlocks. Faux hawks galore. Reading this, I realize I'm sounding kind of mean about the Scarfies, but I truly think they are adorable and fun and in the prime of their lives. I'm slightly jealous I can't rock the faux hawk, myself.
  

• Commuting is awesome. It's a five minute drive (or 30 minute walk) from our front door to the campus and downtown. I can drive to the other side of town in 15 minutes. Aside from some congestion on the main road in Christchurch, I have yet to see anything that resembles heavy traffic anywhere on the South Island. Bite me, I-85!

Okay, I think I really am feeling better. I actually have more to add, but this is getting kind of long and I may need to save a few more for another rainy day. When the dog bites ...

* An aside to the 99% of Scarfie girls who have hips or any body fat whatsoever: Buy bigger jeans. I'm saying this as a friend.

Six n tha Sutty

Last night Chris and I went to see "A Streetcar Named Desire" at the local theatre company here in town. I've loved that play since we read it in high school,* and I totally dug the Marlon Brando/Vivian Leigh movie version. ("Stellaaaaaa!") Excited as I was to see it live for the first time, I was anxious. Kiwi actors and fake U.S. southern accents would be involved. As you no doubt recognize, clever readers, this had the potential for disaster. Most American actors can't do a Southern accent without breaking into full-fledged Hee-Haw mode, for crying out loud.

As it turned out, all of the actors ended up using their regular Kiwi accents. This was a relief and obviously the best decision that the director could make given that 1) inevitably, it would have sounded ridiculous and 2) most of the Kiwi audience would not have understood them. Still, I found myself a little sad -- the play is set during the summer in New Orleans, for crying out loud. You lose the accent, you lose some of the heat. It's hard to explain. (Good play overall, by the way.)

As far as the Kiwi accent goes, it's very cute on most people. Very clipped. I have no trouble understanding it in person or on TV, but when I talk to people on the phone it all falls apart and I ask them to repeat EVERYTHING. It's embarrassing. Kiwis often use the word "wee" instead of "small," which I absolutely adore. (I'm told this is more of a South Island thing, though ...) They also say "Good on him" instead of "Good for him," which is also very fun.

As far as my accent goes, everyone just asks me where I'm from. Initially I thought this meant people didn't recognize I am American, but our Kiwi friends Claire and Fiona informed me that, no, they just don't want to assume I'm American because Canadians get all pissed off when they do this. (Seriously, Canada. Lighten up.)

I should probably acknowledge that my fake Kiwi accent is absolutely horrible, but I'm working on it. My shining accomplishment so far has been discussing the new Sarah Jessica Parker movie, "Six n tha Sutty" with Claire and Fiona, who agreed that I pronounced the title perfectly. (In the interest of full disclosure, each of them was probably on the third glass of wine by the time I broke out the fake accent. That may have influenced their judgment.)

Practice along with me at home! Take all of your "eh" sounds -- as in "yes" -- and change them to "ih" sounds. "Yis." Now take all of your "ih" sounds -- as in "fish" -- and change them to "uh" sounds. "Fush." That's it! You're doing great! "Yis, ah'd lahk some fush." Awesome!

You'll be bungee jumping and herding sheep in no time.

*In retrospect, I am absolutely astounded that Mrs. Peters somehow taught this play without any discussion of what actually happens between Stanley and Blanche -- no doubt adhering to the school district's fervent directive to shield our young minds from any thoughtful critical analysis of adult subjects we were already gossiping about, anyway. Still, mad props to Mrs. Peters for always making us read cool stuff! Best English class ever!

I struggle.

Another weekend is almost to a close. After bragging on last week's weather it is now rainy (though still not too cold ... knock wood) and time to bring activities inside.

I got a hankering today to make some chocolate chip cookies, which as you can see turned into a Toll House fiasco. Lots of mess, lots of flat, misshapen, rock-hard cookies. (All of the chocolate marks on the plate are from the first batch, which I burned, and threw out.) More flour next time, I think.

Last night we had dinner with a Kiwi grad student in Chris's department. A lot of wine and a few Neil Diamond records were involved, so needless to say a good time was had by all. I had my first pavlova, which actually is very tasty with a delightful sweet crunchy shell. Who knew?

She and her roommate are also big American Idol fans, though unfortunately they are more of the Archuletta persuasion. I've already read on American news sites who won (I love you, David Cook, you hair-challenged, multi-necklace-wearing cheeseball! You'll Always Be MY Baby!) but since the show is delayed by several weeks here I had to keep quiet. It was tough.

I met with a super nice law school professor last week and she has bent over backwards to put me in touch with a few potential job contacts. Everything seems to move on a slower time frame here ... we shall see.

Otherwise, life is pretty quiet for now. We got some venison at the farmer's market yesterday so I'm cooking a venison stew -- proof, dear readers, that I am officially a Kiwi pioneer woman. It smells good, but it remains to be seen whether I am 0-2 in the kitchen today. Wish me luck.

Ever the good sport, Christopher washes down a cookie.

Blame it on the Hob Nobs

I know, I know ... I've been neglectful of you, my darling readers. You have been shivering, wrapped in a tattered gray blanket, rocking back and forth in a fetal position, listening in vain for my footsteps from the dark hallway, wondering whether I have abandoned you. Fear not! I've simply been away from the computer a lot. Some might call that healthy. This does mean we have a lot to discuss, however, so put on your cozy pajama pants, pour yourself a cup of coffee (or tea, or bourbon) and gather 'round ...

1) Travels. We went to Christchurch this weekend to visit the doggies in jail. It was a joyous reunion, as you can tell from this photo. (I am not wearing baby blue shoes, by the way. They make you wear booties while in quarantine.) They arrived safely and seem to be doing okay, if they are not exactly enthralled with their current set-up. Poor little guys kept trying to follow us out. Ouch. I was feeling very sorry for them in their sterile-looking run with only their little doggie beds and then later that night on TV I saw a profile of this family of three kids in Angola who shared a dirty mattress on the floor. I decided I'd better get over myself. And quickly.

The rest of the trip was also fun, though rather soggy. As a result, we spent most of our free time holed up in various Christchurch pubs, waiting for the rain to pass. Here is an artsy photo composed by my better half to convey mood of the trip:


On the way back we stopped at the beach and I took this picture of a fur seal. No penguins, though.


2) Habitat. Dunedin is actually a lot prettier than I remembered, probably because it rained a lot the last time I was here. But damn, it is HILLY. Not so much hills as mini-mountains; it is hard to explain. I suspect that everyone around here must have thighs like tree trunks. I'm going to post more pictures soon, I promise.

The university is also prettier than I remembered, again, probably because of the weather. Posters all over campus notified that it was "Cannabis Awareness Week." It seems that most of the people who participate in Cannabis Awareness Week probably are already quite aware of cannabis, but it's good to see young people rallying for a cause.

3) Kiwi Style. It's hard to explain the differences in fashion. Everyone is definitely more casual and more outdoorsy-looking, but then again it's not hard to be more casual than the people who lived in my building in Atlanta. I might say the fashions are slightly dated, definitely less self-conscious. Leggings seem to be popular. People layer very effectively. A lot more dreadlocks and man-ponytails than you see in Georgia.

4) Entertainment. You get four NZ TV stations via antenna. These channels seem to feature just about all of the popular American network shows (Desperate Housewives, The Office, Ugly Betty, Oprah, etc.), some cable shows (The Daily Show, a lot of those crappy E! and VH1 reality shows), as well as a lot of British, Australian, and of course NZ programming. We watched this British show last night called "The Mighty Boosh." Hi-freakin'-larious! I suspect it is a favorite during Cannabis Awareness Week.

As some of my devoted readers may know, I have developed a rather unhealthy and shameful addiction to American Idol this season. If you had told me six months ago that watching some goatee-wearing, Goo Goo Doll-looking guy from Tulsa cover "Always Be My Baby," would make me squeal like a sixth grader, I would have poo-pooed you. But alas, here we are and there's not much to be done, so I'm thrilled to report that we do get American Idol here in NZ, though it is delayed by several weeks, so I actually re-watched Michael Johns getting kicked off this week. I know. I am ill. But David Cook rocks, baby! He's going to wipe the floor with that dopey little Donnie Osmond wannabe! For real!

Ahem.

We are debating whether to get satellite TV and currently are siding against it since just about anything we care to watch is on the four basics. I don't miss cable news at all. Yech.

5) Tastiness. If I weigh 300 lbs the next time you see me, devoted readers, you can blame it on the Hob Nobs. I've had them before and you can get them in the States, but they are these little chocolate-glazed oatmeal biscuits and they are fantastic. A good Hob Nobs binge will take all of the sting out of moving to a foreign country. This is the truth.

6) Transportation. We have been doing some car shopping. We are leaning toward some kind of station wagon/hatchback, as we need room for the doggies and gas prices make SUVs pretty much out of the question, although I do see them around. The dealers here are much more laid back than in the US. Going for a test drive, the dealers do not come with you, and no one asks to see a driver's license; they just ask you to write down your address. One dealer said something like, "it's got plenty of gas; just have it back before we close."

In the meantime, there is a bus stop right across the street from our house and the town is fairly walkable, but again -- those damned hills.

7) Communications. I got a cell phone. I have no idea what it would cost you to call it from the US -- probably a lot -- but let me know if you want it for emergencies and whatnot. In the meantime I've talked to some people via IM and Skype, so that is fun.

8) Domestic Affairs. Since Chris is working and I (temporarily, anyway) am not, I have been trying to play homemaker by cooking dinner for my husband every night. I say things like, "Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes" and "Would you like some cobbler?" June Cleaver would be jealous. I had something of a cultural culinary mishap yesterday, however, when I bought tomato sauce for making enchiladas. Nobody told me, but the "tomato sauce" you buy in cans over here is just like freakin' ketchup, so the enchilada sauce was more like barbecue sauce, and at the end of the day they were only barely edible. Tomato puree is what I need to buy in the future. I think.

9) New People. On a non NZ-related note, I'd like to welcome the lovely and talented Miss Sofia Copp to the world. Although it may be some time before she is a devoted "Kia Ora, Y'all" reader, I'm sure her mother will read it to her aloud. Blogs are good for baby brain development, I'm pretty sure.

Agh.

It's been a crazy week.

Friday marked my last day as an American attorney, at least for the foreseeable future. The folks on my team took me to lunch and then held a really nice party for me that night. (Thanks to Meredith for hosting and Ashley for organizing -- you guys are the best.) Some of you may be wondering exactly what I plan to do with myself, now. We will discuss this issue in another post, dear readers, probably when I am drunk and weepy.

Saturday through Monday I was in Memphis, visiting my wonderful friend Chris Allen (not to be confused with the other Chris, to whom I am married). We went to Graceland, Stax Records, walked around the Mississippi River front, ate oysters, ate barbecue, drank a lot of beer. A rather flawless Memphis weekend, if I dare say.

Monday morning I returned to Atlanta to find the proverbial feces hitting the proverbial fan. Okay, I'm being dramatic. Everything is fine. No one has lost a limb, or an eye, or even their sense of smell. It's just that with only two weeks to go before I leave for NZ, it seems as if all of the details are a little crazy. This is going to require bullet points.

• I sold my car. This, in itself, is really great.* But because I was slack and sloppy and moved around a lot in my 20s and have no idea what I did with the title, I had to spend four soul-killing hours at the DMV's title office trying to get all of the paperwork together. I seriously aged about five years during that visit.
  

• I've spent the last two days on the phone trying to correct a $500 overcharge by my vet clinic. (Issue is now resolved.)

• I finally got my NZ permanent residency visa, but they issued it in my maiden name. Long story short, I think I should be able to get into NZ okay (cross your fingers) but I will need to resolve this upon arrival.
  

• My back is all screwed up. This happens to me periodically, but I'm in a lot of pain and this is making my attitude rather sour. I also think it is some kind of cosmic retribution because I was so cocky about finishing the half marathon. Last week = best shape of my life. This week = hobbling around and smelling like Ben Gay.
  

• I got a call from the vet clinic this morning that the brilliant lab workers in Kansas that were running the dogs' blood tests (Yes. The dogs' blood work has to go to freakin' KANSAS, or the NZ gov't won't accept it) actually LOST Livy's blood sample. Nevermind that both blood samples were sent in the same UPS package. So the poor little pumpkin and I are heading back to the vet this afternoon so she can have even more blood drawn.

• Verizon Wireless is an agent of the devil. This is all I can manage to say about that incident.

I apologize, dear readers, for such a dark, whiny, self-involved post. Like I said, in the scheme of things, everything is rolling along -- just hitting a few speedbumps, ha ha. Next time: Bright and Sunny "Kia Ora, Y'all" posts will be back! Moving to New Zealand is a hoot!

* Devoted Atlanta readers, please note that I am now relying on you and the Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority to cart me around. Thank in advance.

Take that, Coach Villott

This may come as a surprise to you, devoted readers, but I have never been known for my athletic prowess. I have been described in a number of ways ("smart," "tall," and "weird," immediately come to mind). "Athletic" has never really shared a sentence with my name.

Growing up, running was a particular form of punishment. I was slow. I did not have a lot of endurance. I dreaded the annual mile run in PE class.

For the past couple of years I have watched Chris run marathon after marathon, dotted by a couple of half marathons and 10Ks. Proud as I was, I thought he was insane. Then about two years ago, I was on the sidelines while he and his mother ran the Peachtree Road Race, and I felt kind of ashamed. All of these people were running by, lots of them older than me, lots of them heavier than me, and they weren't scared of running. Perverse as it was, some of them seemed to be enjoying themselves. I figured if they could do it, I could do it, and I decided that I would run the Peachtree 10K the following year. Even as I was making that goal, 6.2 miles seemed completely unfathomable.

It took a long time to build up to three miles. A long time. My first 5K took forever, and I wanted to die at the end. But after that, building up to a 10K was not so bad. I ran the 2007 Peachtree, and had the time of my life. And I ran another 10K, and that was pretty fun, too.

So this gets us to last weekend, when I ran the ING Georgia Half Marathon. Me. Slow, uncoordinated, last-picked-in-gym-class, usually-carrying-an-extra-ten-to-twenty-pounds, me. My adorable mother came from Texas to watch, and she did a fantastic job as coach and cheerleader. With the exception of some extremely tired legs around miles 11-12, I felt pretty great through the whole thing. I am still not fast, but I ran the entire 13.1 miles and did not die.

I realize this isn't the kind of thing that generates Oprah-levels of inspiration, but it was pretty exciting. I'm planning to run another half marathon in June in New Zealand. (Chris is doing the full marathon. I still think he's insane.)

This is my blog.

My friend Emily told me I should start a blog to document our new life in New Zealand. It would be funny, she said. I pointed out that the World Wide Web is quite dangerous and some crazy axe murderer could find my blog, become infatuated with me (hey, it could happen), hunt me down, and hack me into a million little bits. Emily did not seem concerned. She is from New Jersey and rather intimidating for a real estate attorney, so here I am. Blogging. (Incidentally, I also just got a MySpace account, so I am officially one of those freaks who documents their whole lives online.)

Chris is already in New Zealand and taught his first class today. We have been able to talk on the phone or IM every day, and each time I talk to him he seems to be hanging out with people from his work. So maybe we will have friends, after all, and I won't just spend all of my free time in a dark room, eating chips and blogging.



Let's hope.