Today I drove north from Kapiti to the Tron, past thousands of lambs, many with freshly shorn mothers, swathes of daffodils and lavishly blossoming trees. I also drove through hail, snow and sleet heading up to the Volcanic Plateau (and cold showers the other 400 kilometers of the trip). A few weeks ago, that drive reminded me of a wonderful ride past the mountains 20 years earlier. This time it reminded me of my last drive through snow about 12 years ago.
After nearly three hard years in the USA, and in a hard upstate New York winter I suddenly decided it was time to come home and summer in New Zealand. Two years earlier, in Colorado, I'd bought a new Ford Festiva with, for reasons too complicated to go into on this cramped keyboard, company financing. It was such a sweet little car, a joy to drive, turquoise and with a Tardis-like capacity to carry all our possessions across country. But, needless to say, the resale price of the car wasn't going to cover what I still owed Ford only two years later. But, in January in upstate New York, with less than a week before we were getting on a plane back to New Zealand, I had to find someone to take over the payments for me.
January in upstate New York is not an easy time to sell a car, even if you don't want any cash for it. With all my worldly goods and my seven year old daughter in the suddenly misnamed Festiva, I spent the most stressful week of my life following snow ploughs through blizzards from Rochester to Binghamton to Albany chasing rumours of workmate's neighbour's relations who might be interested in kicking the icy tires. Not only was the inside of the car silted up from being our home on the road for a week (and we were both flu-ey and not completely confident that the scabies were gone), but the outside was covered in dirty ice. You can't wash a car in a blizzard. You just cover the dirt with more ice. It's not a good look. Finally, at the 11th hour I met someone's dodgey brother-in-law in a diner west of Albany and he signed the papers and drove us to the bus stop.
Alls well that ends well, we made our plane, the scabies never came back, the Tron's summer cured our colds and I only ever had to deal with a couple of long distance calls from the Ford company when the dodgey ex-brother-in-law missed payments.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Friday, September 16, 2005
Vote chocolate
Miraculously, my quiet confidence that I could come up with a realistic and inspiring new and improved doctoral thesis proposal in under two days has paid off. Of course large quantities of Whittakers Fruit and Nut are implicated. And it remains to be seen whether the Superdooper Supervisors I'm sending it to think its realistic and inspiring. So I'm not going to risk it here just yet, but for now I'm happy.
And relaxed enough to take the evening off to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It's hard to believe that it could be as good as the original, but I need to see it for myself. Am taking the rest of the chocolate.
And relaxed enough to take the evening off to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It's hard to believe that it could be as good as the original, but I need to see it for myself. Am taking the rest of the chocolate.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Inside my brain
I feel like I am neglecting Bibliophilia at the moment. If I am, its because so much of my life is in transition right now. Not in a bad way, but just in a preoccupied-with- uncertainties way. So that's why I've been a bit quiet and mysterious (and occasionally cranky) the past few weeks.The uncertainty about where I'm going to live is more or less figured out for the time being, but I still have to drive back up to Northland, pack up all my stuff, say goodbye to all the wonderful friends I made this year, figure out how to get my stuff down to Kapiti (low cost suggestions and offers of help are welcome) and then unpack and settle in here (isn't it beautiful?).
I actually quite enjoy the moving process. Truely, the pleasure of moving lies in the elimination of more and more possessions from my life. I am pretty streamlined these days since this approximately the 35th time I've done it in 38 years.
However, everything else in my life is still pretty saturated with uncertainty. I am managing a little bit of book making, despite being on the move so much. But I'm planning to give away the prototype of my new book as a gift and I don't want to spoil the surprise by posting about it here first- if indeed I decide it should have a wider audience than one! I'm also investigating some marketing and sales opportunities for my books in the forthcoming installment of the NZ's annual Christmas-present-buying-frenzy, but I don't want to pre-empt anything here either.
But actually my major preoccupation at the moment is trying to write a preliminary thesis proposal for the PhD I plan to begin next year. I decided to do a doctorate because I had come up with a brilliant topic. But... the more I've thought about it and read about it and written about it the less sure I am that it's the right brilliant topic to spend the next three years of my life with. So... with only a few days to go before the first (self-imposed) deadline, all my brainpower is trying to make up a new topic that will interest me for years to come, meet with my supervisors' approval (and that of the enrollment and scholarship committees) and, oh yes, add something worthwhile to the sum of knowledge in the world.
No pressure.
Never fear, with the help of my friends, long walks, meditation, lots of chocolate and the internet (thank God for the internet!) I'm sure I can come up with something. And eventually I will post juicy details and demonstrate my ability to academic-speak with the best of them. In the meantime though, Bibliophilia might be a bit patchy.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
New View
This is the view from my new studio in Paekakariki, looking out from the sun-drenched deck to Kapiti Island and the Tasman Sea. I'll be working there from 1 October. I'm already feeling inspired with new book ideas for competitions and Christmas.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Weather and Traffic Reports
After three weeks of balmy weather on Kapiti, I've been seduced into believing that the climate here rivals Northland's for comforting warmth. (Though not for rain- it's dry as a bone and I read the D word in the local paper yesterday- yes drought, at the end of winter no less.) Yesterday, walking past dark peaty onion fields it felt more like summer than spring. So good, in fact, is life on the Coast that I have taken the momentous decision to come and live here.
I think the deciding factor was when I suddenly realised I had managed a good night's sleep without putting in the earplugs. My first week or two of sleeping on the verge of State Highway One and the Main Trunk Line passed in a series of broken nights- every articulated truck and freight train roaring up the incline induced a startle reflex and a heart pounding adreneline rush. I would lie awake feeling as though the vehicles were actually driving through the bedroom. And this was with earplugs in! Then I bought more expensive earplugs and the traffic noise subsided to a dull rumble that barely broke into my dreams. And finally, one night last week I forgot to put the plugs in and woke up in the morning refreshed and empty-eared, and so it has continued.
I think the deciding factor was when I suddenly realised I had managed a good night's sleep without putting in the earplugs. My first week or two of sleeping on the verge of State Highway One and the Main Trunk Line passed in a series of broken nights- every articulated truck and freight train roaring up the incline induced a startle reflex and a heart pounding adreneline rush. I would lie awake feeling as though the vehicles were actually driving through the bedroom. And this was with earplugs in! Then I bought more expensive earplugs and the traffic noise subsided to a dull rumble that barely broke into my dreams. And finally, one night last week I forgot to put the plugs in and woke up in the morning refreshed and empty-eared, and so it has continued.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Lies, damned lies and the Brethren
I know my last post was kind of complainy and I shouldn't do it twice in a row but I am so cross about the smear campaign against the Green Party I think of anything else to post about.
You may or may not be aware that an expensive full colour brochure has been distributed to pretty much every letter box in New Zealand with the sole purpose of turning people away from voting Green in next weeks election. OK, maybe not sole purpose, because the same folks seem to be just as opposed to anyone supporting Labour. It would be bad enough just to have invested the money (estimated at $500,000- think of that in terms of solar panels/hip operations/literacy tutors for refugees/tax refunds/child care hours/ election bribe of your choice) in such an anti-democratic effort to support the National Party but it is full of lies . Grrrrrr!
OK, fair enough I suppose to dislike the Greens because you actually think the environment is irrelevant to the economy, or social justice has nothing to do with quality of life. Your ignorance is your choice.
But please don't believe that it is Green Party policy to introduce a capital gains tax on family homes, to cut defence spending by 50%, and disarm our forces, spend roading money on uneconomic and novel public transport systems, block construction of vital new roads with tortuous RMA regulations, push high country farmers off their lease-hold land, permit the right-to-roam over private property, or offer financial assistance to cannabis growers for alternative employment. These are all outright lies. The pamphlet also contained a number of gross exagerrations, that I hesitate to call half truths, and I recommend you read the Greens own rebuttal to sort out what you should believe.
Making up your own mind who to vote for is your right, but it's also your responsibility to vote intelligently based on accurate information from trustworthy sources. I suggest that the Greens are a more reliable source of information about their own policies than a ultra-conservative religious sect who feel they have more to gain from fibs than honesty. I suggest they check back with #9 of the Ten Commandments for some policy about telling the truth.
You may or may not be aware that an expensive full colour brochure has been distributed to pretty much every letter box in New Zealand with the sole purpose of turning people away from voting Green in next weeks election. OK, maybe not sole purpose, because the same folks seem to be just as opposed to anyone supporting Labour. It would be bad enough just to have invested the money (estimated at $500,000- think of that in terms of solar panels/hip operations/literacy tutors for refugees/tax refunds/child care hours/ election bribe of your choice) in such an anti-democratic effort to support the National Party but it is full of lies . Grrrrrr!
OK, fair enough I suppose to dislike the Greens because you actually think the environment is irrelevant to the economy, or social justice has nothing to do with quality of life. Your ignorance is your choice.
But please don't believe that it is Green Party policy to introduce a capital gains tax on family homes, to cut defence spending by 50%, and disarm our forces, spend roading money on uneconomic and novel public transport systems, block construction of vital new roads with tortuous RMA regulations, push high country farmers off their lease-hold land, permit the right-to-roam over private property, or offer financial assistance to cannabis growers for alternative employment. These are all outright lies. The pamphlet also contained a number of gross exagerrations, that I hesitate to call half truths, and I recommend you read the Greens own rebuttal to sort out what you should believe.
Making up your own mind who to vote for is your right, but it's also your responsibility to vote intelligently based on accurate information from trustworthy sources. I suggest that the Greens are a more reliable source of information about their own policies than a ultra-conservative religious sect who feel they have more to gain from fibs than honesty. I suggest they check back with #9 of the Ten Commandments for some policy about telling the truth.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
It's yoga, but not as I know it
Right now I think the thing I miss most being away from Northland is the excellent yoga classes at the Yoga Space in Whangarei. The teacher is rigorous and compassionate, the yoga is classical, the "intelligent use of props" is our mantra. I almost always finish the class feeling like something profoundly good has happened to my body. I am never worried that I might provoke my chronic problems with neck, back and arms. I crave the class and would go more often than once a week if it were less than a 30km drive.
Through much research I managed to track down the nearest yoga class to where I am staying on the Kapiti Coast. Part of a franchise (or should that be sect) called Yoga for Daily Life they offer two classes a week at Raumati School hall, about 30kms from where I'm staying and which took forever to find in the dark. Of course arriving with high hopes set me up to be disappointed, but I think even before my standards were lifted by the Yoga Space I would have considered this class yoga-lite at best, and dangerous at worst.
The nearest comparison I can think of is the Body Balance classes at Les Mills, which although pleasant were more Tai Chi and Pilates than Yoga. The difference is that Body Balance was fun and Yoga for Daily Life was the worst of all worlds. The instructer was a substitute for the regular teacher so maybe she'd do a better job, but I got the impression of a limited, rigid programme being followed, so was not optimistic.
Afterwards I was complaining to my friend and she told me about a CD called Yoga Sanctuary and said I was welcome to try hers. I found it quite enjoyable- at least it had some real yoga postures, which you could hold for a decent length of time. It's still a bit lite compared to the classical instruction I crave, but I need some external direction while I'm down South since I am not self-disciplined enough to just do yoga alone. So right now the CDs are looking like my best bet.
Through much research I managed to track down the nearest yoga class to where I am staying on the Kapiti Coast. Part of a franchise (or should that be sect) called Yoga for Daily Life they offer two classes a week at Raumati School hall, about 30kms from where I'm staying and which took forever to find in the dark. Of course arriving with high hopes set me up to be disappointed, but I think even before my standards were lifted by the Yoga Space I would have considered this class yoga-lite at best, and dangerous at worst.
The nearest comparison I can think of is the Body Balance classes at Les Mills, which although pleasant were more Tai Chi and Pilates than Yoga. The difference is that Body Balance was fun and Yoga for Daily Life was the worst of all worlds. The instructer was a substitute for the regular teacher so maybe she'd do a better job, but I got the impression of a limited, rigid programme being followed, so was not optimistic.
Afterwards I was complaining to my friend and she told me about a CD called Yoga Sanctuary and said I was welcome to try hers. I found it quite enjoyable- at least it had some real yoga postures, which you could hold for a decent length of time. It's still a bit lite compared to the classical instruction I crave, but I need some external direction while I'm down South since I am not self-disciplined enough to just do yoga alone. So right now the CDs are looking like my best bet.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Comments
Have I mentioned how much I love it when you post a comment on my blog? It is such a thrill to know that you are reading it and that I have provoked some thought you want to share with me. I particularly like comments from actual human beings, most of whom are my friends in Real Life as well as cyberspace.
I don't like getting "comment spam" so I have introduced "word verification" to filter out the automatically generated advertising/weirdo comments which I was hit with today. Please don't regard this as a barrier aimed at you, dear reader! You, I do want to hear from.
I don't like getting "comment spam" so I have introduced "word verification" to filter out the automatically generated advertising/weirdo comments which I was hit with today. Please don't regard this as a barrier aimed at you, dear reader! You, I do want to hear from.
Book for a Moon
I recently swopped this book for this cushion. The cushion is one of the amazing creations made by my friend Galit, a textile artist from Israel.
The book is called Secret Directions to Magical Places: Waitawheta. It is one of a limited edition of five, and there is one still available.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Asparagus
A few days after being weeded, fertilised and top soiled, the asparagus are pushing up in great numbers, despite a lack of rain. Here's a cute baby poking its tip through the dry ground.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Paekakariki Beach
As a rule, I consider myself more of a bush person than a beach person. However, I do like to sleep with the sound of waves shushing up on a sandy beach, like long slow gentle breathing. Fortified by wonderful nights' sleeps I've been taking long walks along the beach at Paekakariki, on these past couple of bright brisk winter's afternoons.
I liked how on this beach there are many little pieces of wood worn into small round pebbles that weigh almost nothing in your hand. Since I was writing lots as I walked, I appreciated the seating provided by the sea in the form of big branches and logs at frequent intervals. I liked the silver path the sun makes across the water, stretching from the coast to the Western horizon. I liked all the different textures of sand, from soggy or spongey to crisp to hot and silky. I liked the pairs of orangey-pink shells, hinged like book covers, and I plan to use some for that purpose.
I liked how on this beach there are many little pieces of wood worn into small round pebbles that weigh almost nothing in your hand. Since I was writing lots as I walked, I appreciated the seating provided by the sea in the form of big branches and logs at frequent intervals. I liked the silver path the sun makes across the water, stretching from the coast to the Western horizon. I liked all the different textures of sand, from soggy or spongey to crisp to hot and silky. I liked the pairs of orangey-pink shells, hinged like book covers, and I plan to use some for that purpose.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Clearing A Sparrow Grass
I drove 786 kilometers over two days and on arriving at my destination found that what I wanted to do more than anything was pull weeds.
I haven't had a decent garden since I moved away from the Tron about 7 years ago. I made a few frustrated attempts in my first couple of Wellington homes but plants stunted by wind burn and clinging to near vertical slopes of clay and rock required much hard work and investment for little pleasure and satisfaction and was ultimately not sustainable for a working single mother. I gave up and started collecting hand-me-down house plants.
Then when I moved to my rural paradise in the winterless north my landlady was not very keen on me putting in a garden, and frankly that seemed like it was going to be a lot of hard work on my own to start out on top of swampy kikuyu grass. So I lavished my gardening energies on a window box type thing hanging on the fence, planting herbs and salad greens which have been languishing a bit through the season that Northlanders call winter.
But here I am on the Kapiti coast, staying with a friend who has a massive vegetable garden. When I arrived, the asparagus tips started poking out of the ground (two months early) and I expressed my appreciation of this miracle by offering to weed the bed. My friend loaned me some gardening gloves which fit me like, well, you know what. (I've always thought that gardening gloves were supposed to be too big and awkwardly uncomfortable. Apparently not.) Doing my best not crush the asparagus crowns I set to.
What's not to love about weeding when the soil is soft and deep and dark? When the weeds are small and part willingly from the earth? When you have perfectly fitted gloves to protect you from the stinging nettles and there doesn't seem to be any oxalis or thistle to worry about? When you are helping to ensure an abundant crop of asparagus? ...Bliss...
(Then I did the celery, which was also satisfying. And now I'm looking forward to the heaped up rows of Maori potatoes and garlic.)
I haven't had a decent garden since I moved away from the Tron about 7 years ago. I made a few frustrated attempts in my first couple of Wellington homes but plants stunted by wind burn and clinging to near vertical slopes of clay and rock required much hard work and investment for little pleasure and satisfaction and was ultimately not sustainable for a working single mother. I gave up and started collecting hand-me-down house plants.
Then when I moved to my rural paradise in the winterless north my landlady was not very keen on me putting in a garden, and frankly that seemed like it was going to be a lot of hard work on my own to start out on top of swampy kikuyu grass. So I lavished my gardening energies on a window box type thing hanging on the fence, planting herbs and salad greens which have been languishing a bit through the season that Northlanders call winter.
But here I am on the Kapiti coast, staying with a friend who has a massive vegetable garden. When I arrived, the asparagus tips started poking out of the ground (two months early) and I expressed my appreciation of this miracle by offering to weed the bed. My friend loaned me some gardening gloves which fit me like, well, you know what. (I've always thought that gardening gloves were supposed to be too big and awkwardly uncomfortable. Apparently not.) Doing my best not crush the asparagus crowns I set to.
What's not to love about weeding when the soil is soft and deep and dark? When the weeds are small and part willingly from the earth? When you have perfectly fitted gloves to protect you from the stinging nettles and there doesn't seem to be any oxalis or thistle to worry about? When you are helping to ensure an abundant crop of asparagus? ...Bliss...
(Then I did the celery, which was also satisfying. And now I'm looking forward to the heaped up rows of Maori potatoes and garlic.)
Friday, August 26, 2005
Desert Road
Continuing my drive South took me along the Great Desert Road. For those of you not familiar with it in real life, you've probably seen it as the hinterland of Mordor in the Lord of the Rings movie. Half of it winds with hairpin curves through a sinister dark landscape laced with icy streams. The other half is long stretches through golden tussock parallel to giant power pylons swooping between the road and the snow covered mountains. There's not much variety otherwise, except for the inevitable traffic cop catching the inevitable speeders.
I have driven through that desert dozens of times, but the most memorable was when I was about 17 and hitchhiking was my main mode of transportation. I saw most of New Zealand that way, with many rides through the desert. One time my friend and I got picked up in a fancy fast car heading south from Taupo. The driver was a taciturn drug dealer- my ideal lift at that time of my life. He shared a joint, cranked up Talking Heads and required no conversation. It was a bright sunny winter's day, the mountains gleaming white on our right, the tussock passing in a blur, the complicated music pounding in our heads. It was an amazing ride. But yesterday I tried the drive with a clear head and the Pretenders playing loud and it was even better.
I have driven through that desert dozens of times, but the most memorable was when I was about 17 and hitchhiking was my main mode of transportation. I saw most of New Zealand that way, with many rides through the desert. One time my friend and I got picked up in a fancy fast car heading south from Taupo. The driver was a taciturn drug dealer- my ideal lift at that time of my life. He shared a joint, cranked up Talking Heads and required no conversation. It was a bright sunny winter's day, the mountains gleaming white on our right, the tussock passing in a blur, the complicated music pounding in our heads. It was an amazing ride. But yesterday I tried the drive with a clear head and the Pretenders playing loud and it was even better.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Politics
Three times in the past 10 days I've driven south the 200 or so kilometers from Whangarei to Auckland. Each drive has been on a perfect sparkling warm winter's day. Each time the pretty journey has been enhanced by magnolias and daffodils in bloom along the road. Lambs have gambolled adorably and calves have pranced delightfully. But each time the view from my car has been polluted by more and more election billboards.
As you know I don't have a TV, and now I must confess that I don't often read the newspaper. Most of the outside world's news comes to me in disembodied voices over the radio. So billboards are my main source of visual information this election. If I were going to vote based only on a party's billboard I'd be voting National: their boards are big, slick, witty and everywhere. Labour's are boring. The Greens' are Too Hard. Act's are shrill. Does anyone make a voting choice based only on billboards? Surely anyone so disinterested in politics and isolated from other sources of information is simply not going to bother going to the polling booth.
If seats in parliament were allocated on the basis of the number of billboards then Helen or Don would find themselves negotiating a coalition with the Democrats in a few weeks. The Democrats, whom I'd forgotten even existed, have somehow managed to put up their signs everywhere.
Winston Peters' NZ First billboards win the ego competition with his bizarre photo and sexist tagline: A Man for a Change... a change from a woman leader. Yeah, its been so tiresome to tolerate a whole seven years of women prime ministers out of a hundred and something years of male-led parliamentary democracy. Enough of pandering to feminism. Let's return to the natural order of things and put a man, any man, back in charge. Well, maybe not just any man, how about one that knows how to treat a lady right and put her in her place.
When I turned on the radio the other day and heard a male voice saying that it wasn't right for men to shout at women, my response was 'yeah right on Mister, don't shout at women, I hate being shouted at', thinking this was some kind of domestic violence related discussion. Then I realised it was Don Brash trying to explain why he'd let Helen Clark eat him for breakfast in a debate. I suppose he's been handicapped by all those years in masculine enclaves like the Reserve Bank where he was isolated from contact with women in roles as his intelligent, powerful peers. I'm guessing his experience with women has been mostly in social settings or as professional juniors. So I'm pleased to know that he would never consider going up to Ms Clark, looming over her and shouting in her face- that *would* be an abuse of the power that a sexist society allocates to men.
But Helen Clark doesn't need protecting from men's strongly expressed opinions in a public setting designed for debate. It's her element, where she knows the rules and is used to success. In such an environment it's appropriate for all parties to treat eachother with personal respect (which Ms Clark doesn't always do) but the discussion of issues should be free and frank, even vigorous. Either Mr Brash isn't smart enough to be able manage appropriately nuanced behaviour around women in different settings or he's simply no match for Ms Clark. Or maybe both.
As you know I don't have a TV, and now I must confess that I don't often read the newspaper. Most of the outside world's news comes to me in disembodied voices over the radio. So billboards are my main source of visual information this election. If I were going to vote based only on a party's billboard I'd be voting National: their boards are big, slick, witty and everywhere. Labour's are boring. The Greens' are Too Hard. Act's are shrill. Does anyone make a voting choice based only on billboards? Surely anyone so disinterested in politics and isolated from other sources of information is simply not going to bother going to the polling booth.
If seats in parliament were allocated on the basis of the number of billboards then Helen or Don would find themselves negotiating a coalition with the Democrats in a few weeks. The Democrats, whom I'd forgotten even existed, have somehow managed to put up their signs everywhere.
Winston Peters' NZ First billboards win the ego competition with his bizarre photo and sexist tagline: A Man for a Change... a change from a woman leader. Yeah, its been so tiresome to tolerate a whole seven years of women prime ministers out of a hundred and something years of male-led parliamentary democracy. Enough of pandering to feminism. Let's return to the natural order of things and put a man, any man, back in charge. Well, maybe not just any man, how about one that knows how to treat a lady right and put her in her place.
When I turned on the radio the other day and heard a male voice saying that it wasn't right for men to shout at women, my response was 'yeah right on Mister, don't shout at women, I hate being shouted at', thinking this was some kind of domestic violence related discussion. Then I realised it was Don Brash trying to explain why he'd let Helen Clark eat him for breakfast in a debate. I suppose he's been handicapped by all those years in masculine enclaves like the Reserve Bank where he was isolated from contact with women in roles as his intelligent, powerful peers. I'm guessing his experience with women has been mostly in social settings or as professional juniors. So I'm pleased to know that he would never consider going up to Ms Clark, looming over her and shouting in her face- that *would* be an abuse of the power that a sexist society allocates to men.
But Helen Clark doesn't need protecting from men's strongly expressed opinions in a public setting designed for debate. It's her element, where she knows the rules and is used to success. In such an environment it's appropriate for all parties to treat eachother with personal respect (which Ms Clark doesn't always do) but the discussion of issues should be free and frank, even vigorous. Either Mr Brash isn't smart enough to be able manage appropriately nuanced behaviour around women in different settings or he's simply no match for Ms Clark. Or maybe both.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
I used to think bagels were a good thing
When the rain woke me up at 3.30 this morning I lay around fretting for a while, and then got up and began what turned into a nearly five hour process of debugging the laptop. Rest assured I am writing to you from a computer purged of at least 120 nasty whatsits. I'm pretty confident they are all gone, though I don't know what do with the ones locked in the AVG virus vault. Anyway, they appear to safely incarcerated for now.
I know how the damn mess got started too- I received an email from my old work address, with a subject line indicating this would be the tax information I requested ages ago. Sneaky nasty little virus, I never open joke attachments, but money info is a whole 'nother story... so you know I clicked it open... to my instantaneous regret. It was like inviting the Cat in the Hat to babysit.
As far as I know Bagel.DE hasn't been sending itself onto everyone in my address book, apologies if it has. All it seemed to want to do was encourage slothful behaviour in my hardworking hard drive and get on the net to invite its horrid little friends, Thing 1 and Thing 2 (and 3-120), over to play.
Thank you CW Shredder, Lavasoft Ad-Aware, Spybot S&D, and of course AVG Free. They are all free to download and relatively straightforward to use, if sloooooooooowwwwwwww to scan all my files. So that's all from me for today, I've been on the computer nearly 8 hours and its not even lunchtime. I'm outta here.
I know how the damn mess got started too- I received an email from my old work address, with a subject line indicating this would be the tax information I requested ages ago. Sneaky nasty little virus, I never open joke attachments, but money info is a whole 'nother story... so you know I clicked it open... to my instantaneous regret. It was like inviting the Cat in the Hat to babysit.
As far as I know Bagel.DE hasn't been sending itself onto everyone in my address book, apologies if it has. All it seemed to want to do was encourage slothful behaviour in my hardworking hard drive and get on the net to invite its horrid little friends, Thing 1 and Thing 2 (and 3-120), over to play.
Thank you CW Shredder, Lavasoft Ad-Aware, Spybot S&D, and of course AVG Free. They are all free to download and relatively straightforward to use, if sloooooooooowwwwwwww to scan all my files. So that's all from me for today, I've been on the computer nearly 8 hours and its not even lunchtime. I'm outta here.
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