McDonald’s own the IP, so this new place is officially GP Pies. It’s in Kelston, West Auckland, so your best approach is to get your enthusiastic co-worker to run out during lunch for ya.
And a very small website it is, so here’s the menu (thanks BlackBerry!).
So as you can see, the restaurant is basically just a pie warmer. Patience, comrades! The empire cannot return in a day. Besides, I had a Steak’n Cheese pie, and it was delicious. What more can you ask?
My first website is with us no longer. Learning from past mistakes, we have it all backed up, and there’s a few posts I would like to throw back into the netsea. I’m also about to go to the South Island for two weeks so it seemed timely. Links have been fixed where possible. My horrific use of ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ has been razed from the Earth. This one was originally posted on Friday morning, 07.01.05, in Life.
Update: Two photo sets have been uploaded – Pete’s Wedding: Roadtrip and Pete’s Wedding: The Eponym.
Most of these guys and this chick roadtripped to the popular holiday destination of Palmerston North for the aforeblogged joining in holy matrimony of webmaster Pete and a chick who may or may not have the nickname ‘Mega’. The itinerary was packed because now people have Real Jobs holiday time is valuable, don’t cha know. My car, armed with the full Reticent crew, set out early, trailblazing for the capitalists.
After a couple of false starts (Dave: Go to Shore City so I can buy a CD! Dunc: Go back to my house so I can get my camera!) we set out at 2pm. Having said that, it was a worthwhile purchase, Muse + amp making a killer combination. Weather was mixed but fine enough to enjoy some really glorious scenery (take a picture!) that appeared once we had escaped the withering grasp of the ‘Tron. Destination uno was Whareroa, a village (I have difficulty with this term – am I the only one who imagines horse-drawn carts and blacksmiths?) that suddenly appears over a rise after much driving to the west of lake Taupo. We heartily recommend a stop at Mangakino (even though our directions didn’t) on the way, for a rest at the lake/river, a feed and some merchandise at Bernie’s fush’n chups (Bernie’s cap, anyone?) and a house for only $36,000 (Handyman’s Dream). We went to the dairy to buy bread and milk, and forgot the milk. We remembered the bread though.
Bridie’s bach, generously entrusted to us, was teh awesome. After we spent 15 minutes in gale force winds finding the key (note to criminals: don’t bother) we entered a place so well kitted out it had a breadmaker. Dave was especially hungry, so made his dinner first, using both pots and putting them in the sink, because he’s cool like that. However we agreed the Dairy Whip spread we had bought was excellent, basically like spreading liquid dessert onto bread. We played Backwords, a really cool game which we didn’t play for very long because i want for you to fail and me to succeed and Hannah’s brain was hurting. Then the evening descended into a vulgar orgy of decadence and depravity and I elected to retire shortly after. Meanwhile, from his bedroom, Dave screamed something unintelligible at us (probably a permutation of ‘AHH!’, ‘SHIT!’, and ‘NO!’).
Sleep was an elusive mistress that night. The first few hours were like being ensconced in lava. Eventually I passed out from the heat. Not very long after I woke up shivering, chilled to the marrow. And that was it. Night #1: about 3 hours sleep.
We (well, they) rushed up and formed the inaugural 2 hour bathroom queue. We leapt into the cars to travel to Palmy, only to discover my car had no power, a very bad sounding engine and upon investigation, no oil. I had not got around to checking my oil before leaving. I suggest you do not make the same mistake (sorry everybody). Hannah drove me to somewhere like Tokaanu to buy oil from a rather sour petrol station attendant, who held onto my change as collateral against me stealing their (dirty, skanky) funnel. After we had all stood around the open bonnet distributing free advice, it was Turangi for lunch and road for desert (ha-hA!). Crappy driving and navigating ensued (I blame the whole thing on Ray. Fielding, man. What were you thinking). Dave arrived at the wedding rehearsal only 10 minutes late, and only 4 hours 10 minutes after we had planned to be there. But it was good, because the rehearsal would not start for some time due to people even later than us (an occurrence as rare as a solar eclipse). We headed back to our massive sleeps-at-least-9 motel room. There was a dispute about whether it was better to watch The Olsen Twins: When in Rome, or to switch the TV off at the wall. I have a very clear policy about watching the Olsen twins: lesbian, or No.
Someone suggested we Enhance Our Driving Experience © with walkie talkies. So Ray and Hannah procured some, which cost about $9 each but had a purported range of 80 metres. Alright! Except there was a screw over the battery compartment and my screwdriver was too large to fit. (Although people managed to almost ruin the screws trying. Well done, guys.) So Dunc prised them open with a knife, and I shoved in the screwdriver and then by the power of leverage (and weakness of plastic) we snapped them off.
Dunc Are you in?
Me Yeap
Me …Actually, never ask me that again.
We gave them a test. I walked outside the hotel room.
Me Can you hear me?
Ray Kzzzzzzzzzz…
In fact they were only any good if you were within about 5 metres, i.e. close enough to talk without converting your voice to electromagnetic radiation. I have them now because no one wants them. Do you? Send an email to uselesspiecesofshit@hotmail.com.
We celebrated my birthday at Cobb & Co, which was on a tier below its Auckland counterparts, but we did enjoy the food. One of the puzzles was to make as many words as possible from the letters of SPECTACULAR. Since it was seemingly endless (CAT, CATS, RAT, RATS…) we thought longest word would be more challenging, and I promptly took it out with SPECULAR, and was promptly told that that was crap because I simply removed 2 letters (looks more like 3). Well, eat me. SPECTRAL, ACCRUE, ASPECT, SPACERAT.
Hannah and the dudes made me a birthday cake (thank you!) from a chocolate fudge cake and some lexicographically arranged candles. Dunc, who was not in on it, asked why Hannah was going outside (she was in fact attempting to light the candles with her car cigarette lighter, which turned out to be a lot more impossible than it sounds). Hame and Ray said she was smoking. Dunc looked disturbed for a short while, then said ‘Hannah doesn’t smoke!’. ‘She does now!’. Dunc continued to look disturbed until the matter was resolved. We spent a little more time lying around watching TV – the drug of the nation – and headed to bed.
But not before the appearance of our guest for the evening. Probably because of the crappy Palmerston weather, a slug had entered our hotel room (note we had selected this room primarily on the basis of price) and was making slow but inexorable progress towards one of the beds. I shared with the group my horrible premonitions of waking up to find Hamish missing and a massive slug sliming its way out of the room. Hame eyed the slug nervously.
I had drawn the extremely short straw and was sleeping in the same room as Dave. Again, he had beaten all of us and was asleep already when I entered the room with great trepidation. Sure enough…
Dave sat up in his bed.
Dave AHH! ARGHYYARGH! NO! ARGH!
I had been given instructions, and I followed them.
Me Dave!
Dave calmly What?
I was not prepared for this response. Somewhat taken aback, I clung to my Advice.
Me Ahh… you were dreaming!
Dave Oh. Righto.
And he lay down and went back to sleep. I kinda sat there and stared, as if to say what the fuck, man, what the fuck.
It was actually all very well planned out. That was not long after midnight, when I was just beginning to drift off to sleep. Well, not anymore, but an hour or 2 later I was just about to fall asleep again and ARGHEAG! MMORHMN!. It was now getting late. Another hour or so passed before I finally fell asleep. MNAGHG! AMHMRNHG! AAAAGANAGHA! Night #2: 4 hours sleep.
Pete cruised by early in the morning, as a pre-wedding get-together, because he’s into those. (Mornings. Weddings too, though.) He spent his last hours of freedom lying around with us watching The Hulk (fair enough too: Jennifer Connelly, you know). However we also headed out to Palmy for some brunch. A word of advice about Palmerston North: it is always cloudy, raining or windy, probably all 3. We found a nice place and enjoyed a pleasant, maple-laden meal. Then Car Reticent pulled an awesome we’re-not-from-here when trying to leave the car park building without prepaying for parking. We got stuck between the unrelenting boom and the car behind us. Ever patient, I was seriously considering slamming the accelerator to the floor and ramming through the boom. How dare you charge me to park in Palmerston North! Dave was the lucky one who ran out to the prepay machine waving our ticket, “Sorry! Really sorry!”
We went back to the motel to pretty up. I even shaved, for what it was worth. Dave started hitting on us. We quickly moved on to the wedding, which unfortunately had to be shifted to the indoors plan B (see previous paragraph, ‘A word of…’). The ceremony was quite short but very cool. Pete was beaming, but that was nothing compared to Megan, who looked like she was on drugs (like, I mean this in a good way) for the entire day. As an aside, song #2 had a totally uncatchable tune. We blamed this on the Protestant movement. However it all went well, no one objected to their union and no one stood up at the wrong time.
While the Important Persons had photos, we went back to the motel and lay around watching TV. Then we headed back for the reception. After 16 hours of speeches – so long I fell asleep and woke up the next day and they were still going – our end of the table got wasted on non-alcoholic grape juice (sad but true). Our table was the last get dinner, further proof that Palmerston North are jealous of Aucklanders. (We were ok with this, because one day we will own all of you. Ha. Bwaha! Muahahaha haha haa!). Word up to the MC, Pete’s oldest(?) brother, who we were very impressed by. Oh yeah, and this guy made a speech too. Bokka!
There was no throwing of the bouquet so we had to sort it out between ourselves. It was unanimously decided that Hannah – who is inundated with a constant stream of suitors – will be the next to get married (2 or 3 years time), and I will be the last (if ever). As the night drew to a close, we left and returned to the hotel to lie around watching TV. I put it off as long as I could, but eventually I retired to bed. WIBIBINNGHH! Night #3: 6 hours sleep.
As the deficit passed 10 hours, we got back in the automobiles and headed to Napier, amongst more wonderful scenery. (Definition of wonderful scenery: hill and other hill. Take a picture!). We stopped at Dannevirke for Subway. (We are sans Hame by now as he has flown home in order to Aussie it up for New Years). Dave, claiming complete innocence as always, offended someone.
Sub girl #1 Do you think I’m silly?
Dave No!
Sub girl #2 She’s not silly!
Dave fumes, ‘why me?’
We reached Hastings Napier and hit Marineland. Dolphins are very clever, can jump very high, and sealions (seals? Dunc will know) can outrun a man over broken terrain, despite having the gumpiest style of locomotion I have ever seen. Seriously, they make Jar-Jar Binks look good. Maybe it relies on the man breaking down with laughter and then the seal comes along and flaps at him ineffectually. Anyway, me and Dave made what I think was our only non-food purchase of the trip, footing two-fiddy each for a piece of Gwen Stefani. Tick tock! A bit of Napier sightseeing (nice place), $2 for a big bag of apricots and peaches, and a meal at Andy’s (who hocked us up with a giant chicken feast from the Hot Chick where he works) rounded out the evening.
HannahRayDunc went hot pooling. Only $6! Auckland sucks. DaveDave watched a Paul McCartney tour video, including the song Jet (make a note, this is important later). It was cool aye. The evenings discussion included Glutnix’s Post ([NSFW example]) and [NSFW something like this] (there are many variations on the domain).
Ray Are furries like when people dress up in animal suits and have sex?
Me Kinda, but not really.
People consider this new information.
Me So… Ray, where did you get that from?
Ray Oh it was in this movie I was watching once.
Later, when we have all gone to bed…
Dave Jet!
Me quietly Are you awake?
Dave Yes.
Ray Why did you say that then?
Dave Say what?
Me and Ray kinda just stared, like what the fuck, man, what the fuck. Night #4: 7.5 hours sleep. But it was a bit late by now, you know? I didn’t really care anymore. Only Auckland could save me now.
After lots of careful persuasion (”Hey – we should not go to Rotorua”), we decided to not go to Rotorua. That and apparently the Luge is a Rip. We drove to Taupo, which basically means we went all the way up a hill, and all they way back down. Tunnel!, I say. We had lunch and checked out the SuperLoo. Dunc was very disappointed with his Apple and Cinnamon Bun, which turned out to be a raisin bun, and his Spinach and Feta Loaf, which turned out to be yuck. Meanwhile I was impressed with my Creamy Peanut Satay KFC Sub.
By now we had all had enough of sub-million cities and towns, and Dave remarked ‘No reason to relax now, lets fang it back to Auckland’. So we did, and to an excellent soundtrack of Lemon Jelly, defeated such foes as Grey Bitch, Blue Van (definitely a sleeper), and Team Beca. In fact in one inspired moment, towards the end of an overtaking lane, I carefully eased off the throttle so that Hannah was not able pass the car I had just passed, forcing her behind them until the next passing lane, which would allow us to open up a substantial lead. Impressed with my own cunning, I turned to my cohorts for praise:
Dunc You could have gone faster then aye.
We reached the Shore and refuelled again, bringing my total fuel bill to $137 (compared to Car Beca’s $110).
So. Some good times, good wedding, good music, Schedule From Hell. And I helped plan that too. On the bright side, at least I have learnt something: never again. Photos to follow, except our whole website is broken (haven’t ya heard?) so don’t be holding your breath now.
Just received this spamment on this post
knee boots with high heels…
Your blog posts are insightful. I will take them into deep thought and consideration. Your point of view is very smart and intellectual. Charlie…
Deep thought? Charlie, you’re a legend.
Note: the comment was actually blocked by Spam Karma 2, as is all my spam. Thanks Dr Dave!
In 50 years, when I look back on this day, I’ll think to myself: fuck you, Michael Bay. Fuck you to Hell.
We were talking about seeing the Transformers movie the other night and Stew asked Bronwyn if she was going to see it. “Well,” she said, “I’m not really into Transformers-”
“What don’t you like about them?” I queried. “The robot form, or the other form?”
She gave me the most awesome blank look, peering into my head, trying to parse the meaning from my brain. I love that look.* It reminds me how you can be talking directly to someone but be in a completely different mindspace from them. Poor Bron did not realise that my comment was a cold act of conversational sabotage, and was cycling through mindspaces trying to find a context where my question would make sense. (If there is such a context, I would love to hear about it.)
I recently saw a girl I (used to) know, one who also has a very different personality to mine. She would often confirm my jokes with me before partaking of the humour (as in, “Did you mean… ?”). It was a great reminder of why I found her appealing (character! Many people would just nod and smile as their eyes glazed over) and why I found her annoying (sucking the humour dry). How very Greco-Faulk-Shakespearian tragic. Someone should make a play about it.
* Generally writing something like this results in the first comment being, “Actually, I was wondering what you said because I didn’t hear you over the loud music.” This makes you look like an over-analytical, self-important git. But hey. No one ever said writing was fun. If it weren’t for the excellent money, I doubt anyone would bother.
My compatriot has such enthusiasm for my linkblog that my non-linkblog-oriented posts have been overwhelmed. We cannot go on like this.
So, I have made a linkblog-oriented post. Here. Let all future Click Here related material accumulate thusly.
Yeah yeah, I should actually make a real blog post. I’ll try.
I’m toying with the idea of allowing “micro-comments” on the links. I don’t know if it’s a good idea, nor have I found the time, but it may happen. Also, a submission form. I’ll try. (I actually have been developing it, in case you doubt me. I’m a strong believer in incremental/lightweight/agile development. First I created a list of links, then archives, then permalinks. Like a glacier on steroids, I churn relentlessly onward. Crushing metaphors underfoot.)
Over to you, Bartleby.
I got texted again:
Wat.up.bitch.cn.u.tel.me.who.d.lykz.g.hz.mate.wants.2.knw.plz .
I.dont.know.what.ur.talking.about. I replied:
Dis Tawhai?
They said:
Hey huz dis an hw u gt ma num
@*%?$+%!
So I tried to do some writing today, and it sucked hard, so no post. On the other hand, I had time to (try to) write! Yay! In your face, work! But no post.
I learnt a new word today. I mean new, as in, someone made it up. Tumblelog. I had two thoughts.
One, suck. What’s the point in having a blog if you don’t get to inflict your unfounded, ill-thought out opinions on the internet?
Two. Click Here is like a Tumblelog. I am becoming that which I (as early as five minutes ago) despise. What I mean by this, though, is that I am, if you will, microblogging, in my “small note” attached to each link. Eventually those notes are going to get so long that it will replace my blog entirely. Circle of life, yada yada.
The phone rings.
I’m in about fourth form. I’m on the computer in the lounge, playing one of the games on this fantastic list. This is not an unusual after-school activity for me. You might get the impression I don’t have the most happening social life, and you’d be right. Of course, there’s only so much happening when you’re 14.
I wasn’t really expecting a call. Odds are good that it’s someone calling my parents who, would you believe, are at work at 4:30 in the afternoon! Somehow I never quite managed to carry that sarcasm over the phone line. Or maybe someone’s calling to try to sell us Sky again. Yes, I’d like the cricket and the rugby. No, not at that price. Maybe if you stopped calling people so often you wouldn’t need to charge so much.
I answer it anyway – no one else is home. Turns out it was neither of those. “Hello,” a girl begins, “is Dave there?”
“Yeap,” I respond, already off balance. I can count the number of girls I know well enough to have my number on one hand, and I wouldn’t need all the fingers. It’s interesting, too, how playing computer games puts you into a socially disadvantaged frame of mind. I’m a wing commander over there. All the talking heads, they love me. It’s like real life, except awesome and fake. Reality knocks you back.
“What are you up to?”, she asks. Now, shit. I hate answering questions like this with “playing a computer game.” (Perhaps I should spice it up with “fighting the Kilrathi!”). Not that I feel it’s such a bad thing to be doing. It just sounds so lame. I make some sort of feeble reply. “Oh, just on the computer aye.”
“Oh yeah.” By now, I have gone completely on the defensive. Just absolutely and completely. Self esteem issues, peer pressure, bad time of day, whatever, I’m holding a negative self-image and feeling the spotlight on it.
The conversation only lasts a few minutes, if that. I suppose I was too young to realise it at the time, but man, did I turn Opportunity into a negative experience. It seemed that she got hold of my number via a friend or something and was just trying to make a social connection. Looking back, I feel rather sorry for her. She was just being friendly and got a bitter pill for her efforts. I guess it’s unfortunate that someone would have to suffer because of my insecurity. That’s not fair.
I never found out who it was. She never even said how she got my number. In fact, I don’t think I even got her name. After I hung up, followed by an irritated couple of minutes, the experience was largely forgotten (apart from the minor psychological trauma that follows most teenage experiences). It certainly wasn’t a turning point, as you may have thought this post was building up to.
A couple of years later, though, I almost completely stopped playing computer games. Whether it was a phase I grew out of, or I got busy with other things, or I just played them so much I got sick of them, I don’t really know. And it’s not, of course, it’s not as if whether you play computer games or not determines your life. It was merely a crutch. But for whatever reasons, I just completely lost interest in them. Now, I actually have some quite fond memories of the games themselves. But I can’t help but wonder if it should’ve happened sooner.
The interesting thing is that it wasn’t until a number of years after, when I did have a social life of at least some description, that I was able to realise any of this. It’s so easy to sit at the PC and pilot your Sabre to the glory of the Federation, so much easier than actual life. Life, though, is going on without you. It’s not a good place to be. At the time, I didn’t even realise what I was doing wrong. It’s only looking back that I can be so glad I got out of there.
Hi, I’m DB. You may know me as the guy who used to post on this blog. Well, I still do, just not as often. You see, I have been trying to alter my life to the extent that I can get up in the morning without first fighting a massive internal battle against the forces of sleeping in, and start work without wishing I was still home in bed, a headache just one bright light away.
It has been quite successful, and my archives page shows a large part of the reason why. Simply put, I don’t spend as much time writing anymore. I check my RSS feeds and my email, and I go to bed. It’s a win, but not for my blog. Which is kindof a loss. I was going to write a post about how I don’t get time to write enough posts anymore, but, well, I haven’t found the time to write it. Which is a real kick in the teeth, actually. Thanks, universe.
Even when I find time to write I rarely find time to finish. One of my friends once asked me why it was so hard to keep the post rate up (given I was only doing about one per week). He figured, it only takes about 20 minutes to write a post, right? Well, not for me. This is how much I can do in 20 minutes. My typical blog post – such as there is, but one with some body to it and maybe a few links and/or pictures – takes perhaps 4 hours. Many of them are months in the planning, involve 30 minutes trying to find that one link I saw in 2003 that would be really appropriate right now, and 10 minutes deciding if that fourth joke in paragraph three is just pushing it a bit too far. Some of this time could be put down to perfectionism, but frankly, I’m not here to write shit. The idea is to achieve something. Anyway, it’s bloody hard work, very draining, and very rewarding. I would highly recommend it, but I suppose that’s hypocritical given the current situation.
One of the side effects of this is that I have, amongst the apparent 23,000 word count of my toblog scratch file, a fast-building list of really good links that I should totally show to others it’ll be awesome! Well, this problem I can fix. I have long been considering some kind of Daring Fireball-esque link feed, and its time has come. Introducing Click Here! Also available on the front page.
Incidentally, I do still plan to post. But I have adjusted my goals. Once a fortnight. For sure. Maybe. In between, I’ll be blogging vicariously through my links. See you there.
