HEY SANTA! I’M DOWN HERE!

New Zealand

While you were experiencing the blog-version of radio silence, I was meeting cult-radio DJ/secret musician/lifestyle influencer Amelia Discrete (of previously-raved-about radio station 95bFM fame) at a pre-work live jam that took place outside of a record store on Queen Street last Friday!! There was heaps o’ filter coffee and an ill-advised introduction that went: “Hi Amelia!Big fan!Starstruck!Byeee.” #Friendshup

Additionally, I met a charismatic beach dog (did he love me or my sandwich??) and then trudged through literal mud for the sake of an ocean dunk. (I was too close to the marina, it turns out. Not ideal on the foot-feel.) I developed a quick bout of e.coli poisoning–I’m better now!– and facilitated an employee-wide Tim Tam slam event during a shift at work right beneath my manager’s nose and lived to speak of the tale! I took a classic holiday stroll in 70 degree weather and saw one house standing among the effortfully (surely that’s a word) lighted yards/ porches/ shrubbery with a sign that said “Ditto” and an arrow pointing next door, which deserves something like a fruit basket. Then, in my most charitable act of 2017, I painted a 6-foot wooden panel in the center of St. Kevin’s Arcade; the panels are part of an artist collaboration which fit together to form a Christmas tree and are about to be auctioned off to support a cool organization that feeds people, so that’s that!

This brings me to the strange fact that it’s basically Christmas but it’s also summer here in Auckland and I correspondingly feel like a weird little puppet whose internal clock is telling her to wear flannel, bobbing along in front of sunny-as scenery and time is a sham and everyone is just pretending to be on the same page of the calendar BUT WE MIGHT AS WELL BE IN A FESTIVE BOTTLE OF GLITTER-WATER THAT WE MADE IN ART CLASS. (Did you ever do that? I remember my bottle leaking.)

People are working on their holiday tans while wearing snowflake earrings; there’s an 8 foot Christmas tree on the beachfront; yesterday my roommate turned on the air-con. It’s a real hullabaloo! I’ve enacted a practice of late where I sit down for 20 minutes a day and do nothing but listen to Christmas carols to force that damn holiday spirit. It’s like a warped, jazzy form of meditation and I think it’s working! Although it may or may not be 10PM on December 24th as I write this from my bed eating a taco; you can infer what you want about the height of my spirit this holiday season.

If you came for updates on the mobile, I have the following news to report: there is very little news to report, except that I made a clay bit (from clay I found) and a stripey bit (from the sleeves of a t-shirt I Edward Scissorhands’d aka cut.) Guys! It’s called follow-through and I AM GAINING IT.

Experimentally yours,

Emily Johannesburg Pacheco (HAHA WHAT IF THAT WERE MY REAL NAME?!)

P.S. for any northern-Massachusetts-based garden elves and their lazy dogs who are reading this right now, I am sending several rays of sun your way with my mental might. ENJOY!

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Labor/Labour on, my wayward son

New Zealand

As I write this, week III next-evolution Kiwi-Emily is listening to new passion radio show on 95bFM hosted by Amelia Discrete, as mentioned in previous post. This Wednesday is a spooky Halloween special and the current song–if you can call it that–is a 21-minute recitation of something called “Pea Green Boat” by Stewart Lee and is basically journal entries from an owl about a cat he’s been watching, but it’s a real heart-wrencher, I think the owl just died.

IT’S WEEK III, GUYS!

Since I last had hold of your eyeballs, New Z. has elected a new Prime Minister! Girlfriend. is. fascinating. Good luck, Jacinda- I’m thrilled to be here. This past weekend was also labor day weekend over here and although it felt real festive it also rained like the Queen of England, by which I am blatantly ignoring syntax and making a tenuous connection between Ol’ Liz, longest reigning monarch in England’s history, and this never-endingly damp as weekend. NIICE ONE, PACHECO. I took a run with official Auckland orientation leader Annie Scheck by the water in Herne Bay and nearly got blown off a cliff, brainwashed a cat named Ladybug (as long as SHE’s fine with it…) into being my friend, and experienced Such Culture by means of the Auckland Symphony and a wander through the Auckland Art Gallery. There’s no such thing as too much beauty!

In case that sounds like sensory overload to you, mind your own business don’t fret! I spent just about the whole of Monday at Mondays, a precious ivy-covered greenhouse-vibe cafe where I both soothed AND re-energized by simultaneously (well, kind of, I only have one mouth) drinking a matcha-filled “emerald latte” and that rainy-day staple, a flat white.

It was also hero/soulmate/close personal friend Jeff Goldblum’s birthday on Sunday. Did you know his middle name is Lynn??

jeff

Love for the Hair Roof

Humor

 

Hat fashion is really the slowest-evolving and least experimental limb on the ever-changing style tree.(Mixed metaphor or what?) I get it though–BOY, DO I GET IT. In my mind, hats are like cigarettes that will probably never kill you: wear them right and you are balls deep in je ne sais quoi from je ne sais quere! Wear them wrong, though, and it is nothing but misery and awkward fumbling with that cross-body bag for you, mister.

As someone who has been there and done that, I can say it is mainly about practice with hats. It has taken me years to become the competent hat-wearer I am known in elite circles, only to be spoken about in reverent, hushed tones to be today. Strap in for tips!

WINDINESS

The bane of any brimmed-hat-wearer’s existence. It is in times like these that I turn to the only person who can help, Diane Keaton. According to this one photo I once saw of D-Keats, it is proper to remove said brimmed-head-kite-from-hell and carry it. *The preferred method is to perch it atop one hand, outstretched at shoulder height as if a short, invisible friend is wearing it.

Diane Keaton shows off her Fall Fashion sense while out in The Big Apple

Option 2 involves Elmer’s glue…

SWEATSHIRTS AND/OR BAGS

Yeah just take off the hat for a sec. This move will get cooler over time, when you get real one-two about it!

KISSING

The best way to handle a mouth handshake in a hat is to remember that the other person has purportedly seen you in the hat and is still up for the adventure, so the pressure’s off! (If they can’t see the hat, just yell out, “I AM WEARING A HAT.”)  Go in for the kill with the confidence that has likely been imbued by the hat in question and if it falls off in the process, look at it as a test of the kisser’s affections; if they don’t chase after your precious head-topper are they really worth your saliva?

TURTLE HEAD

This is the scientific term for what happens when your hat is too g-dang big and it sinks down over your eyebrows until you look positively turtleicious. So far the only solution I have come up with it to wear a sturdy pair of sunglasses and not take them off for the entirety of your hat time. It’ll be ok, I bet.

As to a more experimental venture in hat fashion, what about wearing old-timey Jackie-O hats with jeans and a t-shirt? HMMM?! (No seriously, I’ll wait for an opinion.)

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