My best friend from high school visited me for a couple of days last week. We hadn't seen each other in nearly 10 years, yet it felt just like yesterday when I saw him, as we picked up right where we left off. He's acting in Hollywood now and his career is gaining momemtum. He was Kevin Costner's colleague/friend in The Guardian, though his role ends with his death about 10 minutes into the film. He was also on TNT's series Saved, which was unfortuitously cancelled after one season. The man hasn't changed in the 20 years that I've known him, which seems to me to be a good reflection on his parents. Best of luck to Omari!
On to some pictures...
Ah, porch sessions with my roomie and the ubiquitous bottle of red. More than one has expressed their envy of the view and the lifestyle at 4 Little Queen. Life is good. Life is really good most days beginning at 4:30pm. It really is about lifestyle here. You can have the money.
One of my enduring memories of Russell will be the glass of red, the porch, and a conversation with my roomie.
St. Patty's Day. I sported my beads at work and later at the pub. I'm that cool. Bernard is cool...look at the boss man smile. His girlfriend...allergic to happiness.
John from Boston on the left...a sous chef at Kamakura, one of the other restaurants in town. Hampus the Viking on the right. My head in the middle. The bottle of wine...star of the show in Russell.
Hampus re-enacting basically what the Swedes said to the rest of the world during WW2.Yes. I harbor grudges.
B-diddy and Megan. Body language is everything.
The Pub last Friday night. Too much to handle, as you can see. Omari said after two nights at the pub, "man, it can get boring here." Welcome to Russell! The following night, ironically, was Kororareka Day, or Russell Day, the annual celebration of the 1845 Battle of Kororareka with accompanying festivities. I always enjoy the symmetry of celebrating death and bloodshed with hip-hop dance routines, sausages, and t-shirts. It's why people died in the first place, no doubt. The band at the pub was good, though, so I'm pretty sure that the spirits of the dead were happy we were enjoying ourselves as they lay in the ground.
Sunset. Russell, Bay of Islands.
I never get tired of the sunsets.
This is called having a cool office. View from the restaurant at a late summer sunset. March 16, 2008.
Omari and Laura, a colleague of mine.
Omari and yours truly. Wish I could wear a beret.
The flagstaff at the top of Flagstaff Hill in Russell. The last time I tried to visit, it was undergoing an upgrade. It marks the spot where the Maoris cut down the British flag four times before eventually acceding to commonwealth rule.
View looking down on Russell from atop Flagstaff Hill.
I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant in this shot. Looking north up the peninsula towards the edge of the Bay of Islands.
Okay, let's focus on the background, not the figure in the foreground. Please.
It was Brooke's last day in Russell before returning home to England. Thus, the picnic at the top of the hill.
I didn't bring a hat to the top of the hill, so I had to borrow one from another colleague, okay. You get burned down here in New Zealand in about 5 minutes, so at the top of the hill you can cut that in half. I'm not getting my nose removed in 10 years in exchange for a little pride now.
I'll miss Brooke. She made me laugh in a way only she knew how to do. We'll see each other again--Copenhagen, September 2008, to visit Hampus in Sweden?
Normally that would be Brooke pouring a real drink. Instead, it's just Brooke, Laura, and Lindsay (another colleague), picnicking at the top of Flagstaff Hill on Brooke's last day in Russell. The 18 year old boys will miss thee, Brooke!
Flagstaff Hill, looking north toward the Hole in the Rock.
Flagstaff Hill, looking northwest over Tapeka point.
The Eagle's Nest resort in the foreground...yours for a weekly price of around $150,000 for a week in the summer. I'm sure they'll pick you up in their helicopter from the airport in Auckland. But a real man would have his own helicopter and fly in himself. Like all the Russian oil tycoons who don't know what to do with all of their money. Thank you, privatization. Thank you, Boris Yeltsin.
Laura and Brooke.
View overlooking Russell wharf from atop Flagstaff Hill.
Porch view. No wonder Mark and I solve the world's problems during our daily hour-long sessions of fermented grape juice and philosophy.
On Brooke's last night in town, we all dressed up in hats and hit our restaurant--Zee Gables--for dinner. After a couple bottles of wine on the porch and and a stop at the Swordfish Club for a beer or three, that is. The following day, Brooke admitted she couldn't remember the last time she had to turn down a drink by the end of the night. Ah, Little Queen Street claims another victim. Get in line, Brooke, right behind my liver.
Mark and Brooke.
Ciao, Brooke! See you soon!
B-diddy and Megan. Body language is everything.
The Pub last Friday night. Too much to handle, as you can see. Omari said after two nights at the pub, "man, it can get boring here." Welcome to Russell! The following night, ironically, was Kororareka Day, or Russell Day, the annual celebration of the 1845 Battle of Kororareka with accompanying festivities. I always enjoy the symmetry of celebrating death and bloodshed with hip-hop dance routines, sausages, and t-shirts. It's why people died in the first place, no doubt. The band at the pub was good, though, so I'm pretty sure that the spirits of the dead were happy we were enjoying ourselves as they lay in the ground.
Sunset. Russell, Bay of Islands.
I never get tired of the sunsets.
This is called having a cool office. View from the restaurant at a late summer sunset. March 16, 2008.
Omari and Laura, a colleague of mine. 
Omari and yours truly. Wish I could wear a beret.
The flagstaff at the top of Flagstaff Hill in Russell. The last time I tried to visit, it was undergoing an upgrade. It marks the spot where the Maoris cut down the British flag four times before eventually acceding to commonwealth rule.
View looking down on Russell from atop Flagstaff Hill.
I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant in this shot. Looking north up the peninsula towards the edge of the Bay of Islands.
Okay, let's focus on the background, not the figure in the foreground. Please. It was Brooke's last day in Russell before returning home to England. Thus, the picnic at the top of the hill.
I didn't bring a hat to the top of the hill, so I had to borrow one from another colleague, okay. You get burned down here in New Zealand in about 5 minutes, so at the top of the hill you can cut that in half. I'm not getting my nose removed in 10 years in exchange for a little pride now.I'll miss Brooke. She made me laugh in a way only she knew how to do. We'll see each other again--Copenhagen, September 2008, to visit Hampus in Sweden?
Normally that would be Brooke pouring a real drink. Instead, it's just Brooke, Laura, and Lindsay (another colleague), picnicking at the top of Flagstaff Hill on Brooke's last day in Russell. The 18 year old boys will miss thee, Brooke!
Flagstaff Hill, looking north toward the Hole in the Rock.
Flagstaff Hill, looking northwest over Tapeka point.
The Eagle's Nest resort in the foreground...yours for a weekly price of around $150,000 for a week in the summer. I'm sure they'll pick you up in their helicopter from the airport in Auckland. But a real man would have his own helicopter and fly in himself. Like all the Russian oil tycoons who don't know what to do with all of their money. Thank you, privatization. Thank you, Boris Yeltsin.
Laura and Brooke.
View overlooking Russell wharf from atop Flagstaff Hill.
Porch view. No wonder Mark and I solve the world's problems during our daily hour-long sessions of fermented grape juice and philosophy.
On Brooke's last night in town, we all dressed up in hats and hit our restaurant--Zee Gables--for dinner. After a couple bottles of wine on the porch and and a stop at the Swordfish Club for a beer or three, that is. The following day, Brooke admitted she couldn't remember the last time she had to turn down a drink by the end of the night. Ah, Little Queen Street claims another victim. Get in line, Brooke, right behind my liver. 
Mark and Brooke.
Ciao, Brooke! See you soon!
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