Performance-Enhancing Art

So in the wake of Barry Bonds' indictment for lying about taking steroids, it leads to an interesting thought. I was watching a great movie from the 60s last night, Monterey Pop, and it made me wonder: if not for performance-enhancing drugs, would the Beatles have ever made Sgt. Peppers or any of the San Francisco groups existed? I mean, LSD should be considered the steroids of music, right? I would never defend Barry Bonds and not doing so here, but we need to put this whole thing in perspective. Every entertainer and athlete has used one form or another to boost their performance or creativity, legal or otherwise.

Some say there are not rules or standards in music or art. Ok, fine, good argument. That's what makes rock n roll so cool.

Visa....It's Everywhere You Want to Be

After a day more than two months of being Down Under, my work visa was finally approved today. So now I have to train myself to wake up at 7 again, eat three full meals (instead of breakfast at 11, lunch of a snack and dinner at 8) and shave again. Well, now that it's Movember, gotta keep the lame 'stache, but at the least, will have to wear those pesky shirts with buttons and shoes. But the upside is a paycheck, which will be oh so welcome.

Bring on the TPS reports and conference calls....I'll be an official Aussie employee!

Just Like a Rolling Stone

So upon an invite from friends, I partook (that a word?) in the game of lawn bowling on Saturday. Upon first look, it's a game played by people who are of advanced ages living out their AARP years and maybe richies sipping on champagne. Well, on second look, it is alot of older dudes in white suits, looking like cricket players. But it looks like the lawn bowling folks are trying to get the whipper snappers out to the grounds, and why not? It's a game that has similarities to a number of other games that young people if not love, tend to play on occasion. And plus, there's always a bar attached to the grounds, so that always makes any game more interesting.
Basically, the goal is to roll your ball thingy as close to the little white ball as possible on a short grass surface, similar to a golf putting green. Now, all this ball talk brought back (or moreso reinvigorated) a 12-year-old mentality of finding anything to do with balls as funny. Any sexual innuendo was possible, actually, as we felt for the heavy side of the balls, admired an old man wiping off his balls and instructing us newbies to be gentle with the balls when it was our turn.
The juvenile humor aside, why are there so many games where you have to get one object as close as possible to one "nucleus" object? Was this the basis for the first game ever? In horshoes it's a horeshoe with a stick, shuffle board is a round thingy with some other thingy, bar shuffleboard is round thingys on a long wooden board, curling is the things with a handle near the circles, helped with those agic brooms. Am I missing another? I now know basketball has it's relative in netball, a form of the former without a net or backboard. American football has rugby. Baseball has cricket. But the most simple of games, and in my guesstimation, the first games invented, involved sending an object one direction in hopes of stopping as close as possible to another.
It would only be natural to now think of a full-fledged drinking game in this mold: shuffling shot glasses towards the tequila bottle? Pushing quarters towards the full pint glass? Or maybe best bet is to go for the balls.

A Bug's Life

One thing they don't tell you about Sydney is that at times it can be infiltrated, or even invaded by a number of bugs. First the moths came in October, but they're relatively easy to deal with. Large and mostly confined to sitting on the wall, the bullseye on those guys is pretty big. One slap of the newspaper and they're gone. The flies, however, are a different story.

Unlike North American flies that are just a pest but tend to scoot when asked, these flies are the beagle of the fly family. They're too dumb to realize that when swiped or shooed at, that means go the hell away. Not only do they stick around, but they pretty much make themselves home on your face, neck, sunglasses for as long as they see fit. And this is a constant little game us humans play with the bugs all day long. Most Sydneysiders tend to shoo them away as a minor convenience, but my inclination is to squash every flying bug that comes into my space. If this continues, I might just go a little gnat crazy.

Am I the only one that threatens to A-bomb each and every fly to kingdom come? Maybe with the other creatures Australians have to deal with, the flies are no big whoop. Or maybe I just need to invest in a little bug repellant and I'll be ok.

I've been told that the flies go away in December, which seems odd, since I thought bugs, birds and the like all arrive during summer. If that's the case, cool.....now all I have to deal with are the huge spiders that tend to get in our house.

Hollow Ween??

One sad reality I've found here in Australia is the lack of one of my favorite holidays, Halloween. It might be because it's springtime, and a spooky holiday wouldn't seem normal in April, would it? Other holidays are switched here, and of course Thanksgiving is nonexistant. (do they have a holiday when the first convicts came here? I'll have to check into that) I guess that's what I'll have to expect when the seasons are flipped and living in a country still saluting the queen. So boo to everyone else around the world, and save some candy corns for me....

Stranger in a Not-So-Strange Land

Now that I’m going on about six weeks in country (sound like a Vietnam soldier or something), I might as well give a review of Sydney and what I’ve seen of Australia thus far. Since it’s fresh in my mind, for one, their immigation system sucks ass. Not sure how things are in the U.S. of A, but in total, it’s going to likely take me a good 10-12 weeks to get this friggin visa. I mean, I like NOT working as much as the next guy, but there are monetary limits! I’m thinking about illegally working as either a game show contestant, male stripper/prostitute or a dingo walker. OK, not even sure that last one exists….and I wish the second one didn’t.

On that note, I have been able to venture throughout this fine city, otherwise known as, come to think of it, I have no clue what Sydney’s nickname is. The ciy of moths? Land of expensive everything? The best English accent on the planet? In order to judge Sydney, you start with the people and go from there. They have been, other than a few scattered surly dudes, a great group of friendly, charming and overall happy individuals willing to soak up the sunshine and share a good many pints with anyone.

The city itself is decorated with a fantastic harbor (sorry, harboUr) area….it’s one of those postcard moments, kinda like when you go to Fenway Park for the first time. The bridge and Opera House are omnipresent, but what also makes it great are the hills and unending mass of water everywhere. Ferries are constantly coming and going, and the sun is shining on most days, which makes it even better. The first time I saw the harbour was night one, and the scene at night might be unbeatable. You could almost compare the downtown/harbour area to Seattle or San Francisco, but more scenic b/c it’s more centralized….and of course Oakland is on the East Bay in SF. The city is great because it makes you feel like you’re in a “real” city, complete with public transportation, skyscrapers and people with stuff to do. The city itself has a London feel to it, complete with areas named Surry Hills and Paddington and its own Hyde Park. More hills, though. This is all balanced off by where I live in Bondi Beach, just a short 20-minute bus ride away.
One thing I’ve found realy nice is that it’s very easy to adjust to life here. Things ma be different, but if they are, it’s off a shade. People pretty much are interested in the same things as the states, they eat similar (even Mexican!) and follow sports with the same passion. The only difference is which sports and maybe some food, but curry is a good replacement.

Otherwise, what I’ve seen so far has been pretty great landscapes and I’m looking forward to venturing out of Sydney now that I have some more free time. Here's a brief synopsis of my stay so far:

The Good: friendly people, scenic surroundings, blue-green water, 5% beer, ease of living adjustment, people-watching on the bus, girls’ accents, no tipping

The Not-So-Good: flies, wind, expensive, immigration system, waiting too long for a buses, coin dollars, no American sports bars, cash-only bars and stores

I’m sure I’ll have other observations about Sydney in the coming weeks, and maybe even post a few pics in the coming weeks!

In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle

I was going to make my birthday pretty standard....go into the office, meet up with friends for drinks and maybe hit up the gym in the meantime. But since I don't really HAVE to go into the office and the gym will be there tomorrow, I took up my roommates offer to go to the zoo with parents that were in town. First off, I honestly haven't been to a zoo since the Bronx Zoo when I was about seven years old. After college in Columbus, Ohio and living an hour and half from San Diego, two places with some of the best zoos (or should it be spelled zooz??) in the world, I'm not much of a zoolologist. But the bonus of going to Taronga Zoo here in Sydney is the ferry ride across the famous Sydney Harbour, and checking off another tourist attraction while noticing Australia's unique wildlife.

The ferry ride, which I've pretty much taken before, lived up to the billing, even in 32+ degree heat. Oh right, the metric system....well, 32 is pretty hot, almost 90 farenheit. I was getting a little jealous of the seals, swimming in those nice pools throughout the day. But as we spent more and more time there, I couldn't help but think that the zoo is a bit of a ripoff. I mean, it's cool to see the monkees and koalas up in the trees and swinging around, but I feel like half the time it was trying to see animals that were either asleep or hidden behind rocks.

Of course I was mindful of how these animals are taken out of their natural habitat, which is a concern, but they're the rock stars of this place, so that's no biggie. In the wild, they'd be another schmo sitting in a tree. But here, people wanna take pics, hug them, buy stuffed replicas of them. So that's not the problem.

I just want my lions and tigers and bears to be omnipresent and as a bonus, even walking around, playing, eating...something. Sure, it's an uncontrolled environment, so that's why those little ampitheatre shows are the best part. It's like you're at a mini Pearl Jam show with Mimi the seal as Eddie Vedder. But outside of the seal concerts (nice pun!), I spent half the time trying to figure out what animals I was looking at and even if they were even in the cages.

Not sure if Jack Hanna or Joan Embry are listening (wow, how do I know two zookeepers? Oh right, Letterman and Johnny Carson), but let's get those animals out there...give em a song and dance routine, something. I mean, you are giving them wonderful 20x20 home, you might as well make them work for it!

South of the Equator (con't)

One more thought about the International Dateline....does it not sound some cheap 1-900 number where you can meet people from all around the globe? Just imagine, in the best Movieline voice, "for Italians, press oooonnnee....Germans, press twwwoooo..." Of course, if you're looking for a girl from Uzbekistan, they're a little more rare, so it'll cost ya.

South of the Equator

Yesterday I awoke on October 3, Sydney time, to yet another sunny day overlooking the blue-green Pacific Ocean and light summer breeze. Not a bad way to start my 29th birthday....or is it?? Well yes, it was a great start, but was this in fact my birthday? I was told once you cross the international dateline, all things revert to local time. But I still hold onto the fact that since I was born at 8:00 a.m. EST on October 3, 1978, whatever that day is here truly should be my birthday. However, since yesterday involved a visit the zoo, including a ferry ride along the glorious Sydney Harbor, and drinks with friends afterward, it seems like a much more fitting celebratory day than in front of my computer in an office.

But let's get back to this international dateline thing. I mean, I even think it's strange for some people in Indiana, who live on the same side of the street, but can be in different time zones. "Hey there, Wilbur, what time's the game on? 8:00 for me, Cletus, but 7:00 for you, lucky." Not that I think people in Indiana are hicks or anything.... But the idea of an international dateline means what? Time starts there? Wow, the closest country may be a little island in the middle of nowhere, but they can lay claim to just that: Tonga. Time starts with us.

I would think that should be an atraction during the flight down here. "If you folks look to your left, you'll see...nothing. But that's where time starts, so you pay respect, dammit." Along with the toilet flush thing (see last entry), I also somewhat expected the world around me to unravel once crossing the line....maybe food would taste different, people would talk funny or my general worldview would change. Nope, the egg omlet is just dandy, the Fijian peeps talk a little funny (but still English) and while I now find Chuck Klosterman amusing, I'm pretty much the same.

With this whole bday thing as an exception, of course. I guess New Years will kinda freak me out, too. So as October 3 concludes in the states and October 4 continues here, I guess I can take solace in the fact that next year, it will take an extra day to make me 30, and I'm just fine with that!

Flight of the Conchords

OK, I'm ripping the title off HBO's wonderful new sitcom about aspiring Kiwi musicians, but I guess it's somewhat fitting since I've landed Down Under....yes, New Zealand counts! Well, I'm almost two weeks here in Sydney, and it's a wonderful city, little mix of San Fran and Seattle, but girls have the best accents to boot. But we'll get to that in another post, let's flash back a bit.

For now, let me rewind a to the travels over here. Based on my experiences flying around this great world, it would be fitting for me to get stranded in Guam Airport and rerouted to Sydney via Hong Kong or somewhere. But other than transfering my clothes from bag to bag for luggage weight issues and a delay at LAX, sitting on the plane for a few hours (yes, a bummer, and close call to a bad start of my journey), we promply took off over the vast Pacific Ocean. I actually recongnized Manhattan Beach as we were taking off, picturing Pag cooking up some scheme somewhere in his three-story house. As we continued our descent (such a pilot phrase), I was less sentimental and more excited....not because of the new land awaiting ahead, but because of the open seat between myself and a Hemmingway-looking dude two seats over. When you're on a 45 minute flight, or 14 hour in my case, there's few better feelings than, "hell yeah, my legs are gonna strech for this one!" And I may be alone in this, but another one of my favorite things (maybe not in life, but on a plane) is a warm-cooked meal delivered right to your seat. Something about sitting there with little to do, hungry and tired, receving a meal of reheated ravioli with a plastic glass of wine that seems to make things allll right. Oh, and at this point it was about 1:00 a.m. It's a strangely comforting, maybe because we never get food on flights these days (and what's up with that, BTW? Every other facet of customer-serviced business has improved over the years, but we can't get a tray of chicken and potatoes from New York to LA?) , but three meals on two flights, including a repeat of some omlet thingy? What more could I ask for? Oh right, the empty seat between me and Hemmingway, who's now reading a book about bird-watching...true renaissance man.

After an uneventful showing of Oceans "Lord-Knows-What-Number-They're-On," alot of sleep and few chapters of Chuck Klosterman, we landed in Fiji, which seems like, well, a pretty green island in the South Pacific with guys in skirts singing South Pacific songs as you land. At the airport, I ran into a mate from New Zealand I met at LAX, who was the first of many Kiwis who had no clue what Flight of the Conchords is. Lloyd is pretty much the epitome of the folks Down Under: very chill and laid-back, but well-traveled and overall knowledgeable about the world around him. He didn't think too highly of Sydney, was too big of a place for him. But I try to make my own opinion with places in the world. After all, I actually like LA of all cities!

A few more musings while 30k feet in the air: as the plane crosses the equator, does the toilet on the plane go one way, then reverse course to counterclockwise? Seriously folks, we need to get some attractive flight attendants on planes again. I just learned that hot girls work in banks now....don't they like to travel, too? Or was Cinemax lying?? I love flying into places I've never been as we land and notice the cars driving around. Like, "oh, they do that here....how cool are they? This place is so interesting!" But it was true in this case, the're on the left side of the road. I'm always interested in how phrases and places got their names, such as, is there an Old Zealand? OK, I'm starting to sound like Andy Rooney. And referencing Andy Rooney makes me sound like Dennis Miller in front of a college crowd.

So as the Air Pacific flight 911 (yeah, tell me about it...felt real happy with that number!) descended upon Sydney, I couldn't help think what this land offered, and what Hemmingway, the bird watcher was up to in Fiji. Both seemed like a mystery, but it's all about solving those myteries and creating new adventures to blabber about on a Web site.