If I Get Eaten by a Shark

If I get eaten by a shark while in Australia I didn't want that last post to be my, well, last post. As such, I had to just get another one in. I was feeling kind of out of it and I believe I had some sort of dizziness resulting from the cheesesteak I made myself for dinner last night. I tend to get tired earlier these days, and I don't know why, but I don't think it is because of inactivity. I just think I need to "have a sleep" aka have a nap, as Bret and Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords say.

Bret? Present. Jemaine? Present.

This past week's episode centered around Jemaine, a New Zealander, dating an Aussie, much to the disappointment of Bret and Murray, and basically if you don't watch the show you have no idea what the hell I am talking about. Anyway, I thought it was a good episode, especially because it reminded me of how different those Aussies talk. At one point Jemaine's Aussie girlfriend excuses herself because she has to "go to the dunny to murder a brownsnake". Dunny is toilet, and you can figure out the rest. Seriously, I can't wait to relax with my cobbers and have a coldie and a sanger on a sunny arvo while sitting in my togs watching the tanned Jillaroos. Which obviously means, I can't wait to relax with my friends and have a beer and a sandwich on a sunny afternoon while sitting in my swimsut watching the tanned female trainee station managers. Wait what? Female trainee station managers? I don't even know what that means. Is that like a female gas station attendant, because if it is that's kind of gross. I think I need to work on this a little bit before I go opening my mouth over there.

But before I get there I have to fly there and that means close to 22 hours on a plane...with snakes...and Samuel L. Jackson. Flying plus layovers will surely put me over the 24 hour mark.

Have you ever seen snakes on a plane?

And you know what they say, all flying and no showers makes Johnnie a smelly boy. I'm not looking forward to it at all. At all. At all. Luckily I am flying with a friend so we can commiserate. The only cool part is that basically I'll be time traveling since I leave on Wednesday and arrive on Friday in Australia. It's literally the closest I'll get to being on the TV show Lost where everyone is all kinds of screwed up about time and people are always asking "When are we?".
Kate: Finger, when are we?
Me: I just proposed to you and you said 'yes'.
Kate: What?
Me: What?
Kate: What?
Me: You don't remember? We crossed the international date line, champagne, the ring, tears, hugs, you said you'd convert to Judaism...
Kate: I really don't recall that.
Me: It's the island Kate. IT'S THIS DAMN ISLAND! It's playing tricks on you.
Kate: Well, I guess, I mean...
Me: Listen, you got a little schmutz on your shirt there. You want my Tide pen? My mom swears by this thing...

And basically that's what I expect to happen when I cross the international date line, or something very very similar to that. I'll be time traveling, bitches, so that's really all I can say about that. Sydney, Cairns, Melbourne here I come. I'll take pictures and make at least three memories. That's a promise.

So see you later all you yabbo sheepshaggers (uncouth New Zealanders) and stickybeaks (nosy people), I'm off to Oz on Wednesday and I'll see you on the flipside unless I of course become a shark biscuit (a shark biscuit).

Shmalentine's

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, which I celebrated by going to a college hockey game and and then I did what any single person on campus should do on Valentine's Day and that's go to Rick's. I could explain to you in words what happens to special young ladies who go to Rick's on Valentine's Day, but I feel like a graph will probably do the trick.




Although, I feel like that's how it is there most nights anyway, so perhaps it was nothing special. Also, under the category of things that are nothing special, those new Mission 'G' commercials for Gatorade. Gatorade keeps taking 30 seconds of my life that I'll never get back.

I was pretty productive this past week so I've done all my final projects/papers, and now only have one test standing between me and my Wednesday flight to Australia. I did my job stimulating the economy in the past week, buying a camera and accessories, and $1 travel-size toothpaste. Every dollar counts. I'm pretty excited, not so much about the flooding in the north or about the brush fires in the south, but I'm hoping it'll be a seriously awesome 16 days down under. Should be a good time, and I'll be radio silent while I'm there, but will surely have stories when I'm back. For the next three days I'm going to figure out how to get three weeks of clothing into a gym bag and a backpack. Oh, it's happening. You may remember (likely not though) my blog about the 80/20 Rule in which I said that 80% of the time you only wear 20% of the clothes you bring, so keeping that in mind I'm going to be a better packer or just make sure I steal some clothing when I'm there.

Any must do Aussie activities let me know.

Hey Mr. Postman

I'm going to start off by saying never buy anything from Buy.com. This blog post will hopefully serve as that huge inflatable rat that you'll sometimes see in front of stores in NYC that violate union labor issue(s). So whatever you do, don't buy stuff from Buy.com, they've made my life miserable for the past week. And while I do exaggerate, they really have made purchasing a digital camera a royal pain. Bottom line, Buy.com's verification process makes buying a gun seem like a walk in the park, or so I've heard.

Rat.

Some of my friends are abroad right now. Study abroad in business school probably is as much of a joke as it sounds. Anyway, one friend is in Barcelona, so last night before we went to the hockey game a couple friends got together and did a skype video chat with him. I came in a little late, but they were doing a Power Hour (shot of beer every minute for an hour) via Skype. You gotta love technology. So every minute we'd stop our conversation say "drink" and take a shot of beer and then continue the conversation. It was like we were all right there looking at each other in the living room and drinking. I still think the whole video chat thing reminds me too much of Dateline: How to Catch a Predator, but it actually is a pretty awesome thing, especially when you are talking to a friend who is overseas. But then I got to thinking, and I guess this is how my mind works, but back in the 1800s how could they have pulled this off? This is how I envisioned it going down.

So it's 1866 and your sitting around your wood-burning stove and wifey is over by the mortal and pestle grinding some oats for tomorrow's breakfast and off in the distance you see a moving speck. As that speck gets closer you see it is the courier on horseback approaching your house. The courier comes in, and being the cordial folks that you are, you fix the man some toast and tea and talk about the weather. You say, "How long do you reckon this cold spell will last?" The courier sips his tea and says "About a fortnight". You look out at your crops and know that a fortnight's worth of frost will surely make it difficult to make ends meet, especially with your youngest entering kindergarten. That $15 prep school tuition won't pay for itself, and don't even try to suggest to the wife that maybe you should consider public school. The courier finishes his tea, mounts his steed and rides off to deliver his next letter two towns over. The envelope is from your friend living in the old country, England. The postmark indicates that this letter was sent about two months and three weeks ago, after all, overseas travel does take a long time. Your wife yells from the next room "who is it from?" and you say "jesus woman, I just walked in the door, can you give me 30 minutes to myself and stop breathing down my neck. Thirty minutes. That's all I ask". You grab your hunting knife off the mantle and cut open the envelope. In the envelope there's a small piece of paper. The paper is a fine paper, and you admire the density of this European papyrus. You turn over the note and this is what it says...


So you go over to the icebox, pour yourself a cold one, and take a sip.

I don't know how else this could've gone down. I guess they just do this and then after a few years they've taken 60 shots of beer. It's something to think about. Or not.

Two nights ago basketball game, last night hockey game, and tonight the Business School Follies show. I'm keeping busy, and I hope you all are too.