If Young Me Could See Me Now

Alas, I'd apologize again for not blogging for almost a week, but to be honest it's rare these days that I have anything that fascinating to tell anyone about. Just the other day I was saying to a friend I hadn't seen in a while that I had truly mellowed out in my old age, and how the highlights of my week are more likely to be a new omelette pan or my upcoming book club meeting as opposed to the flight of stairs I fell down after doing too many tequila shots. Not that such things don't happen anymore, but they are certainly not as frequent.

In keeping with theme, it was a relatively mellow weekend, the key social event being a Christmas in July dinner. For those who aren't familiar, Australians like to celebrate "Christmas in July" for reasons that no one quite seems to grasp. Something to do with the cold weather, supposedly, but we all know it's just another reason to get drunk. And who can complain with that. Especially when it involves a grown man wearing a Santa bikini, and various sex toys that I'd rather not post much about here in fear of attracting the wrong demographic.

If this one bored you to tears, don't worry, I plan to find at least one school night this week to get Juice blisteringly drunk and embarrass himself for our entertainment.

Addiction

I recently came to the disturbing realization that I might actually spend more time playing Words With Friends (basically Scrabble on the iPhone) than doing anything else in my day, besides sleeping.

What started as something that I played with a couple of friends has turned into a full-fledged addiction involving some 20 or more friends, family members and acquaintances across a number of time zones and continents. I play from the moment I wake up, throughout my commute, during any gaps in my work day (amazing how many of those you can find when you want them), and into the evening.

I have missed my train to work. I have almost missed my stop several times. I am late to send important documents through to colleagues, and I consistently miss key plot points in my favorite shows because I can't stop trying to find a way to play the J and the F in the same word.

Many people find this whole situation ridiculous, and at times so do I. And then, I play a word that makes it all worth it. I give to you, my best play so far:

In case anyone was wondering, my favorite words are QI and ZA.

Desperate Times

Since I can remember, I have outright refused to bring lunch to work. I've always seen a weekday lunch as something to be enjoyed, and that includes some level of spontaneity that comes with deciding at the last minute which world cuisine my meal might come from.

I now work out in the 'burbs of Sydney, and my options are severely limited. There is a Subway across the street, but there are only so many foot-long meatball subs one can eat before boredom and obesity begin to set in. And there are a few little places across the street too, however one is an Asian place whose main ingredient seems to be oil, and the others are more the type of food that one eats when they are totally shit-faced at 2 in the morning and any concerns about your health and well-being have fallen to the wayside.

The one place that might offer some hope is one that I haven't been to yet - a shopping centre food court, which is not only a 15 minute walk away, but also refers to their food court as "infamous" on their website. No, really:

And so, I now bring my lunch to work, usually some Asian stir-fry or pasta dish that I had for dinner a day or two before. And as part of my constant need to still have people I can look down on, I'd like to make it known that I still have absolute disdain for people who bring in about 20 different ingredients in order to spend their entire lunch break assembling an overly complicated sandwich that still doesn't look particularly appetizing. Losers.

The Great Unwashed

After having a relatively civilized Friday night, I decided at least a few drinks were in order for Saturday. Not being a dinner person (I tend to start dozing off at the table out of boredom), I met up with everyone around 9pm for a few drinks at Sticky Bar, one of the trendier bars in Sydney.

Of course trendy and mature gets old rather quickly, and we thought, why not head somewhere a bit more upbeat. Which is how we ended up at The Colombian. I'm sure I've given some indication of what this bar is like before, as I used to think it was appropriate to hang out there several nights a week after work. However we were quickly confronted with the reminder that, on weekends in particular, The Colombian turns into one of the biggest freak shows in Sydney.

Other patrons that evening included some of the following characters:

• Drag queen
• Aging Asian prostitute (with her even older, Caucasian client)
• Middle-aged mother on her first night out in years, wearing a dress resembling a lampshade
• People in various states of disarray, many of whom probably started drinking and popping pills at some point in the afternoon

Needless to say, we were mostly there for the people watching. The key to a place like this is always ensuring that you're drunk enough to find these people amusing as opposed to disgusting. But then not so drunk that you tell them what you think. It's a balancing act, really.

Why I Love This Country, Reason #91

I often get reminders that part of the reason I must feel so comfortable in Australia is that this is a nation with priorities that are just as, if not more so, messed up than mine. For example - two things happened over the last 24 hours:

1) The Australian team in the World Cup, the "Socceroos", won a game. Just one. It is important to note that despite the fact that they won this game, their stunning 4-0 loss to Germany and draw with Ghana meant that they were almost never going to proceed to the next round of the competition.

2) A late night challenge to the Prime Minister's leadership of the governing party in Australia resulted, less than 12 hours later, in Australia swearing in its first female Prime Minister in it's history.

And now, I ask you to guess which one of these took the top story slot on all morning news shows, news websites, and basically throughout the news media? That's right. A soccer team that is coming home early from the World Cup. True, even the New York Times article couldn't help but refer to the fact that Julia Gillard "is routinely mocked for her ever-changing hair styles and working class accent" (she's basically a trailer park version of Hillary, as Wilks put it), but let's give the woman the attention she deserves.

If for no other reason, Australia should be excited that their Prime Minister could easily pass for Tilda Swinton, or simply SWINTON as the Fug Girls have dubbed/fugged her.

Karma = Bitch

Alas, the downside of being someone who talks so much shit is that it never takes long for my own words to bite me in the ass.

For the last year, especially in recent weeks, I've taken plenty of time to mock Hickster for "ruining" Copps' birthday celebrations last year when she supposedly paced herself so she would be able to enjoy the entire night out, but still managed to be denied entry to Minsky's. That being the bar that people go to when they can't get in anywhere else.

And so, it doesn't take much imagination to figure out what happened next. As we approached Minsky's, I inexplicably decided to act like an asshole and draw attention to myself by yelling at some of our group (including Hickster) who were taking their sweet time to cross the street. The door staff promptly informed us that there was no way I was getting into the bar.

Thus, the circle is complete.

Be Careful What You Wish For

For much of my life, I always thought it would be fun and glamorous to work at some sort of media and entertainment company. And as of last week I am officially an employee of possibly the largest media and entertainment company in Australia.

As you might expect, there are televisions EVERYWHERE. As in, anyone can get one on their desk, and most people do. I, so far, have declined to request one. My friends are flabbergasted that I wouldn't take advantage of such a perk, but I can too easily imagine people waiting for me in a conference room while I watch the latest episode of Gossip Girl.

Unfortunately, I'm still surrounded by televisions, and most people choose to leave their TV on music video channels. And so, my CV will soon feature the important skill of being able to focus on work while surrounded by images of Lady Gaga's dancing ass. Talk about a differentiator.

New Best Friend

As I may have mentioned here before, the most ridiculous of Australian public holidays is the "Queen's Birthday". Even if we ignore the fact that Australia has been an independent commonwealth for over a century, the entire thing is yet more laughable when you consider that England doesn't even celebrate the Queen's Birthday. Tack on the knowledge that not all of the states in Australia even celebrate it on the same day (which, we should mention, isn't the actual Queen's birthday) and you're almost tempted to go to work. Almost.

The long weekend started out with "a few quiet drinks" with Juice and Caz, which somehow ended with tequila shots and dancing in Newtown well after midnight. Caz advised that she was forced to cancel her hair appointment the next morning due to the pain of her hangover.

Saturday was spent saving energy for Shear and Keeg's farewell party, which started at 9 in Kings Cross, and ended after 4am for me, only because I decided I should head home to watch the USA v England World Cup match. In case you're wondering, I made it about 10 minutes into the game, and was found around half-time passed out in front of the TV, wrapped in my American flag.

And Sunday was a long lunch that allowed Junior and I to introduce the gang to doing repeated

shots of Patron XO Cafe, which we hadn't even known existed until our trip to NYC in April. Everyone is now addicted (despite not being able to actually remember doing said shots), and I can safely say that the demand for Patron XO Cafe will be trending upwards in Sydney over the coming months.

The long weekend's last hurrah was waking up at 4am to watch the Germany v Australia World Cup match, which turned into an absolute flogging for the Socceroos who lost 4-0 and made us wonder why we weren't in bed. The only thing that softened the blow was that we watched from a private event that involved a hot breakfast, champagne, and gift bags.

All I really want right now is the gift of sleep, but I've agreed to go out every night this week, and I'm guessing there's a good chance I'll be dead by Friday. Please remember to bury me with a certain coffee flavoured tequila.

Not Fired Yet

As mentioned previously, I started a new job this week. And it's only been a few days, but I am tempted to say that things are going well.

On my first day, I left the office completed hammered around 9pm after a company wide drinking session. Yes, really.

And I've already selected my favorite person in the office - a Russian woman who absolutely loves anything with animal prints, preferably worn with something made of pleather or coloured in tye-dye. I'm considering starting a separate blog as a chronicle of her truly fascinating fashion choices.

Yeah, I think this is gonna work out.

Let's Make That "Better Never Than Late"

I somehow missed the original airing of the always ridiculous Eurovision song contest last weekend, and so have settled for viewing it almost a week later. If nothing else, it was a reminder that such experiences are much better in large groups, as it was actually a bit depressing to see these countries embarrassing themselves on a global stage. No better were the Australians who hosted the version that aired here, who even had the balls to ask the Greek contestants if they were sure their country could pay for the event next year if they won this year. Classy.

Still, the theme this year was "Share the Moment", so the least I can do is give you guys a brief rundown of the annual trainwreck that is Eurovision. I may as well just give them in alphabetical order, as there's no easy way to rank a set of performances that delve into the realms of awful the way these do.

Albania - The most notable thing about this performance was the three black backup singers. I'm all for globalization and multiculturalism, but those bitches ain't Albanian.

Armenia - They had the hottest singer (Eva Rivas, for those who want to Google her), but considering the name and topic of the song was an "Apricot Stone" I have to admit I still have no idea what was going on other than her hotness.

Belarus - Painfully boring song called "Butterfly Wings" that was almost worth ignoring until the 'climax' when the girls' dresses burst open into butterfly wings. Fantastic, if you then ignore the fact that they kept singing.

Denmark - These guys had a forgettable song, but between various parts of the stage moving around constantly and the wind fans blowing so hard we thought the performers might tumble away, they get points for trying. And then lose them for failing.

Georgia - I can't remember if it was truly horrible or just kinda crap, and simply don't have the energy to look it up on YouTube and suffer through it again.

Germany - The German chick technically sang in English but it didn't sound like English other than a few key words. She still managed to win, with her acceptance speech starting with her saying the award was too heavy for her to hold, and then finished with her trying to get out of singing her song again, as is custom at these esteemed awards.

Iceland - I have to say, I didn't mind this so much, despite it essentially consisting of a fat woman singing to dance music a la 1990's.

Israel - This was so boring and horrible. Why even show up?

Moldova - It started with a mulletted violinist on a spinning platform surrounded by fireworks. Need I say more?

Romania - This performance had a man and a woman playing at joined glass pianos and singing, until halfway through where they decided to leave their instruments and sing. No explanation provided as to how the pianos they were supposedly playing were able to continue belting out the background music.

Russia - A bunch of poorly dressed men singing in falling snow. It was highly depressing, and made me consider killing myself. The highlight (lowlight?) was when they sang something about "looking at her photo" and held up a drawing of a woman's face. No imagination needed, apparently.

Serbia - The Serbian entry was actually painful. The singer was tone deaf, and was supposedly a man but looked more like a pre-op tranny.

Spain - This was both boring and weird, a tough combination to achieve. What managed to spice it up was a random guy from the audience jumping on stage and mocking the weird clowns/court jesters dancing around the singer by joining in (rather convincingly, I should add). Unfortunately the contest managers decided to give them another chance, which meant we had to hear this awful song all over again at the end.

Turkey - There was a dancing robot that sawed its own arm off halfway through. 'Nuff said.

Ukraine - The Ukrainians offered us a hot, young girl singing about death, war, and humans killing each other, while managing to achieve increased states of undress throughout her performance. Obviously.

UK - I can only assume this was a joke, despite how earnest the performer was, and it came in dead last when the votes were in. A little Eurovision 2010 trivia for you: the song peaked at #174 on the UK charts the week of the contest. How embarrassing.

I personally would have given it to Moldova or Turkey, but I supposed garbled English sung by a German girl can't be totally discounted. I'm definitely organizing a viewing party next year, if only to avoid sitting by myself wondering if the world is really worth living in any longer.

Peace Out

Yesterday was my farewell celebration at my company after almost 4 years there. That may not seem like much to most people, but in my team it's an eternity, so naturally a messy afternoon and evening were planned well in advance.

After a boozy lunch, we later braved the torrential downpour to make it over to Cruise Bar by the Harbour, and promptly started ordering beers, bottles of champagne, and enough shots to make the cast of Jersey Shore feel a bit queasy.

In case you're wondering precisely how messy things got, here are a few indicative photos:

(Yes, that's a glass of beer in the taxi.)

I think we can safely assume that everyone in attendance is having a quiet Saturday, as I sit here wondering if some of the photos should ever see the light of Facebook. I suppose it's always good to have a few items around for blackmail purposes some day.

Unnecessary

Had a boozier weekend than I've had in a while, more than enough to remind me why I don't tend to do that any more.

Friday was a friend's surprise birthday drinks, which was supposed to lead to dinner until I apparently hijacked the night and said we should all spend the evening binge drinking instead. Genius, I know.

Saturday was even worse - after having a ton of people over to the new apartment, I decided that 11pm was a great time to buy another bottle of wine and swing by a dinner party I'd had to miss earlier in the evening. After stumbling around for an hour and alternating between boring and offensive, I grabbed some Indian food and cabbed it home. I'd sum up the end of the night as a completely ridiculous way to spend $100, and don't recommend it to anyone.

And so, Sunday was recovery, which involved not leaving my apartment complex and falling asleep on the couch around 8pm. I'm an old, old man.

Ridiculous

The title of this blog post refers to a few things. First, that I'm working more than ever even though I've resigned from my job. That ain't right. Second, that I just had such a quiet weekend that I'm still a bit scared about what it means for my life going forward when I'm mostly sober for all of Saturday *and* Sunday. Third, that even when I'm a boring teetotaler, that Juice still manages to end up like this:



Let me be clear - this isn't actually Juice. However, it not only looks just like him, but this is actually how he ended up on Saturday night. His face is now something that you expect to see on a woman who "fell down the stairs", knowing full well it means she probably overcooked her husband's steak.

Movin' On Up

Looks like I've forgotten to blog for over a week and a half. But in all fairness, I've spent the last week moving into a new apartment, and I even resigned from my job yesterday, so I've had a lot going on.

The new place is shaping up well, and we had our first round of sunset drinks last night resulting in 12 beer bottles, 2 vodka bottles, and a wine bottle having to be discarded this morning.

And in case you were wondering, the best conversation last night by far was the following:

Juice: I know it's a bit morbid, but have you ever thought about what you'd want to be buried in?

Junior: A Snuggie!!!

Zander: That was disturbing for several reasons. First, that you clearly had thought about it. Second, that you were serious. And third, the excited look on your face when you said it.

Junior: But they're so comfortable!

Zander: But you'd be dead.


Something tells me our balcony is going to see many similar conversations over the coming years...

Escalation

Several years ago, while living in my last apartment on the second floor of a building in a leafy neighborhood of Sydney, I walked into my livingroom and found a huge spider on the wall. Shortly thereafter, I moved into a 9th floor apartment. Until this week, I have lived a blessedly spider-free existence.

Last night, my flatmate showed me a huge spider he'd found in his bedroom. On Monday, I move into a 43rd floor apartment.

Listen, Mother Nature - I know I've never really been a fan, but I'm willing to respect your existence and keep my distance if you're willing to do the same. Please don't have a flock of birds fly into my windows or something. Because, honestly, I'm not sure what I will do next, but it may involve investing in oil companies. And neither of us want me to do that.

Ah, That Explains It

Went to a birthday dinner last night where I only knew about two people at the table. This generally isn't something I mind, as I love a fresh audience. However my rigid inability to remember the names of anyone I'm introduced to unless I've met them at least three times tends to cause a problem. My current method of learning new people's names is receiving friends requests on Facebook and then scanning their profile photos until I've plowed through my faded alcoholic memories of recent nights to remember who they are.

As I was saying, Friday night was yet another example. The sad part is that I was sober and trying to give off the semblance of tact, and yet this is the type of conversation that ensued:

Zander: Do you have an accent? I know your name is Ryan, but it sounded different when you said it.

Guy: My name is Graham.

Zander: Oh.

*Akwardness ensues*

Class. Act.

We Have Nothing In Common

I'd write something here about my weekend, but I spent it in Brisbane. It's a city that I'd compare to Pittsburgh, where I spent my university days - great for families and old people, I hear, but not my choice of residence.

A colleague started telling me about his weekend of camping and spending time in the country and seemed to think I should be remotely interested in the concept. I quickly informed him that I'm about to sign a lease on the exact opposite of anything he would appreciate - an apartment over 40 stories high in Sydney's tallest residential building in the heart of the city.

Having said that, the fact that I have to pay a bond/security deposit and first month's rent in the next week (shortly after two weeks in NY that may have stimulated their economy, but did nothing good for me financially) means that much of my drinking in the next few weeks will have to be either subdued or done on the cheap at friends' homes. I'll be opting for the latter, thanks.

We've All Been There

Sesame just emailed this through to me, and it's absolutely brilliant - mainly because even if I can't remember if I've ever been this trollied, it's a sure bet that we will Juice in similar condition in the near future:

God bless him.

No End In Sight

Despite taking almost 5 days to recover from my jet lag, I managed to have a rather busy week and a rather boozy weekend, despite my best intentions. And now that all I want is a quiet week ahead, I've managed to end up with a fully booked week before flying up to Brisbane for the long weekend.

And yet, per usual, none of my drunken stories (including me falling on two people on Friday night) compare to the week that Juice had, and seems to be continuing indefinitely.

The highlight of his weekend would have been Wednesday night (not Tuesday, when he was out until 4am) when he went drinking and has no recollection of how the night ended. What he *does* remember is waking up at 5am. Under his desk. At work. With no pants or shoes on. YES, REALLY.

After managing to find his pants and shoes in the bathroom, he made his way home and called in sick for the day. He even took the night off from drinking. And has been drunk ever since.

It's always a good thing to have one of those friends who manages to make you feel better about yourself. No matter what.

Self-Medication

Well I've been back from my holiday for a couple of days now. People keep asking me if I'm depressed about being back in Sydney, which is a bit ridiculous - there's only so depressed one can be about returning to a place with amazing weather, relaxed attitudes about what's considered "work", and where most of the people around you seem to be intensely inebriated for a large percentage of their waking hours.

No, my main issue with my return is that I am still jet lagged on day four, despite doing all of the recommended things. I've stayed awake all day. Gone to sleep at the same time every evening. (10pm in case you were wondering.) I've limited my alcohol intake, and even stuck to a mostly healthy diet, although the guy who served me a cheese naan with my Indian food at lunch yesterday might be a tad bit skeptical.

In any case, it's once again 2am and I'm wide awake after only 4 hours of sleep. And so, I will be turning to the most reliable method of overcoming jet lag that I've encountered in my many years of international travel. I'm getting hammered tonight.