In New Zealand, they wear their GWAR t-shirts without the slightest hint of irony. This goes for t-shirts of nearly any bad heavy metal band that you can conjure up a name for. The solution to male-pattern-baldness is to develop, long, lank, curly hair on the sides, and often to get a garish tattoo on your dome. In fact, just plain lots of garish tatoos floating all about. NZ kind of reminds me of Louisiana in the late 1970s – you can’t turn around without seeing someone who looks like a roadie for Lynyrd Skynyrd. Then there’s the frank n’ beans for breakfast in the restaurant showing boxing at 10:30 on a weekday morning. The Wine of the Month is “Wither Hills!” The land is beautiful, but I’m not sure I’d like living here.
Not to jump to any conclusions, or anything. ^^
The plane ride to Auckland wasn’t bad, even counting the dickhead adjushi behind me who kept pounding on the back of my seat.
Only two things of interest in the airport… First, the name of a business that I might reconsider:
Second, a bookstore advertisement (constructed of books on shelves) at the airport that is kind of cute and advertises some service by which you can purchase bookstore scrip, more or less, for hundreds bookstores in New Zealand.
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