Glowworms

Glowworms can be found throughout New Zealand, not just in Waitomo. You have a good chance at seeing them during nighttime bush walks as long as you know where to look. They don't always reside in caves, but definitely prefer to be sheltered, either by overhangs or within hollowed trees. If you have never seen or heard of glowworms, then it might interest you to know a few things.

Glowworms are not worms, they are larva.

Glowworms are the larva of an insect called a fungus gnat which looks like a very large mosquito.

They are bioluminescent creatures that hang sticky, silk threads in order to catch bugs. Their eerie green glow attracts the bugs which are then paralyzed in the glowworms strands of death. The glowworms pull up the threads to eat their prey. The hungrier a glowworm, the brighter it glows.

The adult fungus gnat has no mouth so it must mate and lay eggs before it dies of starvation.

They are extremely hard to photograph and the pictures attached do not do the little guys justice.

Christmas in Summer and Other Crazy Occurrences

They say that Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. I respectfully disagree. Suicides skyrocket, domestic violence soars, financial destruction wreaks havoc on the people and still they plaster on their plastic smiles and hang their cheap pathetic tinsel off the boughs of their atrocious plastic trees. The fact that Christmas is no longer really about Christ doesn't bother me nearly as much as having rampant consumerism shoved down my gagging throat. The whole idea of Christmas has taken such a dark and twisted turn, I doubt that even Tim Burton could portray the holiday more scathingly and sordidly than we present it year after depressing year.
A trip away from the cold and snow and holly jolly facade sounded like a wonderful way to spend December 25th. Imagine my surprise when nary a tacky house did I see nor a kiddie fiddling Santa did I read about nor a painful pop star rendition of “Silent Night” did I hear. Imagine a place where Christmas was less about presents and ostentatious houses and more about bbq's on the beach and camping with friends and family. My friends, that place is real, It exists. It's New Zealand.
I spent Christmas Eve preparing a gargantuan salad for Swampy's hostel while all the forty other guests busied themselves with dishes representing their own cultures. Swampy himself prepared venison, ham, chicken and wild hare. Although many people talked about home and what they would have been doing, not one unsmiling face did I see and not one embittered remark did I hear. We feasted. We had a white elephant with a ten dollar limit. We drank Jim Beam well into the night. It was simple, beautiful and perfect.
The next day we cured our hangovers with sun and surf and laughter and naps in the shade. We spent Christmas night camping on White's Bay beach, eating cold cheese sandwiches and drinking lukewarm, sun-drenched beer, blaring anti-Christmas tunes from the speakers of a campervan. At midnight we ran down to the beach and jumped in for a swim under the moonlight. We laid out in the sand and watched the Milky Way and its myriad of shooting stars.
They say that I hate Christmas, I don't, I just hate Christmas the way I've always known it not the way it could be.

'Tis the Season

Nicholas Was...

older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.

The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

-Neil Gaiman
Smoke and Mirrors