Throwin' Kleinballs: World Series, friendliness, electrocution and erectile dysfunction

I was asked for a World Series preview in a comment from a few posts ago, so here it is: Sox in four. HAR HAR HAR! But really, what a great run. Nothing will ever top 2004, and watching them clinch the World Series in a roomful of apathetic Aussies wasn't exactly as exciting as perhaps it could have been, but that didn't stop me from walking around for the rest of the day with a huge grin on my face. And not to gloat, but I went a perfect 7-for-7 in picking the winners of each of the series before the playoffs began.

It's a little thing, but I am constantly amazed that people thank bus drivers as they exit buses here. And it's not a mumbled "thank you" as they walk by the driver on the way out; it's a full on "Thank you!" as they exit from the back of the bus. So friendly!

As a counter to this friendliness, here's a quote from the paper the other day, in a section where people can text in random gripes: "To the girl in the pink socks who farted in my face going up Town Hall stairs – you don't smell as sweet as you look."

Around 1am last Thursday night, I walked up to a bar with a friend. Before we even said a word to the bouncer, he says, "Sorry boys, can't let you in tonight." When we inquired why, he says, "You've clearly had too much to drink." Now yes, we had had a few. But were we visibly intoxicated, falling all over ourselves and being obnoxious? Not even close. I asked, "So you can tell we're that drunk just by looking at us?" "Yes." Yeeeaaaahhhhh, not sure how to argue that one.

Was pregaming at a friend's place on Saturday night, and played this game. One of the most entertaining, frightening and tense things I've ever done. I highly recommend it.

There are some great ads here, and my favorite by far is the below ad for erectile dysfunction. Have a look, but imagine you're watching this without knowing what it's for. Because when I first saw this, I was bewildered right until the very end, when it made all too much sense.



For those keeping track in the US, we moved the clocks forward an hour last weekend. Once the US moves clocks back an hour this weekend, it'll complete a two-hour swing. So Sydney will be 16 hours ahead of the East Coast and 19 hours ahead of the West.

Two of my passions

Love of Robert Goulet and hatred of A-Rod. With Goulet’s passing and A-Rod’s filing for free agency occurring in the same week, these are two excellent links on both.

Goulet went down with his cords intact. RIP, Bob.

will ferrell extra robert goulet on conan

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Today was a good day

There's no better way to put it.

Woke up to a beautiful, sunny morning. Went for a run along the water. Watched the Red Sox win the World Series. Won money at the casino. And received notification that my work visa has been approved!

The trifecta has been accomplished. Job? Check. Place to live? Check. Work visa? Check!

Work begins tomorrow. And with that, my unemployment officially ends at 102 days.

Portuguese Chicken Wars!

Several posts ago, I alluded to a certain Portuguese Chicken War but didn't elaborate. Well, the time is now!

I wish this was just a cute name for some little phenomenon going on in Kensington, my old neighborhood, but it is exactly like it sounds. There are three Portuguese chicken restaurants within two blocks of each other, and they are literally at war with one another. And not war as in, "oh, we're really fierce competitors and have a lot of price wars", but more like war as in "we will burn down our competitors' restaurants." Because that has actually happened.

A week or so before I moved here, Shorty emailed me with a few tidbits about the apartment and neighborhood. The most interesting part of his email? It went a little something like this:

You'll see there are a lot of Portuguese chicken take away places in our area. They are like rival gangs so you have to choose one and stick to it. Now some people will try to lead you astray but may I highly recommend Ogalo. It was recently burnt down by another store (Portogali) so never go there. While they are restoring Ogalo you have permission to eat at Ole but the moment Ogalo reopens, you must flock back there.

Ha ha, I thought. Cute little Portuguese immigrants and their cute little wars. Nope.

A few days after I arrived, I went to Ole to have a gander and some food. As I walked in, the people working the counter gave me quite the friendly hello. Something along the lines of, "Hello, my friend! How are you today?" You know, just imagine your favorite Yemenite establishment and how they greet you when you walk in. Just like that. So I ordered the spicy Ole burger, which was quite succulent. Very good fries, er, chips, as well. Here's Ole:

After finishing my meal, I continued down the road. Not more than 30 meters further, I passed Portogali. And the men had seen me exit Ole. Not a big deal, right? Well, it didn't seem like it at the time. I just got a bit of a stare from the guys there, and didn't think much of it. Here's Portogali:


Only another 50 meters or so, I passed Ogalo and witnessed the devastation that had been brought upon it. Completely gutted and empty inside, it stood there, cold and alone.


Now, there are two schools of thought regarding how Ogalo was burned down:
1. Ogalo, with a kitchen and amenities inferior to those of Ole and Portogali, burned their own place down with the hopes of using the insurance money to rebuild a newer and better store.
2. In a fit of jealous rage over Ogalo's success, the owner of Portogali had his men burn Ogalo down.

Apparently the police are still looking into it, so no official ruling has been made yet. But this is your classic case of Portuguese guy said/other Portuguese guy said; the folks at Portogali swear that Ogalo burned its own store down, and the folks at Ogalo swear that Portogali burned their place down. We'll have to wait for the authorities to sort this one out.

Anyway, a few days later, I thought I'd try out Portogali. Sure, Shorty had specifically warned me against this, and sure, I had received a bit of a bad stare from the guys there, but come on. I mean, we're talking about Portuguese chicken! I wanted to give Portogali a fair shake in this, and besides, there's no way there's truth to any of this, right?

I quickly found out there was truth. The second I stepped foot into Portogali, the man behind the counter began to absolutely berate me. "You were in Ole the other day, I saw you! You leave right now or I make you leave!!" The kitchen staff came out, then some other dude from inside another door. So, yeah. I left.

As I scurried back to my apartment, I turned around to see three or four of the men standing outside Portogali just watching me.

But I was still hungry, and I needed nourishment. So after I regained my composure, I went back out to Ole. But much like the mother that turns her back on the baby that leaves the herd, I was damaged goods to Ole. "We saw you in that other place! You cannot go to them! You must leave now!!!!"

I apologized. I said I didn't understand the bad blood, that I just wanted food. But they would have none of it. I must leave, and I must leave now.

I'm still trying to piece the history together, but from what I've been able to determine, the tension between Ole and Ogalo is somewhat similar to that of Pat's and Geno's in Philadelphia. Ogalo, like Pat's, was the original. But some time after its foundation, some of the employees had a rift with the owners and split off to form Ole, just like Geno's. But while Pat's and Geno's can kind of coexist, Ogalo and Ole clearly cannot. And then when Portogali opened its doors for business right in between the two, the entire situation boiled over. I wish I were making this up, but girlfriends got involved, there have been rumblings of tampering with each other's food, there have apparently been several verbal and physical confrontations, and it all culminated in the fire at Ogalo. Again, no official cause has been announced yet, but it's looking like Portogali could be in trouble here.

I no longer live in that neighborhood, and when it comes to Portuguese chicken, that might just be for the best. I had been blacklisted from both of the establishments that are currently open, and I'm not sure what would have happened if I went to Ogalo when it finally reopens. They're feverishly working to rebuild it, and I know they've seen me in the area. Might just be best to steer clear of Portuguese chicken for a while.

The "I feel ten pounds lighter without my pathetic excuse for a beard" quick hits edition

Yes, due to my lack of need to look presentable for the last few weeks, I stopped shaving and grew what one might consider to be a beard. We -- the beard and I, that is -- had a love/hate thing going on, with the hate ultimately winning out. I'll look fondly back upon my beard of October 2007, but it was time for it to go.

I can't stress enough how pleasant it's been for the last week to not be living out of a suitcase. Since leaving New York, I haven't consistently lived in one place until now, and the simple ability to unpack my things and know that I won't need to pack them again for quite some time has been fantastic. Clothes in a drawer! It's so luxurious!

Went to a trivia night with some friends the other day, and we ended up winning $30. Instead of splitting the loot, we thought it would be best to press our earnings with some gambling. So we split the $30 equally and tried our luck at slot machines (aka pokies), keno and dog races. Roughly twelve seconds later, we were penniless. Ah, the joys of gambling.

Yes, it would be nice to change the title of these things from "quick hits" to something else because it's not a very original name, but perhaps more importantly, I've realized that these hits aren't really quick. In fact, given a blank page, I'm fairly incapable of not expounding on any topic. A term such as "ramblings" might be more appropriate, but that's already been claimed by someone who hasn't rambled since August 19, 2005.

We have two suggestions for a different name so far, and they both incorporate my last name. Fantastic. Anyway, "throwin' Kleinballs" intrigues me. For those who don't know what the Kleinball is (and that would be everyone who didn't live at 115 St Marks Place, Apt 11, circa 2005 to 2007), it's my age-old theory that there's another baseball pitch out there that's yet to be discovered. Some say it's impossible. I say -- nay, insist -- that it's out there. And with the emergence of Daisuke Matsuzaka's gyroball in the last two years, I'd like to claim some level of victory here.

Kleingaroo pellets might be a little more topical, but then again, the word "pellet" suggests a small dose, and as I've established above, I'm not capable of that. Maybe Kleingaroo turds? But then that's just too graphic.

I'll make a decision by next time. Maybe Throwin' Kleingaroo Turds?

Ummm, no.

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.