Found

This is how I spend my weekends.

The underperforming deceased

Being currently unemployed and living with my parents, besides making me a great catch, means that I've been watching a lot of ghost hunting shows on TV.

The only amazing part about these shows is that I continue to watch them even though they consistently fail to deliver.

On the list is Parnormal State, with the overly intense John Mayer lookalike. A favorite transitional tactic in this program involves the members of the ghost hunting team staring melancholily into space for 5 seconds after chatting with various locals while the screen slowly fades to black. I keep waiting for one of the interviewees to snap their fingers in John Mayer's face and go, "HELLO? DID YOU HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID? It goes WOO WOO WOOOOO."

Then there's World's Scariest Places, with the scary-voiced short squat woman from the movie Poltergeist. They try to enhance the experience with creepy piano music and periodic loud sounds for the startle effect.

And the TAPS guys... what is the name of their show? They seem to be the most professional, though a bit boring. Needs a little pizzazz.

The reason I need to quit these ghost hunting shows is not that they keep me up at night, or that they are a supreme waste of time, but that they are disappointing. They generally have to amp up what little bits of 'evidence' they do capture, which are mostly disembodied noises. These area dime a dozen. You can sit in any house and turn off all sound and hear unidentified noises(though that is not something I'm itching to do.)

The second best little bits they get are EVPs, or electronic voice phenomena. These are sounds that a recorder picks up that the human ear did not at the time of the recording. The ghost busters find little pieces of unidentified sounds and call them 'ghost voices,' deciding what the spirits are saying (which usually is no more that "Hey.")

I just wish if these guys really were capturing spirits with these recording devices, the ghosts would put on a bit more of a show. Just once, I'd love to see something really indisputable happen. Like, "Oh my god, something has just appeared on the kitchen counter! A ham sandwich!......and it is delicious!"

Or some better EVPs, such as some serious blood-curdling screaming, or perhaps the singing of show tunes.

Does anybody have any real life ghost stories?? More impressive paranormal activity? Cuz these ghosts suck.

P.S. The title of this blog would make a great band name.

Outdoor adventures in a sheep-filled country

Never have I been more productive in the pursuit of creative distractions than the past two days. I went to Rotorua with the newly created ex-boyfriend for a last hurrah in New Zealand, just in case I don't come back from my Christmas break at home and in case we don't get back together. We spent the time zorbing (which is not a euphemism; it is a New Zealand-specific activity involving rolling down a hill inside a giant platic orb), swimming in natural hot springs that smelled like hell and ruined silver jewelry, exploring a glowworm-infested cave, abseiling, black water rafting, and rock climbing. All in all a fantastic two days, aside from the completely random moments when Adam the ex would burst into tears several times a day. This is subject for another, soon-to-be-written blog, though. Other than the tears, it was great!

We stayed in a purposefully cheesy hostel called Cactus Jack's, which was festively decorated throughout in the style of unabashedly cheesy southwestern U.S. motifs. This is the kind of crap you can find in Rotorua.

You can also find the world's one and only place to jump inside of a big plastic ball and roll down a hill. How fantastic is that? I can tell you firsthand it's pretty darn awesome. You can usually do it dry, where you're just strapped in in the shape of an X and you roll stuck in that position, head over heels, over and over. Or, you can roll about freely inside the ball with some water. We did the latter option. It was the only one they were offering that day, for some reason. Best (and unfortunately most expensive) watersport ever. You're rolling every which way, you can't tell what's up or down, there's water in your face and eyes, and you're bouncing off the plastic walls and rolling around and around. And definitely screaming with delight.

On a side note, watching people exit the zorb is creepily funny; it looks like you're watching a birthing. You see someone squeeze out of this tiny hole and fall to the ground in a heap, the water coming out afterward and spilling all over them and the ground. I can see your collective cringing.

Then we found this beautiful little hot springs location called Kerosene Creek (actually, Lonely Planet told us about it). It was gorgeous, complete with a tiny waterfall, and felt like a hot tub. Smelled like deviled eggs, though. Those are sulphurous waters. The whole city stinks, in fact. But how cool is it to swim in a natural hot spring? For free!

When we got out I noticed it had stained Adam's silver bracelet, a Christmas present from me, a dark brassy color. We laughed, though. It's a little disturbing to realize that you just swam in water that discolors silver. I bet I'm radioactive now. Damn.

We ended the day with a traditional Maori concert and hangi (traditional meal). There were several options to do this; it's quite a popular to-do on a New Zealand to-do list. Around Rotorua there are a couple traditional Maori villages which you can go explore and watch a concert and eat. However, bring nearly broke backpackers, we found the cheapest concert and hangi. It was in a hotel. Don't laugh, because many hotels in the area do concerts. The food was delicious (especially the entire dessert plate I downed) and the concert was pretty impressive at times. They did crazy things with sticks and balls. They also dragged Adam and I onto the stage to make fools of ourselves, which we did to perfection. The video I have is of (some of) the haka, which is a very famous Maori dance here that they used to use to get ready for battle. Now the national rugby team of New Zealand performs it before every game. (Note to self: see rugby game upon return to New Zealand. Also learn how the hell rugby actually works.)

The second day was equally cool, if not even better. We went on a five-hour caving tour which included abseiling, black water rafting and rock climbing. Quite the workout for anyone, especially two jelly asses that eat too much dessert. I'm glad we even made it – we were told by a worker at Cactus Jack's that it would take only an hour to get to the Waitomo Caves and that we'd therefore have plenty of time to make the tour. It took over two though, so we cut it reeeeeeeeeally close, and in fact were late, making everyone else wait on us for 20 minutes while we sped dangerously through the New Zealand countryside as if in a high-speed police chace. We plowed through sheep and old people to get to our destination with no regard for life, human or otherwise. Not really, but we did drive too fast. And on the left side of the road!

We made it, with everyone pissed off at us but we quickly used our beguiling charms to get them on our side and had no problem afterwards. Except for being teased as the outcasts for the entire trip.

We had to make our way one by one down a cliff to get to the cave, which definitely freaked me out. He tells you to just sit down and swing out into nothing, that the safety rope has got you. I knew I was safe but part of me was still saying Oh heeeeeeeell no and plastering an unwanted terrified look on my face, according to the group.

But I managed to avoid death and made it into the cave. It was a glowworm cave, which means these glowworms, or glowmaggots, more accurately, are stuck all along the top of it inside. And they glow. So in the dark of the cave you look up and it feels like you're looking at the night sky full of stars. But you're looking at shiny maggots.

It was beautiful, this huge cave, and full of water throughout. It was great sitting in the dark looking up at the glowworms, and even better when we floated in our little donut tubes along the current and watched them pass by overhead. There was however the unfortunate incident when our guide, Simon, had us turn off our helmet lights and float in the water in the pitch darkness. Then, like the sadistic bastard he is, he popped a tube or something full of air pressure and produced an extremely loud noise like a gunshot, somewhere too damn near me, and made me scream almost as loudly as his gunshot.

I was definitely the most awkward caver of the group. This went unquestioned by anyone. When we were made to perform death-defying stunts like climbing over muddy spikes and squeezing through tiny rock formations, it became increasingly clear that I was the special needs one. I did it, but with a complete lack of finesse or grace. We got to this one point, which was basically a tiny slit you had to squeeze through sideways, and I could not find a way to do it properly, like the girl who'd done it before me. I gave up. Then another person went through. Oh no, I couldn't have that. I couldn't be the only one in the group to not make it through that death trap. So I tried again, and managed to find my own way, which I wanted to try in the first place, to get through. I had to fall over on my side and lay down, slithering my way out. This is what I saw as the only way. I managed to do it, after which Simon officially honored my 'own very special way of caving' and named me the 'retarded caver.' I was also the only one to fall. Twice.

And after all that physical exertion, we had to climb up a very steep rock face to get out. It looks absolutely impossible when you see the picture, but it's easier than it seems. I shot up the thing like a spider monkey, with only two stops to look around and ponder my next move.

All in all, a blast, and Adam and I feel that we can confidently check off the North Island from our to-see list in New Zealand. We've done just about all you can do in the North Island – the South Island is supposed to be much better. So if I decide to return, expect to hear about me jumping out of planes and off cliffs with only a rope to hold me to this world. And probably pee on my pants.

Edit: trying to add pictures but they only want to go to the top, which is stupid. Will figure out how to use this newfangled contraption later.

When you're feeling blue...

Just watch these life-affirming videos, like I do!













Now show me your favorites!

The MoralMaster 2.0 & Jesus nightmares!

I would love anyone's comments about this video. Thought-provoking if you're new to the whole questioning and doubting thing.



And while we're on the subject, I'd like to add a couple more thoughts to my Atheist Manifesto blog. I pointed out that the Bible claims that people will know Christians at first glance 'by their light,' being such serene and loving beings, and how that's actually never the case. Christians rebut this, with such reliable consistency that you could bet your house on it, by claiming that most Christians are not 'true' Christians.

Let's pretend that this is true for an instant. In that case, we can glean two things:

1. It is extremely hard to be a Christian, as only very few people can pull it off despite all the millions that are trying, and
2. If only 'true' Christians get into Heaven, as they say, then even MORE people than we already know of are headed toward eternal torture.

The vast majority of God's beloved creations will die and be tormented, the killers along with the nonbelievers, the stubborn rationalists who insisted upon working in the soup kitchens rather than just TALKING about caring for others, the Hindus, the Muslims, the Wiccans, the rebellious and emotional teenagers, the people who tried to be good 'true Christians' but just couldn't get the glow down, and everyone else who simply didn't buy the story or who just let their short time run out before deciding to believe it.

So if you subscribe to the notion that most Christians are not 'true' Christians, then congratulations, your God just got even scarier!

Careful! You've got, if you're lucky, 100 years max (not including your first few when you were unable to accept or reject the gospel story) to accept Jesus as your personal savior, and if you get it wrong, your 100 year crime will be fittingly punished with eternal torture! That means forever and ever, time out of mind!!

Imagine if our justice system worked like God's. You'd go to court because you were caught stealing a cd. The judge finds you guilty and sentences you to life in prison. But then you say, "I'm so sorry, I repent, I'll never steal a cd again." (Say it with feeling, now).The judge says, "Oh. Ok. Sentence revoked."

You go to court for molesting and murdering a child. Gavel bangs - guilty! Life in prison! "Wait!" you say. "I'm so sorry! I know I'm a monster! Please forgive me!"
"Oh," judge says. "Good remorse. Sentence revoked."

You go to court because you told the judge, "Hey judge, I don't like you and I don't believe in your authority!"
Ohh, you got it coming now. NOBODY denies the judge. Life in prison! No possibility of parole!

And to make it more Godly, prison involves constant torture. Also, you better get as much crime and repentance in as you like while you can, because one of these days (nobody knows when, not even the high officials), the judge is gonna declare life in prison for everyone who failed to respect the judge's authority, who perhaps liked another judge better or trusted their own judgment more. See, it's not so much about the crimes you commit as the judge-dissing. He just hates it. Crime's boring, so black and white - they all merit the same punishment, they all piss him off equally. Except for the judge-dissing. That one deserves extra attention.

But then again, what am I saying? God's ways are higher than ours. Duh.

And the any-second-now-could-be-the-end-of-the-world thing is just how he keeps you on your toes.

And this is the kind of psychological torture we pass on to our kids. One particularly memorable day happened when I was around 13 and in youth group. A friend of mine, after having read about the 'unforgivable sin' of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit, burst into uncontrollable tears, knowing that she had in fact done just that and that she was now surely condemned to eternal torture. It was right there in black and white, between two leather--bound covers. I also became extremely concerned about the fate of my soul, wondering if I too had done it at some point. the youth pastors were useless at consoling her; they could provide no definite proof that she wasn't going to Hell. How could they rebut the Bible? They eventually asked for time to figure it out and get back to her. They came back with the simple solution: Was she hard-hearted? The Bible says only hard-hearted people blaspheme against God. No, she wasn't, she said. Therefore, the stricture didn't include her.

Classic acrobatic and flimsy apologetics, and I think it did little to comfort her. I'm sure she has issues to this day.

(On a side note, it was later revealed that one of the youth pastors and the senior pastor were having an affair. Looks like we were getting our morality from some unreliable sources.)

I also remember having nightmares about Jesus, who I had learned was an all-powerful being who can see your every bad thought. Every night he killed me in a new way, once by squashing me to death between two slowly converging giant stone walls, once by pushing me off a cliff, once by forcing me to try to figure out a puzzle on the wall made of light - if I failed, a giant crane (machine, not bird) would slowly descend form the sky to get me (some of them were quite creative). It makes me anxious to this day thinking about those nightmares.

Or how bout all the times when you really stopped to consider that in the next eye blink the world might end and if you're not good enough, you're doomed. Did that ever make anybody else's heart skip a beat and palms sweat?

Or the general anxiety you felt as a Christian trying to stay enthusiastic about God all day every day and be perfect and not succumb to the evil influences that surrounded you at all times?

But the most blatant and unashamedly brash form of this fear-mongering was the Heaven/Hell night...remember those? They'd hold a sort of play in a party atmosphere, with donuts and punch to boot, acting out the frightening 'realities' of life in Hell, and the wonderfully pleasant tiptoe through the tulips that is Heaven. You got to walk through both to see what they were like and decide which one you'd prefer. They even acted out people dying and ending up in one or the other. Some people would end up in front of the pearly gates, where a hostess would check for their name in the Book of Life. If they found it - congrats! Your limo's waiting to take you to your new golden mansion!

(I don't mean to make light of people's sincerely held beliefs, but come on. Something's gotta snap 'em out of it.)

But one guy, oh, he screwed up. He was a teenager who died in a horrific car crash, a basically good kid but he hadn't accepted the Lord when his head was smashed in. Straight to Hell. Satan's waiting and you better believe there are NO donuts.

Many very young kids were there of course, some of them visibly upset by the whole thing, and probably having Jesus is gonna squish me between two walls nightmares.

It's not right.

I am not in your produce aisle

....so why are you sizing me up for age and firmness?

Men need to learn and exercise their knowledge in the difference between gazing discreetly and leering or, even worse, making animalistic noises at women.

I just don't get it. New Zealand is not nearly as bad as other countries I've been to in this regard (such as Barcelona, and even worse – Greece). I'll get to those cesspools of testosterone later. But I've still gotten a few off-putting approaches that I've never gotten the like of in the States.

For instance, a few weeks ago I was walking home from work when a thug approached me and asked how I was doing. I politely responded with, “Fine.” Then he said, “You look fantastic by the way.” “Oh, thanks,” I said. Despite my subsequent lack of anything else to say to him or any eye contact, he kept walking beside me. Thankful I was reaching my destination of the post office, I walked away from him and toward it, and he was not stupid enough to follow me there. But when I finished dropping off my letters and continued on my way, I found him sitting on a bench around the corner.

Now I had just that day been pondering on the way I tend to scowl at people who look at me, so that they'll stop, and how I should probably stop doing that and give out a more positive vibe to the world. So when I passed him I smiled. That was stupid. Because then he got up and started walking with me again. He asked where I was going and I vaguely said downtown, and surprise, so was he. My god, did he think he was going to follow me on the bus? So when we got to the bus stop a minute later I said, “I'm going to meet up with my boyfriend now.” (Note to self: I have GOT to work on my assertiveness in situations when people are being rude or annoying). He responded with, “So I guess going to your place is out of the question?”

Seriously?

I'm sorry, I didn't realize my conservative, knee-length dress said “hooker.”

But instead of saying something cute like that, I just lamely replied, “Um, yeah...”

But that's just an example of stupidity. Like the other guy that followed me down the street. He caught with me from behind and all of a sudden was there, walking beside me, talking about the weather and asking me about myself. In a strange accent. And the accent is what quickly threw the the conversation off course and got him off my back. And it makes for a funny anecdote.

He had already ascertained that I was from the U.S. He said, “U.S. Is nice.” But what I heard was, “Your ass is nice.”

So of course I flared up immediately, impatient with him, and stopped walking to practically scream at him on the street, “My ass is nice? Did you just say my ass is nice?!”

Confused, he repeated weakly, “U.S. Is nice....”

Then I understood my mistake, and burst out laughing. Luckily we had arrived at the street corner where I needed to turn so I just turned on my heel without a word and walked away.

These are mild; there are many more instances of leering, hissing and inappropriate comments, even in New Zealand. It makes my skin crawl. I always shoot them dirty looks to let them know it is not appreciated, and sometimes am moved enough to flick them off. This is something I'm working on. I'd rather be much more zen about it and ignore them completely. But it's just so angering to think that complete strangers feel comfortable enough with you to treat you with absolutely no respect.

The environment in Barcelona and Athens was absolutely astounding. My travel companion Charly and I were not used to anything like it. The men did that maddening hissing noise at women nearly constantly as you walked down the street going about your business, I kid you not. Like we were animals. I don't think many women enjoy that kind of behavior. We tried to figure it out, and charly and I decided it must have worked ONE time with one woman. Otherwise, why would they keep it up? There must have been one time in history when a group of men hissed at a woman, and she turned around and said, “You know what, yes, I think I will indeed have sex with you.” And they told all their friends, who told all their friends, and the word got out that hissing at a woman does in fact work sometimes.

But I'm sure our theory is wrong and that it's more about the macho atmosphere they create for themselves and trying to show off to each other, thinking they're acting manly and 'the right way' in front of their peers. Idiots.

My message to you men is simply, cut the childish bullshit! Realize that you can make women feel very uncomfortable and threatened, and any woman that takes kindly to your leering and hissing is as gross as you are.

Ooh, snap! There's my assertiveness.

No longer Canadian

I will forever regret not being in America at the historic moment when Barack Obama became President-elect of the U.S. and delivered his acceptance speech. Instead of joining in the celebration with my fellow Americans, I was sitting alone in my little New Zealand apartment in front of the TV. In my pajamas. Not a soul to dance around with.

I am SO upset that I missed out on the spontaneous nation-wide party that broke out starting with the announcement that Obama had won. I can just imagine the collective joy that must have arisen, and I could see it on my TV screen, but I could not be there to experience it.

I love those moments of getting caught up in the moment with a crowd, sharing happiness with complete strangers and feeling no reservations about it. And what a reason to be happy! It was a historically HUGE piece of American history. The kind of moment that everyone will mark in their memory by what they were doing as the news broke. It's way cooler if you were partying down in Grant Park than if you were sitting alone in your pjs and eating ice cream out of a tub.

Of course, some people will not want to commit the day to memory, as they were dry heaving into their toilets and desperately praying to God.

But whether you're excited or not, no one can doubt it's an historic day and the parties must have ROCKED.

Among the many fresh new changes Obama brings to the country is the new willingness for many American expatriates to quit saying that they're Canadian. They're proud to be an American again! I even saw a report on one of the New Zealand news stations about that very idea, showcasing various Americans living in New Zealand who are now less shy about coming out of the closet.

I've traveled a fair bit with the American stigma hanging over my head (even to France, mind you), but I never could get myself to feel happy saying that I was Canadian, as many other travelers do out of embarrassment (or to avoid repetitive conversations, or sometimes, real hostility). I just can't do it. Forgive me for being so cheesy, but...I'm just too proud to be American. I believe America never stopped being cool, even with the little hiccup of W.'s presidency.

See, America has obviously garnered herself a hideously unflattering reputation in the last few years, everyone's aware. But when I travel abroad, and I present myself as an intelligent, well-informed, bilingual, kind and open-minded person, I'm glad to admit being American. I feel like I'm doing my teensy tiny little part in bettering the stereotypes people have about Americans abroad. I don't want to give Canada undeserved credit for me; I want it to be given to America, the place I really came from.

I can't blame the people who do profess Canadian heritage abroad though; there really is a stigma. I've got a fair collection of stories I could recount about people showing me their hostility and of getting quizzed on my personal stances on sometimes private issues by complete strangers. But I'll just give an illustration of a fairly representative exchange that took place between a New Zealand woman and Adam and me at the New Zealand fashion awards:

She said (after exchanging greetings): “What nationality are you?”

“American.”

“Ok, but what country? North America is an entire continent with several different countries. You can't just say you're American and claim the whole continent.”

(I can't remember how Adam responded to her while I stared at her incredulously. He was a good sport though.)

What we should have said: “I understand that North America is a continent; after all, I was educated in the United States. It's just that the word 'America' is in the actual name of our country, as no other country can say. Would you rather us say that we're 'United States-an?'”

Come on.

Then she says: “So, with all the evidence of global warming and the damage it's causing, why aren't you doing anything about it?”

Once again, Adam said something neutralizing and friendly, while I continued to look at her in wonderment.

What we should have answered: “I'm not actually in control of the United States' environmental policies, powerful though I may appear, nor did I vote for the administration that currently is.”

Mmhm.

Then she tried to stab us. Just kidding. But she did continue to question American domestic and foreign policy and berate us for our arrogance, as if Adam and I actually WERE the entity called the United States.

It's gonna take a lot of work to start negating this kind of criticism, but I'm quite positive that Obama is a step in that direction. Hooray for President Obama!