July is the new July

Well how cute is that! No, July is not the new September or November or May, just like pink isn't the new white or something like that. I mean, right? This copy is in white. This copy is in pink. How are these colors the same???? Despite whatever Vogue or Cosmo try to tell you, they're not. So by the same deduction, it would stand to reason that July is simply... July.

What prompted this startling revelation, you ask? I just realized that today is the one year anniversary of my departure from New York. So just over a year later, next Tuesday, I'll be making my triumphant return. For all y'all in the NYC, you get ready now, y'hear?

Back in America

Spending a lazy, weekend day channel surfing a few months ago, I came across European Vacation. And for the umpteenth* time, I got sucked in. And why not? It's a classic.

*As I typed that word for the, uhhhhh, umpteenth time, I realized I have no idea what it means. I mean, I know what it means. But what is that? What a strange word! Has anyone ever wondered where it came from??**

**Ah. Here we are. A wiki yet again comes to the rescue.

What really struck a chord with me, and what I had completely forgotten from all previous viewings, were the closing credits. For although about 94 of prior 95 minutes of the movie take place in Europe, the closing credits are an unquestionable ode to America, with Network's Back in America blaring as quintessentially American images and icons are displayed on the screen.



And despite being a great song that's accompanied by an even better montage of images, this struck me as odd. Insanely odd. A movie that's 100% about a family's trip Europe, and the credits are about being back in America??!? Really? I mean, I guess I get the point. You can travel the world, see amazing places, meet new people, experience cultures that you'd otherwise never be exposed to, but in the end, there's no place like home, right? And I understand that. For home -- however you want to define it -- is great.

But. BUT. I think there's still the implication that the Griswolds found no redeeming qualities in Europe. I mean, watch that movie again. No, really, go ahead, watch it! I'll wait.

(Waiting...)

(Waiting...)

(Almost there...)

(Just about done...)

Okay, good. So what happened there? They went to Europe, they made jackasses of themselves, they slept on uncomfortable beds, they ran over a few English dudes, they ruined a beer festival, they generally had a miserable time... and all they came back with was an appreciation for each other? It was otherwise all for nothing?

Or do those credits go further, and are they possibly meant to mean more than this??? Because I think they may. As in: We rule, you suck. It's our world, you're just living in it. We're big, you're small. Just look at our big muscles, our big buildings, our big boobs, our big roads, our big signs, our big STARS AND STRIPES. America. Fuck yeah.

Seriously. Watch the video again. Then have a look at the poster for the movie.

Now, when deconstructing art of any kind, I generally like to be careful about reading too far in between the lines, because sometimes I feel like we're so intent on anointing someone as a genius that we'll find any tiny little clue to say, Yes! Look what they've done here! Brilliant!, even if the symbol or sequence of events or whatever that someone thinks they've found was never actually a conscious decision by the author/musician/painter/etc. But in this case? We're hardly reading between the lines. These are the closing freaking credits! Francis Ford Coppola began Apocalypse Now with The Doors' This is the End for a reason. And I contend that Amy Heckerling -- the director of European Vacation and a bona fide filmmaker -- also made quite the deliberate choice to end the movie this way.

I don't know. It's a bit odd, and almost disconcerting. It's as if you can point to those credits, in the context of the larger movie, and use them as Exhibit 1A for American arrogance. (With this being Exhibit 1B.)

But you know what? Despite all the misgivings I'm perceiving here, despite all the Haterade that you may think I'm showering on Heckerling, well, I still love those credits. Love them. They get me pumped. America, baby!

And even more so than that, I can relate to the "no place like home" sentiment. For after ten and a half months, come this Friday, I'm coming back to America. Albeit it's not a real coming back, as I'm only going to be there for three weeks, but still.

LA starting this Friday. August 1 to 5.

New York from August 5 to 12.

Martha's Vineyard from August 12 to 19.

LA again from August 19 to 23.

If you're in any of these locations during these dates -- hell, if you're within five hundred miles of any of these locations during these dates -- I expect to see you.

Back in America. Fuck yeah.

AK All Day Face: The turncoat

The turncoat (photo: Droid)

Yeah, I'm wearing an Australian flag hat, big whoop! What you gonna do, you wanna fight about it?

I should also note that earlier on the day that this photo was taken, somewhere down on the beach below, three of my friends -- who may or may not have consumed quite a few beverages of the alcoholic persuasion -- had to be saved by lifeguards when the riptide carried them and their kayak out to sea. Which meant that for the next few days, they may or may not have heard about it from the rest of us. Repeatedly.

Yeah, that was a good weekend.

The vitals
Title: The turncoat
Subject: AK
Face: The jubilation
Location: MacMasters Beach NSW

Bringing it full circle

Since I moved out of my parents' house in September 1999, I haven't lived in one place for any longer than two years. In fact, by my count, I've lived in 11 different places for at least three months each in five different cities, with a few more one or two month stays in various places sprinkled in for good measure.

And I hate it. No, the track record would seem to indicate otherwise, but it's true: I hate it. Really. I'm a creature of habit, a creature of simplicity. The way I see it, why should you up and move if you've found a comfortable place that you enjoy? And many of the places in which I've lived in the last decade have fit that bill. But still, I've managed to find my way into 11 places during this time, and each time I made a move, I guess I had my reasons.

Just like I have my reasons this time. Because yes, I'm moving again. Out of the amazing house in Maroubra and bringing it all full circle back to the apartment in Kensington that I stayed in when I first came to Sydney over ten months ago. For one of my friends is moving out of the apartment to travel the world, and my other three friends asked me -- nay, they begged me -- to move in. And being the great guy that I am, I obliged.

The last time I moved, you may remember I was torn between going to my current house in Maroubra and the house of some other friends in Kensington. Fortunately, in hindsight, I nailed that choice. NAILED it. For I've absolutely loved living in the palace in Maroubra for the last five months: great housemates, great house, great location. And my other friends in the house in Kensington? They got booted out of the place a month ago. Which would have left me up the proverbial creek without the proverbial paddle.

This time, when the opportunity presented itself, it also was no easy decision. Because as I said above, I love the house in Maroubra. But was this decision as difficult? No way. These are my best friends in Sydney, and that's a trump card that will overcome all. So come August 24, I come full circle, almost a year after I first came here. And I'm pumped.

AK All Day Face: The MCG

The MCG (photo: Akka)

The Melbourne Cricket Ground. The spiritual center (centre?) of Australian cricket. And Aussie Rules Football. My excitement -- as it generally is with the AK All Day Face -- is apparent.

When I wrote of my trip to Melbourne in February, the MCG held the record for hosting the largest crowd to ever watch a baseball game, during the 1956 Olympics. But no more! For when the Los Angeles Coliseum hosted the Dodgers and Red Sox in an exhibition game just over a month after this photo was taken, it broke the record by about 1,300 people. And seeing as baseball is, you know, an American sport, well, that seems right.

The vitals
Title: The MCG
Subject: AK
Face: The jubilation
Location: Melbourne VIC

Throwin' some Catholic Kleinballs

In honor of Day #1 of World Youth Day (which really should be renamed as World Youth Week):

The annoy legislation has been reversed! Upon hearing this joyous news, I immediately went out and showered pilgrims with condoms. And if this makes absolutely no sense to you, please read my last post. (Just don't want anyone to think that I'm a complete lunatic.)

Walking down the street during lunch today, I was struck by how many Americans I saw, from places such as Montana, Minnesota, Brooklyn and beautiful Elizabeth, NJ. Which got me thinking -- in the past ten months, I think that's the most Americans I've been around.

Overheard two strangers having a conversation:

- Guy with what sounded like American accent: I'm waiting to see if anyone from my country's going to walk by!

- Aussie: Oh yeah? What country's that?

- Guy with what sounded like American accent: Puerto Rico!

I had to bite my tongue on that one.

Finally, it wasn't until I saw all these Americans (and, errrrr, the independent and fully autonomous Puerto Ricans whose, uhhhhh, "country" is in no way supported by the American government) and noticed the diversity among them that I was reminded of how overwhelmingly white Australia is. It's something you notice when you first get here, but I guess I had gotten used to it. But man, this country is crazy white, yo.

Thou shalt not annoy

Catholic schoolgirls. The uniform's what does it for me. I wish I had've went with more Catholic schoolgirls when I was a kid. As it stands I have no, "And then she unzipped her jumper," stories.
      - Banky Edwards

If Banky Edwards were not a fictional character in what may still stand as my favorite movie of all time,* he'd be hightailing it to Sydney this week. For World Youth Day starts tomorrow.** And it's going to be big. REAL big. With apparently -- and I really have trouble believing this -- more people in the city than during the 2000 Olympics.

*I find this insanely impossible to wrap my head around, but Chasing Amy is over ten years old. And right now, I'm probably about as old as Holden and Banky and co were in that movie. I mean... yikes.

**It's called World Youth Day, but it runs from Tuesday to Sunday. I don't know.

Up until I moved here, I'd never heard of World Youth Day. So for those who are equally as ignorant as I was, it's basically this huge Church-organized event that happens every two or three years during which Catholic youths from all around the world come together to, uhhhh, do whatever it is that Catholic youths do. Rebel? I'm not entirely sure.

So some half million sexually repressed youths descend on Sydney tomorrow, the Pope comes on Thursday to do a little boat-a-cade on the Harbour, and then he's gonna speak to all the kiddies on Sunday. Which, on its own, sets the stage for what should be an interesting week.

And then the Australian government decided to make matters even more interesting. For they recently passed some legislation for the week that expressly prohibits non-pilgrims (also known as, you know, the actual tax payers and citizens of Sydney) from "annoying" pilgrims. Yes, that is actual legislation. I cannot "annoy" a pilgrim. Unless I feel like spending the night in jail.

For the moment, let's blindly accept the absurd premise of this law -- that in a free society, it's illegal to annoy someone -- and get to a more basic question: What's the legislation's definition of "annoy"? Because as far as anyone can tell -- and this is what has most of us non-pilgrims (or, you know, the actual tax payers and citizens of Sydney) so confused -- there is no black and white definition. But examples such as passing out condoms to pilgrims, wearing shirts that may be deemed as offensive to pilgrims or giving freaking water to pilgrims have been bandied about, and the powers that be have judged that in each of these cases, yes, this would cause annoyance to a pilgrim and would thus subject you to said night in jail.

Top this off with massive road closures throughout the city to allow the pilgrims to wander around, a public transportation system that will most certainly be brought to its knees, and we have the makings for quite the interesting week. If only Banky could witness.

Hungover Rocky IV thoughts

Nursing my hangover on Saturday, I got a hankering that I've had about 15,483 times before: I needed to watch some Rocky IV. And fortunately, one of my housemates has the five-disc set,* so I popped the fourth installment into the DVD player, "accidentally" threw the fifth installment out the window, closed the blinds, turned off the lights, wrapped myself in an American flag and had at it.

*I've probably come across at least three or four "collector's editions" or "anniversary editions" or "so-and-so editions" of the five-disc Rocky set, and I wouldn't be surprised if a few more were floating around out there. And now, with Rocky Balboa, it's clear we're on a collision course for at least another three or four iterations of the six-disc set. Which makes me think: between that and the latest Rambo... well, that's some moola for Sly.

Although this was my 15,484th viewing of the movie, I had a few thoughts that hadn't occurred to me before. So why not air them here?

1. The black trainer. No, not Duke. Duke is great. Duke is Duke. I'm talking about Drago's black trainer. I have to believe that I've noticed this before, but really... a black trainer in communist Russia??!?

2. The robot. Like Duke, we all know and love the robot. But going into this viewing, I realized that I knew nothing of the robot. Who is she? What are her dreams? What are her demons? I didn't know. So I made a conscious effort to pay extra close attention to her scenes. And now that I've done so, I have to say: uhhhh, what??? Honestly, what the HELL??!? Sly (also the director) straddled a very undefined line between some random toss away joke and a creepy, semi-romantic subplot between Paulie and the robot. Yes, the first appearance during Paulie's birthday was funny, but then she shows up again... and again... and again! And just when you think that she's going to be a character running throughout the whole movie, Paulie jets off to the USSR and she's no more! I get the sense that a few more scenes with the robot -- and in case anyone cares, IMDB says her name was Sico the Robot -- were left on the cutting room floor, because as the movie's currently constructed, it just doesn't make any sense. So my demand to Sly is simple: give us the deleted scenes!*

*And what a better time than now for Sly to get on it, seeing as we're going to be hit with five different versions of the six-disc set in the next decade!

3. The training montages. The staple of any Rocky movie. And again, I'm hoping I've noticed this before, but Rocky IV features not one, but two training montages... both within half a minute of each other! First Rocky gets to the Soviet Union and trains his ass off. There's music. There's Drago. There's sweat. There's running. I'm excited. And as the montage ends and Rocky is coming back to the cabin, Adrian is there waiting for him. They embrace. And then, literally without any further delay, we get another montage!!! And there's more music. There's more Drago. There's more sweat. There's more Rocky running, this time to the top of a frickin' mountain, from where he screams, "DRAAAAGOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" And I'm more excited!!! And I just can't hide it!!! I can't stop using exclamation marks!!! Just because Rocky IV has two training montages within thirty sections of each other!!! Amazing.

What new discoveries await me on my 15,485th viewing of Rocky IV, which is sure to happen in the next three months? Who knows. And that's what makes it sooooooo good.

Freaking Posnanski

Yeah, I've already produced a slobberfest of love for Joe Posnanski the other week. But bear with me, for here it comes again.

You see, I was looking around on his blog the other day. Specifically at one of his more recent posts about voting in a "first class" into the Baseball Hall of Fame. He starts off on a really great tangent* about Jackie Robinson and then nominates fifteen clear-cut HOFers and asks his readers to vote in a poll (which is no longer up there) for five in this group that they feel deserve to be part of a "first class". Which is pretty much an impossible task when you consider the names: Ruth, DiMaggio, Mays, Aaron, Williams, Johnson, Robinson, Young, Cobb, Wagner, Bonds, Gehrig, Gibson, Mantle and Maddux.

*How you can start a blog post -- or any written piece, for that matter -- with a tangent, I don't know. But Posnanski has managed. And it works.

Now. Assuming I haven't lost everyone on this post yet, just look at that list! Look at it!! That's a veritable who's who of baseball history, and there is absolutely no way that any baseball fan can or should have to distinguish between these players. Yet this is the challenge that Posnanski has posed to his readers.

Anyway, it's a fascinating topic, at least to me. So then I did something that I'm fairly sure I've never done on a blog written by someone I don't know: I read the comments section. And can I say, if anyone ever wants to shove it in Buzz Bissinger's face, they absolutely need show him the comments section from Posnanski's blog. Because for the most part, the level of writing and intellect from those who've left comments might only be a notch or two below that of Posnanski.

Readers detail the agony they felt as they struggled to somehow pick only five players from this group, and go on -- often in quite a bit of detail -- to describe the criteria they used to pick the players and their decision-making process process. And this goes on... for one hundred and eighty-three comments... and counting! How many of these comments contain a poop joke or even an all too easy swipe at Bonds' alleged steroid use, as Bissinger would argue the discussion would devolve to? As far as I can tell, that would be zero.

It's unbelievable, really. Like Michael Jordan or Tom Brady make their teammates better, freaking Posnanski's brilliant writing has raised the game for people leaving comments on his freaking blog. Unbelievable.

Drinking some Champagne with the King

Just like this past Thanksgiving and Martin Luther King Day and Presidents Day and Memorial Day, this Fourth of July was unlike any other that I've ever experienced. For there were no hot dogs. No hamburgers. No watermelon. No fireworks. Just work. And a hungover day of work, at that.

So what did I do to celebrate? Well, not much. Except pick up some MGD for a house party on Friday night. And then some Bud for another one on Saturday. (During which I may or may not have drunkenly serenaded the rest of the party with the Star-Spangled Banner.) My first American beers in ten months!! Sweet, sweet Americaness.

A belated Happy Fourth to all.