I will never be a true Kiwi… and I hope that’s okay. It’s strange giving up your home (i.e. country) and trying to claim a new place. I didn’t grow up here, I can never really celebrate Waitangi Day (I mean, I can participate like a Frenchman watching a 4th of July parade), and there are just some things I may not ever grasp. Like the metric system. And that pisses me off. Here we have a perfectly good structure of measurement, based on numbers that make sense (like 1000mm = 1m and freezing is 0 degrees), yet I have wasted 31 years of my life with the understanding that this particular distance is 12 inches, or a foot. What a waste.
But pulling out my tape measure every time someone asks me for a length of truss aside, work is still flowing, and I have lit everything from a world touring drag show (where I learned the art of foot lighting from a queen) to a formal dinner for the American Embassy. And so far I’ve been pretty happy just with the fact I had work and a little (very little) money coming in. Until last weekend.
My “Warrant of Fitness” expired on my car about 2 weeks ago. No problem, I pretty much bike everywhere anyway. So I leave my car parked on the street in front of my house and become a dedicated bike commuter until I have the time and feel the need to take care of it. Well, the need arose this weekend when I received a $200 ticket because (as I learned the hard way) it is illegal to park on a public road (read as: in front of my house) with expired tags. Here I thought I was doing the right thing by not driving it… silly me. The piss icing on this shit cake was when I took the car in and it failed the inspection, needing 3 new tires, and a few other piddly things.
Under “normal” circumstances, a vehicle issue of this magnitude would send me sobbing home and hysterically thinking of any way I could ditch my car and get our of this financial mess (for some reason, spending money on a car is one of the few things that will ruin my day). But here, being completely out of my element, with no comforts and no one to turn to, I suddenly became extremely rational (well, after shedding a few tears). I took all the necessary steps to fix it, get my tags up to date, wrote a letter to the city council to appeal that outrageous ticket -- still awaiting response on that one – and realized I definitely need to reevaluate my NZ game plan.
I’ve had this thought before, usually while building a stage, being pelted with rain carried by 140km winds or wrapping cable in mud up to my eyeballs (who’s fucking idea was it to be a rigger in Wellington ANYWAYS??!?!). But this time it’s a little more serious. I don’t know what it means yet but I do know I’m 31, have a degree, and am making less money than when I was slinging burgers and beer.
Hopefully I’ll have a little more clarity in a couple weeks when the other half of my soul gets in this hemisphere. 15 DAYS!!!!
