Well, continent jumping wasn't as bad as I imagined it would be. I made it down under alive, and even managed a coherent conversation with my boss, who picked me up at the airport.

Funny how the Auckland airport, the biggest (I'm assuming) in the country of New Zealand, is not all that much bigger than Fargo's Hector International Airport. But you have to leave your fruit at the door...

I spent two nights in a hostel here, which was maybe not the wisest decision I've ever made. It's fun to be around young people, I guess, fellow transients and dirty hippies. After my Amsterdam fiasco (recap: a 16-bed hostel room, me and 15 guys, an unsolicited offer from a would-be bed partner) I booked myself on an all-girls floor.

In my room were two girls from Germany, one from Wales, one from Manchester, one from Canada (but who now lives in Australia), and one from the Canary Islands. We had dinner one night, and joked that it felt like a UN summit meeting.

And no one stole my shit, which was nice. Although since the 2001 ripping-off of my Barry Manilow t-shirt, there's not much left to feel sad about losing.

Auckland is a nice city, but very American-feeling. Well, British, I suppose. It's like any old city, is my point. Burger King, McD's, etc. Although bookstore prices are shocking - a paperback costs about $35. The NZ dollar is worth only 70 cents to the US dollar, but holy shit. Point me towards the library.

I eventually booked myself into the Columbard, aka a "corporate crash pad" that reminds me a bit of a Japanese pod hotel. I looked at a couple of serious shithole apartments, then decided that the convenience of a pimped-out (if sterile) joint would be best. So I'm in a room the size of a shoebox, but with all the necessities, and then some: Internet, TV, DVD, stereo, washer/dryer, microwave, fridge, appliances, etc. Everything is mini. And there's no real living space. I did situps this morning on the kitchen floor, which doubles as the entryway/foot of the bed. But it's all in a fun, mod design, and--as those of you who know my weakness for funky decor will understand--that's right up my aesthetic alley.

I woke up in a panic in the middle of the first night, feeling alone and thinking maybe I should've looked harder for a real apt. with flatmates who could provide some social interaction. But on the other hand, I've never really lived in "my very own" space, so I'm willing to give it a shot.

Work is good. V. much like my old job, which is nice. My co-workers are fantastic. They all gave me their cell and home numbers, inviting me to call them up at any time should I get lonely. I went out for drinks tonight after work with C. and her friend, which was fun. And I even managed to crank out my first story on a three-day deadline - not bad for a pussy magazine writer. Hopefully they don't think it's shit.

One of my co-workers passed me an invite to the NZ Vodafone Music Awards (similar to the MTV Music Awards, I'm guessing). I was excited - how cool would it be to walk the red carpet as press? But the deadline had passed, and I couldn't get in. Oh well - I'd probably be fawning over the wrong people - the PR agents, personal assistants, all the peons...

Anyway, I'm excited to get out of the city and into the heart of this adventure. This weekend I'm just going to spend feeling out the city. I think I'll take a ferry out to some of the outlying islands - Waiheke and Rangitoto. Maybe I'll rent a bike or do some tramping.

P.S. If anyone can tell me how to get pictures up on this page, let me know. Words can only say so much...