Procrastinatin' with some Kleinballs while I curse myself

Well, in case there was ever any doubt, it's now official: I'm an idiot.

Somehow, over the last several weeks, I came under the very erroneous impression that Sam and Sarah were arriving this morning. I mentally circled the date in my head, and all errands and activities this week were planned so that I'd be free today to pick them up from the airport and start our two-week adventure together.

I emailed Sam and Sarah on Wednesday, the day they were gonna head off from New York... that is, if they were to arrive in Sydney on Friday morning. I told them that I couldn't believe they'd be leaving New York "today" and that I'd be waiting for them at the airport on Friday morning. I even provided this link to my post about their visit, in which I clearly say that they'd be coming on Friday morning.

Sam and Sarah responded to my email. Below are some excerpts from each of their emails:

• Email #1, from Sarah: "Still awake haven't slept yet way too pumped."
• Email #2, from Sam: "I'll confirm the flight when I get to work. I can't believe this. 2 weeks in oz baby!!"
• Email #3, from Sarah: "Can't believe we leave tomorrow!!!"

Any mention in these three emails that I was under the very wrong impression of which day they'd arrive on?? NO! In fact, Sarah's first email almost confirms my understanding. Was she so excited that she couldn't sleep two nights before she was scheduled to leave? Because that's the only way to interpret her words.

It wasn't until Sarah's last email, in which she says they'd be leaving "tomorrow" (in response to my email in which I said -- and I quote -- "Holy shit, you guys leave today. TODAY!!!") that I realized something was amiss. For not only did she say that they'd be leaving "tomorrow" (Thursday), but according to my calculations (which were based on my faulty understanding), she should have been about 30,000 feet over Colorado at the time she sent it. So I searched through my old emails, found Sam's original email with their flight info, and there it was: arrive Saturday morning. Yep, I'm an idiot.

ANYWAY.

Now I've been sitting in my apartment all day with nothing to do because I had left my schedule wide open to hang out with them. Now there's nothing. So in an effort to make the day pass, I figure I'd throw a couple of Kleinballs out there.

Man beats up 'kangaroo Jackie Chan' in house. A good and intriguing headline, no doubt, but after reading this story, my lord, the possibilities are endless! Someone get the New York Post on the phone! A few options that I very hastily came up with in about 3.4 seconds:

• Man confuses kangaroo with lunatic ninja, goes Seven Samurai on its ass.
• Kangaroo shreds mans underpants.
• Chef cooks kangaroo, kangaroo's cousin attempts to exact revenge on chef's family.

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that these all could use some work -- I swear I used to be good at writing headlines -- but there are some beautiful tidbits in that article. One thing's for sure: only in Australia.

Peanut butter sales are plummeting. I've had nightmares about this. (Wait, maybe this is a good thing? All the more for me to horde?)

You may remember my Movember adventure from last November, and that for those people who donated on my behalf, I sent out a daily email with pictures of my slow-to-grow moustache. Robert, who will himself be landing here in exactly one week's time -- and don't worry, I'm positive of this date -- put together the following brilliant video that chronicles my 'stache:

This baseball off-season, if the Red Sox had signed CC Sabathia to anything comparable to what the Yankees ultimately signed him for, I would have been furious. Insanely overweight pitchers (and he's the second heaviest in baseball!!!) with huge workloads over the past two seasons (including many starts on three days rest late last year) don't exactly have the best track record one, two or seven years into the future. So I was all for the Yankees signing him to that albatross of a deal: $161 million over seven years. Anyway, I know it's only Spring Training,* but nonetheless, this pleases me to no end. Let the glorious revisionist history begin.

*And of all people, I'm the one to generally put zero stock in how players perform in March.

The National Rugby League here begins its season tonight. And just to make things really interesting in the lead-up to the season, earlier this week, one of the best players on the defending champions was accused of sexually assaulting a 17-year-old girl. As if that's not insane enough, a team executive recently had the tenacity to fault the league's salary cap for creating an atmosphere in which that might happen. Riiiiiiiiight. Anyway, I hadn't even heard of this ridiculous assertion in Australia until it was picked up by an American web site. I'm not even going to try to explain; you can read the absurd logic for yourself.

Along with the beginning of the NRL season comes the beginning of the fantasy leagues, and most of my friends in my neighborhood are all in the same league. I thought I could be bad when watching a game that had implications for me in fantasy baseball, basketball or football. But these guys... yikes. They take it to a whole new level.

I guess it's comforting to know that I'm not the craziest person out there. Just an idiot.

Throwin' some sloppy second Kleinballs

I threw my Honoré de Klein-Balzacs on Sunday and managed to completely forget to touch on a few points. So here they are, nice and sloppy... just like I know you like 'em!

"You are the most difficult person I've ever had to shop for." Those were the words uttered by the helpful (and extremely hot and buxom) employee at one of the clothing stores in the Bondi Junction mall last weekend. Which, of course, harkens back to my shopping difficulties detailed at the beginning of this post. So, yeah, no real argument from me there; she's absolutely right, and I acknowledged as much when she told me. And then, as quickly as she cheerfully showed me around the store, even as I shot down all but one of her maybe three dozen suggestions, she turned bitch on me. For the second I said, "Thanks so much for your help, but I think I'm just going to take the jeans", she went ice cold. As if the previous ten minutes (during which the thought that I actually had a chance with her absurdly crossed my mind) never happened. I felt used, and a little dirty.

Qantas' engineers are striking, forcing Australia's largest airline to cancel dozens of flights the last few days. Yet as I touched on in my recap of my Melbourne trip, there are a ridiculous amount of flights in Australia, especially between the major cities. So what kind of disruption has this strike caused customers? Hardly any; people are generally being rebooked on flights that leave within an hour of their original flight's scheduled departure time! So I ask: doesn't this defeat the whole purpose of a strike? Isn't this a huge slap in the face of the engineers, as if Qantas is saying to them, "You know what? Go on strike! We're still getting all of our customers into the air within an hour of when they were expecting to!" And honestly? These days, if the flight that I was originally booked on leaves within an hour of the scheduled departure time, I'm happy. So yeah, I'm not exactly sure what the engineers are accomplishing here.

I never realized how American peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are. I mean, I know people in some cultures find peanut butter repugnant. (Which, in and of itself, bewilders me.) But in Australia, they love peanut butter. It's probably just as prevalent here as it is in the US. And in Australia, they love jelly. It too is probably just as prevalent here as it is in the US. And in my office, the kitchen is stocked with each of these for use as spreads. But eating the two together in one sandwich? It just doesn't happen. Many an Australian have even told me that they've literally never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It boggles the mind.

The video below is awesome -- nay, it's awe-inspiring. Everything in it. From the music (my God, the music!) to the 1:54, 2:24, 2:36, 3:54 and 4:00* marks and everything in between. Then I read about this guy and his adventures on his web site. And it has inspired me to take my own special dance** worldwide. Or at least go worldwide. I need to travel more. And I will.



*I'm not going to lie. I'm not sure if it was because it was first thing in the morning when I first saw this, if it was the crescendo of the entire video and music (my God, the music!) as it ended, or if it was a little bit of homesickness. But when I saw Santa Monica Beach -- a spot that I drove by nearly every day of my life for over a decade -- it briefly got a little dusty in the room.

**Hell, it's already taken Australia by storm! Haven't seen my chicken dance yet? Get me drunk and on a dance floor, and, well, it's bound to come out. And the people? They eat it up.