Today was a good day

There's no better way to put it.

Woke up to a beautiful, sunny morning. Went for a run along the water. Watched the Red Sox win the World Series. Won money at the casino. And received notification that my work visa has been approved!

The trifecta has been accomplished. Job? Check. Place to live? Check. Work visa? Check!

Work begins tomorrow. And with that, my unemployment officially ends at 102 days.

Portuguese Chicken Wars!

Several posts ago, I alluded to a certain Portuguese Chicken War but didn't elaborate. Well, the time is now!

I wish this was just a cute name for some little phenomenon going on in Kensington, my old neighborhood, but it is exactly like it sounds. There are three Portuguese chicken restaurants within two blocks of each other, and they are literally at war with one another. And not war as in, "oh, we're really fierce competitors and have a lot of price wars", but more like war as in "we will burn down our competitors' restaurants." Because that has actually happened.

A week or so before I moved here, Shorty emailed me with a few tidbits about the apartment and neighborhood. The most interesting part of his email? It went a little something like this:

You'll see there are a lot of Portuguese chicken take away places in our area. They are like rival gangs so you have to choose one and stick to it. Now some people will try to lead you astray but may I highly recommend Ogalo. It was recently burnt down by another store (Portogali) so never go there. While they are restoring Ogalo you have permission to eat at Ole but the moment Ogalo reopens, you must flock back there.

Ha ha, I thought. Cute little Portuguese immigrants and their cute little wars. Nope.

A few days after I arrived, I went to Ole to have a gander and some food. As I walked in, the people working the counter gave me quite the friendly hello. Something along the lines of, "Hello, my friend! How are you today?" You know, just imagine your favorite Yemenite establishment and how they greet you when you walk in. Just like that. So I ordered the spicy Ole burger, which was quite succulent. Very good fries, er, chips, as well. Here's Ole:

After finishing my meal, I continued down the road. Not more than 30 meters further, I passed Portogali. And the men had seen me exit Ole. Not a big deal, right? Well, it didn't seem like it at the time. I just got a bit of a stare from the guys there, and didn't think much of it. Here's Portogali:


Only another 50 meters or so, I passed Ogalo and witnessed the devastation that had been brought upon it. Completely gutted and empty inside, it stood there, cold and alone.


Now, there are two schools of thought regarding how Ogalo was burned down:
1. Ogalo, with a kitchen and amenities inferior to those of Ole and Portogali, burned their own place down with the hopes of using the insurance money to rebuild a newer and better store.
2. In a fit of jealous rage over Ogalo's success, the owner of Portogali had his men burn Ogalo down.

Apparently the police are still looking into it, so no official ruling has been made yet. But this is your classic case of Portuguese guy said/other Portuguese guy said; the folks at Portogali swear that Ogalo burned its own store down, and the folks at Ogalo swear that Portogali burned their place down. We'll have to wait for the authorities to sort this one out.

Anyway, a few days later, I thought I'd try out Portogali. Sure, Shorty had specifically warned me against this, and sure, I had received a bit of a bad stare from the guys there, but come on. I mean, we're talking about Portuguese chicken! I wanted to give Portogali a fair shake in this, and besides, there's no way there's truth to any of this, right?

I quickly found out there was truth. The second I stepped foot into Portogali, the man behind the counter began to absolutely berate me. "You were in Ole the other day, I saw you! You leave right now or I make you leave!!" The kitchen staff came out, then some other dude from inside another door. So, yeah. I left.

As I scurried back to my apartment, I turned around to see three or four of the men standing outside Portogali just watching me.

But I was still hungry, and I needed nourishment. So after I regained my composure, I went back out to Ole. But much like the mother that turns her back on the baby that leaves the herd, I was damaged goods to Ole. "We saw you in that other place! You cannot go to them! You must leave now!!!!"

I apologized. I said I didn't understand the bad blood, that I just wanted food. But they would have none of it. I must leave, and I must leave now.

I'm still trying to piece the history together, but from what I've been able to determine, the tension between Ole and Ogalo is somewhat similar to that of Pat's and Geno's in Philadelphia. Ogalo, like Pat's, was the original. But some time after its foundation, some of the employees had a rift with the owners and split off to form Ole, just like Geno's. But while Pat's and Geno's can kind of coexist, Ogalo and Ole clearly cannot. And then when Portogali opened its doors for business right in between the two, the entire situation boiled over. I wish I were making this up, but girlfriends got involved, there have been rumblings of tampering with each other's food, there have apparently been several verbal and physical confrontations, and it all culminated in the fire at Ogalo. Again, no official cause has been announced yet, but it's looking like Portogali could be in trouble here.

I no longer live in that neighborhood, and when it comes to Portuguese chicken, that might just be for the best. I had been blacklisted from both of the establishments that are currently open, and I'm not sure what would have happened if I went to Ogalo when it finally reopens. They're feverishly working to rebuild it, and I know they've seen me in the area. Might just be best to steer clear of Portuguese chicken for a while.

The "I feel ten pounds lighter without my pathetic excuse for a beard" quick hits edition

Yes, due to my lack of need to look presentable for the last few weeks, I stopped shaving and grew what one might consider to be a beard. We -- the beard and I, that is -- had a love/hate thing going on, with the hate ultimately winning out. I'll look fondly back upon my beard of October 2007, but it was time for it to go.

I can't stress enough how pleasant it's been for the last week to not be living out of a suitcase. Since leaving New York, I haven't consistently lived in one place until now, and the simple ability to unpack my things and know that I won't need to pack them again for quite some time has been fantastic. Clothes in a drawer! It's so luxurious!

Went to a trivia night with some friends the other day, and we ended up winning $30. Instead of splitting the loot, we thought it would be best to press our earnings with some gambling. So we split the $30 equally and tried our luck at slot machines (aka pokies), keno and dog races. Roughly twelve seconds later, we were penniless. Ah, the joys of gambling.

Yes, it would be nice to change the title of these things from "quick hits" to something else because it's not a very original name, but perhaps more importantly, I've realized that these hits aren't really quick. In fact, given a blank page, I'm fairly incapable of not expounding on any topic. A term such as "ramblings" might be more appropriate, but that's already been claimed by someone who hasn't rambled since August 19, 2005.

We have two suggestions for a different name so far, and they both incorporate my last name. Fantastic. Anyway, "throwin' Kleinballs" intrigues me. For those who don't know what the Kleinball is (and that would be everyone who didn't live at 115 St Marks Place, Apt 11, circa 2005 to 2007), it's my age-old theory that there's another baseball pitch out there that's yet to be discovered. Some say it's impossible. I say -- nay, insist -- that it's out there. And with the emergence of Daisuke Matsuzaka's gyroball in the last two years, I'd like to claim some level of victory here.

Kleingaroo pellets might be a little more topical, but then again, the word "pellet" suggests a small dose, and as I've established above, I'm not capable of that. Maybe Kleingaroo turds? But then that's just too graphic.

I'll make a decision by next time. Maybe Throwin' Kleingaroo Turds?

Ummm, no.

The "It's really warm and sunny today, I'm gonna bang out some thoughts and get back outside" quick hits edition

Apologies for the lack of posts recently, been sans Internet for the last few days.

Moved into my new place on Saturday, I think it's going to work out just fine. Eight people in all, breaking down as follows: a Turkish guy, Kiwi girl, Irish couple, English couple, Danish guy and me. The furniture and electronics (including heretofore mentioned Internet) are still a work in progress, but it's all coming together nicely. And that includes, from at least what I can tell, zero hidden cameras.

Stayed up far past my bedtime on Saturday night/Sunday morning, making it to the sunrise. Not many buses run at that hour on the weekend, so I hopped on the first one that was going in my general direction. This particular bus stopped about 20 minutes from my place, and the rest of the way is on this coastal walk, perched maybe 100-200 feet above the ocean. As I walked home, with the sun rising above the water, a school (herd?) of whales swam by, shooting water into the air. Very cool.

Want to welcome the newest addition to planet Earth, Jesse Evan Jacobs, my cousin's son. (Is that cousin once removed? Or second cousin? I can never remember these things. Let's keep it simple and just call him my cousin.)

I thought it might be easier to watch the Red Sox in the playoffs with some distance between us. Yeeeaaaaaaahh, that's a negatory. Watched their Game 2 nail biter against the Indians in a local bar with some other Americans and nearly shat myself on numerous occasions. Meanwhile, as this great game marched on to extra innings, 98% of the bar was watching the most boring of Rugby League matches between Australia and New Zealand, which the Kangaroos won, 58-0. Regardless, I swore off of Red Sox games after that, at least for a few days.

And that day would be today... exactly two days and one game later. Watched this game from the comfort of the sports book at the casino here, Star City. And lo and behold, by the fourth inning, they switched the game to the main screen and added audio! My first audio of playoff baseball this year! Which was just in time to witness the Sox kill a potential big rally and refuse to get a hit from there on after. So no baseball for a few days for me. Maybe. (Also would like to add that despite my frustration at Kenny Lofton's home run, his celebration with Victor Martinez in the dugout was fantastic. I'd link to a YouTube clip here, but I can't find it.)

Anyone have any suggestions for a title for these "quick hits" blogs? Might try to do some more.

Still waiting for that work visa.

This is the story of seven strangers...

...picked to live together.

The Real World. What a fantastic, yet supremely absurd show. Over its many seasons, it went from an interesting look at the lives of seven strangers to an excuse for those strangers to get drunk to an excuse for them to get drunk and get into fights to an excuse for them to get drunk, get into fights, have orgies, go to jail and fling around racial epithets.

Ironically enough, I believe that the current season in the US is Real World: Sydney. And even more ironical is that I believe I'm about to subject myself to it. Because come Saturday, I will be moving into a sweet house with six (maybe seven) other strangers. Haven't met all of them yet, but from what I can understand, there will be a French dude, a Danish cook, an Irish couple and a Kiwi girl, among others.

This will end up being either the smartest or dumbest thing I have ever done, with absolutely zero middle ground. And right now, I'm leaning towards the latter. However, here are the arguments in favor of it (or at least what I keep on telling myself to make me feel better):

1. Just like the houses in The Real World, it is a sweet house. Four common areas, nice sized rooms and a pool! Here are some pictures:

2. It's in a great location. Right off of the water (with a view from the kitchen), and about a 15 minute walk in each direction to some great beaches.

3. The entire house comes furnished, so I don't have to worry about buying a bed, dresser, desk, couches, etc.

4. I'll be surrounded by many different cultures, which will be educational and shit.

5. And if all else fails (i.e., the Kiwi is a crack whore, the Dane enjoys his Scandinavian punk music at an obscenely high volume and the French couple are strict nudists), it's only a three-month commitment at the minimum. So it's not like I'm locked in for a year.

So yeah, this could be really, really bad, but then again, it's not actually going to turn into The Real World. I mean, there aren't any cameras mounted in the house. I think. Or at least from what I could see. And if nothing else, it'll make for some fantastic stories. Regardless of which way it goes. Stay tuned.

Invasion of the bogong moths

Last Thursday, as I walked to dinner with some friends, we noticed an abnormaly large number of moths collected around any light source. And I mean a lot. The entire sides of buildings were covered in moths. Crazy, we thought.

The next night, as some friends and I drank some beers on this headland overlooking the ocean, we noticed even more moths gathered around a light pole. There were enough that even when simply walking under the pole, they were flying in our faces. Strange, we thought.

And that's when they descended from every which direction. Moths in apartments. Moths getting into your food. Moths all up your face. Moths everywhere.

Turns out this happens once a year, when hoards of bogong moths (whatever those are) migrate. But because of some unusual winds this year, Sydney's seeing many, many, many more moths than normal. And how better to take advantage of this than to eat them! Ummm, or not.

Anyway, to the moths: it's been fun, really, but it's time for everybody out!

Who has two thumbs and doesn't have TB?

This guy!

(Uhhhhh, I guess it's important to note that I'm currently pointing both of my thumbs at me.)

But yes, I had a chest x-ray on Friday and despite rumors to the contrary, it came back tuberculosis free! So for those keeping score at home, that's one step further away from deportation and one step closer to a work visa.

I've had a pretty bad chest cold for the last few days, so leading up to the exam, I was positive that I had somehow contracted tuberculosis. Kind of like how, at some point in all of our lives, we convince ourselves that we have cancer. So when the woman at the health center studied my x-ray for what seemed like a full minute, while she had seemingly glanced at every other one for a few seconds, I was fully convinced that I was on the next plane home in my own little plastic bubble. But no! I'm safe for now.

Despite this cold, I forged through on Friday night, determined not to let a little illness ruin my time here. (Let's look past the fact that it's not like I'm here for a week or two; I probably could have taken the night off.) And much like the news team brawl in Anchorman, the night escalated quickly. A few beers soon turned into a few cocktails, which soon turned into shots.

Flash forward to 7:30 the next morning when I'm woken up by the guys in the apartment I'm staying at because they're getting ready to play some cricket. And my throat is on fire. I can hardly speak. Genius, Andy. Really genius. Anyway, the rest of the day was spent trying to make it through the rest of the day. Which was quite the struggle. Needless to say, I took it easy that night, stayed away from the alcohol and even passed out before England finished off Australia in the Rugby World Cup.

Still don't have a place to live, but I'm seeing some more places today and hoping to hear back from a few others soon. Let's hope it comes soon... living on a sofa in the living room of an apartment for four isn't really my bag.

The Pom-Pom Baseball Playoff Preview

Watching the Cubs-Diamondbacks playoff game earlier today, I noticed that the Diamondbacks had distributed white pom-poms to their fans. Naturally, this infuriated me. In fact, I was so enraged that I've decided to do a baseball playoffs preview despite the fact that we're three games into the playoffs.

Now granted, this was the first baseball game I've watched in at least three weeks, so most of my thoughts and musings are based on severe biases that have lived deep within me for years, a couple of articles I've read recently and just about every baseball-related podcast on the Internets. Without further ado, a team-by-team look at the playoffs:

Arizona Diamondbacks
There's really nothing more to add here. They gave their fans pom-poms. As in the things that cheerleaders wave. Then again, this is the same team whose local paper actually published a "Guide to Baseball" spread when they first made the playoffs in 2001. Somehow, this spread inspired them to a World Series. Will history repeat itself with the pom-poms? Ummmmm, no.

California Angels
If you're going to pass out anything for your fans to wave around over their heads, it should be a monkey. Uhhhh, and Chevrolets, goat cheese pizzas and bottled water. Anything else is un-American.

Cleveland Indians
I got nothing here. But here's to hoping they beat the Yanks on the backs of two starters, two relievers, Trot Nixon and nothing else.

Colorado Rockies
It's part smoke, part mirrors, but who cares? They're steamrolling right now, and based on the last three weeks, how can anyone not pick them to go deep into the playoffs? I say World Series.

Boston Red Sox
My very unbiased pick to win the World Series. And I know it's already been beaten into the ground, but J.D. Drew ended two innings in today's game (including hitting into a double play), leaving three runners on base.

Philadelphia Phillies
If the Sox don't win the World Series, I hope it's the Phillies. Because as everyone knows, they're my fourth favorite team. But really, let's let Philly win this. For the sanity of that city, and the stability of the entire Northeast. Think that's a stretch? Well, think of it like an SAT question. Philadelphia is to Iraq as the Northeast is to the Middle East; if that one area becomes destabilized, the entire region will be thrown into chaos. Santa Claus will be universally booed, people from DC to Boston will cheer when athletes suffer potentially life-threatening injuries and most importantly, we will continue to throw batteries at J.D. Drew. We've come to a tipping point, and it's about to spill over to the rest of the I-95 corridor. This is not a joke.

Chicago Cubs
If the Sox or the Phillies don't win the World Series, I hope it's the Cubs. Although I'm not sure what Lou was thinking when he removed Zambrano after six innings and only 85 pitches. Maybe there was a legit reason (as gracious as the local pub was to turn on the game, I wasn't about to press my luck and ask them to turn on the sound), but with the way he was pitching and his rubber arm, Big Z was good for at least another two innings. Oh, and Bartman really needs a hug.

New York Yankees
If the Sox, Phillies, Cubs, Angels, Rockies, Indians or Diamondbacks don't win the World Series, ummmmm... ummmmmm... I hope it's canceled. But here's my real dilemma: I want the Yankees to resign A-Rod. For three reasons. One, it makes it that much easier to hate him and the team. Two, despite being a very good player, A-Rod's teams have never won it all, which presumably precludes the Yankees from doing so as long as he's on the roster. And three, in the years after he left his previous two teams, those teams improved by a combined 43 games. Which means that A-Rod's potential departure will markedly help the 2008 Yankees. And I really don't want that. So although he's had only four hits with no RBIs in his last 41 at bats in the playoffs, here's to hoping he has a playoff performance just mediocre enough for the Yankees to resign him, but not good enough that people actually think he can perform in October. That's a reeeaaaal fine line. I'm thinking 6-for-19 with two HRs, five RBIs, one slightly-costly error, four strikeouts (one of which ends a rally), five walks, two SBs and two GIDPs in a hard-fought ALDS that the Yankees lose in five. But he has to hit that right on the head. Better or worse either way and I'm screwed.

Honestly, I have no idea what's going to happen in the playoffs. Minus the Diamondbacks and their pom-poms, I think any of these teams could win it all. As long as that team isn't the Yankees and there's no Red Sox-Yankees ALCS, I'll be happy. Because 2003 and 2004 left me more drained than Chuck Sheen at Heidi Fleiss' place. (Heyooooooo!!!) Although even if there is Sox-Yanks III, I don't have to deal with Yankees fans anymore. And that alone might be worth being here.