World's Best Invention

For those who haven't seen it yet, the Scottish have earned yet another claim to fame in this world - creating the World's Strongest Beer (again): http://www.news.com.au/world/worlds-strongest-beer-guaranteed-to-dent-your-wallet-if-not-your-liver/story-e6frfkyi-1225895855686

I'll let you read the article, I just love that it starts with a bulleted list of reasons that this needs to be top of mind for anyone who can't figure out what to buy me for my birthday.

Beer 55 per cent alcohol

Bottles cost $855 each

Presented in stuffed animal

Only about 4 months to go, folks. Better start saving.

Fountain of Youth

Now that the weekend is becoming less shameful of a memory, I think I'm ready to blog about it. Saturday night, in particular, was one of those nights where you wake up the next morning, look at the photos, and think "My god, we are far too old for nights like that." In other words, awesome. As long as they don't happen more than once every two months.

Of course there's not much in the way of dignity that you can really expect from a night that essentially *starts* with tequila shots. The entire evening was a shit-show from the moment it commenced, and we quickly found ourselves in this condition:

The last thing I remember is being asked to leave a bar around 3am because I was hanging out in the women's bathroom, chatting away to friends and strangers alike. Fair enough, really.

Idiocy in Action

After an absolutely ridiculous time last night (more on that later), Juice just called me this morning and said he was coming over to my apartment.

He came in and said he had just come from the Four Seasons, because he had lost his keys and ended up getting a room there for the night. Let's not even go into the logic (or lack thereof) that must be behind the Four Seasons being the hotel one chooses when they're locked out of their place. This is the same guy who keeps the locksmith industry in business because he refuses to keep a spare set of keys at a friend's place.

So he contacted a locksmith and then started telling me how he had looked everywhere for his keys and a spare key he even keeps in his wallet. As he shakes his wallet, the spare key falls out. People, I don't think I would have believed it if I hadn't seen it. But it happened.

And then, he went out on my balcony for a cigarette to ponder his stupidity, and as he looked for his cigarettes in his jacket pocket, he found...yes, you guessed it...his original set of keys.

He sheepishly headed home soon thereafter, mentally tallying the hotel expenses and taxi fares that will mean he's spending the next few weekends on the couch.

I Has Ideas.

I recently read about a new dating website, Alikewise, that matches people to one another based on the books they like.

It's generally a clever idea, however I could never use it for myself. I tend to read books that are far more serious and intelligent than I am, and the site would probably match me with someone who thought I was a vapid, superficial drunk. And they wouldn't necessarily be wrong.

So that started me thinking about other ways you could match people. There's music, of course. But once again, wouldn't work for me, as I enjoy a lot of the music I listen to in an ironic way. Or at least that's what I tell myself in order to preserve at least some modicum of self-respect.

And there are always the few people who love movies. I'm not one of them, and given my tastes I imagine I would be matched with a rifle-toting vampire, or someone who thought they were a rifle-toting vampire. Either way, that's not good for much more than a terrible first date story.

The only thing that occurred to me that might actually work for someone like myself is matching people based on their drinking style. That way I'd be more likely to be paired with someone who enjoys sitting around in the afternoon sharing a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, as opposed to someone who drinks cheap gin and starts fights with lamp posts (which I haven't done in years). I'd probably call it ThreeSheets.com or some other lame play on words that sounded much more romantic than a way for alcoholics to find someone out there to enable their bad habits.

Fortunately for any potential competitors out there, I'm usually too lazy/drunk/hungover to do anything entrepreneurial, so feel free to steal these brilliant ideas. Maybe I can at least use your website one day.

Keeping To Form

Just a moment ago, and not long after informing me he was very hungover and didn't remember the end of his Wednesday night, Juice alerted me to the fact that he'd found a cigarette burn in the back of his shirt. Possibly obtained while attempting to adjust the strap on his bag on his way to work this morning, which resulted in his cigarette being flicked into his jacket.

All. Class.

Australia's Next Top Punching Bag

As yet another added perk of working at a major media/entertainment company, I was able to take an hour out of my work day yesterday to go to a preview screening of the first episode of Australia's Next Top Model - Cycle 6.

I've never found the show to be as entertaining as America's Next Top Model, partially because the girls are much younger and whiter in the Australian version, and maybe also because the Australians seem somewhat genuinely interested in turning their contestants into global fashion models (one winner eventually ended up working all over the world, and on the cover of Australian Vogue a couple of times).

One thing I do enjoy on the Aussie version is the judges:

These people are a pack of absolute bitches, and I love it. Between mocking the models to their faces ("It's modeling, not brain surgery, darl.") and joking about Botox ("She's a bit short. I'd raise my eyebrow if I could."), they clearly don't have all of the PC nonsense that Americans have to worry about, and they make up for the fact that a bunch of 16-year old girls simply aren't going to have much to say that any of us will give a shit about.

Alas, I don't think there are preview screenings of every episode during work hours. Life is so unfair.

For The Children

Wilks is an ambassador for an Australian charity, so a bunch of us agreed to buy tickets for their annual charity ball which took place last night.

We started out civilized enough:

However it wasn't long before we were all hammered on the open bar and I was making bids I couldn't afford in the blind auction, while loudly complaining about the crappy food and mocking other people's outfits:

Needless to say, karma got the best of me and I spent most of today suffering through a terrible hangover that I have decided was brought on by cheap booze. I suppose some of the money has to go to the children with cancer, but surely this sort of experience doesn't generate a lot of return ticket buyers for the ball the following year.

Anyway, it's about 30 minutes until my book club arrives, and judging from the amount of wine we drank at our last meeting my headache should be back in no time.

All Grown Up

I don't know about anyone else, but I really feel like tax time is the adult version of Christmas. Except instead of going to sit on Santa's lap and lie about how good you were all year, you go to your accountant and exaggerate your "work expenses" to increase the size of your refund.

I'm about to head to my tax adviser and it probably doesn't help that I had a few beers at lunch. I'll probably try to claim my Indian-food addiction as research. I do sort of work in IT, after all.

WTF

Went to meet Busty and Juice for a couple of after work drinks, ended up finishing off about 4 bottles of wine between us and dancing (on an otherwise empty dance floor, I should mention) for a couple of hours before grabbing McDonald's and heading home.

Not only am I not as old as I have been complaining about, but clearly I'm still as trashy as I ever was. I'm also about to fall asleep at my desk.

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.