And I think it's gonna be a (good good) time

To nearly quote Elton John.

Last year, in the days leading up to New Year's, I spent Boxing Day in Wagga Wagga, the next few days in Melbourne (partly to catch Day 3 of the Boxing Day Test match*), and the remaining days of 2008 at Falls Festival.

*Looking at the Wikipedia page for the Boxing Day Test match, I didn't realize that Australia had absolutely DOMINATED that match before last year: 9 wins in a row, and 14 wins (and two draws) in the last 18 years. So of course they lost last year. As soon as I enter the arena, you can always count on a dominant sports team to lose it. Just ask the French National Soccer team. Coming off a World Cup victory in 1998 and holding onto an ungodly winning streak, I went to see them play Russia in June 1999 for a qualifying match for Euro 2000. They lost. Of course.

This year, in the days leading up to New Year's, it's exactly the same: Boxing Day in Wagga, a couple of days in Melbourne for the cricket, the last few days of 2009 at Falls Festival. Only difference from last year is that my stay in Wagga will start a few days earlier, with Christmas with the Short family.

If this year is to live up to last year's trip, it has an uphill battle to fight. Last year was epic. Everything about that trip. But I'm pretty confident that this year can match it. Perhaps even exceed it? I wouldn't be surprised.

But let's not get our hopes up, at least not too much. A big week lies ahead of me. It should be good. And I just may report on it here sometime in the next few months.

Have a great Christmas (for those of that ilk) and New Year's, everyone.

The 2009 Melbourne Cup: The official, definitive and final recap

So. Let's see. The Melbourne Cup was on November 3. Today is December 23.

Yes, I let some time go before writing about the trip (or, well, anything on here). That being said,* there is an upside to my indolence: by waiting so long – or I guess more aptly, by putting it off for so long – I can pretty much guarantee you that this is the absolute final recap on the 2009 running of the Melbourne Cup.

*I just slammed my way through Season 7 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Brilliant, brilliant stuff. And we basically got an entire new episode of Seinfeld out of it! They certainly made up for the finale. Oh yes.

You see, as I first noted two years ago, this nation goes absolutely mad for the Melbourne Cup. Hugely mad. It's called "The race that stops a nation" for a reason. Literally, everything stops. Everyone gets in front of a TV. I wouldn't be surprised if the streets were completely deserted.* In Melbourne, the day is a public holiday!

*Problem is we'll never know, as there's no one there to check. It'll forever be up there with the whole "tree falling in the woods" conundrum.

Anyway. As I was saying. Everyone goes mad for the race. But the thing is, it comes out of nowhere. Seriously. A week prior to the race, most people in Australia couldn't name a single horse that might be running in it. Then, like a flash in the pan, everyone gets into it. The local and national news are covering it. It's on the front page of every sports section, if not the main section. It's the topic of discussion at every water cooler. People can recite the entire 24-horse field in alphabetical order, reverse alphabetical order, by age, by sex, by jockey, by trainer, by owner, by country of origin, you name it.

The race is run on a Tuesday.

And then it's over. The media dissects it on Tuesday night and Wednesday. Maybe you get a few remnants on Thursday. And that's it. Just as fast and unexpectedly as it came, it's gone. No more mentions. It's almost like it never happened.

Which brings us back to me! Seven weeks and a day after the race was run, here's my little recap of the race and day. And as the above paragraphs were meant to illustrate, in my very longwinded way, this surely has to be the last thing ever in the history of civilization to be written about the 2009 Melbourne Cup. I feel honored. And perhaps a little daunted by the responsibility.

So let's break this bad boy down thematic style.

The gambling

Yeah, I may have made some proclamations that I was gonna get ridiculously knowledgeable on the race, and I swear I made a few token attempts to do that. But for the most part, life kinda got in the way. So going into the race, my level of knowledge was at about 20% of what I would've liked. And that included zero knowledge on any of the races other than the big one.

I placed and lost some bets on races one through six. And the big one, Race 7? I nailed it!! Granted, I put bets on several horses, but as the race neared, I settled more and more on Shocking as my singular pick. And Shocking did it. Unfortunately, that means that the other five or six horses I had money on didn't do it, so on the day, I broke just about even.*

*This "breaking even" thing doesn't exactly count the whole day, which included an evening jaunt to the casino during which I very much did not break even. Yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh, not even remotely close to even. Let's move on.

The spectacle

Attendance on the day was 102,000 people, which I think is the largest crowd I've ever been a part of. But because we weren't in a circular stadium in which you could see everyone else, it didn't really feel like there were 102,000 people there. Not even close, really. If I had no knowledge of the day or the race, I very well may have guessed that the attendance was something around 40,000.

Regardless of how big I perceived the crowd to be, it still felt like a huge event. There was a buzz on the train heading out to the track. Everyone was dressed up. Each woman was seemingly trying to outdo all others with her hat. The lawn for general admission was absolutely packed. The vibe, even when we arrived at 10:45, was downright giddy. And that giddyness increased even more so as the day progressed, as more alcohol was consumed, as the anticipation increased. So when it came time for the big race to start, just after 3, we were ready. We were very ready.

The race

I'd (kinda) done my reading. I'd placed my bets. I'd secured my viewing spot. And at just after 3, the 2009 Melbourne Cup started.

One thing about the Melbourne Cup. It's long. LOOOOOOOOOONG. At just a shade under two miles, it's half a mile longer than the "long" Triple Crown race, the Belmont Stakes. So even after the race starts, you need to control your emotions. Settle in. Don't get too excited. At least not too early.

What pretty much makes this impossible, however, is that the horses run by you twice: once, right after the start, and then again, as they come down the stretch. So when they flew by us that first time, we all lost it. This is what we've been waiting all day for!! WOOOOOO!!! But then they were gone. And we waited. Sure, we could see the race on the big screen, but it was pretty hard to make out who was in what place, and it was absolutely impossible to hear the call of the race, not above the noise of the crowd.

Eventually, the horses rounded the last turn towards the finish and headed back to us. And as they passed us, about 100 meters before the finish line, there was Shocking leading the way! And there went Shocking to keep the lead right to the end!!!

Everyone went wild.* Some people may have had Shocking, most probably didn't, but it didn't really matter. We'd all just watched the Melbourne Cup. And it was good.

*The "everyone" excludes Maz, who was feverishly trying to figure out if he'd hit his trifecta. It wasn't until he actually went to the betting window, presented his ticket and received several hundred dollar notes that he was convinced that he'd won.

The post race

There are 10 races on Melbourne Cup Day. And for the most part, people not only got into the big race but the preceding six races as well. The last three races, however? My lord... after the big race, it was like the Plague had descended on the track. Blink, and everyone was gone. And the seagulls swooped. Oh yes... the seagulls swooped.

After watching a race or two more and drinking some of Maz's winnings, we made haste as well, back to our hotel and then onto the casino and the city.

The next day

Noise. Yeah... noise.

LOUD NOISES!!!

This is what I awoke to the next morning. As they ripped apart the parking lot outside our hotel room. I mean that as literally as possible. The concrete that was in the parking lot the day before? It was no more. At 8 in the freaking morning. On the day after the Melbourne Freaking Cup.

So, yeah. The day didn't start out so well. And it really didn't get any better. Maz, Joanne and I wandered around the city, first on a failed attempt to go to the Coffee Bean that I'd found on a prior trip, then on a failed attempt to go to the hotel that Maz was staying in that night. But we finally got to the hotel, collapsed for an hour, and then I was off to the airport.

I was miserable. I felt disgusting. But I'd been to the Melbourne Cup. And it was good.

I hope

Just because.

---

I hope. sound bite  Morgan Freeman sound bites

I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still, or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel. A free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

From the notebook: The Curse of Dingman

Yeah. The Yankees won. I'm acknowledging it. Great.

Before we move on for good, I guess it would be fitting to use this space to do another "From the notebook" post and reprint an email that I sent to a group of friends on November 7, 2003, shortly after I gleefully watched Josh Beckett and the Marlins vanquish the Yankees in the World Series. (My lord... there was glee.)

Enough of the Bambino or the Billy Goat... the Curse of Dingman is the real deal! For each person you forward this onto, whether they're a Yankee hater or not, the Curse of Dingman will be extended 3 years!!

---

In 1993, in the 36th round of the amateur draft, the Yankees selected Craig Allen Dingman, a young right-handed hurler from Wichita, Kansas. Seven years and three Yankees World Series titles later, Dingman was given a chance to be part of the storied franchise when he was sent up to The Show. And what do you know, but a few months after that promotion, the Yanks bested the Mets, their cross-town rivals, four games to one in the Fall Classic. Dingman's stature as a good luck charm was solidified.

For whatever reason though, the Yankees didn't see the signs. Because just days before they set out to defend their title in the 2001 season, they traded Dingman to the Colorado Rockies for one Julio de Paula.

But something was afoot. Something the Yankees should have seen coming faster than a Steinbrenner rage-induced coaching staff overhaul. Because ever since that fateful move, despite making the playoffs each year and going to the Series twice, the Yankees have never again won it all.

THE CURSE OF DINGMAN LIVES!!

Apparently this email was only forwarded to three people... hence a nine-year spell in between Yankees World Series victories. And the Curse of Dingman? It no longer lives. Sigh.

You know how I enjoy throwin' some Kleinballs?

I feel like there's some Andy Rooney-ness to the cadence of this post. Imagine he was reading the below to you. Perhaps you'll get more enjoyment out of it. Or not. Anyway.

You know how I said I was gonna learn everything there is to know about the Melbourne Cup? Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, it's looking like that isn't gonna happen. But I'm semi knowledgeable at the moment -- just placed my first bet, $5 on Roman Emperor -- and have some reading material for the flight down to Melbourne tomorrow.

You know how I said Pedro was gonna get torn apart by the Yankees in Game 2 of the World Series? Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, didn't quite happen. Kind of some middle ground there. Although 3 ERs in 6+ IP at Yankee Stadium... if you're a Phillies fan, I think you have to be happy with that from 2009 Pedro Martinez.

You know how I said the Angels would win the World Series? Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh, clearly na ga da. I just pray the Phils can pull something off here.

You know how I beat a very consistent drum about Joe Posnanski being a great freaking writer? Yeeeeeeaaaahhhh, I'm still right on that one. He's done it again, this time on Derek Jeter.

You know how it's been a 14/17 hour time difference between Sydney and the East/West Coast of the US? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh, just an FYI with Daylight Savings Time, now it's 16/19.

You know how I'm going to Melbourne tomorrow? Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaahhh, I should probably pack for that and then get some sleep. Good night, Planet Earth!

Is Charlie Manuel feeding Pedro to the dogs?

7th inning, Game 7, 2004 ALCS, Yankee Stadium. I remember it too well. Up 8-1, the Red Sox were on the verge of completing the greatest comeback in baseball history. Yankee Stadium was silent. I was euphoric.

And then, inexplicably, improbably, incomprehensibly, Terry Francona summoned Pedro Martinez to pitch.

In 2004, Pedro was already in decline. He was still great, yes, but he was a far, far, far cry from the Pedro of years past. And in his previous two starts in that year's ALCS, he had allowed 7 runs in 12 innings.

I still don't know why Francona did it.

(Well, I think I know why he did it: Pedro needed redemption. Not just for how he had performed up to that point in that series, but for how he had performed in, ahem, a certain other Game 7. But for the game, for the team, for Red Sox Nation, it was a silly, ridiculous, absurd move.)

Visibly amped up for this appearance -- clearly too amped up, enough to lose control of his emotions -- Pedro got absolutely obliterated by the Yankees. It was like batting practice for them. And Yankee Stadium came to life. It was awful. Just a few pitches into the inning (consecutive doubles by Matsui and Williams on what I recall as one straight, lifeless fastball after another) and I was mush. This is supposed to be a moment of triumph! A moment I'll remember for the rest of my life! Why Terry, WHY??!?

Thinking about it today, it felt like Pedro allowed 20 runs that inning. In fact, he only allowed two. But the damage had been done. After systematically ripping the heart out of every Yankees fan over the last 3 games and 6 innings -- beating their team in every conceivable, cruel and crushing manner possible -- those fans had hope again. There is nothing worse than a Yankees fan with hope. Nothing. So because of that, for what he allowed to happen, to this day, part of me still hasn't let myself forgive Francona for it.

Game 2 of the World Series will be Pedro's first playoff appearance against the Yankees since that awful moment in Game 7. So I ask: Is Charlie Manuel pulling a Terry Francona? Is this a sentimental start, a chance for Pedro to finally redeem himself?

I'm sure Manuel would laugh that question off. As it should be laughed off. But does part of him think that, just a tiny, tiny bit? Well, at the very least, it's crossed his mind.

Either way, Phillies fans should just go ahead and write off Game 2. Because Yankee Stadium will be shaking. Freaking electric. And Pedro, unless he can find some zen-like way to contain his emotions, is going to try to overpower the Yankees lineup. He can't overpower the Yankees lineup.

Phillies fans: take your well-deserved win in Game 1 and be happy with it. The series will be tied at one apiece going back to Philly.

However! I will add that despite my near certainty that Game 2 will transpire like this, and despite my absolute hatred of all things Yankees, I'm still very excited for tomorrow, to see the moment Pedro steps onto the mound to start the bottom of the 1st. It will make for great, great theater.

And hey! Maybe, just maybe, Pedro will prove me wrong.*

*I pray he proves me wrong, and finally redeems himself.**








**And I think he can do it.

Jumping into the deep end

For the majority of the time that I lived in New York, I worked for an advertising agency that counted two of the racetracks in New Jersey (Meadowlands Racetrack and Monmouth Park) as clients. Great clients. Some nice perks. And I worked hard for them. But one thing I never did, one thing I never fully committed myself to, was to really immerse myself in the experience and learn about the horses, the track, the place. I just worked for my clients and tried to help them bring more people to the track. And sure, when I went out to the track myself, I generally had a good time.*

*One aspect of the races that has never led to good times? The betting. I've won a few bets here and there, but I've never left a racetrack up. Never. This has haunted me nearly as much as my failure to catch a ball in the stands at a professional baseball game.

I don't know if regret is the right word, but I've always had this lingering sense of disappointment that I didn't get into the racing more. It would be interesting, right? Learn about the horses, the trainers, the owners, the jockeys. How they all have a hand in shaping the journey, how they all have so much invested in the races. There are some real stories there, which we might occasionally hear about during the Triple Crown or perhaps in a movie like Seabiscuit. Part of me always wanted to really immerse myself in that, if even for one day.

Well, that day has come. As I said in my last post, I'm going to the Melbourne Cup in just over a week. So I've committed myself to learn everything I can about the day: the race, the preceding races, the horses, everything. I'm going to walk to the track next Tuesday with some serious knowledge. Who are the favorites? What bets offer the best value? What's each horse's handicap? How have the horses fared in previous races? How have they fared in races run in similar conditions? I'm gonna know it all. I'm gonna take the Melbourne Cup by storm. And by the end of the day, I'll be making a pose similar to that guy in the photo.*

*Or more likely, not at all. My streak of leaving a racetrack down will undoubtedly continue. But at least I'll have fun. I think. Hopefully.

Throwin' some aimless Kleinballs

It's strange. For me, writer's block is usually accompanied by a certain sense of complacency towards wanting to write anything, anything at all. I have nothing to write about, and I don't care to write about anything. And historically, that has generally sorted itself out; one day, the urge (and content) strikes me. So I write.

With my current bout of writer's block, however, I really do want to write. Yet I feel like I have nothing to write about. That's not to say that I have nothing going on in my life -- I'd like to think I've been keeping myself pretty busy recently -- it's just that the urge isn't striking me. Who knows.*

But I've had enough of this. I'm just gonna write. We'll see what happens. I guess it's some sort of ill-conceived, haphazard throwin' of some aimless Kleinballs. Not that they're not all like that, anyway.

*Upon rereading these last paragraphs, it occurs to me that I think I DO know what's going on: Twitter, and the Twitter-ization of Facebook. Before those two platforms, blogging was the best way for me to broadcast my thoughts, my ramblings, my HILARIOUS takes on life. But now... well, they say that Twitter is "micro blogging". For a while I didn't really grasp what that meant. But I think I do now, and they -- whoever THEY are -- are absolutely right. I have a funny thought? Twitter. I've come across a link I want to share? Twitter. I want to randomly share the opening line of All Along the Watchtower? Twitter. And then there's Facebook doing all it can to imitate Twitter's success.

Put it all together, and Twitter and Facebook are cannibalizing the content for this blog. Do I therefore need to redefine how I use this space? Maybe. And it might necessitate the cessation of the Kleinballs series. Because if anything was suited for Twitter, it's those little thoughts that don't deserve a whole blog post on their own. But let's not let this ruin the moment; for now, the Kleinballs live!

Went 3-for-4 on my picks for the divisional series of the playoffs. And glad that the one series I was wrong on was the Dodgers! Although I'm still really wary of that starting pitching. Looks like the offense is getting it together, but you can only put so much trust in a rotation of two incredibly inconsistent, young guys and two old farts that are using smoke and mirrors.

For those of you out there who like your statistics represented visually, Information Is Beautiful is a great blog that I've been reading for the last few weeks. Especially like the visualizations for caffeine and calories, the death of the music industry, the walled world, time travel in popular film and TV (takes a few minutes to wrap your head around that one, but well worth the effort) and how safe is the HPV vaccine. The guy who does the blog also has a book out now... I'd get it but for the fact that I don't have a nice coffee table to let it collect dust on.

You may remember my posts about the Melbourne Cup the last two years. And while I still haven't grasped why this race holds so much cultural significance, I've stopped trying to figure it out and have just accepted it as fact. It's really a HUGE day -- think the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont all rolled into one -- and in no place more so than Melbourne, where it's actually a public holiday. So this year I've decided to go! I fly down on Monday morning, go to the race on Tuesday, then fly back on Wednesday. I'm pumped. Much more to follow, I'm (kinda) sure.

The Socceroos -- that would be the nickname for the Australian national soccer team, of course -- played the Netherlands in Sydney on Saturday to a nil-nil draw. It wasn't a very exciting match.

That is all.

The drunken Miggy Cabrera baseball playoff preview

Two years ago, I brought you The pom-pom baseball playoff preview. Last year came The John Higgins baseball playoff preview. So this year? Well, you didn't ask for it, but you got it: the return of the baseball playoff preview!

The inspiration for this year's preview goes to a player whose team didn't even make the playoffs. The Tigers did come tantalizingly close to doing so but ultimately choked away a division lead and lost out in a one-game tie-breaker -- a game that looked like it may have been one for the ages* -- to the Twins on Tuesday.

*For all the baseball watching I've been doing on the Internet the last few years, this may have been my best experience yet, the one that felt the most visceral. I really felt like I could get into this game, that I could imagine the moment, the crowd, the tension. MLB.com's Gameday is pretty freaking good, and its latest integration with a Twitter feed, which allows you to track people's reactions right next to a pitch-by-pitch account of the game, makes it all the better.

Miguel Cabrera, you're an idiot. You get paid $14 freaking million dollars a year, yet you feel so little responsibility towards your team, your owner and your fans, that you don't care about playing at full capacity? After a big night of drinking, I can hardly walk, yet you go out knowing that you're gonna have to hit a 95 mph fastball the next day? That's a joke. A joke! I don't get it. You have practically half a year worth of the offseason to drink to your heart's delight, yet in the middle of a pennant race, as your team's division lead is dwindling away, you're getting so drunk -- not to mention with members of a rival team! -- that your GM has to act as your babysitter and pick you up from the police station at 7:30 in the morning?

And I don't even care about the drama that resulted from the drinking, the shady bickering with the wife; that's another issue that needs to be dealt with separately. It's the fact that you went out at all... just absurdly dumb, arrogant and irresponsible.

Oh. And then there's your responsibility to me. That's right. ME. I had you on my fantasy baseball team, and coming down the stretch this year, when I needed you most, here are your stats for the last week of the season: .158 avg, 1 run, 0 home runs, 0 RBIs, 0 stolen bases. Faaaaaaaaantastic.

Okay. Phew! Rant over. And with that pleasantness out of the way, let's get to it.

Minnesota Twins
I like this team. Not just the 2009 Twins, but the Twins franchise in general. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone here. Just something so likable about them. Especially because they seemingly persevere every year without the resources of the big market teams. In the last six years -- just because that's how far I cared to look back, but I'm sure the same would hold true if I looked further -- here's how their payroll has ranked against all 30 MLB teams: 19, 20, 19, 18, 25 and 24. Here's how their record for each of those years has ranked in the league: 6, 11, 3, 17, 10 and 11. For those keeping track at home, the average of their record versus the league is ten places higher than their salary versus the league. That's good.

Colorado Rockies
Yawn. They were hot going into the playoffs in 2007, and I correctly picked them to go to the World Series. They're hot again this year going into the playoffs, but, well, they just don't seem to have that je ne sais quoi. Really, nothing they do is above average; it's all relatively solid. A recipe for postseason success this does not make. Pass.

Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
Let's make a pact to not make fun of their name anymore, okay? The whole "Los Angeles Angels of California in Orange County of Anaheim off the 405" thing has gotten old. And you know what else has gotten old? It really pains me to say this, but I think it's the Angels' futility against the Red Sox in the postseason. This is the year the Angels get by the Sox. Maybe Mike Scioscia* will finally overcome whatever makes him cower in the presence of the Sox. Maybe the Angels will release a real, rabid, rally monkey into the Sox' dressing room. Maybe the Ghost of Nick Adenhart will strike. Or maybe the Sox will simply come undone. (More on this later.) I'm not sure exactly what it'll be, but I just have a feeling that it's gonna happen.

*Yes! Didn't need to look up how to spell his name!

St. Louis Cardinals
This is a good team. A frightening team. You know how I said the Rockies don't do anything really well? These guys do a lot of it well. Really well.

New York Yankees
It was nice not having them around last year, right? Oh well... guess it would've been a bit nuts to think we could make it two years in a row. But I'm happy to report that they're not going to the World Series. To the ALCS, yeah, probably. But that pitching... I'm not convinced. I could easily see CC throwing a stinker or two, AJ will throw multiple stinkers and Pettitte's 85 years old. Glad we can dismiss them!

Philadelphia Phillies
The defending champs! My God, I was so happy to see them win last year. One of the highlights of the year for me. I walked around with a grin on my face for the rest of the day, not at all for me, but for the people of Philly. That was awesome. But this year? I'd like to feel good about them -- really, I would -- but that bullpen... yeesh. Sorry Philly, but you can only cash in on so much karma at a time, and that was well and truly done last year. There's none left. That's kinda what happens when you boo Santa Claus, throw batteries at opposing players and cheer when they suffer near-fatal injuries.

Los Angeles Dodgers & Boston Red Sox
Like last year, I'm grouping them. I'm know. It's gutless. But I can't separate them. I won't separate them. Still, I'm comforted this year by a simple fact that didn't hold as true last year: both of these teams are flawed. Deeply flawed.

The Dodgers have holes everywhere. They also have holes nowhere. If the Rockies are your prototypical solid team without any flash, the Dodgers are your definition of schizophrenia.* The question is, which team shows up? The one with perhaps the deepest lineup in the NL? The one with two starting pitchers who can match up with those on the Cardinals and Phillies? Or will Manny continue his space cadet ways? And will the inexperience and inconsistency of the Buzzsaw and Kershaw shine through?

*Yes! Absolutely had to look up how to spell that!

The Red Sox are -- sigh -- the Yankees of the last few years. Their roster is seemingly full of immobile 1B/3B/DH types. They're old. They lack the passion of previous Sox teams from this decade.* So I just can't get excited about their prospects for this year. Next year? The year after that? All the way through the teens? In Theo and Co, I absolutely trust. But this year? In the immortal words of Dana Carvey impersonating George H.W. Bush, a na ga da.

*I want to be perfectly clear that I'm talking about this Sox TEAM, not the organization. Yeah, the Sox franchise may be more similar to the Evil Empire than any other franchise, but they're still different enough. As in the Yankees' payroll is $80 million dollars higher (over 50% higher!!) than that of the Sox. As in Theo could outwit Cashman any day of the week. As in John Henry is actually sane.

Wow. Going into this, I really didn't have much of a sense of who I thought would win each round, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to make any picks. But I think I just worked myself towards some clarity, and I'm happy to make them official. To recap, I guess: Yankees over Twins, Angels over Red Sox, Cardinals over Dodgers, Phillies over Rockies. Angels over Yankees, Cardinals over Phillies. Angels over Cardinals.

So! There we are. Another baseball postseason staring us down. I'm excited. Who knows how many games I'll get to watch, but I'll savor every opportunity I get. And hopefully next year -- just maybe! -- Miggy will lay off the booze. He has all this postseason and several months afterwards to drink himself silly.

Orange Sydney

I woke up this morning to the sound of the wind rattling my windows. Sounds about right, I thought. We're supposed to have some heavy wind today. Then I opened my eyes. And everything was orange. Deep, dark, saturated orange. Riiiiiiiggggghhhhht...

I opened the sliding door to my balcony. Felt warm and there wasn't a smell, so I figured it was just some heavy fog, with the rising sun behind it adding some drama to the colors.

I went for a run in Centennial Park. There was hardly anyone out there. Usually the park is teeming with people exercising in the morning. But with the orange color slowly graying, I stuck by my fog hypothesis and thought little of it.

Got back to the apartment and turned on the lights. Normally a yellowish color, my sight had been so distorted by the orange that they appeared to be blue.

It wasn't until I turned on the TV that I realized, no, it wasn't fog. It was a huge frickin' dust storm. A huge frickin' dust storm that was covering half the state! So during that run, I probably managed to inhale a few pounds of the stuff. Fun!

I had a morning meeting in the city. On the bus coming in, pedestrians were walking around with makeshift masks over their mouths. And when I made it to the meeting, on the 47th floor of a building that usually offers amazing views of the city and harbour, there was nothing to see.

Spending a day in that stuff, after starting it with a run, I'm feeling it now. Itchy throat. Slight trouble breathing. A bit of cottonmouth.

Of all the videos and photo montages that I've already seen, I think this is the best.

It was a strange day. A strange, orange day that I won't be forgetting anytime soon.

Two years

Two years ago on this day, I landed in Sydney and began this adventure. No job. No place to live. No clue as to how any of this would play out. Just a dude, a vague sense of direction and a couple of bags. Two years ago on this day. TWO YEARS!

Three houses, two jobs, 12 roommates, nine AK All Day Faces,* three toilet flushing experiments, 16 Kleinballs and several Portuguese chicken-related incidents later, here I am.

*If only I ever get around to posting ALL the AK All Day Faces I have stored away on my computer...

I don't even know what else to say about that. Has the time flown by? Yes. Do I feel like I've made the most of my time? Yes.

Do I know what the next year has in store? No. Not at all. But I guess that's a good thing.

A shocking sports weekend of epic proportions

I find that my weekends are often defined by sports. This happened in college, this happened in New York and it's happening in Sydney. And while sports can fill a weekend with glee, it can also cast doom on our days of rest.

This past weekend, a huge shadow of sports doom descended upon Australia.

The first blow was the Bledisoe Cup match between the Wallabies and All Blacks on Saturday night. The Wallabies are Australia's rugby team. The All Blacks are New Zealand's rugby team. And amongst the many rivalries between those two countries -- sports or otherwise -- this one takes the cake. New Zealand may be a bit more rugby-mad than Australia, but Australia still loves it plenty. Imagine USA-Canada in ice hockey... except pretend that the US still actually cared about ice hockey, just a little. It would be kinda like that.

Anyway, I was fortunate enough to score some tickets to the match. So out to the Olympic Stadium I went, looking forward not only to what is generally a great match, but also to New Zealand doing the haka, a Maori dance that was traditionally performed before a battle in the hopes of scaring the bejesus out of the enemy.

Based on the premise of this post, you already know this ended poorly for Australia: All Blacks 19, Wallabies 18. And even though it was close, with New Zealand taking the lead for good in the last few minutes, it was actually pretty non-eventful.* I mean, relatively speaking. If I was expecting a 9, I got a 7. So, you know, I was let down a bit.

*In rugby union, teams will often score many of their points off of penalties. And that's pretty much what happened here. 30 of the 37 points in the match were scored off of penalty kicks. Imagine an NBA game in which 81% of the points were scored off of free throws, and that's what you have here.

Even the haka wasn't great. If you scroll ahead to the 5:10 mark of this video, you can see it. But in my mind, the gold standard for the haka came in last year's Rugby League World Cup, when New Zealand and Australia faced off in the final:

Now that's a haka.

The second calamity of the weekend actually didn't come until late Sunday night, when Australia officially lost the Ashes, one of cricket's most celebrated rivalries, to England.

Australia dominated the tournament from 1989 to 2003, winning every single time. And even after losing the Ashes in 2005, they promptly won them back in 2007. So going into this year's contest as the #1 ranked team in the world, it was widely expected that they'd win again. After four test matches, the series was tied at one apiece (with the other two being draws). Starting the fifth and final test match, everyone thought Australia had the momentum. They didn't. And late Sunday night in Australia, England won back the Ashes. Which would be that tiny little urn that Ricky Ponting, Australia's captain, is holding in the picture. Yeah. That's what they play for.

And the final sports catastrophe of the weekend? Let's go back to New Zealand and my ice hockey comment. For in a match that I'm sure no one even knew was happening, New Zealand took out Australia for the first time ever in ice hockey. Is that really necessary, after a weekend that will live in infamy? I think not.

65:53

Yeah.

For the Bridge Run, I grossly underestimated how fast I could do it. But for City2Surf, I thought I had a much better handle on things. So that apprehension about breaking 70 minutes... that was real. Apparently not?

Maybe it was the adrenalin that comes with running with 75,000 people. Maybe it was the fact that I really, really, really had to urinate for all 65 minutes and 53 seconds. Maybe it was the fact that I just wanted the damned thing to be over with already. Whatever it was, I got under 70 minutes. Easily. And now I'm left to wonder if I could break 65 minutes... and I think I can. Guess we'll have to wait for next year.

Until then? I think it's back to the Bridge Run in September, and my newest goal: breaking 40 minutes.

And now we play the waiting game

Yesterday was great.

The previous night's sleep, during which I seemingly woke up every half hour? Not so much. The 6:45am wake up call? No way. Standing idly around before the race for an hour, in the chilly morning air, waiting to start? Ummmmm, no. Realizing about 20 minutes before the race that I really had to piss, except that there was no way I had enough time to wade through a sea of people to the toilets and back? Absolutely not.

But from the atmosphere in the crowd at the starting line, to the moment the starting gun went off, to a band proclaiming "Freak you, I won't do what you tell me!" on top of the Golden Sheaf, to running along the harbour in Rose Bay, to the excruciating climb up Heartbreak Hill, to the 4km descent to Bondi Beach, to sprinting through to the finish line... well, I actually had fun.*

*That fun continued post race,** as a group of us headed to a bar and downed several drinks that (a) went down FAR too easily and (b) went to my head FAR too quickly.

**The fun ceased shortly after the bar, as Yogi and I walked the three kilometers -- all uphill -- from Bondi Beach to Bondi Junction. With 75,000 racers (plus plenty more supporters and onlookers) descending upon the area, all traffic had come to a standstill, and all buses were absolutely packed. So we walked. And no, that was not fun.

Post-race walk aside, the exception to my fun during the race may have been my need to urinate. For throughout the entire 14 kilometers, I had to go, bad. Real bad. Did that help me run faster? It actually may have. The problem is, I don't know exactly what my time was. At least not quite yet. You see, I finished 1 hour and 24 minutes after the starting gun went off, but I didn't actually start until well after then. And the official results aren't released until tomorrow.

I'm pretty confident I did sub-70 minutes, which would quite please me. Did I reach 65? I think that's a stretch... but I think there's a chance. I'll find out for sure soon enough.

Can I break the 70 minute barrier?

In my last post on the City2Surf race, I boldly targeted a time of 65 minutes, thinking that 70 was well within reach. Well, in case you're hearing some beeping right now, that's the sound of me backing off of that proclamation. For after a few runs in the past several days that I've kinda timed, I've realized that 65 minutes is a bit of a pipe dream, and even 70 may be pushing it.

In preparation for tomorrow, I've been doing some runs home from work, which you can see here: over the Harbour Bridge and by the Opera House, through the city and Hyde Park, into Surry Hills and then a long last straightaway by Moore Park, past the Sydney Football Stadium and the Sydney Cricket Ground. Not a bad route for the scenery, and at just about 10km with a few good hills, I think my conditioning is there. The speed? That's another question.

I'm pumped for tomorrow, although I'm not entirely sure what to expect. But if nothing else, it should be fun.

I've had nightmares tamer than this

I think that my fear of large, flightless birds has been well documented on this blog. First was my trip to Mission Beach, during which I was convinced that it was only a matter of time before a cassowary hunted me down and had its way with me. Then was Hannah's wedding, where I had to sleep no more than 100 feet away from some looming ostriches.

So imagine my sheer horror when, as I walked through Auckland Museum last month, I saw this:


That, my friends, would be a Moa. Indigenous to New Zealand and reaching heights of TWELVE FEET (and over 500 pounds!!), it's the tallest bird ever to be recorded. Thankfully -- well, thankfully for me, not so much them -- they've been extinct for over 500 years.

So there I was, craning my neck up at this beast. Sure, it was behind glass. Sure, it was stuffed. But still. My LORD. The fear lives strong within me.

You can almost spell "fun" with "run"... but you see, not completely

It all started about this time last year. Maybe a bit earlier.

First the seed was planted in my head. It began to percolate. The intrigue built. And only after I had fully sold myself on the idea of running in Sydney's City2Surf, I finally realized that I'd be out of town when it was being held. As a consolation prize, you may remember, I did the Bridge Run in September.

This year, however, I'm there. The weekend is clear, August 9 is circled on my calendar and I'm fully prepared to run this bad boy.

What is City2Surf? It's a 14 kilometer "fun run" -- as if calling it that actually makes running 14 kilometers (and change) any less excruciating than we all know that it will be -- which starts in the center of Sydney and ends at Bondi Beach. Some people take it seriously, others use it as an excuse for a nice stroll, others get dressed up in costumes.* (I guess that's the "fun" part?) Either way, everyone suffers through Heartbreak Hill, a two kilometer, steep ascent about halfway through the course.**

*Last year, a guy dressed as Superman sprinted out at the start of the race and ended up pacing the field for the first few kilometers.

**I've DRIVEN this hill and been exhausted by the time I've made it to the top. You go up, up, up, think you're there, turn a corner, and then there's another freaking hill staring you in the face. It's evil.

Here's a nice video from the organizers:

No, it's no marathon, let alone a triathlon; I'll let the crazies have their fun doing those. Instead, this is merely a distance that will test me without killing me.

So! I have 12 more days until the race, and with the Blue Mountains and Auckland well and truly in the rear view mirror, I've started to get serious with some training and have slowly been increasing my running distances. Went for a lovely 13.5km run on Saturday that damn near killed me. So that's fun.

The goal for a time? 65 minutes. I'd be happy with anything under 70 -- that's five minutes per kilometer on the nose -- but why not push myself? If I could do the Bridge Run last year in 42 minutes, and that's about 4:40 per kilometer, well, with an extra 5km of maintaining the same speed and that beast of a hill thrown in, it's gonna be close.

More to come in the days leading up to the race, and some sort of post mortem afterwards.

Viewing Auckland from volcanoes

As touched on in my post from Auckland, the city sits on a volcanic field, with around 50 of them spread across the metropolitan area. While it strikes me as a bit nutty to build a city on a volcanic field that will erupt again, it's undeniable that these volcanoes allow for some great vantage points.


My first full day in the city, walking along the waterfront, I stuck my head into the office for a ferry company that runs boats to Rangitoto Island, the city's youngest and largest volcano. I just wanted to get some info on possibly going out the next day, but when the woman told me that that was the last day they'd be running boats to the island for the next ten days, and the last boat was leaving in ten minutes, I said to myself Screw it, let's do it! and jumped aboard.

A 20 minute ferry ride and one hour hike later, I stood at the top of the island.

Quite the view, although unfortunately not the greatest of days to be up there. What was fortunate, however, was the weather on my next day, when I visited Mount Eden. Sharing its name with the surrounding suburb, this volcano is much closer to downtown and is the highest point on Auckland's mainland.

A quick, 20 minute hike up the hill provided for a really great view.

Hope this has been educational! If nothing else, I've learned that I should probably start using different intros for each of my videos. We'll see what I can come up with next time.

Been doing... stuff

Had a lovely day of travel on Thursday, coming back from Auckland. Got up at 3:30am Auckland time. Sydney's two hours later, so that's 1:30am. Got to the airport by 5am. Left Auckland at 7am. Landed at 8:45am Sydney time. Made it through customs without incident, meaning my visa woes are behind me, at least for the time being. Brief stop at the apartment and then off to work. Left work around 7pm. Came home, had dinner, went to bed around 10:30pm. That's a fun 23 hour day!

And since then? Haven't been up to too much... little of this, little of that. Easy night at the apartment on Friday. Went a little wild for a friend's show on Saturday. Spent Sunday with some family friends at the Aroma Festival in The Rocks. Watched the finale of MasterChef Australia, which had absolutely taken the country by storm. And then work this week.

I have stuff -- actual, substantial stuff -- that I want to post on here. Just haven't gotten around to doing it yet. Not with all this other stuff that I've been doing. Hopefully soon.

Enjoying an extended stay

I should be back in Sydney right now. I'm not. Still in Auckland.

My new visa, for which I had to apply while out of the country and wait for its approval before reentering, was not processed in the 48 hours that I was told is generally required. So no return trip on Sunday.

Fortunately, approval came yesterday (Monday) and now I'm completely legit! I head back on Thursday.

The extended stay in Auckland, however, isn't exactly the worst thing in the world. In fact, you could say that I'm enjoying it. Just a little more time to explore what I've found to be a pretty good city. Hey, even the Wallpaper guide book is treating me well!

Did you know that Auckland sits on a volcanic field? They say it's dormant for now, but it's only a matter of time for a new volcano to erupt. As in, it will happen. Isn't that crazy? I mean, they should have plenty of warning for the next eruption, but I'm not entirely sure why anyone would want to set up shop here for any extended period of time. Anyway, I've climbed up a few of the volcanoes here, which offer some great views.

Made some great discoveries for food and drink, as well. The Northern Steamship Co, right near the city's waterfront, is awesome. They only serve Mac's (a great line of local beers), offer a really good menu and have a nice, warm decor.

And there's randomly a large amount of Mexican restaurants! This has me absolutely baffled. You see, Mexican food in Australia is next to nonexistent. And for those establishments that do serve it, it's generally crap. But here... I actually went into a place with real Mexicans. REAL MEXICANS!!

And although I haven't been to any fast food restaurants, I've been pleasantly surprised to see a Wendy's, Denny's and Dunkin' Donuts. As far as I know, none of those places exist in Australia. Even Burger King is called Burger King!*

*For those who don't know, Burger King in Australia is called Hungry Jack's. (If you care at all, this Wikipedia entry explains why.) Since New Zealand is linked to Australia in so many ways -- think Canada to the US -- I assumed it would be the same here. Nope.

Weather has been on and off. The first two days were quite nice. Sunny. The weekend was a bit miserable. Lots of rain. Yesterday was gorgeous. A bit cool, but clear, blue skies. Today isn't so nice. Rainy and much colder.

But I'm still enjoying it. Nice to get away and do something different. So I'm trying to make the most of it, because this Thursday, I'm back at it.

A quick breather before Auckland

Got back from a great weekend in the Blue Mountains Sunday night, which went pretty much as expected: good company, good scenery, good food, good pseudo Fourth of July celebration.* We didn't even have to leave the cabin until late in the afternoon, which made for a true, full weekend.**

*In fact, when it came to preparations for the Fourth, and after all my hand-wringing over what to do to commemorate the day, I was out-Americanized by some of my friends, who brought sparklers, American candy (Reese's Pieces and Tootsie Rolls) and photos of Americana to hang on the walls. Me? I brought up a case of Bud and my Mom's recipe for apple pie. Never ended up actually making the pie, though.

**Always hated how you have to check out of a hotel at 10am on a Sunday. I mean, Sunday IS part of the weekend, right? And in many circles, it's commonly known as God's day of rest, right??!? Yet they essentially cut the day out of the weekend and disturb our rest by forcing us out of bed at freaking 10 in the morning!!!

Went to work yesterday and am off to the airport in 35 minutes to spend the rest of the week in Auckland!

What am I doing in Auckland?? Yeah, besides settling all my visa issues, I still don't really know. Would love to just get out and about and explore, maybe take a day trip or two out of the city, but it's supposed to rain for most of the next few days, which generally makes said exploration not so fun. But I'm not exactly in New Zealand too often, so I guess I kinda have to do it, regardless of how wet or cold it is.

May try to do a post or two on here while I'm over there, but we'll see. When it comes to traveling and blogging, I don't have the best track record.

Pondering the Fourth in the (red, white and) Blue Mountains

What is the Fourth of July?

Originally this post was gonna be mostly about my upcoming trip this weekend, with a little side note about how the Fourth coincides with it. Then I started to think about the Fourth, really think about what it means. At first I didn't have much of a sense for that, or how I felt about the day. But after maybe six or seven iterations of this post, I think I'm somewhere. Have a read and then let me know in the comments: do you agree?

So. What is the Fourth of July?

We all know why the day holds such historical significance, and that's certainly a large part in what makes it so special; however, I'd argue that what really makes the Fourth so special, what really makes it stand apart from other holidays, is its cultural significance. It's a day when the nation collectively comes together, puts all our worries behind us and celebrates.

The Fourth of July's of my youth were 5km runs in the morning, a barbecue and parade in the day and fireworks at night. For each of these events, large groups of people converged to celebrate and be part of the spectacle.

The Fourth of July's of my early adulthood were more of the same, minus those pesky 5km morning runs. And again, for each of those events, large groups of people converged to celebrate and be part of the spectacle.

Then I came to Australia. And that has provided me with some perspective that I'd otherwise never have had.

For the Fourth last year, by random coincidence, I ended up at a house party thrown by an American. But we were the only two Americans there; for everyone else, it was just another house party. So not surprisingly, it felt nothing like a Fourth in the US.

For the Fourth this year, the happenstance continues, as it turns out that a group of my friends and I -- nine total -- will be spending a long weekend in the Blue Mountains, a national park a couple hours west of Sydney. We'll be renting this cabin and filling our days with, ummmmmm... well, I'm not sure what we'll be doing. I'm guessing it'll involve taking it rather easy, eating a lot, going for some hikes and maybe even indulging in a few adult beverages.

Clearly, plans for the weekend aren't too rigid; we'll just figure things out as we go. The exception to this laissez-faire approach, however, has to do with commemorating the Fourth. Because some time in the last few weeks, everyone got it into their heads that since there'd be an American on this weekend, we had to do something for the Fourth, some sort of traditional thing, for lack of a better term. And they all looked to me (understandably enough, I guess) for inspiration.

I had no immediate inspiration. So I started to think about it. And the more and more thinking I did, the more and more I came to the above conclusions, at least subconsciously: the Fourth of July is the summation of many parts, which, when all mashed together, creates a day ensconced in festivity. There isn't any one thing that makes the Fourth the Fourth, nor can you magically conjure up the feeling of the Fourth. Instead, it's the barbecues, the fireworks, the parades, the friends, the family, the laughing, the green grass, the blue sky, the pomp, the circumstance. You need all of that, every last bit, or it just doesn't work.

Of course there's no way I'm bottling all of that up and bringing it to the Blue Mountains this weekend. Although maybe I could still get away with doing just one or two things? But even some of the more tangible stuff, like a barbecue or fireworks, would be tough to pull off because of practicalities like the forecasted weather (a high of 46 Fahrenheit does not make for a fun barbecue) and our environment (Smokey the Bear has taught me that it generally isn't a good idea to play with fireworks in a forested area).

SO WHAT TO DO??!? Maybe just something that's stereotypically American, like making an apple pie, or buying some Budweiser, or singing the Star Spangled Banner? I don't know, none of that really feels right. I'd still be missing the pomp! Not to mention the circumstance! But seeing as no one else will know (or demand) any better, I guess any or all of those options would fly.

I have another 13 hours to figure it out. Maybe I'll come up with something good. Maybe I'll take an easy way out and cook up some hot dogs in the kitchen. Or maybe I'll do nothing at all. We'll see. Regardless, I'm absolutely looking forward to doing a few of the things that many of you in the US will also be doing this weekend: getting away from it all, taking it easy and spending time with friends. It's not a true Fourth, but it'll do.

Have a happy Fourth, everyone.

Auckland can't come soon enough!

The trip to Auckland is now just seven days away, and fortunately for me, it really couldn't come at a better time. You see, it turns out that the lovely folks at the Department of Immigration aren't done giving me the run around, and I kinda sorta need to vacate the country for a bit.

It started a few weeks ago. I received a letter from Immigration that stated that my sponsored visa -- the one that I was on with my previous employer -- was about to expire. "Not a problem," I thought. "I already sorted that out in April when I went to the US and reentered the country on a tourist visa. They must have sent this by accident."

Yeeeeaaaahhh, it was no accident. Two Fridays ago, I got a call from a woman at Immigration, who was clearly miffed that I had not heeded her letter and was still in the country. I protested: "But I switched to a tourist visa in April!" Sadly, she clarified, based on a technicality that I won't explain here (and that no one had bothered to explain to me!), I wasn't on the tourist visa for which I had applied, for which I had been granted approval, and for which the Australian government had happily taken my application fee.

"Balderdash!," I thought.* "What shall I do now?" I complained. I started to get a little short. And then paranoia crept over me as I began to picture the Australian Federal Police closing in on my position, Minority Report-style. Were they using this phone call to triangulate my location???

*No, that word didn't actually go through my head. I can't remember my exact thoughts in the moment, although I'm guessing they were more of the obscene variety. But I like that word: balderdash. Good word. Underrated. I don't think I'm using it correctly, but whatever, it sounds like a good, non-offensive expletive. So to very roughly paraphrase U2,** it's a word that obscurity -- or perhaps just good sense? -- stole from society, and I'm stealing it back!

**Coming on the heels of my last post, guess I'm really into "very roughly paraphrasing" these days. And is that redundant, to "roughly paraphrase" someone?

A minute or two into moaning and griping, I realized there was a relatively easy solution at hand: I was shortly going to Auckland! Why not use that opportunity to get off this cursed sponsored visa once and for all and reenter the country on a Work and Holiday Visa, which means (as the name might suggest) that I can actually work? I presented this solution to the woman, and she seemed happy with it. Done and done!

So! Come next Tuesday, armed with the Wallpaper City Guide Auckland,* I fly out and spend five days in and around the city.

*I won't bore you with another entire post on guide books -- and anyway, I have neither the time nor the inclination -- but as you may recall, I also opted for a Wallpaper guide book for my trip to Melbourne last year. I decided to go with it again for this trip, although after looking back at my own thoughts on the Melbourne book, I'm beginning to wonder why in the wide world of sports I went with it for this trip too. Besides the fact that the book is pretty, I found it to be useless! Limited information... inadequate maps... food and entertainment options that are completely out of my price range... you name it. Yet I was suckered into buying it again!! Ahhhh, the beauty and temptation of a well-packaged product.

Don't have much idea what I'll be doing quite yet -- I'm hoping (pretty please?) that Wallpaper will help me out there, although I'm also staying with a distant relative who can point me in the right direction -- but for the sake of my legal status in Australia, this trip couldn't come soon enough.

A postmortem on Movember... in June

Yes, I realize that this upcoming November is closer than last November, when I paticipated in Movember. And I realize that the video below was made over three months ago, in March. Needless to say, we move slowly here. But I just came across this video again and, well, I love it.

I love the music, as does every other Andy in the world. I love the progression of pictures showing my moustache grow (at a painfully slow rate).* I love the Goulet picture(s). And I love, love, love Keith Hernandez smoking in the dugout.

*As an added bonus, I don't think my hair looks the same in any picture.

So without further ado! From the man who so gloriously recapped a fantastic New York weekend in a 6:38 video, from the man who will soon unleash an absolutely epic video of his visit to Sydney on the world(maybe?), and from the man who is long overdue to update his blog, I give you Andy and the Molestache:

Getting back on that Twitter horse

Maybe it's because I've been living, breathing, reading and writing anything and everything to do with marketing over the last few weeks. Maybe it's because after a break of a month or so, I was ready to give it another go. Maybe it's because you can't go longer than three minutes these days without being exposed to it. Maybe it's because I finally realized that it might actually be in my best interest to be shackled to the confines of 140 characters.

In the end, I can't directly place my finger on the 'why'. Why's the sky blue? But to very roughly paraphrase Scott Storch: I took roughly a month off, and now I'm back up in the Twitter.

(There's no good place for this tangent, so I'll just do it here: There are some awful, awful, awful comics about Twitter floating around the Internet. I searched for a good 20 minutes before settling on the one in this post, and even then, I'm including it somewhat reluctantly. I actually seriously considered using a comic that was in Spanish, just because, well, I guess I could pretend that it was funny. Maybe I shouldn't have included a comic at all? I don't know. Maybe. I just felt like I needed something else in here besides 400 words about how I'm getting back on that Twitter horse.)

In my first go with Twitter, I got it, I think. At least for the most part. This time, I really think I get it, maybe a little more. I'm not sure I know what that means. I certainly don't expect you to know what that means. But, yeah, I think I get it. So I'm getting back up on that horse, and am tweeting like a mad man. Caught up in my new-found zeal, I've ditched the bug-ridden MadTwitter desktop application and have supplanted it with TweetDeck, which may ultimately send me into sensory overload and turn my brain to mush,* what with its grouping and search capabilities (not to even mention the synchronization with Facebook).

*Kinda like what's happened with my Google Reader account. Haven't been under "1000+ new items" in months. And the longer I let that go, the more daunting and demoralizing it becomes.

So! In case you don't already, feel free to follow me. Or just view the updates in my little widget on the right sidebar here. Let's see where this takes us.

Late on the Lake Show, and a remembrance

Woooooo!!! WOOOOOOOOO!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! LAAAAKKEEEEEEEEERRRRRSSSSSS!!!

Oh, wait. That's right: the Lakers won the NBA Finals a week ago. A week ago! And I'm just getting around to it now. Dammit.

I wish I could say that witnessing Laker victory from 7,500 miles away is just as sweet as experiencing it a bit closer to home, even from the East Coast of the US (as I did in 2000 and 2001). But it isn't. Not even close. I mean, which scenario would you choose:

(A) Watching the game in a crowded bar with dozens of rabid fans.

(B) Following the first half of the game at work via nba.com and Lakers Nation's Twitter feed (which was superb, fortunately) and then watching the second half in a quiet pub in Sydney at 11am on a Monday.

This isn't a trick question; it's an easy answer. But unfortunately, I don't have a choice in the matter. I had to take Option B. Although I guess I can't complain. Coming here, I knew I'd be making some sacrifices -- just as I knew I'd be getting a whole lot of benefits in return -- and I guess this is one of them.

I wasn't nearly as close or as emotionally invested in this Lakers team as I was in the 2000 or 2001 Lakers. Those teams... those were the championship teams that I loved the most.

Ironically, a year after those two titles, while I was on my first trip to Sydney, the Lakers won another one. And to make that championship even sweeter, they beat the hated Kings in a brutal seven-game Western Conference Finals on the way to their three-peat. Yet just like the 2009 Lakers, I didn't have nearly the same connection to that team.

Whatever. It's still awesome. I'll take it.

You know what I really miss, possibly more so than the thrill that would have come from being closer to this victory? Chick Hearn.

This is the Lakers' first championship since Chick died, just a few months after they swept the Nets in 2002. And seven years later, I can still remember coming off the plane from Australia that August, stepping onto US soil for the first time in half a year, and being greeted by my Dad, who almost immediately told me of Chick's passing.

I miss everything about Chick. His sing-song voice. His sayings. The excitement he brought to the game. His thinly-veiled loathing of Stu Lantz.* His connection to the Lakers, and to the city of LA.

*I have no proof of that, but I swear you could tell he didn't like Lantz, and I'll go to the grave believing it.

I can still close my eyes and picture Chick calling games, hear his voice. We'll never have another one like him, just like we'll never have another Vin Scully. So as the Lakers wrapped up Game 5 in Orlando last week, that was one of the first things that came to mind. Because as great as it was to see them notch up their 15th NBA title, it would have been so much more sweet to hear Chick calling it.

I'll let Chick close it out for us:

Thank you, Steve Nootenboom

A week and a half since my last teaser of a post re the job. Hmm. Didn't mean to go so long to follow up. Well. Let's do that. The job.

As you're all steadfastly loyal readers of this blog (surely!), you know all about my travails of the past several months: Lost my job. Couldn't find new job. Found pseudo job. Almost lost all hope. And now, I've got a real job! One that pays!!

To fully appreciate how we got here -- well, more just to appreciate the title of this post -- let's go back to September 1995. Yeah -- nearly 14 years ago. My freshman high school class had a retreat to some camp a few hours outside of LA. To be honest, I can't even remember where it was. Big Bear? Lake Arrowhead? Maybe one of those. But what I do remember, what left an indelible impression on my young mind, was that Steve Nootenboom came to speak to our class.

Nootenboom was a motivational speaker, and he fit the Matt Foley-esque mold* of motivational speakers in every way possible: He was exuberant. He was passionate. He was verbose, going on (and on and on) much longer than any of us (teachers included) cared for. He desperately wanted to connect with us. And connect with us he did, probably more so than he could ever realize. In fact, he said one thing in particular that, for whatever reason, has always stuck with me: If you want to get a job, if you want to break into a new field, if you want to try something different, you have to offer to work for free.

*Actually, that's not a bad comparison. Because when I think of Nootenboom after all these years, I think of a skinny version of Chris Farley's Matt Foley. Honestly. Yeah, I'll allow for the very real possibility that time has completely warped the image of him in my head. But let's go with that image.

Accepting the "offer" for the pseudo job the other month, this very thought crossed my mind. I can't say it's why I took the job, but maybe a week or two into it, the connection occurred to me. And I thought just how ironic it would be if I actually got a job out of working for free.

Working with FG, one of the clients for LV (the website development firm I've been working for),* I formed a rapport with the head guy. And in a meeting a few weeks ago, he casually mentioned that he was looking for someone to head up the marketing efforts for the new site we were putting together. It sounded interesting and something that I could be good at, so I offered up my services. He responded enthusiastically, and we scheduled an interview.

*For the sake of retaining my anonymity on the World Wide Internets -- and I have a variety of reasons for doing so at this stage -- I'm not gonna refer to these businesses by their full name. The client will be FG. The website development firm will be LV. These are actual acronyms.

Since last October, I've been on more interviews than I care to recall. Some were awkward, some were intense, some were friendly, but all were relatively formal. My interview with FG was over dim sum.* My future boss and I talked. Some of the discussion touched on my past experiences, some of it touched on ideas I had for the company, a lot of it was just pleasant chit chat. We had some good food. I tried chicken feet for the first time, which were really good, although with so many bones, quite a chore to eat.

*Called "yum cha" in Australia. No idea why there are different names. If someone wants to look it up, please feel free to let me know.

Lunch ended with a job offer: Spend the next several weeks developing and starting to implement a marketing plan for the company's new online business, and see where we go from there.

After all the uncertainty, after all the stress, that's all it took. I'm still shocked by how quickly and simply it all went down. So one more time, I say to Steve Nootenboom: thank you!

Throwin' some quick toss Kleinballs

The original idea behind the Kleinballs was to give you some quick, punchy thoughts on a variety of disparate topics. Me being me, of course, I've recently gotten a bit verbose with some of them. Not today, however, because I gots things going on! And I need to get some of them off my chest.

A FREAKING JOB!!! ONE THAT FREAKING PAYS!!! I GOTS ME ONE OF THEM!!!!

I ate chicken feet on Tuesday. A laborious chore to consume, with bones everywhere, but well worth the effort. Surprisingly moist and tender.

It's been comfortably over a decade now, but his words have always lived with me. And now they've paid off. So to Steve Nootenboom, I say THANK YOU.

Amazingly, the three above items are all connected. Some of you may be able to find the link between two of them. But how are all three intertwined? I'll fill in the blanks, and give more info on this job (that pays!), next week.

Current Lakers score: 88-60, with 9:15 to go. My lord, if they win the finals, that would be the ultimate icing on a week that's already been stupendous. (Oh, wait, I forgot: the NBA Finals go on for three months. Never mind.)

Needing to renew by visa but not knowing my future job situation, I booked a one-way ticket to Auckland the other week, for July 7. And now that I have a job (that pays!), I'm gonna make it a quick trip, and have booked a return flight for July 12. No idea what I'll be doing there yet. Maybe this will bring another venture into the wide world of travel books? I'll let you know when I know.

Congrats to Randy Johnson on win number 300. Now, to all those who think that we'll never again see a pitcher make it to that milestone: J-Poz has his rebuttal, and as always, it makes far too much sense.

The reason for my rushed post today? We gots a threeeeeeeee-daaaaayyyyy weeeeeeekennnnnddd coming up for the Queen's birthday! (Although it's not really her birthday at all. For all the basics, see my reading notes from last year.) A group of us are off to Hawks Nest, about three hours north of Sydney. Should be a nice, long weekend of doing nothing at all. Can't wait.

Next week: a job (that pays!).

2009 Fumblers B Decathlon: Sunday

This was one of those mornings. Your head is pounding. Your stomach is turning. You're struck by a bout of dizziness as you step out of bed. You only remember little windows into last night; details are hazy, if not nonexistent. Clothes are strewn across the floor. Your wallet is nowhere to be found.* You find your friend's credit card in your pocket.** Your phone isn't working.***

*Honors for this went to Short. Hysterically, his phone alarm went off shortly after we woke up with the reminder, "Find your bloody wallet!"

**I reached into my pocket to find Leif's credit card. When I returned it to him, neither of us could remember why I would have had it.

***Short pulled this feat as well. Hey, did I previously mention that he blew a 0.312 BAC? I believe there may be a correlation between that and the havoc he brought upon himself.

Why did any of this happen? Ummmmm, I don't know? How about: Why do I drink, ever? Is it worth it? Should I ever drink again?

Yeah. This was one of those mornings.

Slowly -- painfully slowly -- we all congregated in one of the living rooms to debrief each other on the night's events. Gradually we began to connect the dots here and there. And, well, yeeeeaaahhhhh... I think a lot of us would've been happy for those dots to never be connected again. We did some stupid things.

Before getting to the last event, we revealed the results of the Treasure Hunt, which had been going on in the background throughout the entire weekend. Unfortunately for me, one of the other guys had found my cricket ball, which I had hidden in what I thought was a very safe location outside of the apartment. I hadn't found anyone else's balls (hmmmm, that sounds wrong), so I received zero points in the event. Fortunately, I had company, as four other people were also sans balls. (Still sounds wrong.)

With only one event to go, we did a quick subtotal so everyone knew what was at stake prior to receiving our last points. And it turned out that we had a race on both ends of the spectrum! Short had the lead, with 72 points, but Joe and his 62.5 points had a shot at overtaking him. (My 58 points, good for fifth place, put me just outside of contention.) And although Lam had a pathetic 31 points, there were three others who still had a mathematical shot to overtake (undertake?) him for last place. This was going to be exciting.

Event #10: Fumblers Lotto

What better way to end the Decathlon and decide our winner and loser than with a complete game of chance?

We all placed our cricket balls in a box. First ball pulled would receive one point, second would receive two points, yada, yada, yada. Last ball pulled would win the event and receive 12 points.

The first ball pulled that would impact first or last place was Short, at three points. However, his 9.5 point lead over Joe was so commanding that three points were just enough to clinch victory. And Joe wouldn't even make it a close finish, as his ball was next out, giving him only one more point than Shorty in the event.

As for those in contention of finishing in last, well, there were unfortunately no changes in the standings. Maz was very vocally dreading the possibility, and for a moment, it looked like it might happen, but it wasn't meant to be.

And with that, we were done! The Second Annual Fumblers B Decathlon had been completed.

In first place, with an impressive 75 points,* was Mr. Pete Short. His award? The very trophy, in all its random and lame glory, that he himself had selected earlier in the week! He immediately expressed regret for purchasing that trophy -- how's that for karma? -- although he gratefully posed for the picture to the left.

*Not sure why I think that that's impressive... this was the first time we've actually staged a ten-stage decathlon with 12 contestants. For example, the winner of our nine-stage decathlon last year, with 15 contestants, received 88 points. Was that impressive? I don't know.**

**How about this: Short scored 75 points out of a maximum 120 points possible. That's 62.5%. Last year's winner scored 88 out of a maximum 135 points possible. That's 65.2%. So maybe Short's score wasn't impressive? Maybe no one cares? Maybe I should stop talking?

Congratulations Pete Short, on a job... done.

And in last place, with a pathetic 38 points,* was Mr. Daniel Lam! His punishment? Scull a beer from our cricket trophy -- the very one to which I'd done an unspeakable thing only weeks earlier!** Look at him savor every drip of that beer.*** Yum!

*Maybe I'm not sure about calling Shorty's 75 points impressive, but I'm absolutely confident in assessing 38 points as pathetic. Seriously. That's really bad. 3.8 points per event??!? Come on.

**It should be noted that a few days after all of this, back in Sydney, Short and I revealed to the group that I had NOT, in fact, done the unspeakable thing that we had claimed. I guess I'll just share it with you: here's a link to the video.

Imagine watching that only up to the 1:08 mark, because that's all that we showed the guys before the weekend was over. And under the assumption that THAT'S what I had done, Lam had drunken out of the cup.

***Note that because of the cup's current state, broken in several places, Lam actually drank out of a hole on the bottom. Hey, sometimes you gotta improvise.

And how did I do? Well, thanks to a dominant showing in the Fumblers Lotto, I leapfrogged much of the competition and finished with 69 points... good for second place! That's quite the improvement over last year's sixth-place finish, so I was somewhat pleased with the result. But first place would've been great.

Wanna see the entire scorecard? Look no further than right here. Everything you could want to know about how anyone did in any of the events at your fingertips.

Without a doubt, the Decathlon was an unequivocal success. We were happy. But still hungover. The only prescription? HARRY'S!!!

Capping off the weekend at Harry's, we had our last, unforeseen adventure, which involved some chauvinism, a bit of racism and plenty of bewilderment. It's been over two weeks, and I still can't wrap my head completely around what happened. And even if I could, I'm fairly positive I couldn't adequately capture the moment, in all its absurdity, in words. So I'm not even gonna try to recap it here. Sorry.

We ate our pies -- Pie #4 for me was the chicken pie shown here -- and we departed Newcastle.

It was a great weekend. The Decathlon was an unequivocal success. It absolutely went to 11.