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.

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.

2009 Fumblers B Decathlon: Friday

Picking up where we left off, by Thursday night, planning was all in order for the Second Annual Fumblers B Decathlon. And early Friday afternoon, with a back seat fully stocked with cases of beer, Shorty and I left Sydney so that we could get up to Newcastle ahead of everyone else and take care of some preparations. We arrived around 4pm and checked into our two apartments. Like last year, they were amazing. And freaking HUGE.


For ten guys, we had two completely new apartments (the building just opened last month!), five rooms and five bathrooms. And to me, that latter point is the most impressive, because really, when you have ten guys in one place, having a ratio of one bathroom for every two guys is never a bad thing.

We got a DVD player from the front desk. We stocked the fridge with beer. We set up our two trophies: one for the cricket title* and one for the winner of the Decathlon.** And we waited for everyone else to arrive.

*Formally known as the Arthur Picking Cup, we had a bit of a mishap with the trophy on Thursday night. You see, many people have drunken from that cup. We all did it after our grand final. I'm assuming that prior teams have done the same. The problem, however, is that the cup clearly wasn't made for such a purpose. Because every time we poured beer into the cup, half of it would leak out the bottom.

Anyway, as I picked up the cup on Thursday night to set it by the front door of our apartment, it completely fell apart. The faux-wooden base, exhausted after being soaked with liquids for lord-knows-how-many-years, simply gave way and dropped to the ground. The cup itself split into two pieces. So it wasn't in the best of shape over the weekend, and it's still something we sorta kinda definitely need to address before we return it next year.

**The trophy, as you'll see in the below video, features some sort of a dancer holding out a top hat. Why? Well, it's funny. And makes no sense. No other reason. In fact, when Shorty went to the trophy store to purchase something for the winner, he went with no clear idea of what he wanted. The only criterion he had to meet was that it had to be random. SUPREMELY random. He did well. Although -- and I don't want to give too much away here -- he actually ended up doing TOO well.

A quick video tour of one of the apartments:

Over the next few hours, as we watched a rugby league test match between Australia and New Zealand, the rest of the group trickled in. And once we were all present, we sat everyone down, turned on the DVD player, and set the scene for the Decathlon with a video depicting myself doing some, ahem, unsavory "things" to the trophy on a drunken night a few weeks earlier. I don't want to get into specifics here, but let's just say that after seeing what I'd done, you wouldn't want to touch the trophy ever again. Or, say, drink from it. Which conveniently brings us to the punishment for the loser of the Decathlon! For on Sunday morning, the loser would have to scull a beer from the trophy. It wouldn't be pleasant, but I guess that's the point.

Finally, Shorty, Maz and I ran through the ten events from the Decathlon and explained the scoring: with up to 12 people competing, top score in each event would receive 12 points, bottom score would receive 1 point. There were some exceptions and other vagaries to be addressed, but that's the basic idea.

And then we headed off for our first night out and to begin accumulating our points! First up, the two weekend-long events: Treasure Hunt and Picking Up.

Event #1: Treasure Hunt

A new event to the Decathlon! For this, each member of the team received a cricket ball on which we wrote our name. And for the course of the weekend, it was our obligation to (a) protect our ball and (b) steal other people's balls. You didn't have to carry it on yourself the entire time -- in fact, that wouldn't have been a smart idea -- but if hidden, it had to be accessible within five minutes of the apartments.

At the end of the weekend you would receive three points if you still had your ball and one point each for anyone else's ball that you had.

Not much else to add at the moment, as we wouldn't know how everyone fared in this event until Sunday morning.

Event #2: Picking Up

This event didn't go so well. Not for me. Not for anyone, actually. Pretty sad.

We had a whole scoring system set up for different, ummmm, achievements accomplished, and a wingman system for the guys with girlfriends, but there's really no point in me breaking that all down. I'm just gonna let the scorecard -- I'll link to it in my last post on the Decathlon -- do the talking.

And as far as the Decathlon goes, that was it for the night. We actually returned to Fanny's, the same bar that we went to on Friday night last year, and it proved to be pretty much exactly as we remembered it. With one exception being that thanks to a new law here, every hour after midnight, we couldn't order alcohol from the bar for a ten minute window. Although based on my memory (or lack thereof) on the night, we were able to comfortably compensate for that during the other 50 minutes of each hour.

Making the trek back to the apartments later that night, I made my first trip to Harry's for the weekend, for Pie #1. This time around, it was a curry pie. As awesome as ever!! However, not being fully sated as I walked home, I stopped off at some random shop and got some piping hot chips with sweet chili sauce. Soooooooo good. Almost as good as ten minutes later, as my head hit my pillow and I entered a deep, dark slumber. There would be serious business to take care of tomorrow.

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.

Melbourne -- there's an angle in here somewhere

I've just yet to find it.

You'd think there'd be some way I could cleverly sum up my trip in a title for this post, some way for me to approach my recap, but I'm at a loss. So simply stated, I went to Melbourne last weekend, and it was awesome. Hmmmm, maybe that's it? "Melbourne -- it was awesome!"

But that would be quite a simplistic look at the weekend. For there's no way that all 72 hours of a three-day weekend can be awesome, right? And that can certainly be said of the 72 hours I spent there last weekend. For while I had my fair share of awesomeness, some things were only kind of awesome, and others were not awesome at all. (I feel like Jeff Spicoli would be beaming with pride at these words.)

So let's try that approach.

Melbourne -- the awesome, the kind of awesome and the not so awesome

The Awesome

Weather. So this is what summer's like, eh? You know, when it comes to the Sydney vs. Melbourne, the weather debate is generally ceded to Sydney. Sydney's supposed to be the warm city, Sydney's supposed to afford you year-round opportunities to go to the beach, Sydney's supposed to leave you sunburned after every weekend. But after countless consecutive days of rain in Sydney, it took this trip to get this month's fill of Vitamin D. Honestly, what glorious, glorious weather. Thirty degrees (Celsius, that is) and sunny every day. What a novel concept.

Melbourne Cricket Ground. The most hallowed of sporting venues in Australia, this place holds over 100,000 people. And since I've started to get into cricket, Maz and I did a tour. Did you know that the biggest crowd ever to watch a baseball game was at the MCG? Yup, something like 104,000, during the 1956 Olympics. The only time that record may ever fall? Right back at the MCG, if baseball has an Opening Day there, as I've been told is a possibility.

Trams. They weren't awesome because they were more efficient than other forms of public transportation, but damn, the trams in Melbourne are cool. I've lived in two cities (Philly and Boston) with some semblance of a tram system, but that's just what they are -- a mere semblance of a tram system. Melbourne's tram system, on the other hand, just oozes with nostalgia. Just walking down the street, hearing the bells on the trams as they passed, added a very cool and unique je ne sais quoi to the whole experience. I'm really not familiar with San Francisco or Houston, so maybe their trams can match this, but I somehow doubt it.

The laneways. Much of the center of Melbourne is dominated with wide boulevards lined with chain stores. (See "The Kind of Awesome" section below for more on the chains.) But throughout the city, darting off of these boulevards, are these tiny little streets, called laneways. Generally just the width of one car, these laneways have taken up a culture unto themselves and are populated with really cool restaurants, bars and boutiques. So if I ever needed a respite from the city, all I had to do was walk down one of these laneways, stop in a coffee shop or bakery and hang out for a bit. Two awesome thumbs up.

Federation Square. Just a really cool -- I mean, awesome -- complex, right on the Yarra River. Seems like there's always something going on -- there was a sustainability festival there last weekend and an outdoor film to be shown on Sunday night -- and plenty of bars and restaurants to boot. And it's right across the street from Flinders Station, another old school feature to the city, and a really nice, big church.

Eureka Tower. Tallest residential building in the world. Highest public vantage point in the Southern Hemisphere. Fastest lifts -- ahem, elevators -- in the Southern Hemisphere. (Living in Australia for any period of time, you'll quickly learn that it's quite easy to have the biggest/tallest/fastest/etc anything in the Southern Hemisphere. It's like being Ms. Rhode Island or something.) And, obviously, a fantastic view. Needless to say: awesome.

The Kind of Awesome

Food. This could really be split among all the categories, but as a whole, it was merely okay. Which was actually a bit of a disappointment. Take Friday, for example. Breakfast at Mario's (recommended by the Wallpaper guide book -- more on this in a second) was okay, lunch at Gertrude Street Enoteca (also recommended by Wallpaper) was fantastic and dinner at some random Italian place I chanced upon was crap. Then again, the next day, the mushroom, cheese and spinach crepe that I had in the morning, the muffin that I had as a snack and the chili sausage that I had for dinner were all quite good. And in what was an absolutely shocking and bewildering find, the Ultimate Blended Mocha that I had at Coffee Bean was (obviously) outstanding.* So barring some swings and misses on Friday, maybe the food deserves better than "The Kind of Awesome" grouping after all.

*The whole asterisk thing from my last entry gave me a headache so I thought I'd abandon it, but if anything deserves a bit of a tangent, it's this. So let's recap. I was in Melbourne. And I found a Coffee Bean. To put this in proper perspective, I would have been shocked enough if I chanced upon a Coffee Bean in Melbourne, Florida. But in case any clarification is needed, this was Melbourne, Australia. Thousands and thousands of miles away from what I ever imagined was the closest Coffee Bean. Seriously, do any other Coffee Beans even exist outside of Southern California? (About two seconds of research would answer this question, but it's more fun to continue to be ignorant on the issue.) And there's one in frickin' Melbourne??!? And lest you think it was a knockoff of the real thing, believe me, it wasn't. Same menu, same logo, same taste. Unbelievable. For a good six minutes before I went in, I probably stood on the sidewalk, gaping at the storefront and wondering if I was tripping on some drugs that I had unknowingly taken the previous night.

Subway* and 7-Eleven. I have never seen more of either of any chain store in such a small area as the Subways and 7-Elevens in Melbourne.** Honestly, there'd be a Subway on one block, then a 7-Eleven on the next. And I can't decide if this is a good thing or not. I mean, yeah, they're evil corporations taking over the world... but the convenience! Anyway, exactly how pervasive were they? Take a look at the picture to the left. That's part of Federation Square, which as discussed above, is considered one of Melbourne's icons. That storefront at the bottom of what's a culturally significant building? A 7-Eleven!

*Since arriving in Australia in September, I had not eaten at a Subway. For those that know me, this is quite a development, because I love Subway. Love it. If Lonely Planet is my marijuana and maps are my heroin (if you're not following me here, check out my previous post) then Subway... my God, I don't even want to know. But for some reason, since I've been here, I've stayed away. I think that's partly because I've been trying to eat healthier, and although a typical fast food restaurant Subway is not, and they at least claim to be healthy, I've resisted. But then Thursday night at the airport happened, when I gave in and scarfed down a foot-long Italian BMT. And then Monday night happened. And now I fear that I'm on the edge and may black out, come to a month later and realize that I've eaten Subway three times a day every single. And if you don't think that could happen (or that I'd be up to the challenge, a la Super Size Me), then you don't know me.

**Possible exception here, if you wanted to count a small area within a city, would be the two Starbucks across the street from each other in Astor Place.

Booze. When Maz got back to the city on Saturday afternoon, we got right to it. Several beers at his place, several more at Federation Square (from where we made a drunk dial to a friend... at 8pm!), then a giant pitcher of Pimms and lemonade and then, ummmm... and then, ummmmm... well, that's really all I can remember. There were other drinks, yes, but things start to get a little hazy after our pitcher of Pimms at Madame Brussels. (What a great name.) So I called it a night a bit early. Meanwhile, Maz and another friend stayed out, and to my horror, I woke up at 7am to 15 missed calls from Maz. That's right, I passed out in the apartment with Maz's keys, and despite 15 calls to me and many more buzzes to the apartment, I was out cold. And Maz was shit out of luck. Oops!

Casino. Got to Maz's apartment at 11pm on Thursday night, and shortly thereafter, we headed to the casino. We sit down at a blackjack table and immediately drop $50. We move over to a three card poker table and drop $50 more. We split up for a bit and I start with another $50 on what might be the worst blackjack table ever. I really don't like to be a snob about it, but everything you might hate about blackjack, this table had. People coming and going. Dealers coming and going. And worst of all, people not knowing how to play.* So why did I stay at the table, you ask? Well, despite it all, I was winning. But honestly, I hated every second of it. And was actually pleased when I went on a mini losing streak and had an excuse to get up and walk away.

*In particular, there was one guy who was doubling down and splitting just for the sake of it. So regardless of the situation, if he had any pairs, he would always split. And the icing on the cake was when he split two sixes against the dealer's 10. I'll never forget it.

Virgin Blue. It's Thursday afternoon, and I'm in a cab heading to a client meeting. My phone rings. It's the airline I'm flying to Melbourne, Virgin Blue: "Hello sir, I'm calling to tell you that your 8:30 flight tonight has been cancelled." FUCK! My heart hits the floor. My weekend is ruined. Are there any more flights this weekend??? The rep continues: "How would you like to get on the flight scheduled before that, at 8:15?" Uhhhh, you have a flight with open seats that leaves only 15 minutes earlier? Wow, that's not so bad. But I was quite busy at work that day, so I ask what's the next scheduled flight to leave after my originally scheduled 8:30 flight. "There's an 8:45." Uhhhh, so on top of your flight with open seats that leaves only 15 minutes earlier, you have a flight with open seats that leaves only 15 minutes later? That's fantastic!* I reschedule for that and my experiences with Virgin Blue for the rest of the weekend are awesome.

*If Virgin Blue did one of those Southwest-type commercials, where they just scroll through all the flights that they have for a route (say, LA to San Fran) in a given day, the version of that commercial for the Sydney to Melbourne route** would last two minutes. Amazing.

**Dammit, really didn't want to do all these asterisks. Anyway, did you know that the Sydney to Melbourne route is the fourth most flown route in the world (851 flights per week), after Barcelona-Madrid (971 flights per week), Sao Paulo-Rio (894) and Jeju-Seoul (858)? The most flown route in the US? You'd never guess it, although it makes perfect sense when you think about it: Honolulu-Kahului (639 flights per week).

The Not So Awesome

Phaidon's Wallpaper. Ahhhh, the guide book that I had so many doubts about. Let me quote myself:

Of course, there are downsides. The amount of information is limited. That means they have to hit a home run on just about every recommendation. And of even more concern is the map situation. For the good folks at Phaidon decided that one simple map of the city, on one of their tiny spreads within the book, would be sufficient. And for me, that's a problem. Where's the detail? Does this map really include all streets? And what lies beyond the end of the page??!? What's out there??!? The uncertainty is enough to give me an anxiety attack.

Both of my perceived downsides became reality. A home run on every recommendation, they did not hit. Maybe I'm being a little too hard on the book, because it certainly did steer me in some good directions, but the limited amount of info proved to be, well, too limited. And the map... yikes. Not only was it tiny and not only did it not include many major portions of or major streets in the city, but I quickly discovered that it was situated with West at the top of the page and North to the left!!! What the hell??!?

Maybe I'm being too hard on Wallpaper. It did introduce me to some great places. And it is mind-boggling beautiful to look at. But if the second best thing you can say about a guide book is that it's mind-boggling beautiful to look at, I think that should throw up some red flags.

Drunk food. This is really a problem endemic to all of Australia. The quantity and quality of late night greasy food is appalling. And if you chance upon some pizza, don't even think about it. My God. Stick with the chips -- ahem, fries -- and be happy with them. Melbourne was no different here.

Hangover. This was on Sunday. I don't think any further explanation necessary.

All in all, a really great trip. Which, despite the guide book's failings was not surprising. For just as I said in my last post, while I had concerns about the book, I was sure I'd still have a great time. And I did. Overall, it was (in case you couldn't tell) awesome. But three days wasn't enough. So the next time I have a friend whose company is putting them up in a perfect location in Melbourne and I find super cheap tickets, I'll be back there. And you'll get to hear about all of it again, in excruciatingly long detail.

The weekend trips have commenced

I've been in Sydney for over two and a half months now, and until last weekend, I probably hadn't been more than 10 km out of the center of the city. In retrospect -- now that I've passed that threshold -- waiting so long was lunacy.

Took off work a little early on Friday and hopped on a train to Forster, a small town on the beach about five hours north of Sydney, to meet up with my friend Jez. (You may best know Jez, real name Jeremy, as the person accompanying me in what I believe is the only remaining photo of my brief -- and some say ill-fated -- blond phase.) The weather was looking good and Jez' parents have a sweet penthouse apartment up there, only three minutes from the beach, so all was ripe for a good weekend.

Saturday was a tour of a few beaches, including the secluded Treachery Beach and the accurately-named One Mile Beach. (Apparently there's also a Seven Mile Beach and Nine Mile Beach nearby. Why the beaches are named in miles when Australia is on the metric system, I don't know. No one could offer a satisfactory answer.)

At Treachery, Jez and I had a little shrimp barbecue, which was delicious. However, it led to quite a contentious debate. You see, most Americans are familiar with the phrase, "Let's throw another shrimp on the barbie!" We've all grown up to believe that's an Australian phrase, right? But there's a problem. Because Australians don't refer to shrimp as shrimp. Here, they're prawns, and only prawns. I've called them shrimp on a few occasions and have actually been flat-out scoffed at. So how did we ever come to believe this was an Australian phrase? Was this Paul Hogan's doing? Again, no one could offer a satisfactory answer.

As the day gave way to night, Jez and I headed up to some headlands overlooking the ocean with some alcoholic beverages. This is where we saw the sign to the left. We're pretty sure this was trying to communicate that you're on a cliff and could fall off. But really??!? Let's forget for a moment that the figure (which I can only assume is meant to be a person) is not in scale to the rest of the sign. Just look at him! What kind of head is that? And is that his penis??!? Since Jez strongly maintained that there was nothing wrong with this sign, I felt a strong sense of redemption when this kid walked up to the sign and said, "Why is the ninja jumping off the cliff?"

This drama aside, the headlands were good. I got my obligatory self-photo with open mouth and took a nice, classy, sepia-toned picture of Jez. Of course, his seedy mustache (courtesy of Movember) and pre-mixed rum and coke kind of ruined the effect. Maybe I'll airbrush that stuff out.

The rest of Saturday is a blur. Wolfed down some Indian food, couldn't find a single bar open at 10:30 (!!), so we went back to Jez' place to drink some more. And some time around 12, as we watched a movie about a gang of tap dancers from Newcastle (I swear, this is what the movie was about), I passed out.

And then, with Sunday mostly consumed with travel and a brief stop in the actual Newcastle (kept my eye out for tap dancers but didn't see any), it was back to the work and the real world. Which is fine, I guess.

All in all, an excellent weekend. And I'll remember it for years to come. But what I have planned for later on this month, it's turning into quite a beast. And I'll touch on that in a few weeks.