"it's the final countdown..."

tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my academic career.

i'd be lying if i said i wasn't apprehensive. i have spent the past year and a half enjoying my leisure time, reading for pleasure, mooching off my parents, jaunting between continents, slaving away at a low-paying job for which i was overqualified, and exercising my liver's full potential. now the time has come to exercise my own full potential. *liver breathes a sigh of relief*

i have used this analogy before, and i am going to use it again: my former co-worker tom (an arachnophile who will never, ever convert me) once told me that scorpions can live in below-freezing temperatures for months by reducing their metabolic rate to that of a growing potato and laying low until it is warm enough to reanimate themselves. today it is summer in the southern hemisphere, the sun is shining, the magpies are squawking obnoxiously outside my window; it is time for the reanimation process to begin.

let me make it clear: i have enjoyed this limbo period immensely. it has solidified my desire to once again join the academic community, and i have chosen a program that is perfect for both my personal and career goals. at this stage i am antsy to start a new phase of my life, and i feel as though i am rested and rejuvenated enough to jump in at full speed. i may have to sift my way through hordes of my foreign physician colleagues to distinguish myself, and i may be the only american in the first year of the program, but goddamn it i am confident in my abilities. plus, i can use my outsider status as an opportunity to be the face of u.s. diplomacy at melb uni's school of population health, a goodwill ambassador of sorts.

so bear with me while i readjust to the idea of actually having to do work in my spare time. i hope to continue posting with some regularity so that my many fans (read: alejandra) will have a means of procrastination.

on a more disturbing note, did you know that danii minogue covered "the final countdown?" because i did not, and i wish that wikipedia had never provided that bit of information. this is borderline blasphemy. i may just have to take to the bottle again (sorry, liver).

one of these things is not like the other

at one of the many orientation events i've attended over the past week, we were encouraged to take part in a fun (read: lame) activity in which we "got to know" two other postgrad students. we had to obtain basic info from these other students, including "the person in the world you would most like to meet," and submit our form into a drawing for a $50 book voucher.

normally i would have scoffed at such an activity, but as i have been without gainful employment for over a month, the lure of the prize was too strong to resist. thus, i threw myself into the assignment with the sort of enthusiasm that only the promise of free money can elicit. the first student i met was a middle-aged urban planning/social policy student from geelong; the other was a business student from india. i'd like to share with you now our answers to the "person we'd most like to meet" question:

student 1: nelson mandela
student 2: jesus christ
me: stephen colbert

and i almost put david bowie.

and no, we didn't win the book voucher.

"they were funky china men, from funky chinatown..."

this saturday, at long last, i lost my chinese new year virginity on little bourke street. (technically it was chinese new year's eve, but there were plenty of the requisite fireworks and roast ducks and drunk white people pretending like they actually know what's going on, so let's not get bogged down in semantics). i have tried to attend these festivities every year i've been in melbourne, but somehow they always slipped through my fingers. this year, lured by the promise of dumplings and william hung-style karaoke, i managed to fit it in to my busy schedule.

(note to all native english speakers, all 400-ish million of you: it's pronounced "sked-yool," not "shhhhed-yool." do we pronounce schizophrenia "shitzophrenia?" no, we do not. and don't even get me started on aluminIum. it was aluminum first. actually, it was alumium first, so maybe we should cut our losses and all go back to the original sir humphry davy spelling, but i digress).

despite the fact that we were in the middle of a chinese new year's eve celebration, we found it difficult to actually locate an inexpensive, uncomplicated dumpling establishment. we managed to purchase some spring rolls to suppress our hunger pains and watched as much karaoke as we could stomach (approx. 4 minutes...melbourne's hidden talent must have stayed far, far underground that night) before continuing on our search for the dumpling holy grail. did we find it? no, but we did manage to locate a generically-named, yet oddly inviting restaurant where we devoured some acceptable dumplings, salt & pepper squid, and cheap champagne. (note: the mother of all dumpling establishments is apparently located here, but it eluded us that evening as it is stealthily located in one of the melb's many hidden alleyways). the upside was that they set off firecrackers in front of the restaurant door and one of the chinese lions strolled by in costume, so we got our taste of authenticity.

we decided not to stay for the parade as we had more important places to be. by that i mean we were headed to everyone's favourite cabaret lounge/burlesque club/obsessive-compulsive's nightmare, the butterfly club. i have put much thought into how i could possibly describe this unique establishment, and have come up with the following: imagine your stereotypical knickknack-collecting kooky old maid. now imagine she's the beard for a much younger gay man a la liza minelli and david gest. throw in a few tabs of acid and a dash of the sex & the city episode where stanford dates the guy with the creepy doll collection and i think you might start to get the picture. let's just say i drank sparkling red wine, conversed with a waiter clad only in pants and a shirtfront, and eavesdropped on a ridiculously pretentious conversation about edith piaf. it was my first time visiting the butterfly club, but i have no doubt that it won't be my last. who can resist a self-proclaimed "doll-house sized windsor castle of camp kitsch and good times?"

i'd also like to say that this post strayed far, far away from it's original intent. at this point, i suppose that the title is a bit misleading, but then again i will jump on any opportunity to quote carl douglas's "kung fu fighting."

suckas!

today's weather in melbourne: 95, feels like 92.
today's weather in rochester: 16, feels like 0.

i don't know if i will ever tire of gloating about this.

"no more standin' along the side walls..."

i'd like to give heartfelt thanks to our favourite soul-infused, thursday-nights-at-cherry-bar DJ, for finally playing "got to give it up" by marvin gaye. what started off as a potentially crap night quickly took a turn for the better when you played the song we've been pestering you to play for weeks. the timing was so appropriate that i will even forgive you for playing the 4-minute edit as opposed to the 12-minute original.

i bow to the genius of marvin.

hot fun in the summertime

melbourne does many things well, but above all it has mastered the art of outdoor entertainment. booze, music, sunshine, (usually) free entry...who could ask for more? sunday i was fortunate enough to attend the st. kilda festival, which returned after a 2006 hiatus. st. kilda is the most popular beachside 'hood in melbourne, and while other beaches such as brighton are better for sand and surf (or as much surf as you can get in port phillip bay), st. kilda's music and partying scene is top-notch. at the slightest mention of st. kilda beach, every local will automatically offer up advice about how to avoid stepping on dirty needles, but most of the colorful riffraff/IV drug users/sex workers have long been driven away by yuppies/backpackers/scenesters looking for a good time. i am proud to note that, to my knowledge, i have yet to contract a blood-borne illness in st. kilda. (wait...are we counting the dutch businessman i picked up on v-day last year?? we are?? oh...dammit).

we started the day at our friend mark's BBQ, where gourmet sausages, good company, and alcoholic beverages were plentiful. also abundant were snide comments about lindsay & my choice of goon (read: boxed wine), but i will defend our choice by saying that 5 litres of wine for $11 is a hell of a deal, and we're poor so we'll take what we can afford. we also played cricket in the park across the street, and i came away from that experience with a few observations: 1) playing cricket is much more exciting than watching cricket, however 2) a sport with tea breaks will always be a sport for pussies; 3) i am pretty proficient with a cricket bat, but 4) it is not recommended that one attempts to play with a glass of wine in his/her hand, as it could result in some unfortunate clothing stains.

our departure for the festival was timed to both miss the crowds on public transport and arrive in time to see melb-based band dallas crane perform on the main stage. check them out here: http://www.dallascrane.com/. their style can best be described by the following equation:

AC/DC - angus's school boy uniform + denim on denim + street urchin newsboy cap - dead lead singer + really hot guitarist = dallas crane

although the set was only about an hour long, i was thoroughly entertained, and may even fork out some cash to see them properly at either the espy or the east brunswick club in a few weeks. apparently they're prepared to take the U.S. by storm, so all my northern hemispherians better grab a rain slicker. it also didn't hurt that the location was stellar: the sun was setting to our right, the water was sparkling behind the stage, the music was cranking, and the fellow festival-goers were friendly. although the festival itself was mobbed, we managed to get in & out with little hassle, and even brought the evening to a close with some delicious churros. (melburnians LOVE their churros, but that is a subject that will be investigated at a later time).

all in all, it was a fantastic way to spend a sunday. i remain fully appreciative of all this city has to offer, three years after our initial rendezvous. on that note, i go to sleep in preparation for my first day of uni orientation tomorrow. i have no doubt that there will be some sort of bureaucratic idiocy to bitch about in a future post, so stay tuned...

hair (not to be confused with the hippie musical)

today i chanced upon a woman who looked exactly like the above troll. the only differences were that she had red hair instead of fuschia, was not waving a happy birthday flag, and was clothed. i almost jumped off the tram to ask her who her stylist is, where she buys the hair product that allows her to make the sort of coif that is usually the result of sticking one's finger in an electrical socket, and whether or not she lives under flemington bridge with her other troll counterparts. (i think it would have been a bit presumptuous of me to ask whether or not she carried a red jewel in her navel).

the oddest thing about the situation is that, from the forehead down, she looked like your average matronly grandmother: white summer pants, floral shirt, pushing her granddaughter in a pram. i will say that i don't think it was a coincidence that her hair perfectly matched the flowers in her top, because anyone who puts that much time & effort into her hairstyle is obviously dressing accordingly.

and on another hairdo-related note, on my way home today i passed the supreme court of victoria on william street and was delighted to see the judges outside for the afternoon, dressed to the nines in robes and wigs, one of the benefits of being a judge or barrister in a Commonwealth nation. however, i was dismayed to notice that no one's wig was fitted properly, and their natural hair peeked out the sides and bottom. we will assume that the state can afford to hire a qualified wigmaker, so why the ill-fittedness? a brief google image search showed that apparently that is how the wigs are supposed to fit, which i find tacky in the same way that wearing a bathing suit without shaving/waxing one's bikini line is tacky. perhaps if someone presented that analogy to the supreme court's resident wigmaker, they would add some much-needed coverage to the current style, and i could commute home without visions of pubes dancing in my head. better yet, let's commission the troll-lady to design next season's headwear for victoria's legal community.

the hottest spot south of havana

i'd like to give thanks to my homeboy steve (aka "the lumberjack") for reminding me about a story that was in the news last june/july. apparently, authorities in a suburb of sydney (please note that melbourne was not involved in any way) decided to blast barry manilow tunes in local parks to drive out obnoxious hoodlums. click on the following links for full details, and be sure not to miss the deputy mayor's profession of love for ABBA and celine dion in the post article. clearly, taste is no stranger to the residents of rockdale, NSW:


http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/5047610.stm

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/07/17/AR2006071700469.html


the fact that barry beat stephen colbert, my personal lord and saviour, for last year's emmy award would be enough to drive me out of the park in protest, but that is neither here nor there. what is worth noting is the fact that barry himself issued a statement about the situation, which i have taken from the website of barry's international fan club (http://www.barrynet.com/ ...no, really) and pasted here for your enjoyment:


To Whom It May Concern:

I've been reading about Rockdale, Australia's decision to blast my music 24 hours a day in a park that appeals to hoodlums and their hope that my music will drive the hoodlums away. Frankly, I think that if you played ANYONE'S music for that long you'd drive any rationally minded human being out-of-their mind!

But, have they thought that the hoodlums might like my music? What if some of them began to sing along with "Can't Smile Without You"? Or lit candles on "I Write The Songs"? Or, heaven forbid, dance around the grounds to the infectious beat of "Copacabana"? What if it attracted more hoodlums and not rid them of the ones that were already there? What if it brought people together? What if it put smiles on their faces? What if the absurdity of this plan began to hit everyone at the same time and everyone began to laugh and become friends? That's what my music usually does for people.

The council may have their adjectives mixed up. My music has been called "Catchy" (easy to remember because of having an effective melody, not "Catchy" (Able to be caught).

Good luck.
Barry Manilow


perhaps barry is on to something. perhaps we should take the lessons of rockdale and extrapolate them to the international community. maybe a touch of manilow is exactly what has been missing from diplomatic relations of late. just imagine condoleezza rice hand-in-hand with mahmoud ahmadinejad, swaying "to the infectious beat of 'copacabana'." or the members of the G8 bonding over the heartwrenching strains of "mandy" at their annual summit. this type of progressive thinking has been noticeably absent in today's political climate, and is truly a breath of fresh air from the usual rhetoric. maybe, just maybe, barry deserves not just the emmy, but a nobel prize.

boris the spider part deux

look, australia, i get it.

you have large arachnids here. they like to lurk on the outside of my house and watch me while i hang out the washing. this is fine. perhaps they have no better way to occupy their time. maybe i did something to aggravate them & they've sent out some of their hit men to keep an eye (or eight) on me. i won't yet assume that you are overcompensating for something else. (you know what they say about countries with large spiders...).

however, i'd like for you to view this situation as a venn diagram with 2 circles, one being my habitat and the other being the habitat of abnormally, nay, grotesquely large spiders. these two circles are not allowed to intersect. in fact, my circle is barricaded with flypaper and insect repellant. i can peacefully coexist with your obscenely large/often poisonous animal life provided our paths do not cross as often as they have been lately. as of now, i have emerged from these encounters unscathed, but i have a feeling that this war is not yet over. therefore, tonight i will be sleeping with a fly swatter in my left hand and one eye open. see who wins now, mothaf*ckas.

boris the spider

i don't like coming home from the bar to find a spider the size of my hand on the side of the house.

enough said.