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.

Bringing it full circle

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

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

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

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

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

I live in Fort Knox

With more exposure to a new person, place or thing, our perception towards them/it almost always changes, right? Well, a week and a half into my new house, this has absolutely proven to be true. In both a good way and a kinda bad way.

First, the good: I'm increasingly happy with my decision to move into it over the other place. There was some serious apprehension when I first made the decision, but now... yeah, it's good. This past weekend was absolutely gorgeous, and I had plenty of opportunity to soak it all up in the place, having some friends over, sitting by the pool and looking out onto the ocean. Then I went to the other place I was considering, and... yeah, not so good. Again, it would be great to live with friends and be walking distance to many more, but in the end, the new house and location just outweighs that. So... yeah, it's good.

But alas, there is some bad. For a few days before I moved into the place, it was broken into, and my housemate/landlord's laptop was stolen. For we apparently have a laptop burglar in the neighborhood who, according to the policeman that came over, has already taken 30. So Craig (the housemate/landlord) got motivated and has turned the place into Fort frickin' Knox. Alarms everywhere, two or three locks on every door, and as I type this, Craig is drilling away to install a few more locks. Well, at least I feel quite safe.

The irony of this whole situation is that if my new place is Fort Knox, then my old house -- no more than a three minute walk down the road -- was easier to get into than Tara Reid's pants. (Hey-ooooo!!!) I guess that place just looked like shit, so no one even bothered. Kind of like Tara Reid. (HEY-YOOOOO!!!!)* Even if all you had to do to get inside was:
a) walk through the front door by simply sticking your hand through a gap and opening it from the inside, or
b) simply hop a fence and just saunter on through the back door, which didn't even have a lock!

*Upon further inspection: Tara Reid references? In 2008? That's a little dated, no? Oh well, it's the first thing that came to mind.

Anyway, maybe we should take the fact that people want to break into this place as a compliment? You know, that it's actually worth it to take the chance and break into the house? Because who wants to get into Tara Reid's pants when Fort Knox is right around the corner?*

*Yup, I've officially taken this analogy too far.

But regardless of the laptop burglar, I couldn't be happier with my decision right now. Because, among many reasons, you really can't overstate how great it is to wake up to a view of the sun rising over the water every morning. And for all those in the US, it's time you got off yer keisters and came down to check it out.

A new home. And the grueling agony of an impossible choice.

I spent 45 minutes at the supermarket on Sunday. I purchased enough items -- or perhaps more accurately, I purchased within enough items -- that I was able to check out at the express lane. And before you all whip out your abacuses (abacai?), I'll just tell you that that averages out to roughly one item every four minutes. Which might be ridiculously long for you, or any other normal person. But it's the norm for me. You see, that's my thing: when making a decision, big or small, I take my time. I deliberate, internally and/or externally. I consider all possibilities, all options, all perspectives, all scenarios. And yes, that includes deciding if I want my orange juice pulp-free but enriched with calcium or with only light pulp. Because God forbid they combine the two.*

*I just came up with this theory on the spot, and I'm sure that at least one of the five people that will read this post could debunk it, but it sounds right: people who like pulp-free OJ also like smooth peanut butter. And vice versa, those who like their OJ with pulp like chunky peanut butter. And yes, those in the latter group are much better people for it. This feels right.

So when the stakes are raised beyond my weekly shop, even by just a little bit, imagine how much I might agonize over each decision. Picking my profession? Choosing a college??? Moving to Australia???!?!? None of these decisions were made on a whim, believe me. The combinations and permutations run through my head ad nauseam until I come to a definitive conclusion.

Except when I don't.

And when I don't, I'm screwed. Which is exactly what I'm facing now. For I've just made a decision, and I have absolutely no conviction that it's the right one. Or that it isn't the right one.

As my fantastic landlord is moving into my current house in South Coogee with her lovely family, I'm being forced to move out. Which is fine, because I've wanted to get out of the place for the last month or two. So as I've mentioned in previous posts, I've been looking for a new place and saw a fantastic apartment to share the other week. Great location by the beach, lots of space with a large deck, barbecue and pool, and two guys who seemed pretty cool. So assuming they offered the place to me, I'd go there, right? Not necessarily. Because shortly afterwards some friends offered me a room in their house in Kensington. And how great would that be, right? Living with friends! But whereas the location (vis a vis the beach), amenities and upkeep of the first place was fantastic, my friends' place was, uhhhhh, not. And I've reached that point in my life where not only can I afford something that's at least relatively nice, but I actually want that.

So in anticipation of potentially being offered the first place, I struggled with the hypothetical decision of which place I should move into. Because this was like the yin and yang of housing options. Both good in their own right, but for completely different reasons.

In the end, I didn't have to choose between these two places, because the first place didn't pan out. Why didn't it pan out? Well. Well. Well? Well. I'm going to summon all of my energy to not go off on a 3,000-word tangential rant here, but it didn't pan out because the two guys in that place decided to give the room to someone else (which is fine)... for free (uhhhh, what?)... in exchange for that person's housekeeping services (uhhhhhh, WHAT??!??!).

(Biting lip...)

(Wanting to vent...)

(Must resist...)

(Resist...)

(RESIST...)

(Okay, I'm there. I think.)

This news aside, one of the two guys in that place was at least kind enough to pass my name onto another guy he works with who was also looking for a roommate. So we got in touch, and last Saturday, I had a look at his place in Maroubra. And it... is... awesome. Four hours later, I was in receipt of an offer to move in with him and the third roommate. And my hand, stripped of any hypothetical situations, was completely forced. Make a decision -- this place or my friends' place -- and make it by the end of the day. Uh oh.

I thought. I rethought. I over thought. I went on a walk. I even tried to reenact the Seinfeld running-through-flock-of-pigeons scene. I stopped at a pub for a contemplative beer. But for the life of me, I could not make a decision. So for what I believe is the first time in my life, I made a pro/con list. And they were as follows:

The Maroubra house
Pros
- Every amenity possible
- Clean
- View of ocean
- Near beach
Cons
- More expensive
- Will I get along with new housemates?
- Farther from city/work

The Kensington house
Pros
- Within three blocks of 15 friends
- Cheap
- Close to city/work
- Walking distance to restaurants/shops
Cons
- Squalor
- Will it be too over-the-top/chaotic?
- What happens past May?

And you know what? After creating this list, with four pros and three cons for each house (this was an absolute coincidence, by the way), I was even more lost. I looked at the list over and over and couldn't decide what I valued more: a beautiful house on the water with some guys I don't know or a POS house that's close to friends and the city. So what ultimately decided it, I think, was the last con for the Kensington house: what happens past May? For in May, my friends' house will be sold, and they don't know if the new owners will want to continue to rent it to them or not. And as I was out on Saturday night with these same friends, it was this uncertainty, contrasted by the absolute certainty of the Maroubra house, that guided me to my decision.

So as of this Sunday, this will be my new house.

Looks amazing, right? Well, it is. It's one of the nicest places I've ever lived in. And yet, as I said earlier, I have no conviction that the decision I made is the right one. Or that it isn't. So, you know, ask me in six months.

Throwin' Stream of Consciousness Kleinballs

I've been really into the stream of consciousness writing these days. And since I don't have much else to write about, I just sat down and wrote about whatever poppped into my head. Besides typos, haven't edited any of this.

My house is still good. I think I like the people. I think. Most of them are good. The Turkish guy's a little strange. He laughs like a hyena. And he describes all food as "very nice", but it sounds more like "veiwy nice." Kinda like Bugs Bunny. Not that this is what makes me dislike him. And I guess I don't necessarily dislike him. He's just strange. Which, I said above. Let's leave it at that.

It probably doesn't need to be said, but Lynyrd Skynyrd spells their name very strangely.

I think I've seen about 30 cumulative minutes of the NFL this year. I have absolutely no idea what's going on. And I think I'm okay with this.

Everyone wants to know about how my work is going. And I really don't know what to say. I mean, after that first few weeks, I found that it was really quite similar to working anywhere else. Except I have to dial "0" before a number except "9". That's probably been the biggest barrier to my domination of the Sydney market and ultimate ascension to becoming the Spam King of Sydney.

I miss New York. I miss being within five minutes of dozens of restaurants and bars. I miss stores being open past 6 and banks open on Saturdays. But I love living by the beach. I love walking along the water. And the smells of the ocean.

If I had to rank the continents, I think it would go: Europe, North America, Asia, South America, Australia, Africa and Antarctica. That's 100% subjective and not based on any criteria. Although I'm not sure how Antarctica could ever been anything but last.

Christmas cards are interesting.

I'm already fearing the winter here. Yes, I know that's insane. For several reasons. But it's true.

This is the story of one shitty landlord

As you may recall from my first post about my place, I was pretty concerned about my housemates and how I'd get along with them. And fortunately, it's turned out very well. Everyone is very cool, loves to have a good time, and is respectful of each other. For the most part, we even keep the house clean. All in all, not a bad group.

What I didn't account for, however, was my landlord. Because it's becoming increasingly clear that she couldn't give two shits about us. If something breaks, the mantra is, "We'll come over tomorrow." Which turns into next week. Which turns into two weeks.

Roughly six weeks into moving in, and here's where we stand on the state of the house:

• The cold water in the washing machine (which we only got a few weeks ago) doesn't work
• The mirror in my bathroom was (finally) installed two weeks ago... and there still isn't one in the other one
• The sink in my bathroom leaks onto the floor
• The light in the pool regularly breaks
• The table lamp in my room broke
• The desk promised to me still hasn't been delivered
• Our barbecue is broken
• Cable TV (which I hoped to have for the World Series) hasn't been installed... although that's a bit of a moot point because:
• The sound on the first TV broke
• The sound on the second TV comes and goes (and no replacement yet)

Our landlord has made up for part of those last points by bringing a VCR to the living room. Oh, wait a minute. That doesn't make up for anything at all. It's a frickin' VCR! No one sells or rents VHS anymore! And even if this was the height of the VCR era, somewhere in between the death of Beta and the introduction of DVD, what the hell would we do with a VCR when the TV doesn't work?!?!?

When I moved into my place, not sure of how the housemates would be, I was consoled by the fact that the lease was for three months at a minimum. And today, I'm still glad that it's a minimum of three months, not because of those housemates, but because of this landlord. Goad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still waiting for that work visa.

This is the story of seven strangers...

...picked to live together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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