Sten was up bright and early to take the car to the repair shop. It turns out that the rear brake pads were worn out and their slides were seized, so we had the brake pads replaced and the slides freed and lubed. We spent the morning without wheels wandering around downtown. We stopped into the art museum to check out a really fun exhibit of conceptual art by Meg Cranston. Mid-afternoon we joined a bunch of other backpackers to go to a Super 14 rugby match. The Highlanders, the local team, were hosting the Hurricanes, from Wellington. Riffing on the Scottish theme, the Highlander's mascot was a big, tattooed and muscle-bound Maori guy, who was wearing a tartan, and looking for all the world like he stepped off the cover of a bodice-ripper. If this is biculturalism, then consider me a fan.
The game itself was disappointing, but the crowd was fantastic. Between the kids from Otago Boys School delightedly chanting "you f****d up" with all the pleasure of pre-teens anywhere who find themselves able to get away with spouting profanity, and the guys from University who were tickled with themselves for smuggling cheep beer into the stadium, we were rarely looking for entertainment. The highlight of the night for us was the freestyle motorcross exhibition that kicked off the evening. As we watched two 16 year old boys hurl themselves and their bikes into the atmosphere above the stadium, Sten declared that no child of ours would ever be allowed to take up such a dangerous sport. On behalf of both sets of our parents, I laughed at him. We've got about as much moral authority (and chance of success) forbidding our future progeny from engaging in risky activities as Bill Clinton did when telling Chelsea that she shouldn't do drugs.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
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