dialed in

My last post, of course, is no longer true. I didn't get to watch George Mason win its way into the Final Four - I didn't see a single game by the green-clad Masonites in my online tournament viewing. But I'll be damn sure to watch them this weekend, although when I put my bets down at the local sports book, I didn't pick George Mason to win it all.
The GMU-UConn game was Monday morning here, and I didn't realize how early. I thought I'd get out to watch it (at an Internet cafe, most likely) at around noon. But at 9 a.m. I was awakened by my phone alerting me to a text message from a friend back in the states cheering on George Mason.
I'm on dial-up here at the house, and the service is spotty at best. I realized the game was nearly over, there weren't any bars open which were likely to have the game on (and I wasn't sure it was even broadcast here - they only show about half the games of any American sporting event I want to watch) and I didn't have time to get to an Internet cafe to watch the webcast.
So I was left with the most tenuous link - getting text updates on my cell phone's internet browser.
I had the score and a two-word description of the last three shots taken. I hit refresh like crazy, and only got an update about every fourth time. I cheered on the number next to GMU's name, even though I (for reasons unknown even to me) had rooted for UConn since I was a young kid in Montana.
I watched George Mason, inprobably, hold on to their lead. There were seconds left. I had no idea what was happening on the court. Then a refresh told me - the game was going into overtime.
I considered my options again. Still no chance of getting to see the game on TV. Possibly time to get to the Internet. But there's no chance a small-time team like GMU could keep it going against a big-time team like UConn in overtime. I've seen it happen. Connecticut made the last shot, took George Mason's best shot and survived, and now the Huskies were going to cruise in overtime.
So I wasn't in a crazed rush when I threw on some clothes to see if I could get to a 'Net terminal in time. As I was walking out the door, I hit refresh on the phone again and saw the OT was already half over. No chance of seeing any of it, I figured, but the display told me GMU was still, improbably, holding a slim lead.
So I "watched" the biggest upset since I've been following the tournament in my empty apartment over a bowl of cereal on a 1' text-only screen.
I did get to the 'Net cafe later that afternoon and watched the game's highlights. Even watching on digital delay, the emotion of the game still got to me.

how does this happen?

I can't believe the finishes of the late games today. Crazy. And neither team I was rooting for won.
Texas won a shot that no one should make. Gonzaga lost on some plays no one should make. How do you let that happen? UCLA scored the final 11 points, and the 'Zags lose the ball going for the final shot.
I don't pick Gonzaga to go far anymore, after being burned the last few years, but at the half I was looking forward to the Memphis/Gonzaga matchup.
I'm glad Duke lost, but there aren't a lot of teams left I want to watch.

what are they trying to say?

Very near my house is a car mechanic shop. The shop has a company car, which is usually parked on the street outside.
The car, like company cars everywhere, has the name of the shop written on the side. But it also has decals simulating bullet holes all along the side of the car.
I don't know what message this is trying to send. Are they implying their service is so good, competitors try to gun them down? Are they trying to make me think the shop is a front for a shady criminal organization? Are they simply gun enthusiasts?
And would any of these possibilities make me more likely to take my car to this shop, rather than a shop which doesn't want me to think they are often dodging bullets on the street?

that charming kiwi slang

It's not exactly the most lyrical of sayings - more of brute force irreverance. But possibly my favorite piece of slang here in New Zealand that doesn't exist back home is the verb "to root," meaning "to have sexual intercourse" but really more aligned with the old standard "fuck."
I went to a comedy show the other night - a musical act managed to rhyme "root" with "trouser flute".