To start, here is a clip of a hilarious Australian comdeian. His accent and diction will give you an idea of what I am talking about in the following list. Enjoy.
I was inspired to create this list based on my dramatic influx of social contact with Aussies while working at a restaurant in the largest mall in the southern hemisphere (even though I think there are probably about 4 others to compete with. Unless, those Chileans are really into shopping or something...). It has been a fun job. For some reason, completely unbeknownst to me, they decided to make me in charge of cooking all of the pre-made sandwiches and wraps and preparing all of the salads. I think it is because I am one of the two straight males working the place. Ton of gay Indians. And I digress...
This job has me dealing with Aussies all day every day. All of this social interaction has allowed me to pick out and understand the phrases at which I would nod, smile, and hope for the best. The criterion used to determine the list, in order of importance, includes:
Frequency of Use
Foreignness
Ridiculousness
10) "Bogan"
When Australians think of typical Americans, three stereotypes come to mind:
A) Celebrities (non-Athlete)
B) Athletes
C) White-trash Rednecks
When we think of Australians, we typically think of a white-trashy kangaroo wrangling crocodile wrestler. While both sets of stereotypes are clearly not all-inclusive, they both have some truth. Australians, however, have a term for their group of rednecks that I had never heard until I arrived: Bogans (pronounced Bow-Gins).
This term can also be used as an adjective to describe something trashy. For example, whenever Riley and I bring our broke-derrieres to a BYO function with Australians, we tend to go the cheap route. Box Wine, or "goon," is our drink of choice to avoid spending much money on a given night. Whenever we show up with this a box of this god-forsaken nectar, the Aussie's will say, "That's so bogan."
At least they are saying it and not just thinking it and writing us off as total bogans.
9) "Awww, what a ripper!"
A ripper is something awesome that deserves praise. For example, I have heard someone say, "Awww, mate! Check out that car! What a ripper!" Or, "Oy, mate. How about that storm last night? What a ripper!"
All in all, ripper is actually a pretty cool word that I could see infiltrating American dialect.
8) "Yaa, Yaa...Naaa"
This phrase, as opposed to ripper, really bothers me. You can ask an Aussie something like:
Me: Hello fellow employee of Capital Kitchen, did you happen to watch Californication on the television last night?"
Right as I start to say Californication, this is what happens. The italics are what I was saying
Me/Aussie: (Did you happen) Yaaa (to watch) Yaaa (Californication on the television last night?) Yaaa, Naaaa.
Basically, while I am asking them the simple question, the are interrupting by saying "Yaa" every so often, leading me to expect an affirmative answer. Sure enough, they will follow with "Yaa, Naaaaa." Meaning the answer is, in fact, No. Ridiculous.
7) "No Drama"
Fortunately, for someone completely new to the hospitality industry, Australians are notoriously laid back. Whenever I over-cook a poached chicken wrap, forget to bring coffee stirrers, or accidentally slip rat poison into the salad dressing, the post-apology response is often "Awww, No Drama."
In America, we thrive off of drama. Hell, a massive genre of television catalyzed in the concept of drama: Reality TV. The only semblance of reality TV and "drama" existing in Australia is the show Big Brother. Yet another example of the rest of the world living in our increasingly corn-fueled wake. Big Brother??? That show only existed on the basis that it was uncensored online in every room of the house 24/7.
Anyway, the phrase "no drama" is often used and deserves a spot on the list.
6) "Ta"
I was recently informed that "ta" is also used by the English, but it is completely foreign to me and I've never been to England so I cant trust the "cheeky" bastards.
"Ta" is the most casual way possible to say thank you. It is most often used in passing. For instance, when I bring someone a coffee while they are on their "mobiles" or talking to a mate, they will simply mutter "ta." The first few times, I thought the bogan skip bitch (apparently, Skip Bitch is the best way to cut the knees out from an irrationally emotional Australian woman. A skip or skippie is a nickname for a Kangaroo. I am definitely keeping this one in my back pocket for the NEXT time I am having a nice conversation with an aussie girl and she blind sides me with "You know...you Americans aren't as awesome as you think you are! You think you are the best! Well, you are wrong Mister!" Had I known this phrase at the time, I surely would have rebuttled with, "Who are you kidding? You aren't converting from analog to digital cable until 2013 (true story)! So 2008. Find a way to get some more water in your country. Increase that GNP and live in the now you Skip Bitch." Alas, I guess I will just have to provoke an attack at some point. Really long parentheses) was saying "ta ta," as in "Scram, you red, white, and blue stallion!" But, no. She was simply thanking me in one syllable.
There you have it. Part one of my top ten Aussie sayings list. I was going to do the entire list, but my random tangents made it go too long and I need to wake up for work tomorrow.
Cheers. Watch more of Carl Barron. Really funny dude.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Stereosonic 2009 Write-Up
Sorry it has taken me so long to get around to writing about Stereosonic. A little over a week later, I realize that it was just a sweet concert. It is not in the spirit of this blog. To make a long story short...Deadmau5 was unreal, Axwell was great but kinda gay, and Zombie Nation was funny, but way too "rave-y" as it was set in a warehouse full of the "dodgiest" people at the festival.
Time to get on to the next post, which you have already read since this is below the Top 10 Aussie sayings.
Cheers.
Time to get on to the next post, which you have already read since this is below the Top 10 Aussie sayings.
Cheers.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Debut of SickWax
My friends and I tend to let our imaginations run wild. The typical forum for our outlandish discussions is a dingy room with an irrevocably stained carpet, plush couches, and an insignificant program on a second hand 56" Samsung DLP Television.
Our conversations range from the inevitable zombie apocolypse to me trying to defend my position that I could defeat a 200 lb male deer in a to the death cage match...without weapons. Unfortunately, a youtube video has proven me wrong. I would have no chance:
As it so happens, most of these discussions remain in said forum, never to become reality. Although, the verdict is still out on the zombie apocalypse.
Every so often, however, we realize our dreams.
The most significant of these dreams being spending a year in Australia. This dream started just as all of our other ridiculous conversations. Sitting around 1116 S. Forest ave. Ann Arbor, MI 48104, a few of us were facing the battle every senior in college faces: What Next?
Clearly, the economy is a disaster and real estate firms aren't exactly hiring inexperienced political science majors. Call it an escape if you want, but I would like to think that leaving the country and putting a career on hold is a god-given opportunity to do something out of the ordinary.
Thanks to hard earned parental support and correct alignment of the stars, Riley and I pulled off the unthinkable for Americans. We are spending a year in a foreign country. Count it.
So, we made it to Australia. Once we got here, we began brainstorming on ways to get some sort of income. Naturally, as backpackers (a label that I hate having), we have landed in the reataurant/catering industry. Riley and my recently acquired love for electronic music spurred another one of our outlandish conversations...
Let's become a DJ Duo like Justice:
Well, maybe we won't be quite as ridiculous as Justice, but how cool would it be to be paid to play music in front of a massive group of party goers? Modern Day Rock Stars. Unfortunately, neither one of us had any experience on turntables ("decks"). Luckily, two weeks ago we went to a house party with lacrosse team mates and a couple of them are DJs. They showed us the fundamentals of working a turntable. Of course, the next morning we completely forgot the complexity to these contraptions. Our knowledge may have been dead, but our passion to rock out was still very much alive.
Two nights ago, I received a text from one of our room mates who does PR work for a loungy bar called the 29th Apartment. He was put in charge of Backpackers' Wednesday. As a roommate, he knew of our DJ aspirations and he asked if we wanted to DJ at his bar. We had been to the 29th apartment before on a Saturday night (their biggest night) and it was completely dead.
We thought, "OK, Rome wasn't built overnight. Let's play some casual music for 20ish people and maybe get a free drink or two."
Our PR roommate told us that the owner of the bar was planning on simply turning on an iPod, but would love to have DJs. Based on this information, we assumed that we would just bring our computers and plug a wire into our headphone jack, play a few tunes and hang out with some friends. Just in case though, we dressed in our "hippest" DJ outfits and came ready to rock. Let's just say I'm glad we didn't dress American. Trance Armstrong and Beat Sampras had officially formed SickWax: The next big DJ duo.
When we arrived at the 29th Apartment around 7pm, there was no one there. We were expecting a low turnout so it was no big deal. The first shock of the night occurred right when we walked in. They had a stage and DJ booth set up with huge speakers and Pioneer Turntables and Mixing Board (absolute top of the line).
Shit.
I wanted to leave to spare myself. We have NO IDEA how to use these machines aside from a brief crash course a few weeks prior. Then, we realized, as Eminem would say, "You only got one shot do not miss your chance, don't blow this opportunity comes once in a lifetime." We were thrown in the deep end without an inner-tube, but we were going to doggy paddle until we could swim with the Thorpedo (Phelps is a douche).
Of course, we were banking 100% on using our computers. First thing the manager asked when we busted out our macs was, "So did you guys bring your leads to plug in?" Ummmmmmmm, leads? Ya, apparently you need to bring your own cables to plug into the mixing board. Luckily, the manager had a buddy next door who had an extra. Phew. Unfortunately, he took his sweet time in getting to our bar so we had to use the bar's horrendous selection of music for the first hour. To make matters worst, we had to figure out how to use professional level turntables while playing Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and 50s one hit wonders. Stick a fork in me. It was horrendous. Skipping CDs. Pathetic transitions. Blowing speakers. We were just trying to stay afloat instead of sinking before the doggy paddle even started.
When Mr. Clean showed up with a "lead" we developed a system. Since we both had computers and a per-arranged playlist, we would play three or four songs from one computer, transfer to a CD for one song while changing to the other computer, and then shift back. It was rocky at first, but eventually we got the hang of it.
The theme of the night called for "cheesy" music. We had to play the aforementioned pop and oldies. It was very frustrating. As the night went on, however, people started to flood in. For no apparent reason! No one goes out, especially to this place, on a Wednesday night. For some reason, by midnight, it was vert crowded. Luckily, at that point we had gotten the hang of it.
A serious perk of the DJ occupation is free drinks. By our 4th or 5th free glass of Carlton, we realized that we were cheating SickWax. Trance Armstrong and Beat Sampras would not be caught dead playing Eiffel 65. It was time to rock out, despite the requests of the management to play atrocious music.
And Rock Out we did (yes, that was capitalized). Anyone who has known Riley and I recently can guess the type of music we played. The majority of the crowd was not sitting at the bar. They were watching us dominate the house. There were girls dancing on stage. One got rather friendly with Beat Sampras. There were guys in the crowd jumping and dancing and pointing at us mouthing "YOU ROCK." The rush was so intense.
The kicker is...we were doing nothing. We had every imaginable DJ tool at our disposal, but we had no idea how to use them. So, we did what the best do...fake it. We would literally put on something like Girl Talk (a DJ who mashes up different popular songs if you have been living under a rock) and pretend to be spinning and turning knobs while bobbing our heads and throwing our beckoning hands in the air at appropriate times. The best part was that everyone bought it. They have never heard of Girl Talk and they were convinced that we were God's gift to party music.
So all night, we had the house in our pockets. We were expecting to play from around 7-12. We played from 7-3:30am. 50 bucks for our first trial. I would do it for free every week. Luckily, we get to play every Wednesday because of our success. On a night where they would typically see 20-35 people all night, the bar counted over 300.
We saw 300 faces. And we rocked them all. SickWax is here to stay. Happy Thanksgiving and here's to realizing outlandish dreams.
Trance Armstrong. Out.
Our conversations range from the inevitable zombie apocolypse to me trying to defend my position that I could defeat a 200 lb male deer in a to the death cage match...without weapons. Unfortunately, a youtube video has proven me wrong. I would have no chance:
As it so happens, most of these discussions remain in said forum, never to become reality. Although, the verdict is still out on the zombie apocalypse.
Every so often, however, we realize our dreams.
The most significant of these dreams being spending a year in Australia. This dream started just as all of our other ridiculous conversations. Sitting around 1116 S. Forest ave. Ann Arbor, MI 48104, a few of us were facing the battle every senior in college faces: What Next?
Clearly, the economy is a disaster and real estate firms aren't exactly hiring inexperienced political science majors. Call it an escape if you want, but I would like to think that leaving the country and putting a career on hold is a god-given opportunity to do something out of the ordinary.
Thanks to hard earned parental support and correct alignment of the stars, Riley and I pulled off the unthinkable for Americans. We are spending a year in a foreign country. Count it.
So, we made it to Australia. Once we got here, we began brainstorming on ways to get some sort of income. Naturally, as backpackers (a label that I hate having), we have landed in the reataurant/catering industry. Riley and my recently acquired love for electronic music spurred another one of our outlandish conversations...
Let's become a DJ Duo like Justice:
Well, maybe we won't be quite as ridiculous as Justice, but how cool would it be to be paid to play music in front of a massive group of party goers? Modern Day Rock Stars. Unfortunately, neither one of us had any experience on turntables ("decks"). Luckily, two weeks ago we went to a house party with lacrosse team mates and a couple of them are DJs. They showed us the fundamentals of working a turntable. Of course, the next morning we completely forgot the complexity to these contraptions. Our knowledge may have been dead, but our passion to rock out was still very much alive.
Two nights ago, I received a text from one of our room mates who does PR work for a loungy bar called the 29th Apartment. He was put in charge of Backpackers' Wednesday. As a roommate, he knew of our DJ aspirations and he asked if we wanted to DJ at his bar. We had been to the 29th apartment before on a Saturday night (their biggest night) and it was completely dead.
We thought, "OK, Rome wasn't built overnight. Let's play some casual music for 20ish people and maybe get a free drink or two."
Our PR roommate told us that the owner of the bar was planning on simply turning on an iPod, but would love to have DJs. Based on this information, we assumed that we would just bring our computers and plug a wire into our headphone jack, play a few tunes and hang out with some friends. Just in case though, we dressed in our "hippest" DJ outfits and came ready to rock. Let's just say I'm glad we didn't dress American. Trance Armstrong and Beat Sampras had officially formed SickWax: The next big DJ duo.
When we arrived at the 29th Apartment around 7pm, there was no one there. We were expecting a low turnout so it was no big deal. The first shock of the night occurred right when we walked in. They had a stage and DJ booth set up with huge speakers and Pioneer Turntables and Mixing Board (absolute top of the line).
Shit.
I wanted to leave to spare myself. We have NO IDEA how to use these machines aside from a brief crash course a few weeks prior. Then, we realized, as Eminem would say, "You only got one shot do not miss your chance, don't blow this opportunity comes once in a lifetime." We were thrown in the deep end without an inner-tube, but we were going to doggy paddle until we could swim with the Thorpedo (Phelps is a douche).
Of course, we were banking 100% on using our computers. First thing the manager asked when we busted out our macs was, "So did you guys bring your leads to plug in?" Ummmmmmmm, leads? Ya, apparently you need to bring your own cables to plug into the mixing board. Luckily, the manager had a buddy next door who had an extra. Phew. Unfortunately, he took his sweet time in getting to our bar so we had to use the bar's horrendous selection of music for the first hour. To make matters worst, we had to figure out how to use professional level turntables while playing Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and 50s one hit wonders. Stick a fork in me. It was horrendous. Skipping CDs. Pathetic transitions. Blowing speakers. We were just trying to stay afloat instead of sinking before the doggy paddle even started.
When Mr. Clean showed up with a "lead" we developed a system. Since we both had computers and a per-arranged playlist, we would play three or four songs from one computer, transfer to a CD for one song while changing to the other computer, and then shift back. It was rocky at first, but eventually we got the hang of it.
The theme of the night called for "cheesy" music. We had to play the aforementioned pop and oldies. It was very frustrating. As the night went on, however, people started to flood in. For no apparent reason! No one goes out, especially to this place, on a Wednesday night. For some reason, by midnight, it was vert crowded. Luckily, at that point we had gotten the hang of it.
A serious perk of the DJ occupation is free drinks. By our 4th or 5th free glass of Carlton, we realized that we were cheating SickWax. Trance Armstrong and Beat Sampras would not be caught dead playing Eiffel 65. It was time to rock out, despite the requests of the management to play atrocious music.
And Rock Out we did (yes, that was capitalized). Anyone who has known Riley and I recently can guess the type of music we played. The majority of the crowd was not sitting at the bar. They were watching us dominate the house. There were girls dancing on stage. One got rather friendly with Beat Sampras. There were guys in the crowd jumping and dancing and pointing at us mouthing "YOU ROCK." The rush was so intense.
The kicker is...we were doing nothing. We had every imaginable DJ tool at our disposal, but we had no idea how to use them. So, we did what the best do...fake it. We would literally put on something like Girl Talk (a DJ who mashes up different popular songs if you have been living under a rock) and pretend to be spinning and turning knobs while bobbing our heads and throwing our beckoning hands in the air at appropriate times. The best part was that everyone bought it. They have never heard of Girl Talk and they were convinced that we were God's gift to party music.
So all night, we had the house in our pockets. We were expecting to play from around 7-12. We played from 7-3:30am. 50 bucks for our first trial. I would do it for free every week. Luckily, we get to play every Wednesday because of our success. On a night where they would typically see 20-35 people all night, the bar counted over 300.
We saw 300 faces. And we rocked them all. SickWax is here to stay. Happy Thanksgiving and here's to realizing outlandish dreams.
Trance Armstrong. Out.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Judgement Day
Tomorrow will be a day of sport. To begin with, Riley and I will be playing cricket at a friend's birthday party. We will then kill time until the real game starts...
The University of Michigan Wolverines versus The Ohio State University Buckeyes
Any of my fellow Michigan students/alums realize the importance of this game. Any of you that have nothing to do with either university, but follow sports, can recognize the importance of the game as THE greatest rivalry in sports. To all of you who are completely clueless, this one game means everything. It is well known within the football communities of both Michigan and Ohio State that your team can lose every single game of the season, but if that fateful day in late November ends with a "W," the season is a success.
This game is vastly important to three characters in particular.
1) Rich Rodriguez
To say that Rich Rod's first two season's at the Michigan helm have been less than stellar is a heinous understatement. Thanks a lot Rich Rod for allowing my senior year at the "Greatest Football program in history" to be the worst season of all time. Rodriguez understands that this game will either raise team and, perhaps more importantly, fan/administration moral heading into next season or haunt him until the start of next season.
2) Tate Forcier
The kid has spunk. You can't deny that. Now, I have not been on campus and seen him strolling around pretending to be the coolest thing this side of the Mississippi, but he clearly is in it for the right reasons.
He has led the team during each victory and let the team down during each loss, but what I like most about him is his resilience. From what I have seen, he is constantly making rookie errors, but he doesn't get rattled. That should give us all great hopes for the future once he realizes that he might have been able to throw that 25 yard out against a 17 year old corner back from Harvard Westlake High School, but a big ten DB is going to read that all the way. You don't have a Henne Howitzer, buddy. On that note: I severely miss 6'4" 240 lb stoic pocket passers in winged helmets.
This game will show us what the kid is truly made of. Will he step up to the task or start his career against Ohio State in the shadow of...
3) Terrell Pryor
After what he did to us, any Michigan fan should hate Terrell Pryor. The fact that he not only shattered our dreams by not coming to Ann Arbor is one thing, but to choose to attend a University filled with degenerate low life's from Ohio? Blasphemy.
This game is his chance to confirm that he made the right decision and really stick it to us. If we prevail, however, he will have an extremely painful walk out of the Big House.
The following video is a great way to describe the rivalry and the current situation. If it doesn't give you chills, you must not have a pulse. The background is taken from Al Pacino's legendary speech during Any Given Sunday:
Riley and I are going to bring a few of our roommates to the casino to watch the game tomorrow night at 3am. Brutal. We are repaying them the favor after they brought us to a Liverpool vs. Manchester Utd. match that was of equal importance to them.
I absolutely cannot wait to see the two sides facing off at the 50 yard line. They better claw for that inch. After all, we are wolverines...
The University of Michigan Wolverines versus The Ohio State University Buckeyes
Any of my fellow Michigan students/alums realize the importance of this game. Any of you that have nothing to do with either university, but follow sports, can recognize the importance of the game as THE greatest rivalry in sports. To all of you who are completely clueless, this one game means everything. It is well known within the football communities of both Michigan and Ohio State that your team can lose every single game of the season, but if that fateful day in late November ends with a "W," the season is a success.
This game is vastly important to three characters in particular.
1) Rich Rodriguez
To say that Rich Rod's first two season's at the Michigan helm have been less than stellar is a heinous understatement. Thanks a lot Rich Rod for allowing my senior year at the "Greatest Football program in history" to be the worst season of all time. Rodriguez understands that this game will either raise team and, perhaps more importantly, fan/administration moral heading into next season or haunt him until the start of next season.
2) Tate Forcier
The kid has spunk. You can't deny that. Now, I have not been on campus and seen him strolling around pretending to be the coolest thing this side of the Mississippi, but he clearly is in it for the right reasons.
He has led the team during each victory and let the team down during each loss, but what I like most about him is his resilience. From what I have seen, he is constantly making rookie errors, but he doesn't get rattled. That should give us all great hopes for the future once he realizes that he might have been able to throw that 25 yard out against a 17 year old corner back from Harvard Westlake High School, but a big ten DB is going to read that all the way. You don't have a Henne Howitzer, buddy. On that note: I severely miss 6'4" 240 lb stoic pocket passers in winged helmets.
This game will show us what the kid is truly made of. Will he step up to the task or start his career against Ohio State in the shadow of...
3) Terrell Pryor
After what he did to us, any Michigan fan should hate Terrell Pryor. The fact that he not only shattered our dreams by not coming to Ann Arbor is one thing, but to choose to attend a University filled with degenerate low life's from Ohio? Blasphemy.
This game is his chance to confirm that he made the right decision and really stick it to us. If we prevail, however, he will have an extremely painful walk out of the Big House.
The following video is a great way to describe the rivalry and the current situation. If it doesn't give you chills, you must not have a pulse. The background is taken from Al Pacino's legendary speech during Any Given Sunday:
Riley and I are going to bring a few of our roommates to the casino to watch the game tomorrow night at 3am. Brutal. We are repaying them the favor after they brought us to a Liverpool vs. Manchester Utd. match that was of equal importance to them.
I absolutely cannot wait to see the two sides facing off at the 50 yard line. They better claw for that inch. After all, we are wolverines...
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The Philosophy of the Backpacker
So I am writing this pretty late at night because I can't sleep for some reason. I am not sure where it is going to go, but I have been wanting to write on this subject for quite some time.
Until very recently, I have been completely unaware of the true meaning of backpacking. I can tell you right now that what Riley and I are doing in Australia is NOT backpacking. We are merely surviving in a different country.
The true backpackers have one priority...travel. They all have itchy feet that coerce them to move from place to place with no strings attached. This overwhelming desire to keep moving is where I find myself in opposition to the standard backpacker. In my humble opinion, I feel that traveling to a country completely across the world and staying in one city to truly understand the local customs and establish a "second home" is much more rewarding that absorbing a small amount of a large amount of locations.
This polarization of opinions could stem from personal preferences, but the more I converse with backpackers from all over the world, the more I realize that it is a cultural decision.
Europeans tend to make up the majority of the backpacking community. At first, I thought that this was because they are edgy people that want to really push the envelope and support their "football" clubs in foreign lands.
Recently, however, I have discovered, what I believe to be, the true motivation for each of the world's nationalities style of travel/backpacking:
Asia: Asians are not typical backpackers. Instead, they travel to hot spot tourist locations (Eiffel Tower, The Colosseum, NYC, et cetera), take an obnoxious amount of pictures that will most likely be deleted or forgotten and get the hell out of dodge before they are detained for insubordination.
South America: I have met two or three South American backpackers, but they have all been from well-developed areas. They seem to be traveling thanks to some sort of financial windfall or a business related venture.
African: I've met one African on my journey, but he currently lives in Chicago, so he doesn't really count. I approached him at a bar because he was wearing a Chicago White Sox hat, aka a garbage bag on his head. Turns out he was an African living in the US on business in Australia. Hardly a backpacker.
Europe: As previously mentioned, the Euros are by far and away the most prevalent backpackers. At first, I was not sure why this was the case until I decided to use the critical thinking skills that I so humbly acquired from the political science department at the University of Michigan. All Europeans want to travel because their countries have no geographical variety! If you are English, you are used to cold flat lands with loads of pale drunk white folk. If you are Irish, you are the same, just with a few more hills, pints, and red hair. If you are Swedish, you are used to extrodinarily dim witted folks with a penchant for skiing. The list goes on, but the point is that most countries in Europe lack Geographical variety.
Which brings me to my main point...
AMERICANS DO NOT TYPICALLY BACKPACK...for a few reasons:
!) Our country has every sort of topography one could ever enjoy
2) We are on the cutting edge of every technology known to man
3) We are told, from day one, that after college, you get a job and work for the rest of your life in order to support a family and continue the human race as we see fit.
3a) This is significant different from the Europeans. They tend to wait until much later to settle down. This difference is highlighted by the fact that we have met all sorts of Euros that are still backpacking with no ambitions at the ages of 25-30. Very odd.
Anyway, I've ranted enough. Time to sleep. Cheers!
Until very recently, I have been completely unaware of the true meaning of backpacking. I can tell you right now that what Riley and I are doing in Australia is NOT backpacking. We are merely surviving in a different country.
The true backpackers have one priority...travel. They all have itchy feet that coerce them to move from place to place with no strings attached. This overwhelming desire to keep moving is where I find myself in opposition to the standard backpacker. In my humble opinion, I feel that traveling to a country completely across the world and staying in one city to truly understand the local customs and establish a "second home" is much more rewarding that absorbing a small amount of a large amount of locations.
This polarization of opinions could stem from personal preferences, but the more I converse with backpackers from all over the world, the more I realize that it is a cultural decision.
Europeans tend to make up the majority of the backpacking community. At first, I thought that this was because they are edgy people that want to really push the envelope and support their "football" clubs in foreign lands.
Recently, however, I have discovered, what I believe to be, the true motivation for each of the world's nationalities style of travel/backpacking:
Asia: Asians are not typical backpackers. Instead, they travel to hot spot tourist locations (Eiffel Tower, The Colosseum, NYC, et cetera), take an obnoxious amount of pictures that will most likely be deleted or forgotten and get the hell out of dodge before they are detained for insubordination.
South America: I have met two or three South American backpackers, but they have all been from well-developed areas. They seem to be traveling thanks to some sort of financial windfall or a business related venture.
African: I've met one African on my journey, but he currently lives in Chicago, so he doesn't really count. I approached him at a bar because he was wearing a Chicago White Sox hat, aka a garbage bag on his head. Turns out he was an African living in the US on business in Australia. Hardly a backpacker.
Europe: As previously mentioned, the Euros are by far and away the most prevalent backpackers. At first, I was not sure why this was the case until I decided to use the critical thinking skills that I so humbly acquired from the political science department at the University of Michigan. All Europeans want to travel because their countries have no geographical variety! If you are English, you are used to cold flat lands with loads of pale drunk white folk. If you are Irish, you are the same, just with a few more hills, pints, and red hair. If you are Swedish, you are used to extrodinarily dim witted folks with a penchant for skiing. The list goes on, but the point is that most countries in Europe lack Geographical variety.
Which brings me to my main point...
AMERICANS DO NOT TYPICALLY BACKPACK...for a few reasons:
!) Our country has every sort of topography one could ever enjoy
2) We are on the cutting edge of every technology known to man
3) We are told, from day one, that after college, you get a job and work for the rest of your life in order to support a family and continue the human race as we see fit.
3a) This is significant different from the Europeans. They tend to wait until much later to settle down. This difference is highlighted by the fact that we have met all sorts of Euros that are still backpacking with no ambitions at the ages of 25-30. Very odd.
Anyway, I've ranted enough. Time to sleep. Cheers!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Tiger + Britney = The Tigney Watch
It has been a very exciting week in Melbourne.
Is it because of the Myer Christmas Parade featuring yours truly serving water bottles to trigger happy Asian photographers that are absolutely fascinated by even the least significant floats?
No
Is it because this has been the hottest start to November in over 100 years?
No
Is it because our degenerate landlord finally got us the equivalent of a 56K Windows 95 Modem?
Partially, but No
For this week, and this week only, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia is home to two of the world's most familiar faces:
Britney Spears as we would all like to remember her, and:
The World's Greatest Golfer (looking strikingly similar to Stephan (good luck with the Swedish Blondes Stephy))
So there you have it. The reason everyone is excited in Melbourne.
You would think that there would be something significant happening in this great country, like the eminent threat of brush fires devastating homes everywhere. But no, the news refuses to report anything but where Britney Spears and Tiger Woods were last seen. This can be best illustrated by the infamous South Park Britney Watch:
This clip is barely an exaggeration. Every single move is scrutinized over and over. The fact that the woman wants a little privacy is interpreted by the Aussies as a rude gesture that she is better than everyone. Which could be true, but the point is...WHO CARES? She is a joke.
One of my roommates, who promotes some club called The Secret Society (you probably haven't heard of it, it is, after all, a secret), had insider information that Britney and her background dancers would be making an appearance. Most of our house went to check it out. I stayed home to save money/be able to wake up for work. Good thing I stayed in because all I missed was spending way too much cash on drinks and seeing Britney doubles for the press. Shucks.
Tiger, on the other hand, is in Melbourne to participate in the Australian Masters, the logo of which is a complete rip off of the true Augustan Masters (notice the flag is located in Melbourne):
It would be nice to think that Tiger wanted to come to Oz to experience the culture and maybe take a little vacation, but that is hardly the case. He is being paid 4.5 million dollars...JUST TO SHOW UP. To gain some perspective, that is more than the winner of the tournament receives.
The investment by the state government and the golf committee has more than paid for itself. As an announcer (who is also the host of Australia's ridiculous version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire) pointed out, even in Greg "The Great White Shark" Norman's prime, there has never been this many people at an Australian golf tournament.
As I am writing this, Tiger is one shot off the lead, but he is clearly just waiting for the proper time to strike. The competition could be compared to Kimbo Slice taking turns pummeling pre-pubescent school boys. Apart from a few no name Americans trying to keep food on the table, the field is entirely from Australia and New Zealand. Try and name a single decent golfer apart from Adam Scott (who has been sucking wind of late). You can't. Unless you are some kind of freak, in which case you need to stop watching the Golf Channel and go hit the range.
Other wise, the weather is amazing and I have a birthday party to look forward to during which the lads will be playing cricket, while the ladies watch and drink. On that note, does anyone know how to play cricket? My McGowan genes will force me to join the competition, but I will probably make a complete ass out of myself trying to play. At one of our catering events, the world's greatest cricket batter bear hugged me and begged me for a drink after the bar had closed and I had no idea who he was. That would be like Tom Brady asking you for a glass of champagne and saying, "Sorry Bud, no can do." Hopefully, none of the guests will be Pakistani spin ballers with jihad tendencies.
Alas, you never know. At least I might look sweet in a full white jump suit.
Is it because of the Myer Christmas Parade featuring yours truly serving water bottles to trigger happy Asian photographers that are absolutely fascinated by even the least significant floats?
No
Is it because this has been the hottest start to November in over 100 years?
No
Is it because our degenerate landlord finally got us the equivalent of a 56K Windows 95 Modem?
Partially, but No
For this week, and this week only, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia is home to two of the world's most familiar faces:
Britney Spears as we would all like to remember her, and:
The World's Greatest Golfer (looking strikingly similar to Stephan (good luck with the Swedish Blondes Stephy))
So there you have it. The reason everyone is excited in Melbourne.
You would think that there would be something significant happening in this great country, like the eminent threat of brush fires devastating homes everywhere. But no, the news refuses to report anything but where Britney Spears and Tiger Woods were last seen. This can be best illustrated by the infamous South Park Britney Watch:
This clip is barely an exaggeration. Every single move is scrutinized over and over. The fact that the woman wants a little privacy is interpreted by the Aussies as a rude gesture that she is better than everyone. Which could be true, but the point is...WHO CARES? She is a joke.
One of my roommates, who promotes some club called The Secret Society (you probably haven't heard of it, it is, after all, a secret), had insider information that Britney and her background dancers would be making an appearance. Most of our house went to check it out. I stayed home to save money/be able to wake up for work. Good thing I stayed in because all I missed was spending way too much cash on drinks and seeing Britney doubles for the press. Shucks.
Tiger, on the other hand, is in Melbourne to participate in the Australian Masters, the logo of which is a complete rip off of the true Augustan Masters (notice the flag is located in Melbourne):
It would be nice to think that Tiger wanted to come to Oz to experience the culture and maybe take a little vacation, but that is hardly the case. He is being paid 4.5 million dollars...JUST TO SHOW UP. To gain some perspective, that is more than the winner of the tournament receives.
The investment by the state government and the golf committee has more than paid for itself. As an announcer (who is also the host of Australia's ridiculous version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire) pointed out, even in Greg "The Great White Shark" Norman's prime, there has never been this many people at an Australian golf tournament.
As I am writing this, Tiger is one shot off the lead, but he is clearly just waiting for the proper time to strike. The competition could be compared to Kimbo Slice taking turns pummeling pre-pubescent school boys. Apart from a few no name Americans trying to keep food on the table, the field is entirely from Australia and New Zealand. Try and name a single decent golfer apart from Adam Scott (who has been sucking wind of late). You can't. Unless you are some kind of freak, in which case you need to stop watching the Golf Channel and go hit the range.
Other wise, the weather is amazing and I have a birthday party to look forward to during which the lads will be playing cricket, while the ladies watch and drink. On that note, does anyone know how to play cricket? My McGowan genes will force me to join the competition, but I will probably make a complete ass out of myself trying to play. At one of our catering events, the world's greatest cricket batter bear hugged me and begged me for a drink after the bar had closed and I had no idea who he was. That would be like Tom Brady asking you for a glass of champagne and saying, "Sorry Bud, no can do." Hopefully, none of the guests will be Pakistani spin ballers with jihad tendencies.
Alas, you never know. At least I might look sweet in a full white jump suit.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Au Revoir Eddie
Yesterday we got some unfortunate news. Our French roommate (changed my mind about the spelling, thanks ely) Eddie is the first to leave our house. He is leaving because his co-worker and fellow frog is not being allowed to move in. Apparently our sleeze ball landlord thinks that there are too many "blokes" living in the house and we need more girls.
Rather than lie down and accept the unfair treatment as taught by his forefathers, Eddie promptly told off the landlord and left. I don't think anyone really minds except for Riley and I because we found him absolutely hilarious. Plus, he was going to unlock my iPhone.
He has a pretty awesome way of making money. It is a complete scam. He drives around a truck full of about 80-100 paintings of French landscapes. He and his co-worker go into random homes and Asian restaurants and pretend to be French art students from La Sorbonne and sell these paintings for $200-$300.
I am confident that Simon Birch would be a better painter than Eddie.
So basically, they fool helpless restaurant owners and idiotic home-owners into buying a run of the mill painting of L'Arc du Triumphe. He makes about $800 a day for doing next to nothing because he just drives the truck and "manages" the sellers.
I wish Riley and I could come up with something like that. Maybe we could say that we are American cowboys and sell lasso's or handcrafted belt buckles.
On an unrelated note, November in Melbourne is called mustache Movember. You sign up on some website and pledge to grow a mustache for the entire month and people can donate money to your cause and it goes to charity. Plus you get discounts at local restaurants, shops, etc. Unfortunately, our catering job requires that we remain clean shaven at all events.
Too bad. I missed out on a legitimate excuse to grow a mustache and not be ashamed in public (and private).
Riley and I just got the word that we are invited to another swanky event on the Melbourne social calendar. One of our new friends is going to take us as her guests to the Australian launch of some fancy French champagne company this monday. Apparently it is going to be a big deal and according to the invitation, we have to dress "tres chic." That might be an issue but she said that she is going to let the social life photographers know that some really sweet "American La Crosse players" are going to be there. Hah.
We were finally paid for our whopping three days work today. Finally some financial breathing room. On the list of things I need to use the money on:
Rent
Food
Black Shoes for work (good thing I bought those brown shoes before I came...)
Bicycle
Fake Mustache for discounts
DJ Hero to keep Trance Armstrong in shape (yes it actually exists)
In all likelihood, only three of those will happen, but it can't hurt to dream. Unless its a violent dream on a small hostel bunk bed. Write that down.
Rather than lie down and accept the unfair treatment as taught by his forefathers, Eddie promptly told off the landlord and left. I don't think anyone really minds except for Riley and I because we found him absolutely hilarious. Plus, he was going to unlock my iPhone.
He has a pretty awesome way of making money. It is a complete scam. He drives around a truck full of about 80-100 paintings of French landscapes. He and his co-worker go into random homes and Asian restaurants and pretend to be French art students from La Sorbonne and sell these paintings for $200-$300.
I am confident that Simon Birch would be a better painter than Eddie.
So basically, they fool helpless restaurant owners and idiotic home-owners into buying a run of the mill painting of L'Arc du Triumphe. He makes about $800 a day for doing next to nothing because he just drives the truck and "manages" the sellers.
I wish Riley and I could come up with something like that. Maybe we could say that we are American cowboys and sell lasso's or handcrafted belt buckles.
On an unrelated note, November in Melbourne is called mustache Movember. You sign up on some website and pledge to grow a mustache for the entire month and people can donate money to your cause and it goes to charity. Plus you get discounts at local restaurants, shops, etc. Unfortunately, our catering job requires that we remain clean shaven at all events.
Too bad. I missed out on a legitimate excuse to grow a mustache and not be ashamed in public (and private).
Riley and I just got the word that we are invited to another swanky event on the Melbourne social calendar. One of our new friends is going to take us as her guests to the Australian launch of some fancy French champagne company this monday. Apparently it is going to be a big deal and according to the invitation, we have to dress "tres chic." That might be an issue but she said that she is going to let the social life photographers know that some really sweet "American La Crosse players" are going to be there. Hah.
We were finally paid for our whopping three days work today. Finally some financial breathing room. On the list of things I need to use the money on:
Rent
Food
Black Shoes for work (good thing I bought those brown shoes before I came...)
Bicycle
Fake Mustache for discounts
DJ Hero to keep Trance Armstrong in shape (yes it actually exists)
In all likelihood, only three of those will happen, but it can't hurt to dream. Unless its a violent dream on a small hostel bunk bed. Write that down.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
First Day of "Work"
Yesterday, Riley and I went to our second day of the Melbourne Spring Carnival Races. This time, however, we were working, not playing.
About a week ago, our friend Jess set us up with her former employer, The Big Group, for an interview. The Big Group (TBG) is a catering group for the swankiest events in Melbourne. When we went in for our "interview" we were both fairly nervous. I put interview in quotes because we had no reason to be nervous...
Interviewer: "So Wes and Riley, what experience do you have in the hospitality industry?"
Wes: "........ummm?"
Riley: "I worked in a pizza parlor when I was 15"
Interviewer: "Great, so when can you start, boys?"
So we got the job and we were called last minute to work at the second day of the races (tuesday). Saturday, the day we attended, is called Derby Day and Tuesday is the Melbourne Cup, or Cup Day. Cup Day is a national holiday because it is "The Race That Stops a Nation." We weren't sure what we were going to be paid, but when we got the news we were ecstatic.
$43 per hour. No typo. Forty-Three Dollars per hour. Are you kidding me? Unfortunately, you are kidding me, because you get paid double on holidays in Australia. Regardless, we will normally make 23/hour which is juuuuust fine by us.
As explained in my previous post, there are a few different areas in the race park. On Saturday, we were in the nursery, which, at the time, I felt was amazingly fancy and formal. I had heard of a mythical place called the birdcage. I was told that it was where all the celebs hang out, but there was no way it could be nicer than the nursey.
Once again, I was completely wrong. Absolutely ridiculous.
I was assigned to the Myer Marquee. Myer is the australian version of Marshall Field's. It was an amazing venue and my job was to walk around a serve Champagne to a bunch of famous Australians I had never heard of.
The two people I recognized were Olivia Newton John and Miss Universe. I am not kidding. Sandy and Miss Universe. Jackpot.
That picture is Sandy, Miss Universe, and some other random model taken at our party. It was insane. There were about 15 super models there. Tons of cricket and aussie rules football players.
I still can't believe I was paid around $500 to pour champagne for the woman for whom Danny Zuko "shaped up."
As the champagne flowed, the party got Rowdy (rowdy with a capital r). Old rich people get to have fun too! One particular instance I found quite amusing...
Old Plastic Woman: "Excuse me, can you please fix my glasses?"
Me: "Sorry ma'am, I can get you anything else though? Champagne? Beer? Wine? Mojito?"
Old Plastic Woman: "......" (Grabs and attempts to kiss me)
Me: "Uhhhhhh, sorry ma'am we aren't allowed to do that at work"
OPW: "Oh well..."
Overall, it was a great day. We are doing the same thing on Thursday and Saturday. Should be interesting.
About a week ago, our friend Jess set us up with her former employer, The Big Group, for an interview. The Big Group (TBG) is a catering group for the swankiest events in Melbourne. When we went in for our "interview" we were both fairly nervous. I put interview in quotes because we had no reason to be nervous...
Interviewer: "So Wes and Riley, what experience do you have in the hospitality industry?"
Wes: "........ummm?"
Riley: "I worked in a pizza parlor when I was 15"
Interviewer: "Great, so when can you start, boys?"
So we got the job and we were called last minute to work at the second day of the races (tuesday). Saturday, the day we attended, is called Derby Day and Tuesday is the Melbourne Cup, or Cup Day. Cup Day is a national holiday because it is "The Race That Stops a Nation." We weren't sure what we were going to be paid, but when we got the news we were ecstatic.
$43 per hour. No typo. Forty-Three Dollars per hour. Are you kidding me? Unfortunately, you are kidding me, because you get paid double on holidays in Australia. Regardless, we will normally make 23/hour which is juuuuust fine by us.
As explained in my previous post, there are a few different areas in the race park. On Saturday, we were in the nursery, which, at the time, I felt was amazingly fancy and formal. I had heard of a mythical place called the birdcage. I was told that it was where all the celebs hang out, but there was no way it could be nicer than the nursey.
Once again, I was completely wrong. Absolutely ridiculous.
I was assigned to the Myer Marquee. Myer is the australian version of Marshall Field's. It was an amazing venue and my job was to walk around a serve Champagne to a bunch of famous Australians I had never heard of.
The two people I recognized were Olivia Newton John and Miss Universe. I am not kidding. Sandy and Miss Universe. Jackpot.
That picture is Sandy, Miss Universe, and some other random model taken at our party. It was insane. There were about 15 super models there. Tons of cricket and aussie rules football players.
I still can't believe I was paid around $500 to pour champagne for the woman for whom Danny Zuko "shaped up."
As the champagne flowed, the party got Rowdy (rowdy with a capital r). Old rich people get to have fun too! One particular instance I found quite amusing...
Old Plastic Woman: "Excuse me, can you please fix my glasses?"
Me: "Sorry ma'am, I can get you anything else though? Champagne? Beer? Wine? Mojito?"
Old Plastic Woman: "......" (Grabs and attempts to kiss me)
Me: "Uhhhhhh, sorry ma'am we aren't allowed to do that at work"
OPW: "Oh well..."
Overall, it was a great day. We are doing the same thing on Thursday and Saturday. Should be interesting.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Derby Day 2009
Let me preface this post by saying that everyone should, nay must, make an attempt to attend a day of the Spring Carnival in Melbourne.
So, yesterday (saturday) Riley and I were privileged enough to go to Derby Day, which is the first day of a week of horse racing events. I was extremely excited going into the race, but I truly had no idea what exactly to expect.
The event completely exceeded all expectations.
We took it easy friday night in order to wake up nice and early saturday morning. Nervous excitement had kept me awake for nearly an hour before Riley's blackberry alarm signaled that the time to start "getting ready" had finally arrived.
The event is extremely formal so we dressed in our Sunday's best, which amounted to brown shoes with a black belt and gray suit. Oh well, NO WORRIES, MATE! Another issue had to do with the hair.
Anyone who knows me well, knows that, for some reason, I absolutely refuse to put gel in my hair. Its probably because I've been against it so long that I can't change now without looking like a major hypocrite. I was easily the only male at the event not rocking all sorts of product. The main reason it has become a concern is that Melbourne is notoriously windy. Oh well, maybe I'll just chop it off.
Back to the races.
So we got all dolled up and walked 5 minutes to the train station near our house. When we arrived at the platform, we saw some men in suits and ladies in full on racing gear (beautiful dresses and cranium accessories), so we knew we were in the right spot. That feeling was quickly confirmed.
By the end of the train ride, the cars were JAM PACKED with shocked tourists and formally dressed Melbournites ready to get down to business, and get down they did.
We used our special passes to get into the "carpark" area known as the Nursery. Basically, it is a glorified tailgating arena. Each separate party has a designated number and we had to find #239. Each of the parties had an umbrella or tent, loads of quality wine, beer, and champagne, and catered food. Once we arrived at our carpark, we were greeted by friendly faces. We have quickly earned the nickname Yanky Doodle or some variation of yank. I just respond with CRAIKEY! OYY! or Kangaroo Jack or something. All in good fun.
We arrived at our carpark at approximately 11 am and were greeted with French Champagne and a photocopied sheet of betting tips. Riley and I arent exactly growing money on trees, so we decided to bet very sparingly. We both bet on the big race of the day. I bet both ways (win or place) on Rockferry and Riley did the same with Gathering. We both lost. Still kind of bitter.
The rest of the day was spent alternating beer and water because it is a hell of a marathon and it must have been mid-80s and I was wearing a dark gray suit. I could have taken the jacket off, but after helping to carry some cases of nutrient water (their vitamin water knock-off) I promptly sweat through my light blue dress shirt.
Both Riley and I stayed in control, but there were plenty that must have forgotten to drink some water. For instance, at one point I was using the restroom and just as I was leaving some dude stumbled inside, vomited everywhere, stumbled outside, tripped over himself, faceplanted, and passed out. In a freshly tailored suit. Priceless.
The most interesting part of the day, however, was the women. My neck is still sore from jerking my head around because EVERY SINGLE FEMALE looked stunning, regardless of their regular appearance. A 250 lb ogre could look amazing at this place. Not to say that most werent naturally attractive, but I was absolutely in awe. The cranium accessories were the most eye-catching. They would wear what seemed to be a mixture of flowers, a veil, and an indian head dress. Crazy.
At 7:30 pm, the races were over and we were kicked out of the nursery. Luckily we were able to avoid the trains because our party had hired a party bus to take us to the after party. I just used 3 different forms of party in one sentence. Count it, literally.
The party bus was a blast, as expected. It took us on a tour of Melbourne complete with plenty of drinks and loud music. Eventually, we arrived at our friend Georgie's residence. It was a gorgeous house in a lincoln park-esque neighborhood called South Yarra.
We were herded into the backyard where the DJ, a really really cool "bloke" that we had talked to earlier that day, was already spinning phat jams. The party really took off until it started to rain and he had to move his equipment inside. Fortunately, the parade continued through the rain and a great time was had by all.
Yesterday was absolutely the best day I have had in Melbourne. Riley took some photos and a video that I will try to post soon. My video camera is not charging for some reason so I cant upload what I have taken, but I will get that fixed ASAP. If you ever have an opportunity, you MUST attempt to spend a day at the races, I know that come Tuesday, I am going to really miss being there considering it goes all week!
Cheers!
Oh, and if you feel like sending me thousands of dollars or a chipotle burrito, my address is as follows:
490 Dandenong Rd (aboriginal name, kinda sweet)
Caulfield North, VIC, AUS 3161
So, yesterday (saturday) Riley and I were privileged enough to go to Derby Day, which is the first day of a week of horse racing events. I was extremely excited going into the race, but I truly had no idea what exactly to expect.
The event completely exceeded all expectations.
We took it easy friday night in order to wake up nice and early saturday morning. Nervous excitement had kept me awake for nearly an hour before Riley's blackberry alarm signaled that the time to start "getting ready" had finally arrived.
The event is extremely formal so we dressed in our Sunday's best, which amounted to brown shoes with a black belt and gray suit. Oh well, NO WORRIES, MATE! Another issue had to do with the hair.
Anyone who knows me well, knows that, for some reason, I absolutely refuse to put gel in my hair. Its probably because I've been against it so long that I can't change now without looking like a major hypocrite. I was easily the only male at the event not rocking all sorts of product. The main reason it has become a concern is that Melbourne is notoriously windy. Oh well, maybe I'll just chop it off.
Back to the races.
So we got all dolled up and walked 5 minutes to the train station near our house. When we arrived at the platform, we saw some men in suits and ladies in full on racing gear (beautiful dresses and cranium accessories), so we knew we were in the right spot. That feeling was quickly confirmed.
By the end of the train ride, the cars were JAM PACKED with shocked tourists and formally dressed Melbournites ready to get down to business, and get down they did.
We used our special passes to get into the "carpark" area known as the Nursery. Basically, it is a glorified tailgating arena. Each separate party has a designated number and we had to find #239. Each of the parties had an umbrella or tent, loads of quality wine, beer, and champagne, and catered food. Once we arrived at our carpark, we were greeted by friendly faces. We have quickly earned the nickname Yanky Doodle or some variation of yank. I just respond with CRAIKEY! OYY! or Kangaroo Jack or something. All in good fun.
We arrived at our carpark at approximately 11 am and were greeted with French Champagne and a photocopied sheet of betting tips. Riley and I arent exactly growing money on trees, so we decided to bet very sparingly. We both bet on the big race of the day. I bet both ways (win or place) on Rockferry and Riley did the same with Gathering. We both lost. Still kind of bitter.
The rest of the day was spent alternating beer and water because it is a hell of a marathon and it must have been mid-80s and I was wearing a dark gray suit. I could have taken the jacket off, but after helping to carry some cases of nutrient water (their vitamin water knock-off) I promptly sweat through my light blue dress shirt.
Both Riley and I stayed in control, but there were plenty that must have forgotten to drink some water. For instance, at one point I was using the restroom and just as I was leaving some dude stumbled inside, vomited everywhere, stumbled outside, tripped over himself, faceplanted, and passed out. In a freshly tailored suit. Priceless.
The most interesting part of the day, however, was the women. My neck is still sore from jerking my head around because EVERY SINGLE FEMALE looked stunning, regardless of their regular appearance. A 250 lb ogre could look amazing at this place. Not to say that most werent naturally attractive, but I was absolutely in awe. The cranium accessories were the most eye-catching. They would wear what seemed to be a mixture of flowers, a veil, and an indian head dress. Crazy.
At 7:30 pm, the races were over and we were kicked out of the nursery. Luckily we were able to avoid the trains because our party had hired a party bus to take us to the after party. I just used 3 different forms of party in one sentence. Count it, literally.
The party bus was a blast, as expected. It took us on a tour of Melbourne complete with plenty of drinks and loud music. Eventually, we arrived at our friend Georgie's residence. It was a gorgeous house in a lincoln park-esque neighborhood called South Yarra.
We were herded into the backyard where the DJ, a really really cool "bloke" that we had talked to earlier that day, was already spinning phat jams. The party really took off until it started to rain and he had to move his equipment inside. Fortunately, the parade continued through the rain and a great time was had by all.
Yesterday was absolutely the best day I have had in Melbourne. Riley took some photos and a video that I will try to post soon. My video camera is not charging for some reason so I cant upload what I have taken, but I will get that fixed ASAP. If you ever have an opportunity, you MUST attempt to spend a day at the races, I know that come Tuesday, I am going to really miss being there considering it goes all week!
Cheers!
Oh, and if you feel like sending me thousands of dollars or a chipotle burrito, my address is as follows:
490 Dandenong Rd (aboriginal name, kinda sweet)
Caulfield North, VIC, AUS 3161
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Technological Difficulties
Hello all.
I am very sorry for the lack of posts. The truth ii, there have been countless things I would have liked to blog about, but this country is SEVERELY lacking in two categories:
Landlord Punctuality
High Speed Internet Availability
In my case, these two voids go hand in hand.
Our landlord is a really cool guy, but that is the problem. He is a 21 year old israeli that is more concerned with coming over to borrow a lighter from the British folk (who smoke like chimneys, outside) than with setting up our internet, cleaning our pool, etc.
As I am sitting in this laundrette, some sort of crack head with a trench coat is absolutely furious with the 60ish year old woman than quitely runs the fine establishment. She told him that he should not have taken a shopping cart from the grocery store and he certainly did not appreciate her thoughts on the matter. I kind of felt like saying "Why so meloncholy?", but he was a pretty large, clearly high as a kite, crackhead with a couple gnarly scars. Pick your battles.
Anyway, apparently Halloween is only a North American thing. None of the Australians or Europeans celebrate it beyond a few children dressing up and hit-or-miss trick or treating. This week Riley, the two Canucks, and I set out to change that.
We went to the dollar store (run by a Korean man wearing a hat with a question mark on the front, which I later realized is pretty accurate considering he was completely clueless) to buy decorations. We made the place an outstanding haunted mansion. Riley and I saved some money and bought a set of $5 badminton rackets and birdies and a sweatband and dressed up as badminton champs. Im pretty sure people think we are the same person considering we do everything the same. Oh well.
We decided to have a party last night (thursday). It was pretty fun and a good amount of people showed up. Our French room mate brought a ton of his french friends over. The outside of the house looked like every single frog that was there smoked 3 packs of seeegaaareeeetttteeessssss and promptly used our driveway as a "rubbish bin." I love cultural experiences. I took a pretty funny video of the night, partially narrarated by our ridiculously animated English room mate "O.B." Until we get internet at our house, I will not be able to get my computer online, so that could be up in a week or so.
As of right now, tomorrow has 2:1 odds that it will be our best day of our duration in Melbourne. Through a series of random high profile connections, Riley and I have acquired VIP tickets to Derby Day. This is the best day of a week long carnival celebrating the Melbourne Cup. The Melbourne Cup is an extremely popular horse race that the entire nation gets off work to watch. Its like the Kentucky Derby but people besides degenerate gamblers and overly posh horse-owners actually care about the outcome.
The event starts at 9am and continues until 10 am. It is very formal. Everyone has to wear their best (or only as the case may be) suit or dress. The women all wear outlandish hats and veils. All of that aside, it is considered the biggest party day of the year. Think the Preakness infield meets High Society:
PLUS
EQUALS
It is going to be something else. Too bad it costed me $35 to dry clean a suit. I miss busy bodies.
Random Thought of the blog #1: Our family friend and melbourne hook-up Mrs. Caroline Nattrass told me that I am starting to look more Aussie. Now I am not sure what that means considering I have only bought one piece of new clothing. Plus, right now I am wearing a BJ Armstrong jersey khaki shorts and rainbows. How can that be any less Australian? Oh well.
Anyhow, look forward to my next post because it should include a couple pictures and videos of our house. My laundry is finished now and barring any run-ins with a shopping cart stealing crack head, I should make it home in one piece.
Cheers!
I am very sorry for the lack of posts. The truth ii, there have been countless things I would have liked to blog about, but this country is SEVERELY lacking in two categories:
Landlord Punctuality
High Speed Internet Availability
In my case, these two voids go hand in hand.
Our landlord is a really cool guy, but that is the problem. He is a 21 year old israeli that is more concerned with coming over to borrow a lighter from the British folk (who smoke like chimneys, outside) than with setting up our internet, cleaning our pool, etc.
As I am sitting in this laundrette, some sort of crack head with a trench coat is absolutely furious with the 60ish year old woman than quitely runs the fine establishment. She told him that he should not have taken a shopping cart from the grocery store and he certainly did not appreciate her thoughts on the matter. I kind of felt like saying "Why so meloncholy?", but he was a pretty large, clearly high as a kite, crackhead with a couple gnarly scars. Pick your battles.
Anyway, apparently Halloween is only a North American thing. None of the Australians or Europeans celebrate it beyond a few children dressing up and hit-or-miss trick or treating. This week Riley, the two Canucks, and I set out to change that.
We went to the dollar store (run by a Korean man wearing a hat with a question mark on the front, which I later realized is pretty accurate considering he was completely clueless) to buy decorations. We made the place an outstanding haunted mansion. Riley and I saved some money and bought a set of $5 badminton rackets and birdies and a sweatband and dressed up as badminton champs. Im pretty sure people think we are the same person considering we do everything the same. Oh well.
We decided to have a party last night (thursday). It was pretty fun and a good amount of people showed up. Our French room mate brought a ton of his french friends over. The outside of the house looked like every single frog that was there smoked 3 packs of seeegaaareeeetttteeessssss and promptly used our driveway as a "rubbish bin." I love cultural experiences. I took a pretty funny video of the night, partially narrarated by our ridiculously animated English room mate "O.B." Until we get internet at our house, I will not be able to get my computer online, so that could be up in a week or so.
As of right now, tomorrow has 2:1 odds that it will be our best day of our duration in Melbourne. Through a series of random high profile connections, Riley and I have acquired VIP tickets to Derby Day. This is the best day of a week long carnival celebrating the Melbourne Cup. The Melbourne Cup is an extremely popular horse race that the entire nation gets off work to watch. Its like the Kentucky Derby but people besides degenerate gamblers and overly posh horse-owners actually care about the outcome.
The event starts at 9am and continues until 10 am. It is very formal. Everyone has to wear their best (or only as the case may be) suit or dress. The women all wear outlandish hats and veils. All of that aside, it is considered the biggest party day of the year. Think the Preakness infield meets High Society:
PLUS
EQUALS
It is going to be something else. Too bad it costed me $35 to dry clean a suit. I miss busy bodies.
Random Thought of the blog #1: Our family friend and melbourne hook-up Mrs. Caroline Nattrass told me that I am starting to look more Aussie. Now I am not sure what that means considering I have only bought one piece of new clothing. Plus, right now I am wearing a BJ Armstrong jersey khaki shorts and rainbows. How can that be any less Australian? Oh well.
Anyhow, look forward to my next post because it should include a couple pictures and videos of our house. My laundry is finished now and barring any run-ins with a shopping cart stealing crack head, I should make it home in one piece.
Cheers!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Looking in the Wrong Spot...
If you read my post about how Australians weren't what I made them out to be, you'll understand the shock I am facing now.
The last few nights we have been hanging out with a few girls that are from Australia and are traveling their own country. I mentioned my disappointment with how emotional and fragile so many men are here. I wanted to meet some MATES! She said that all I have to do is go to where she lived for a year: Northern Queensland. She described her ex-boyfriend and he was exactly the kind of Aussie I want to meet. An over the top masculine, crocodile hunting, psychopath.
She then went on to describe possibly the most hard core thing I have ever heard. "Piggin" or "Doggin." This is a form of feral boar hunting that I guess they do all over Australia. After her description, I knew I had to see this done. Enter youtube.
I chose this video because of the funny Aussie dudes and the relatively in-explicit nature compared to other videos of a similar variety. Enjoy my new goal of "Hog Doggin."
Friday, October 16, 2009
Real World: Melbourne
BASE at St. Kilda, its been real. It is now time, however, to move out of the lovely hostel and into the Real World: Melbourne house.
A few nights ago, Riley and I were talking to a Canadian guy about trying to find living accommodation. He quickly mentioned that he had just found a massive mansion that was going to be torn down next year to build a new apartment building. The owner is renting it out for the time being.
Yesterday, we went to check it out. AWESOME. Anyone who went to U of M knows of the fabled lax house. This house is an australian lax house meets Boogie Nights 70s party palace. There are 8 bed rooms, brand new bathrooms, 2 huge living rooms, huge kitchen, a bar, and heres the kicker...a POOL with a poolside bar. It comes with furniture and utilities for way less than we would have paid elsewhere.
Now, I was a bit skeptical based on being royally screwed multiple times in these too good to be true scenarios, but yesterday we met with the landlord (who is a 25 year old aussie with a really rich uncle who owns the place) and he was super cool about everything and approved of Riley and I to stay there.
Only catch is, we have to split a room. A sweet room though, with a massive desk that can fit both of us, a build in wardrobe, and a bathroom with a jacuzzi that we will be taking baths in together with champagne and raspberries on a fortnightly basis.
The other people that will be living with us are people we have met in the hostel. 6 british girls, 4 british guys, 2 canucks, and one random non-hostel frenchman named Eddie. Eddie reeks. I will be avoiding his cowering french derriere for the sake of freedom.
Unfortunately, the place needs a little work. If extreme make over came to this place, it could sell for $3 million in the states. But, right now it is overgrown outside. The inside is great. Very 70s feel to it, but Australia has a very 90s feel to it so its not that far behind.
For some reason, Riley and I got first priority on room choice even though we all came together. Apparently the Canadian likes us the most or thinks he told us about first. I wasnt waiting to ask. We are moving in on Monday and the rest will be history.
I will make a video tour of the house as soon as we move in. I havent been able to take any video yet because the camera is with the unessential items that are still at our coach's home in bumble.
Cheers!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Bonkers
About 5 nights ago, Riley and I went to some bar/club that supposedly plays awesome electronic music. We confirmed that:
Misconceptions and Realities
Heading into this journey, I had no idea what to expect from people here. After all, the only real knowledge I had of Australia was from our shockingly ethnocentric media and entertainment industries.
For example, I thought every Aussie Male looked like this:
According to the stereotypes, an Aussie female must look like this:
Perhaps it was just wishful thinking or Melbourne is just different, but here is the accurate standard aussie dude:
Want to vomit? Me too. This picture is obviously an exaggeration using a picture that infuriates me beyond words. But yup, you guessed it. They are all hipsters. The fabric from any given pair of pants that I own (34/34 typically khakis) could be used to make approximately 2.75 pairs of pants for an Melbournian 20-something. Don't get me wrong. Many of them are AWESOMELY cool, but there is a severe lack of shark tooth necklaces and bowie knives and an influx of menthol cigarettes and gold calculator watches.
Another glaring misconception was the women. Once again, this is not all-inclusive, as we have spent time with some really cool, cute, not freakish girls, BUT when you walk down the streets, this is what you typically see:
To each his own, I guess? They seem to have great potential, but the style and general demeanor of the average girl on the street is tragically depressing and uninspired.
I know we can not be too material with all of these things, but hey, lets just blame it on the media. After all, they were the ones telling me that I could hunt boars with Crocodile Dundee and eat meat pies cooked by Naomi Watts. Until I fulfill that fantasy, I will just have to accept being an outcast and make sure that 2.5 australian hipsters don't try to rob me of my slacks.
New Template
My dear friend Doug Bell (dbellonbermuda.blogspot.com) just made me realize that I had copied him in his template design. To be fair, most of the templates are garbage and I didn't feel like wading through a rainbow of colors to find a decent looking scheme. Thats my mom's job.
Maybe my previous choice has something to do with the idea for an overseas blog came from Doug, who currently lives in Bermuda working as a nerd and tries to be cool by purchasing a boat, motorcycle, and a goat. I guess that is pretty cool though.
Sorry to jack your blog steeze, Batman.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Welcome to Australia!
'ello!
So I arrived in this country exactly 11 days ago after a surprisingly pleasant 20ish hours of flying. This could be due to the fact that Air New Zealand has significantly more leg room than your standard United Air Lines flight from, say, Chicago to Detroit. They also provide each passenger with a personal video screen and a controller for "gaming." However, having been spoiled by "next generation" consoles like XBOX 360, shooting asteroids or playing the surprisingly difficult Australian version of Who Wants to Be A Millionaire just doesn't quite cut it. All things considered, it is likely that my small dosage of ambien allowed for a pleasant flight.
I was worried when I got on the flight because I knew I was going to be out like a light and I was sitting on the aisle. Upon arriving to my seat, I anxiously waited to see who would be sitting next to me:
Oh God, please don't sit next to me 350 lb behemoth... Phew, you got an exit row. A seasoned voluptuous voyager.
Uh oh, tired woman with crying baby is coming down the aisle looking at the middle section...Phew, not sitting here.
You. Sit down here now. Please, miss average looking college aged girl? Rats, sitting next to hipster homeboy.
Hello there sir, you and your wife look decidedly average and New Zealand-ish (?). And you are sitting next to me! Ehhhhh, alright.
So I was sitting next to some middle aged Kiwi's. Couldn't complain. I was just hoping that he didn't have some sort of "growing problem" that had not been properly addressed by Flomax. So next I got comfortable and put on a movie (The Hangover, which I had not yet seen. Dece.) Within 5 minutes, he was watching the same thing. After that movie, I put on an episode of the office. After the kiwi was finished with The Hangover, he put on the exact same episode of the office. Coincidence? Possibly. However, any skepticism was gone when I played the aforementioned asteroid game and he left his office episode EARLY to play the same game. He must not get out much, but then again the best part of the flight was that he doesn't get up much either. Which may upset Ms. Kiwi, but that's neither here nor there.
Throughout the entire flight, the man did not move. Not even to recline his seat. Unless in my self-induced daze, I forgot he woke me up. Many peaceful hours later, we arrived in Melbourne (pronounced Melbin).
The first few days we stayed at the home of THE Gregg Mollison (a renowned lacrosse icon of western melbourne...sweet?). He boasts that he taught Gary Gait (possibly the greatest lacrosse player ever) to use two hands. Could be lying, but who cares. Within the first five minutes he had me looking up at Eucalyptus trees for Koalas. Turns out that was a sick joke and Koalas are not like our squirrels. Jokester.
It was nice to see our team clubhouse and meet some of the players. The clubhouse has a bar attached to it. Count it.
After a few days there, Riley and I ventured into the actual downtown area and rented two beds in a hostel. The place was really nice, but not in a great location so we moved to our home for the last week: Base at St. Kilda. This hostel rules. It is right on the beach. It has a great social scene that is highlighted by nightly competitions (trivia, pool, ping pong, etc) with $100 bar tabs to be won. Anyone who knows me well knows that I love competitions, especially bar games and trivia, more than most, so I have been in heaven. I made it pretty far in the ping pong competition, but I met my match with some dude who I did not properly scout and realized way too late that he was a lefty.
We have 4 bunk beds in our room. Depending on my position in the bed, up 80% of my calves are hanging off the end. We share the room with 4 other english "blokes" who are absolutely hilarious. 3 lads and 1 lassie. We got past the point where we can ask for their names because we forgot them right away and its way too late now. Oh well. "Mate" seems to suffice.
The nightlife has been interesting. Lots of awesome techno music. On a related note, Riley and I want to start a DJ Company called SickWax, in which I will be named Trance Armstrong and he will be Beat Sampras.
There will be many more posts to come, but I have to go take advantage of a free all you can eat BBQ at the hostel.
-Trance Armstrong, out.
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