Pie night in Australia!

Last Thursday, my friend Brooke -- who will some day make the world's greatest mother -- hosted Pie Night, a semi-regular event that has become something of a tradition. This was my first taste of Pie Night, and it absolutely did not disappoint.

To reiterate a point that I may or may not have already discussed in this space,* there are two very distinct types of pies in Australia: savory pies and sweet pies. Savory pies are actual meals, as I discovered many, many, many times over at Harry's Carte de Wheels during my end of season cricket trip to Newcastle back in April. Generally, they're maybe four or five inches in diameter and have a meat filling with some type of sauce. Sweet pies are dessert pies, and pretty much in line with what Americans are used to.

*I guess if I haven't already discussed this in a prior post, then I'm not really reiterating it, huh? Would I just be iterating it?**

**Did I just make the horrific leap into Dad joke territory?

Pie night was all about the savory pies; this was the meal. And my lord, were those pies were amazing. Brooke made them the previous day with a Pie Wizard, which is the greatest thing ever invented. She made two types: creamy chicken and tomato mince. The creamy chicken featured chicken, capsicum (aka red peppers) and two of my favorite ingredients ever: sweet chili sauce and garlic. Ridiculously good, it was. Tasted almost like a curry, it did. And the tomato mince was no slouch either, although much more of an over-the-plate execution.

About the time we had all finished stuffing ourselves with the pies and some sides of fries and salad, we heard a blood-curdling scream come from the building next to us. Our first reaction as a group was to laugh; not sure why, but it came fairly naturally. Then someone said, "Hold on, that actually sounded kind of serious." And then the screaming actually continued, this time outside. We went out to see what was going on, and across the street, we made out a guy and girl in a bit of a struggle. They broke apart, and the guy headed off down the street.

Even now, several days later, we're not exactly sure what happened, but it seems like this guy broke into the girl's apartment and snatched her laptop. She actually went after him, and what we briefly saw in the darkness outside was her trying to get the laptop back off of him. Yet to add to our confusion, there was a car stopped in the middle of the road with a bike lying in front of it. But there was no rider. Very strange.

Anyway, we shook off this diversion, regrouped and went back inside for dessert. In the past, the group has followed up the savory pies with dessert pies, but I guess this was found to be overkill on the pies. So on this night, we had ice cream. Simple and straightforward, but a nice ending to a massive and eventful meal.

The camera, it hates me

They said they'd make photos and video available to me. And I was actually looking forward to that, to have some kind of keepsake of my run.

And yesterday, the email came: we have pictures available for you to view! So I excitedly clicked on the link. And that's when I fully appreciated the wording of their email. Not "we have pictures of you to view." Oh no: "We have pictures available for you to view." Because here's the one picture that they've offered to sell me:


Great. Fantastic. Am I down there, somewhere on the bridge? Maybe, but I doubt it; I think it's just a photo that they offer to everyone. Meanwhile, a friend from work has five photos available to purchase, all of which were actually, you know, of her. She didn't just have one option, in which she may have looked like crap. No -- she had five freaking options.

Then there came the video of the finish line. Any more of a keepsake, this hardly is. But click here to view the video. I'm about 15 seconds into it, in light blue shorts, on the left. Mindblowing video! Yep, definitely gonna be holding onto this to show to my grandkids!

41:54

In the words of the immortal Brian Collins, boom goes the dynamite!

I murdered that race. Murdered it. Forty-one minutes and fifty-four seconds. That's over eight minutes better than the rough goal I'd set for myself, over three minutes better than the stretch goal. Finished 726th out of 10,600 people, and 197th out of 1,131 men between 20 and 29.

Most amazingly of all, I did it with relative ease. Felt really good, from start to finish, and I think I could have done it even faster. But as probably generally happens with these races, I spent the first few kilometers weaving around and passing slower runners,* and it probably wasn't until the 2km mark that I was really able to get any pace going. And even then, I was pretty surprised to find myself passing people for pretty much the whole race, right through to the end.

*The race had a self-seeding system, meaning you're supposed to line up at the start based on how quickly you think you'll finish. So after I positioned myself near the front of the group that was aiming to finish between 45 minutes and one hour, it was a bit frustrating to see people who were WALKING, or kids who clearly were always going to burn out after a kilometer, starting ahead of me. Then again, for most of my pre-teen and early teen years, I ran each of the Fourth of July 5km races in Pacific Palisades, and I definitely used to be one of those kids. So I guess I understand.


But it was a fun race, a beautiful spring day,* and a great course: from North Sydney, up over the Harbour Bridge, by the Opera House, into the city, looping through the Botanical Gardens and finishing back at the Opera House.

*The day before this, Sydney absurdly had its hottest day of 2008. This includes January and February when it actually was, you know, summer.

They apparently take pictures and video of us on the course. Once I get those, and assuming I don't look like death, I'll post them on here sometime soon.

Where to go from here? Is there a next step? I really want to do the City 2 Surf run next August, assuming I'm not visiting the States again at the same time. And then for the Sydney Running Festival next year, maybe it's on to the half marathon (although I think that's a bit of a stretch) or possibly setting my eyes on doing the Bridge Run in under 40 minutes. That may be the real stretch.

Gonna run now

One random day in June of last year, I was overcome with the urge to run. I have no idea why, but I just felt like I needed to do it. So I ran. And in a development that I'm sure would be absolutely inconceivable to the Andy of two years ago, I kept running. Not so much a Forrest Gump-style of "kept running", but more of an every other day kind of "kept running."

Strangely enough, it felt good. Well, let's clarify that. For some people swear that they love to run. Love the feeling it gives them. Something about endorphins. Me? When I'm in the act, I absolutely despise it. It's awful, every single step of it. But I push myself, and I force myself to get through it. Because I know what awaits me at the end of the run is a sense of accomplishment and knowing that I've done something that's good for me. And it's that that makes me feel good, that keeps me at it every few times a week.

As I've run more, the thought of running an official race has intrigued me. Not so much to run it on any sort of a super competitive level, but more so just to do it, to be part of something bigger than just me out there in a park by myself, you know, running. And late last year, someone told me about Sydney's City2Surf, the world's biggest "fun run" (bit of a contradiction of terms, in my own estimation), which happens every August.

On the spot, I determined that that was going to be it. City2Surf! I was actually excited. For it's a beautiful course (as you might be able to guess from the name, it starts in the city and ends at the beach), and at 13km and with a hill dubbed "Heartbreak Hill" in the middle, it would push my limits a bit.

But then, calamity. Or not so much. More of just your run-of-the-mill conflict. For I realised after booking my trip to the US that I'd be out of town for the race. But as much as I wanted to run it, I wasn't about to reschedule the trip. So there that went.

But all was not lost. Because just over a month later, Sydney is having its annual Sydney Running Festival, a day with a few races and headlined by its marathon. The marathon, I'm not doing. The half marathon... no, not doing that. But the bridge run, a 9km course from North Sydney, across the Harbour Bridge and ending at the Opera House... that I'm doing. And should be able to do it relatively easily. I think.

So this Sunday, it's on. How fast will I be able to do it? I'm actually not so sure, because when running casually, I don't keep close tabs on how quickly I run. So it'll be interesting to see what time I can do the course in. At the moment, the loose goal is 50 minutes, which I think is pretty achievable. And 45 minutes would be great. Any faster? Probably not gonna happen. But we shall see!

Results to be posted here next week.

It's about freaking time

Summer hinted at its imminence this weekend, with a nice and warm Saturday. And then today, it burst forth with a vengeance, with temperatures getting into the upper 20s. (Believe me, that's warm.) We're not completely there yet, but we're close. Real close. I freaking love it.

One year and one hundred posts

This absolutely bewilders me, but this post marks the crossroads of two achievements, mostly unrelated to each other, yet both significant in their own right.

First. This is the one year anniversary of my (third) coming to Australia. For it was a Friday night, exactly one year ago, that I deplaned my, uhhhh, plane and set off on this adventure that I've documented on this blog.

Second. This is my 100th post on this blog. One freaking hundred.

Of these two achievements, the most surprising, without doubt, is the 100 posts. Yes, I've been slacking on updating this thing recently, but that can really be attributed to a rough patch at work and a mild case of writer's block. This will change. And I'll get back to something that resembles a routine, with a couple of posts a week.

But 100 posts?? Still displayed on the right, in the "What is AK All Day?" section that I should probably get around to updating one of these days, I say: "In two months, the easy money is that I won't have updated [this blog]." Believe me, at the time I wrote that, I had every reason to fully believe that statement. For despite how brilliant and witty and inspirational and beautiful my words may appear, let me assure you that they don't come easily. Oh no, my friends. Maintaining the quality of writing on this blog, to the level that you've all come to expect and respect, is work. And work is hard.

Now, back to the first point: being here for a year. Surprising, this is not. For unless I simply couldn't find work here, the plan was always to be here for at least this long. Notable, however, this absolutely is. For it's been a fantastic year, full of new people, new adventures and new places. And it's with this in mind that I'd like to take a look back at some of the posts that have led up to this one, as I review my One Year in Sydney:

Welcome to Andy Blog 2.0
Kicking off a new era in style, with an immediate reference to zombo.com. In case this hasn't already been made abundantly clear, at zombo.com, the only limit is yourself.

A precursor
Do toilets in the US and Australia really flush in opposite directions? This was my first foray into this mystery. And much to my glee, we've yet to get a conclusive result.

The defence against hating cricket
Includes the comment, "I can't see how I personally could ever warm to [cricket]." Twelve months later? I've been in a freaking cricket winter league and played a position that I really had no business even attempting.

This is the story of seven strangers...
My first official accommodation! And a nominee from myself to myself for one of my best-written entries on the blog.

Portuguese Chicken Wars
Yikes, this one has gotten me into a bit of trouble as of late. Without a doubt, this is -- or I guess because of some recent revelations, was -- the winner of the People's Choice Award for best blog entry. Friends constantly asked me about it, and if there had since been any developments. Random people who somehow found this post online sent me strange and somewhat creepy emails about it. And well, let's just say that with these latest revelations, things have changed. More on this in the next few days, I promise.

The weekend trips have commenced
My first foray outside of Sydney on this trip, and a weekend full of randomness, with debates about shrimp/prawns, naked ninjas jumping off of cliffs and a movie about a gang of tap dancers from Newcastle. As well as the first appearance of the AK All Day Face in a post!

Two pictures tell a thousand drunken words
Still depresses the hell out of me.

There are cane toads, there are kangaroos... and then there are cassowaries
One of the recaps from my trip up to the Great Barrier Reef, detailing the horrifying night drives, with especial consideration given to the terrifying cassowary.

Melbourne -- there's an angle in here somewhere
The epic recap from my weekend trip to Melbourne. A fantastically awesome weekend that also contained some pseudo awesomeness and some not-so-awesome stuff.

A new home. And the grueling agony of an impossible choice.
The move into my next house! Which was a monumental decision to make at the time. And in hindsight, it worked out in every conceivable way possible. I don't think it would be an understatement to say that the entire course of the universe was influenced by that decision.

Worst idea ever
I still have nightmares from which I lurch out of bed in a cold sweat.

Meeting and exceeding expectations, Vol. 1, Vol. 2 and Vol. 3
Every other weekend trip up to this point had offered a nice bonding experience with a friend, or perhaps the chance to experience some culture. This was just pure raunch. And I loved every minute of it.

A postcursor... of sorts
The follow-up to my study on which way the toilet flushes in Australia. The video here? Anything but conclusive.

The toilet flusheth again
No more finality here! Will there be in the next video I post? Yeeeeaaaahhhh, probably not.

Bringing it full circle
Changing accommodation again, this time into my current place! I'm thinking a video tour is due sometime soon.

Back in America
Most of the entries on this blog -- including this current one, unfortunately -- are written and posted far too quickly, without enough time devoted to the crafting of my words. Because if there's one thing I know that people are expecting out of this blog, it's Pulitzer-caliber writing. But "Back in America"? It's easily my favorite of the 100 that have appeared on the blog to date.

And we'll end it on that! One year, one hundred posts. Where will I be on September 14, 2009? No idea. Will I have made it to two hundred posts? Or maybe just a hundred and two posts? I have no idea. But for now, we know I have to cover at least a few topics: some Portuguese chicken, some more flushing of toilets, a few Kleinballs here and there and many, many, many more AK All Day Faces.

So there's that.

Flying the crap skies

Is it just me, or in my year away from the US, has air travel there somehow gone from awful to hell on Earth?

I've always thought I've been relatively lucky with air travel in the US. Never been stranded anywhere for too long, never lost my luggage for any long period of time and every time I've gone up in the air, my flight has landed safely. This day in age, that's pretty much all we can ask for, right?

Well. God. Flying in the US on my trip in August. Yeah... jeez.

Let me start by saying that the good folks who work on the ground at Continental aren't God; they can't control the weather. (Or is that Mother Nature's jurisdiction? Maybe Al Roker?) And second, they're people. Like you and me. So they have feelings. And are allowed to get frustrated. So let me direct this at the ass clowns at Continental who don't work on the ground: When a freaking hurricane is baring down on one of your major hubs, you take measures to prevent delays. You add more staff. And not only staff at the airport, but maybe a few more people at your call center. Because, you see, there's a freaking hurricane baring down on one of your hubs. And as I'm sure it's happened about every other time in the past, that's going to affect things. Negatively.

Anyway, it was Day #5 of my trip to the US, and I was heading from LA to New York. Nonstop. Meanwhile, in the middle of the country, Hurricane Edouard was baring down on Houston. Which -- just to make abundantly clear -- is neither LA or New York. Or anywhere close to either of those cities. Yet there I was at LAX, well over an hour before my flight, and it was chaos at the check-in counter for Continental. Because most of their flights go through Houston. In fact, as far as I could tell, all of their flights on this particular morning, outside of mine and a nonstop to Honolulu, were going through Houston. So hey, that's going to cause some problems, right?

Yeah. Let's skip over most of the other crap. People were cranky. The staff on the ground were not all that pleasant. Wrong information was disseminated. And as I finally got to the front of the line at 8am, half an hour before my flight was scheduled to leave, I was told it was too late. Which resulted in my releasing of a groan that reverberated throughout the airport. Good times.

So I called Continental* to book a new flight, get placed on hold, and wait. And wait. Aaaaannnnnnd wait. And finally get on the phone with a human. Who subsequently told me that because I booked my ticket with frequent flier miles from Delta, I'd have to call them. Even though Delta decided to pawn me off to their friends at Continental. So that was fun.

*This isn't exactly the most astute or groundbreaking of observations, but I've always been bewildered by the whole call-the-airline-from-the-airport thing. I don't really think this requires any further explanation. Yet it has somehow become a time honored tradition for anyone stranded at the airport.

Whatever. I finally got through to Delta. I booked a flight for four hours later. I checked in. And I waited. And started drinking at 10am. And made it to JFK, where we sat outside the gate on the tarmac for about thirty minutes. And then waited another 45 freaking minutes for any bags to come out. What shit.

In New York, I shared my horrific experience with people. And was quickly seconded by Robert and Regan, who shared their own stories of awful flight experiences that weekend. I'm not talking about a bad flight experience at some point in their life; we've all had those. I'm talking about bad experiences that weekend. And their woes had nothing to do with Edouard. No, no. For it seems as though when you now fly domestically in the US, something will go wrong.

These fears were of course confirmed on my return flight from New York to LA, when the fun actually started three days before the flight. Because of all of the fun with my menage a trois with Delta and Continental, I called the good folks at Continental to confirm my flight. And what do you know, there was confusion. Continental had my reservation from Delta, but not a ticket. Delta was like, "Yo dude, we sent the details to Continental, it's not our problem." Continental said, "Hells no! Those punks need to send us some ticket info!" And around and around we went.

Whatever. I solved that. And on the day of my flight, after a nine hour trip from Martha's Vineyard to Woods Hole to Bourne to Providence to New York* to Newark Airport -- that's right, just to get to the airport -- my flight boarded an hour late. And then we sat on the tarmac for at least another two hours, as the pilot told us that we were 4oth in line to take off! FORTIETH!!

*I had the honor of passing through Port Authority while in New York. And in the ten minutes I was there, I had a man wish death upon me, purely because I refused his offer of directions that I neither wanted or needed. That's the Port Authority I grew to know and love for my four years there...

We eventually took off, I labored my way through Made of Honor and finally landed in LA, to be greeted by Erika, Mike and an In N Out feast. Which just about made my whole trip from LA to New York and back worth it.

Let me second that

Yikes, what a horrifying, horrifying, horrifying week it has been. Which is following up what was a horrifying week. The jet lag is fortunately gone, but work is unfortunately still kicking my ass. So I'm seconding my "Bleh" post from last week.

I don't know, that's really it. I have nothing interesting to add. Just wanted to post something on the blog so no one's mind would wander and think that I'd been hit by a car.

More to follow next week. Maybe.