So, my brother phones from New Zealand the week before Christmas last year to again ask his annual yuletide favor of me – namely can I please purchase a Christmas gift for the folks state side in his name, wrap it, and deliver it. He’ll reimburse me by sending the money out as soon as he knows how much I spend on the gift and he’s willing to go up to $100 US this year. Oh, and can I please call him prior to delivering the gift, so when the folks call he can answer any questions about the gift.
Being a (now) dutiful younger brother I agree to this transaction.
This year, I did a gift basket thing around a movie theme. Fine New Zealand wine, and tasty nibbles from France to antipodes all from the lovely Cost Plus, all wrapped up in a custom basket – and then a gift membership to Netflix.
I called Jason to give him the cost of everything and I also explained what he’d “bought” for the parental units for 2006. I got to trying to explain “Netflix” to a New Zealander.
“It’s this online DVD rental store, where you select movies from their database and “queue up” the movies you want to see in your account, and for a nominal monthly fee Netflix mails them to you free of charge one after another. You can keep them as long as you want, there are no late fees and if you’re good about it – you can see dozens of movies a month." To which my brother replied, “Frankly, it sounds made up.”
This became my favorite phrase of December 2006, to anything I’d be muttering, “frankly, it sounds made up.”
Jason reminded me that their local video rental shop in Wellington still just asks for your home phone number when you rent a video. You don’t even need a credit card. Ahh, the good old days. On the plus side there, you can rent a “Sing Star” at the video store. The great New Zealand answer to karaoke on the play station – with Sing Star you sing along with the actual music videos, and the game rates you and your opponent as to your pitch, tempo and volume. After a couple of drinks, you’re all loving it. Well, anyone at the party is, the neighbors, not so much. I mean, there is a limit as to how many times your neighbors want to hear you belting out “The Reason” by Hoobastank or fumbling your way through “Shuddup” by the Black Eyed Peas. (Take Fergies part in that, BELIEVE me – the rap is murder on your score.)
Anyway, this all just came back to me today as I got a call from my brother, now almost a month after Christmas, letting me know that he’ll be sending me my reimbursement funds very soon – the cheque is in the mail, or soon will be. He needed to verify my address to ensure that my $100 will be state side soon.
Frankly, it sounds made up.
I confirmed my street address, let Jason know that yes, my city is still Los Angeles, (spelled it twice for him), gave out my zip code and then he added U.S.A. or “Gods own country” as Bush likes to think of it.
He promised he wouldn’t actually write THAT on the envelope, as I would like to see the cash and not some federal agents at my door asking about a smart arse in New Zealand that they’ve come across by opening my mail illegally under a legal law that was passed in the midst of night while the grunions were running that actually makes the illegality legal in all but the freak states of Alaska, Hawaii and Texas.
1 comment:
I've rented one of those karaoke things too (and here in the states as well)! Mine was a microphone/remote controller that we got for a party. I went from a great score to a terrible score as the night and the alcohol progressed. :)
“Frankly, it sounds made up.” I like that.
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