Wow, it's been a while since I last updated here. Needless to say oodles of things have happened in the interim; so much that I'll just write what pops into my head instead of crafting a structured entry.
- trip to Sydney on my 2 year expat anniversary. Seeing everyone again, being babysat by various friends during my week of couch surfing, dinner and marvelous views at Ripple's, hanging out at Darling Harbour, celebrating Nathan's 30th with everyone, the list goes on....
- having a pleasant dinner cruise with the family on the Harbour for Brother's birthday. Fantastic weather, standing on the top deck soaking in the sun setting behind the Bridge and Opera House. Two brothers hanging out again, smiling, and enjoying the moment. No stress.
- getting my Maton tuned up and belting out a few tunes on a beautiful guitar.
- returning to Boston to find Emre at the airport for a surprise welcome home, plus entering my apartment and finding fresh fruit, yogurt, bread and other goodies in the kitchen courtesy of Sue and Till. They definitely spoil me. Also discovering that Till's brother and girlfriend, who I let stay in my apartment while they were visiting during my absence, had bought Fetch a new, large aquarium to lounge around in as thanks for my hospitality. Sven calling to welcome me back and letting me know how much he had missed me.
I had left home, flown to the opposite side of the globe and arrived home again.
Awesome.
- Had a really relaxed and super enjoyable time a few weekends ago that for some reason sticks in my head although nothing extraordinary happened. Ran 5km along the river in gorgeous weather and people watched afterwards; played guitar; cooked a killer spag bol; and generally enjoyed being in a good mood.
- I saw my future husband the other day, well dream-husband anyway. Light brown hair, sunglasses, green shirt and white shorts on a drool worthy body. Hot.
- Ash and GK swinging by Boston on their US trip. We drank, ate and were merry. Brief, but fantastic. Glad I could share a slice of my Boston-life with them.
- Seeing Gomez play. Wow, are those guys talented. Vocals were outstanding, guitar work was impressive and a very good vibe in a pleasant venue.
- learning to sing and play guitar at the same time with some success but still a lot of work to go. Trying to nail "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Greenday. Thanks Nathan for getting me started on this!
- meeting Maynard James Keenan, lead singer of Tool, the other week at a wine signing. Not only do I have a couple of bottles of plonk with MJK's autograph, but I got a "thanks man" from MJK himself. Sweet!
- The big decision to end my postdocing and potentially leaving science next year. Yep, it's homeward bound for me in March. Bloody scary but super exciting. Kinda like going skydiving I imagine, except unlike the certainty of gravity, I have no idea where I'll land.
- Michael Jackson died today. He was an incredibly messed up man but produced some incredible music, and who can forget the moonwalk. Sad.
- Had fun at a lab party the other weekend that was held at a colleagues (Tom) place. He lives in the sticks in a house his grandfather built. It's more of a small farm really, with fields and tractors and sheds full of plows, bansaws and other manly equipment. Played ping pong against the boss, pitched for our team in Whiffle ball (baseball but with a plasticky ball) and belted a few around the ground, had a few hits at badminton and sunk a few beers in between glasses of Tom's Twisted Tea (tea with vodka and a few secret ingredients). There were quite a few kids running around playing games with the grown ups, which made me think a bit about whether I'll end up having kids or not -- I'd like to but the odds are stacked against me. Maybe I'll have to make do with getting a pet dog or something in the future.
- watching the new Doctor Who series over Netflix. Bloody entertaining, hilarious and jolly good fun all around. Highly recommended.
- someone's yelling in the street. No words. Just a primal bellow every now and again. Sounds like someone's a tad frustrated or angry, wonder what happened...
Showing posts with label Australia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Australia. Show all posts
13 June 2009
23 December 2007
An update
Name: Ben.
Hometown: Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.
Current Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA.
Work: My project has yielded some promising results, so that's a positive. I don't find my project particularly interesting or beneficial for me career-wise, so that's a negative. Additionally, my current research isn't really that congruent with my PhD training, and it's not what I want to research in the future, score more negatives. I came to Boston to gain experience such that I could return to Sydney and consider starting my own lab. My current position isn't facilitating this ambition so I'm scoping alternate labs, with the aim of starting afresh early next year. So this work transition is totally stressing me out. Work score = 4/10
Family: My family is dysfunctional to say the least. Brother is still recovering from his psychosis and remains out of the workforce. Dad continues being a selfish asshole that makes me ashamed to be his son. Mum is overworked and always stressed due to Brother's illness and Dad's antics. Since I am the only family member she can really speak to, she misses me significantly. I'm constantly battling the feeling of guilt over leaving her (and Brother) to pursue a life on the other side of the world. Still, things on the family front aren't as volatile as they have been previously. Family score = 5/10.
Friends: Bing and Lulu continue to be my extremely compassionate guides here in Boston, I owe them a lot. They're like caring older siblings, who are wiser, reassuring and less erratic than me. I continue to talk with them extensively about my work dilemmas and Boston life in general. My two very close friends in the lab, Maestro and Ariel have been extremely considerate and are two really positive people who are fun to hang out with. I'll blog about our time together in future posts. Bay-buddy is constantly supportive and has helped me out immensely, but since he is no longer in the lab we only catch up weekly or so. Of course there's Ex-flatmate and my other long-time mates, GK, Entrepreneur, The Scotsman, Ace & Surfermate, providing essential support +61. Friends score = 9/10.
Love: My status is single. Very, very single. Sigh. I didn't blog about it, but there was an Irish guy, Sean, who I am no longer seeing, but it's OK as it never seemed to be a serious long-term relationship from the beginning. There just wasn't that 'something' between us, but we had some great times, he was charming and damn his accent was adorable (of course he said the same about my Aussie speech). I haven't been particularly proactive in finding a boyfriend recently and this is something I'm seeking to improve on in the immediate future. Love score = 3/10.
Mental health: Between my family and career, it's been a particularly uncertain and worrisome period of my life. Boston still continues to show me novel experiences that makes me feel as if I'm moving forward in my life, perhaps not always in an anticipated direction or as smoothly as expected, but still 'proceeding' nonetheless. There have been times when I've been on the precipice of slipping into depression again, but thankfully this has been avoided. A few weeks of being generally melancholic is the worst I've felt. Mental health score = 6/10.
Physical health: The gym is one of my favourite places. Maestro and I go regularly. We not only train together and motivate each other, but the gym is our place to discuss the lab and everything else in our lives. It's one of our sanctuaries away from work where we can work-out and goof around. I also feel that the exercise-induced endorphins are a key to me avoiding depression. With winter here, running outside is no longer an option, so the gym has become crucial to my mental and physical well-being. I'm definitely as fit as I've ever been, although an underwear-model-worthy six-pack still eludes me, so minus one point. Physical health score = 8/10.
Overall: It's been an emotional, life-changing year, and compared to some other awful years, 2007 ranks as a good one. My Boston life could obviously have been better work-wise (and relationship wise), but in the end this is irrelevant as it could have been much worse. It's difficult to not regret or overanalyse certain decisions I've made in, and leading up to, Boston life, but I'm trying to remain pragmatic and positive about my current situation.
With the close of another year, it's natural to take stock of our lives and resolve to improve on the less optimal parts. I'm looking forward to the challenges of next year. It's not going to be any easier that's for sure, but that as they say, is life. There's no guarantee that I'll rant any less, but I'll try to rave a bit more. My Boston adventure is just getting interesting, I feel that it's "maturing". Should be an intriguing next couple of months.
Blogging was initially designed to keep my mates up to date with my activities here, and it has also been cathartic and immensely enjoyable, I anticipate blogging through next year.
Life is always a struggle, and as one individual amongst the 6,639,361,044 current inhabitants on this world, I try to remind myself that I'm very fortunate to be in my current position. For those of us living relatively privileged lives (I'd imagine the majority reading this blog fits into this category), it's always refreshing to look outside of our daily microcosm and gain a wider perspective on the grander scheme of humanity. Considering I'm not fighting for survival in a war-torn country or suffering from a debilitating illness, it's clear that having an ideal job or being in a loving relationship, really are luxuries in life.
Of course we all know these realities, but it's not often that we actually remember them.
Having the opportunity to live abroad in a great city, getting a PhD, having a Macbook Pro to play with, hanging out with some amazing friends and having a loving (albeit messed up) family are luxuries in my life. I shouldn't complain.
Well that's my current status and the last post until I return to Boston from my European holiday (I fly out in a few hours and still have to pack, shit!). To my mates, enjoy the Sydney summer, don't go too crazy over NYE (I'm looking at you Scotsman), and if there's anything I've been reminded of from living in Boston, it's to be a little more bold and dip outside your comfort zone from time to time, who knows what you'll gain. Miss you guys immeasurably. To everyone reading this, may the New Year find you safe and well. My overall score remains = +61.
Hometown: Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.
Current Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA.
Work: My project has yielded some promising results, so that's a positive. I don't find my project particularly interesting or beneficial for me career-wise, so that's a negative. Additionally, my current research isn't really that congruent with my PhD training, and it's not what I want to research in the future, score more negatives. I came to Boston to gain experience such that I could return to Sydney and consider starting my own lab. My current position isn't facilitating this ambition so I'm scoping alternate labs, with the aim of starting afresh early next year. So this work transition is totally stressing me out. Work score = 4/10
Family: My family is dysfunctional to say the least. Brother is still recovering from his psychosis and remains out of the workforce. Dad continues being a selfish asshole that makes me ashamed to be his son. Mum is overworked and always stressed due to Brother's illness and Dad's antics. Since I am the only family member she can really speak to, she misses me significantly. I'm constantly battling the feeling of guilt over leaving her (and Brother) to pursue a life on the other side of the world. Still, things on the family front aren't as volatile as they have been previously. Family score = 5/10.
Friends: Bing and Lulu continue to be my extremely compassionate guides here in Boston, I owe them a lot. They're like caring older siblings, who are wiser, reassuring and less erratic than me. I continue to talk with them extensively about my work dilemmas and Boston life in general. My two very close friends in the lab, Maestro and Ariel have been extremely considerate and are two really positive people who are fun to hang out with. I'll blog about our time together in future posts. Bay-buddy is constantly supportive and has helped me out immensely, but since he is no longer in the lab we only catch up weekly or so. Of course there's Ex-flatmate and my other long-time mates, GK, Entrepreneur, The Scotsman, Ace & Surfermate, providing essential support +61. Friends score = 9/10.
Love: My status is single. Very, very single. Sigh. I didn't blog about it, but there was an Irish guy, Sean, who I am no longer seeing, but it's OK as it never seemed to be a serious long-term relationship from the beginning. There just wasn't that 'something' between us, but we had some great times, he was charming and damn his accent was adorable (of course he said the same about my Aussie speech). I haven't been particularly proactive in finding a boyfriend recently and this is something I'm seeking to improve on in the immediate future. Love score = 3/10.
Mental health: Between my family and career, it's been a particularly uncertain and worrisome period of my life. Boston still continues to show me novel experiences that makes me feel as if I'm moving forward in my life, perhaps not always in an anticipated direction or as smoothly as expected, but still 'proceeding' nonetheless. There have been times when I've been on the precipice of slipping into depression again, but thankfully this has been avoided. A few weeks of being generally melancholic is the worst I've felt. Mental health score = 6/10.
Physical health: The gym is one of my favourite places. Maestro and I go regularly. We not only train together and motivate each other, but the gym is our place to discuss the lab and everything else in our lives. It's one of our sanctuaries away from work where we can work-out and goof around. I also feel that the exercise-induced endorphins are a key to me avoiding depression. With winter here, running outside is no longer an option, so the gym has become crucial to my mental and physical well-being. I'm definitely as fit as I've ever been, although an underwear-model-worthy six-pack still eludes me, so minus one point. Physical health score = 8/10.
Overall: It's been an emotional, life-changing year, and compared to some other awful years, 2007 ranks as a good one. My Boston life could obviously have been better work-wise (and relationship wise), but in the end this is irrelevant as it could have been much worse. It's difficult to not regret or overanalyse certain decisions I've made in, and leading up to, Boston life, but I'm trying to remain pragmatic and positive about my current situation.
With the close of another year, it's natural to take stock of our lives and resolve to improve on the less optimal parts. I'm looking forward to the challenges of next year. It's not going to be any easier that's for sure, but that as they say, is life. There's no guarantee that I'll rant any less, but I'll try to rave a bit more. My Boston adventure is just getting interesting, I feel that it's "maturing". Should be an intriguing next couple of months.
Blogging was initially designed to keep my mates up to date with my activities here, and it has also been cathartic and immensely enjoyable, I anticipate blogging through next year.
Life is always a struggle, and as one individual amongst the 6,639,361,044 current inhabitants on this world, I try to remind myself that I'm very fortunate to be in my current position. For those of us living relatively privileged lives (I'd imagine the majority reading this blog fits into this category), it's always refreshing to look outside of our daily microcosm and gain a wider perspective on the grander scheme of humanity. Considering I'm not fighting for survival in a war-torn country or suffering from a debilitating illness, it's clear that having an ideal job or being in a loving relationship, really are luxuries in life.
Of course we all know these realities, but it's not often that we actually remember them.
Having the opportunity to live abroad in a great city, getting a PhD, having a Macbook Pro to play with, hanging out with some amazing friends and having a loving (albeit messed up) family are luxuries in my life. I shouldn't complain.
Well that's my current status and the last post until I return to Boston from my European holiday (I fly out in a few hours and still have to pack, shit!). To my mates, enjoy the Sydney summer, don't go too crazy over NYE (I'm looking at you Scotsman), and if there's anything I've been reminded of from living in Boston, it's to be a little more bold and dip outside your comfort zone from time to time, who knows what you'll gain. Miss you guys immeasurably. To everyone reading this, may the New Year find you safe and well. My overall score remains = +61.
21 December 2007
A Sydney-free Christmas
It hasn't sunk in yet, but Christmas and the New Year are around the corner. All the familiar cues I usually associate with Christmas are missing; it isn't hot, the smell of mangoes ripening in the fruitbowl is missing, and there haven't been any Christmas party barbeques on the beach, no beers in a mate's yard. Instead, it's chilly and beautifully snowy at the moment.
It won't be a Boston Christmas for me however. In two days I'm off to London to visit my cousin, and then we're off to Spain where I'll spend my New Years Eve in Barcelona. Since I've never been to the UK or Spain I'm bloody excited, plus reaching London will only take 6 and 1/2 hours, as opposed to the gruelling ~24 hour Sydney to London travel time.
I think travelling overseas is a rite of passage for many young Australians. It isn't uncommon for Australian high-school leavers to spend a year or so overseas (typically in the UK) before starting university or a full-time job, and almost everyone I know has travelled abroad as much as possible. Perhaps it's just the adventurous and friendly nature of many Australians that sends us across the globe to meet new people. Living on our own continent, and being so geographically isolated, maybe travelling helps us Aussies reconnect with the rest of humanity. Whatever it is, I can't wait to travel again.
I've been fortunate enough to have visited several countries in Europe and Asia, but the map of unvisited countries and the empty space in my passport gnaws at my desire to travel. Travelling forces you to break free from the comfort of routine life and embrace new experiences (and people if you're lucky...). Regardless of the destination, every trip for me has been a lesson in independence, creativity and endurance. Plus, to encounter the generosity and genuine friendliness of strangers whilst visiting a poorer country is a humbling experience, it gives a refreshing perspective to life.
The past week has been bloody hectic, but now that it's over, I can concentrate on packing etc. for my impending trip. Here are a few sites that I use for my travel plans:
Tickets: Cheaptickets, Kayak and Expedia (also for accommodation)
Accommodation: Hostelworld, Venere
Avoid the horrors of "Seat 29E" (I highly recommend viewing the hilarious, original customer complaint by clicking the link to the PDF) by using Seatguru to make the best choice for your airplane seat.
For those overpackers amongst us, pack your luggage efficiently and keep your shirts wrinkle-free by following this diagram and these tips on "bundle wrapping".
If you are travelling soon, keep safe, have fun and be nice to any Aussies you might meet along the way.
Before he left the States recently, Ex-flatmate was kind enough to give me a book entitled "Conversational Spanish in 7 Days", which should make my Spain travels considerably easier. I'm not entirely confident of the book's 7 day claim, but if a Spaniard should ask me "Puede cambiar el neumatico?" I can definitely say "Si".
It won't be a Boston Christmas for me however. In two days I'm off to London to visit my cousin, and then we're off to Spain where I'll spend my New Years Eve in Barcelona. Since I've never been to the UK or Spain I'm bloody excited, plus reaching London will only take 6 and 1/2 hours, as opposed to the gruelling ~24 hour Sydney to London travel time.
I think travelling overseas is a rite of passage for many young Australians. It isn't uncommon for Australian high-school leavers to spend a year or so overseas (typically in the UK) before starting university or a full-time job, and almost everyone I know has travelled abroad as much as possible. Perhaps it's just the adventurous and friendly nature of many Australians that sends us across the globe to meet new people. Living on our own continent, and being so geographically isolated, maybe travelling helps us Aussies reconnect with the rest of humanity. Whatever it is, I can't wait to travel again.
I've been fortunate enough to have visited several countries in Europe and Asia, but the map of unvisited countries and the empty space in my passport gnaws at my desire to travel. Travelling forces you to break free from the comfort of routine life and embrace new experiences (and people if you're lucky...). Regardless of the destination, every trip for me has been a lesson in independence, creativity and endurance. Plus, to encounter the generosity and genuine friendliness of strangers whilst visiting a poorer country is a humbling experience, it gives a refreshing perspective to life.
The tourism of death. Travelling the globe is often about visiting the burial places of renowned dead people. From top to bottom: Reverently file past the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh in Hanoi, Vietnam; Take a donkey ride to the burial place of the Pharaohs at the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt; Check out Napoleon’s oversized coffin (and the ceiling paintjob) in Paris, France; No dead people, but the Museum of Natural History, New York, USA is a remarkable resting place for dinosaurs and animals from across the globe and history.
The past week has been bloody hectic, but now that it's over, I can concentrate on packing etc. for my impending trip. Here are a few sites that I use for my travel plans:
Tickets: Cheaptickets, Kayak and Expedia (also for accommodation)
Accommodation: Hostelworld, Venere
Avoid the horrors of "Seat 29E" (I highly recommend viewing the hilarious, original customer complaint by clicking the link to the PDF) by using Seatguru to make the best choice for your airplane seat.
For those overpackers amongst us, pack your luggage efficiently and keep your shirts wrinkle-free by following this diagram and these tips on "bundle wrapping".
If you are travelling soon, keep safe, have fun and be nice to any Aussies you might meet along the way.
Before he left the States recently, Ex-flatmate was kind enough to give me a book entitled "Conversational Spanish in 7 Days", which should make my Spain travels considerably easier. I'm not entirely confident of the book's 7 day claim, but if a Spaniard should ask me "Puede cambiar el neumatico?" I can definitely say "Si".
12 December 2007
A great day
I penned the following back in March in order to preserve the memory but didn't post it for various reasons. There's no particular reason why I'm posting it now, except I was kinda sick of it hanging around in my drafts folder, plus it's always nice to relive good memories instead of dwelling on negatives all the time.
March 17, 2007.
Two reasons made it a great day.
The first reason came via email. It was a message that I had longed to see for four and a half months. The last reviewer of my PhD thesis had finally returned their critique of my thesis to the university, and the comments were positive. Although it wasn't official yet, it basically meant that my PhD had been passed. I was bloody ecstatic. I immediately told my mum and family and started capering around the house like an idiot.
After becoming increasingly jaded and ambivalent through my postgraduate studies, I didn't think I'd be so happy to know that I'd finally earned my PhD. I'm not someone who cares about titles, but Dr. Ben had a nice ring to it at that moment.
The second reason for the great day started when I got asked for proof-of-age identification when I went to buy a bottle of sauvignon blanc at the bottleshop. Sure, the guy that carded me was about 75 years old and probably had failing eyesight, but the fact remains, I was asked to prove that I was over 18. Yay for me....
Anyway, the New Zealand sauvignon blanc was for dinner with my closest mates (Ex-flatmate, Ace, GK, Entrepreneur and The Scotsman) at the Sugaroom restaurant in Pyrmont, a suburb near the Sydney city centre. The restaurant was of the fancy variety, with $25-30 mains, stylish decor and well-heeled clientèle, but it was my farewell dinner so we splashed out a bit.
Actually, it was my final farewell dinner. My move to the US had unexpectedly been delayed several weeks due to visa issues, so we already had a few 'farewell' get-togethers previously. The running joke was that everyone was tired of sending me off (read: tired of shouting me farewell drinks) and just wished I had left already. This time it really was goodbye and it felt surreal.
The restaurant was swanky and waterfront, but amongst ugly tracts of undeveloped land and the occasional complex of modern apartments. It was a strange location. The restaurant service was a tad slow at times but the modern Australian fare arrived quickly and my prosciutto wrapped chicken on top of a risotto-bean mix was great. The dessert sampler of chocolate pudding, intensely rich chocolate cake, cream and mixed berries on the side was also a winner. Our five bottles of wine attracted $8 corkage per bottle, but the pricing sting was somewhat soothed by the pleasant plonk. The meal passed quickly and since it had become increasingly rare for all of us to catch-up, it was good to have our little group all together again (minus Surfermate who had moved out of Sydney a few years back).
That meal was momentous in my mind, as it would be the last time for us to hang out together for a long while. The farewell turned into a semi-celebration as I told everyone my PhD had unofficially passed. I'm sure they were happy to know I finally had my PhD as it meant that there would be no more tedious bitching about how long it was taking everytime we talked.
After dinner we lost a few bucks at the nearby casino, danced at Liquid Buzz in the Agincourt Hotel and Ex-flatmate, The Scotsman and I ended the night with one final drink at the Columbian Hotel on Oxford St. It was a big night and the sun was up as I somehow made my way home.
The evening was one of laughs, catching-up and reminiscing. It was also a celebration of the new that overwhelmed the underlying tinge of somberness and resistance that is associated with change.
I knew that we would have more fun nights out in the future, so there was a sense of numb sadness mixed with joy as I hugged people goodbye when they left at various times throughout the night. I consider myself lucky to have had the opportunity to celebrate such a moment with mates that I've shared my life with since high school.
That day is marked as a turning point in my life. I had finally (albeit unofficially) gone from postgraduate student to postdoctoral fellow, plus, it marked the start of the last week for me before The Big Move.
It truly was a great day.
March 17, 2007.
March 17, 2007.
Two reasons made it a great day.
The first reason came via email. It was a message that I had longed to see for four and a half months. The last reviewer of my PhD thesis had finally returned their critique of my thesis to the university, and the comments were positive. Although it wasn't official yet, it basically meant that my PhD had been passed. I was bloody ecstatic. I immediately told my mum and family and started capering around the house like an idiot.
After becoming increasingly jaded and ambivalent through my postgraduate studies, I didn't think I'd be so happy to know that I'd finally earned my PhD. I'm not someone who cares about titles, but Dr. Ben had a nice ring to it at that moment.
The second reason for the great day started when I got asked for proof-of-age identification when I went to buy a bottle of sauvignon blanc at the bottleshop. Sure, the guy that carded me was about 75 years old and probably had failing eyesight, but the fact remains, I was asked to prove that I was over 18. Yay for me....
Anyway, the New Zealand sauvignon blanc was for dinner with my closest mates (Ex-flatmate, Ace, GK, Entrepreneur and The Scotsman) at the Sugaroom restaurant in Pyrmont, a suburb near the Sydney city centre. The restaurant was of the fancy variety, with $25-30 mains, stylish decor and well-heeled clientèle, but it was my farewell dinner so we splashed out a bit.
Actually, it was my final farewell dinner. My move to the US had unexpectedly been delayed several weeks due to visa issues, so we already had a few 'farewell' get-togethers previously. The running joke was that everyone was tired of sending me off (read: tired of shouting me farewell drinks) and just wished I had left already. This time it really was goodbye and it felt surreal.
The restaurant was swanky and waterfront, but amongst ugly tracts of undeveloped land and the occasional complex of modern apartments. It was a strange location. The restaurant service was a tad slow at times but the modern Australian fare arrived quickly and my prosciutto wrapped chicken on top of a risotto-bean mix was great. The dessert sampler of chocolate pudding, intensely rich chocolate cake, cream and mixed berries on the side was also a winner. Our five bottles of wine attracted $8 corkage per bottle, but the pricing sting was somewhat soothed by the pleasant plonk. The meal passed quickly and since it had become increasingly rare for all of us to catch-up, it was good to have our little group all together again (minus Surfermate who had moved out of Sydney a few years back).
That meal was momentous in my mind, as it would be the last time for us to hang out together for a long while. The farewell turned into a semi-celebration as I told everyone my PhD had unofficially passed. I'm sure they were happy to know I finally had my PhD as it meant that there would be no more tedious bitching about how long it was taking everytime we talked.
After dinner we lost a few bucks at the nearby casino, danced at Liquid Buzz in the Agincourt Hotel and Ex-flatmate, The Scotsman and I ended the night with one final drink at the Columbian Hotel on Oxford St. It was a big night and the sun was up as I somehow made my way home.
The evening was one of laughs, catching-up and reminiscing. It was also a celebration of the new that overwhelmed the underlying tinge of somberness and resistance that is associated with change.
I knew that we would have more fun nights out in the future, so there was a sense of numb sadness mixed with joy as I hugged people goodbye when they left at various times throughout the night. I consider myself lucky to have had the opportunity to celebrate such a moment with mates that I've shared my life with since high school.
That day is marked as a turning point in my life. I had finally (albeit unofficially) gone from postgraduate student to postdoctoral fellow, plus, it marked the start of the last week for me before The Big Move.
It truly was a great day.
March 17, 2007.
9 December 2007
World's apart
December in Boston versus December in Sydney.
Longing for Sun's warmth v. Drinking beers in the sun.
The delicious crunch of snow under footed boots v. Dry, squeaking beach-sand under toes.
Cosy dinners, hearty soups v. Pool-side mangoes and watermelon cubes.
The wet of misted breath v. The moist air of evening summer storms.
Crisp winter air v. Flies, fish 'n chips and First-class cricket.
New friends, old stories v. Old mates, new tales.
Solo iPod grooving v. The moshing masses at outdoor festivals.
Branches, powerfully stark, bare v. Gumtrees green, shady, scented.
Boston. Sydney. December's apart.
Longing for Sun's warmth v. Drinking beers in the sun.
The delicious crunch of snow under footed boots v. Dry, squeaking beach-sand under toes.
Cosy dinners, hearty soups v. Pool-side mangoes and watermelon cubes.
The wet of misted breath v. The moist air of evening summer storms.
Crisp winter air v. Flies, fish 'n chips and First-class cricket.
New friends, old stories v. Old mates, new tales.
Solo iPod grooving v. The moshing masses at outdoor festivals.
Branches, powerfully stark, bare v. Gumtrees green, shady, scented.
Boston. Sydney. December's apart.
6 December 2007
Wedding +61
For those that know me the slightest, it's clear that I'm not a morning person. You'd think that my best mates, who have known me for over 12 years would remember this simple fact, but no. This oversight was evident last Saturday when I was woken up at the ridiculous hour of 9.30 am (!) by the abrasive ring-tone of my cell phone. After one attempt at ignoring the excessively long ringing, I groggily fell out of bed to answer the second call. On the line was a drunken cohort of my aforementioned mates. My annoyance at having been deprived of precious sleep-in time quickly vanished once I realised who was on the line. In fact, I was grateful for their call since it meant that I hadn't been totally forgotten, as being in Boston had caused me to miss a huge event in our lives: my good friend Surfermate getting married to his girlfriend Jules. To them both, congratulations and best wishes!
As mentioned previously Surfermate is the first of our group to get hitched. By all accounts the wedding was a simple yet emotional ceremony. It was held somewhat casually on the beach in a manner true to Surfermates uncomplicated stance on life.
Obviously I was sad to have missed out on the wedding, but chatting to a bunch of my mates (despite the ungodly early hour) was a blast. Conversationally rotating through the spirited mob, I learned from GK that our gift and card were very well appreciated by the bride and groom. Surfermate requested no gifts, but we thought they deserved one anyway. Surfermate and bride were staying at a resort prior to the wedding and the gift was placed outside their room. A call from Reception instructed them to check outside their door, and bingo, instant surprise. The present and the sentiments in the card made quite an impression apparently, with tears shed and plenty of positive emotions all around. Thanks to the perpetual organizer and 'mother-hen' of our group, GK, for organizing everything (GK, you definitely need to come over here and sort out my tangled mess of a life).
Hearing an Aussie voice by a +61 call is always nice. Knowing it's your mates celebrating the happiness of one of the group? Not a bad wake up call at all.
As mentioned previously Surfermate is the first of our group to get hitched. By all accounts the wedding was a simple yet emotional ceremony. It was held somewhat casually on the beach in a manner true to Surfermates uncomplicated stance on life.
Obviously I was sad to have missed out on the wedding, but chatting to a bunch of my mates (despite the ungodly early hour) was a blast. Conversationally rotating through the spirited mob, I learned from GK that our gift and card were very well appreciated by the bride and groom. Surfermate requested no gifts, but we thought they deserved one anyway. Surfermate and bride were staying at a resort prior to the wedding and the gift was placed outside their room. A call from Reception instructed them to check outside their door, and bingo, instant surprise. The present and the sentiments in the card made quite an impression apparently, with tears shed and plenty of positive emotions all around. Thanks to the perpetual organizer and 'mother-hen' of our group, GK, for organizing everything (GK, you definitely need to come over here and sort out my tangled mess of a life).
Hearing an Aussie voice by a +61 call is always nice. Knowing it's your mates celebrating the happiness of one of the group? Not a bad wake up call at all.
27 November 2007
Addicted to happiness
Despite my recent negative posts, I'm glad to have moved to Boston. Would I be any happier back in Sydney? Definitely not. Am I completely happy though? Not quite, but I'm grateful that I haven't encountered my old foe that is depression.
If you haven't been depressed it's hard to fathom how depression profoundly affects your existence. Since I am no longer depressed, it's hard even for me to remember what it was really like sometimes. Depression is constantly feeling miserably lost and full of self-loathing despair. A defining feature of depression is feeling crap for days on end. This exaggerated melancholy stretched from days to months and years in my case. Looking back, I realize that my depression lasted for 6 years or so.
Depression is all-consuming. It made me...
- tired all the time.
- cry as I lay in bed craving sleep.
- constantly plan/contemplate suicide. I've written suicide letters, one to my family, and one to my mates. They've since been thrown out. The drafts remain on my computer in Sydney.
- drink too much.
Sufferers of depression are commonly prescribed a class of anti-depressants called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), such as Zoloft and Effexor-XR. During my PhD I finally saw a doctor for my depression and was prescribed first Zoloft, then Effexor. The drugs initially helped my mood dramatically, it was like a negative filter had been removed from my thought processes. I rediscovered genuine laughter and happiness again, and was amazed to find that I no longer instinctively dwelt on destructive thoughts. Life was good again.
However, the karmic balance of no longer being depressed was having to endure the drugs awful side-effects of hazy thoughts, difficulties with concentration and becoming 'emotionally disconnected' (it's hard to describe but a lot of the time I felt unemotional/neutral, unless I was truly happy).
Worse still, I developed a dependence on my medication. I was a junkie and the pharmacist my dealer. Once I had an unplanned long night in the lab and was heading to a late dinner with Lulu and Bing in the city. It was around 10 pm and we were in the car looking for a parking spot, Lulu was driving. I had been taking my evening medication at around 8 pm for a while and the withdrawal from not taking my pills already was giving me unbearable nausea and headache. I hoped that it would pass but it was too much to bear. I gave some lame excuse of suddenly not feeling well, exited the car and into a taxi and went home. My stomach was heaving, and my mouth was salivating ruthlessly as I tried not to throw up during that excruciatingly long taxi-ride. I remember getting out of the taxi at long last and dry-retching into the garden outside my apartment block before stumbling upstairs to my pills of addiction. Lesson learned, from then on, I always carried my medication to work.
Even with the anti-depressants, I gradually slipped back into my negative moods. Almost a year on medication, I realized they weren't really helping anymore and decided to stop taking them. To minimize the expected withdrawal symptoms, I started by halving my dose per day for a week, and then took half a dose every second day. I weaned myself off the pills over a fortnight. In hindsight I should have given a longer time but I was desperate to stop taking the medication and opted for an 'express' method.
Going 'clean' ranks as one of the most awful experiences I've ever had in my life. The two week detox process is painfully imprinted in my mind. Coming off Effexor led to constant nausea, headaches, cold sweats, dizziness, and a perpetual dry mouth (I carried water with me everywhere). For the minimal hours per day I spent at work, I was uselessly zombified and accomplished little. There were constant cravings for food, I binged on all kinds of junk food which I proceeded to throw up due to the nausea.
The worst symptom were these weird, very difficult to describe, 'brain shocks', which were like electrical zaps in my head. They were associated with a popping/clicking noise that I kind of 'heard'. At their peak, these jolts were completely incapacitating and had me curled up in my apartment, alone on the floor wrapped in blankets, disorientated and shivering. I lay on the lounge room floor in my own personal hell for two days. Whereas most of the other withdrawal symptoms abated a week or so after my last pill, the brain shocks persisted occasionally for at least three weeks after I ceased taking the meds.
In the weeks after coming off anti-depressants, I felt changed. Unexpectedly I felt better. Things certainly weren't rosy in my life, but I no longer suffered from extensive depressive episodes. I have no explanation for my chemically-induced 'rebirth', but depression no longer has a strangle-hold on my existence.
Depression and anti-depressant drugs have left a legacy on my psyche. They have made me...
- more reserved.
- prone to be sad, but not depressed.
- less mentally acute, and more forgetful (could be beer-related though...).
- more resilient to physical pain.
Over the years the usefulness of SSRIs in treating depression has come under scrutiny amidst concerns that SSRIs may actually increase suicidal behaviour. A detailed analysis of this ongoing controversy was published in 2006 in British Medical Journal here.
It's ironic how SSRIs helped my life, but given their horrendous side-effects and safety concerns, if you're considering embarking on a life that's dependent on anti-depressant therapy, I would advocate first exploring other means of combatting depression, such as counselling, meditation and regular exercise. Anti-depressants may not be the miracle cure that you imagine.
When depressed, reaching out to friends and family is important. It's easy to get lost in your own world of self-torture without realising that there are people who can, and want to, help you out of the seemingly perpetual sink-hole of depression. Most of all, you have to want to help yourself.
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Oscar Wilde.
If you haven't been depressed it's hard to fathom how depression profoundly affects your existence. Since I am no longer depressed, it's hard even for me to remember what it was really like sometimes. Depression is constantly feeling miserably lost and full of self-loathing despair. A defining feature of depression is feeling crap for days on end. This exaggerated melancholy stretched from days to months and years in my case. Looking back, I realize that my depression lasted for 6 years or so.
Depression is all-consuming. It made me...
- tired all the time.
- cry as I lay in bed craving sleep.
- constantly plan/contemplate suicide. I've written suicide letters, one to my family, and one to my mates. They've since been thrown out. The drafts remain on my computer in Sydney.
- drink too much.
Sufferers of depression are commonly prescribed a class of anti-depressants called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), such as Zoloft and Effexor-XR. During my PhD I finally saw a doctor for my depression and was prescribed first Zoloft, then Effexor. The drugs initially helped my mood dramatically, it was like a negative filter had been removed from my thought processes. I rediscovered genuine laughter and happiness again, and was amazed to find that I no longer instinctively dwelt on destructive thoughts. Life was good again.
However, the karmic balance of no longer being depressed was having to endure the drugs awful side-effects of hazy thoughts, difficulties with concentration and becoming 'emotionally disconnected' (it's hard to describe but a lot of the time I felt unemotional/neutral, unless I was truly happy).
Worse still, I developed a dependence on my medication. I was a junkie and the pharmacist my dealer. Once I had an unplanned long night in the lab and was heading to a late dinner with Lulu and Bing in the city. It was around 10 pm and we were in the car looking for a parking spot, Lulu was driving. I had been taking my evening medication at around 8 pm for a while and the withdrawal from not taking my pills already was giving me unbearable nausea and headache. I hoped that it would pass but it was too much to bear. I gave some lame excuse of suddenly not feeling well, exited the car and into a taxi and went home. My stomach was heaving, and my mouth was salivating ruthlessly as I tried not to throw up during that excruciatingly long taxi-ride. I remember getting out of the taxi at long last and dry-retching into the garden outside my apartment block before stumbling upstairs to my pills of addiction. Lesson learned, from then on, I always carried my medication to work.
Even with the anti-depressants, I gradually slipped back into my negative moods. Almost a year on medication, I realized they weren't really helping anymore and decided to stop taking them. To minimize the expected withdrawal symptoms, I started by halving my dose per day for a week, and then took half a dose every second day. I weaned myself off the pills over a fortnight. In hindsight I should have given a longer time but I was desperate to stop taking the medication and opted for an 'express' method.
Going 'clean' ranks as one of the most awful experiences I've ever had in my life. The two week detox process is painfully imprinted in my mind. Coming off Effexor led to constant nausea, headaches, cold sweats, dizziness, and a perpetual dry mouth (I carried water with me everywhere). For the minimal hours per day I spent at work, I was uselessly zombified and accomplished little. There were constant cravings for food, I binged on all kinds of junk food which I proceeded to throw up due to the nausea.
The worst symptom were these weird, very difficult to describe, 'brain shocks', which were like electrical zaps in my head. They were associated with a popping/clicking noise that I kind of 'heard'. At their peak, these jolts were completely incapacitating and had me curled up in my apartment, alone on the floor wrapped in blankets, disorientated and shivering. I lay on the lounge room floor in my own personal hell for two days. Whereas most of the other withdrawal symptoms abated a week or so after my last pill, the brain shocks persisted occasionally for at least three weeks after I ceased taking the meds.
In the weeks after coming off anti-depressants, I felt changed. Unexpectedly I felt better. Things certainly weren't rosy in my life, but I no longer suffered from extensive depressive episodes. I have no explanation for my chemically-induced 'rebirth', but depression no longer has a strangle-hold on my existence.
Depression and anti-depressant drugs have left a legacy on my psyche. They have made me...
- more reserved.
- prone to be sad, but not depressed.
- less mentally acute, and more forgetful (could be beer-related though...).
- more resilient to physical pain.
Over the years the usefulness of SSRIs in treating depression has come under scrutiny amidst concerns that SSRIs may actually increase suicidal behaviour. A detailed analysis of this ongoing controversy was published in 2006 in British Medical Journal here.
It's ironic how SSRIs helped my life, but given their horrendous side-effects and safety concerns, if you're considering embarking on a life that's dependent on anti-depressant therapy, I would advocate first exploring other means of combatting depression, such as counselling, meditation and regular exercise. Anti-depressants may not be the miracle cure that you imagine.
When depressed, reaching out to friends and family is important. It's easy to get lost in your own world of self-torture without realising that there are people who can, and want to, help you out of the seemingly perpetual sink-hole of depression. Most of all, you have to want to help yourself.
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Oscar Wilde.
24 November 2007
Elector ennui
Australia has a new Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, who led the Labor party to a landslide victory over John Howard's Liberal party coalition in yesterdays federal election. There was already intense speculation in the lead up to the election that Howard's 11 and 1/2 year reign would come to an end, which is surprising, considering how the Australian economy has prospered under the Howard government. Some say the change in leadership is a result of public weariness with the Liberal party, although industrial relations and environmental policies are also factors. It seems odd that simple voter boredom would be such a deciding factor in an election outcome.
My general impression is that in America, you're labelled as either a Republican or Democrat, whereas the party alliance of a typical Australian is less polarised and defining. I've voted for the Howard government in the past, but my relationship with the Liberal party soured when Australia entered the so-called 'War on Terror' and sent troops to Iraq and Afghanistan. Look at the situation in these countries now, it's completely deplorable and was sadly avoidable. No matter how strong the Australian economy was under Howard leadership, I felt it was morally objectionable to further support the Liberal party as the war continued and have not voted for Liberal ever since. Funnily enough, from what I hear from back home, the Iraq war hasn't featured heavily in the election campaign. Guess people got bored with that too.
Voting is compulsory for Australians over 18 years old, and a couple of weeks ago I registered as an overseas voter, but my voter forms have yet to reach me. Obviously my vote isn't going to affect the outcome so no big deal. However, there's a $20 fine for not voting. Crap. Well, it's better than a kick in the ass.
My general impression is that in America, you're labelled as either a Republican or Democrat, whereas the party alliance of a typical Australian is less polarised and defining. I've voted for the Howard government in the past, but my relationship with the Liberal party soured when Australia entered the so-called 'War on Terror' and sent troops to Iraq and Afghanistan. Look at the situation in these countries now, it's completely deplorable and was sadly avoidable. No matter how strong the Australian economy was under Howard leadership, I felt it was morally objectionable to further support the Liberal party as the war continued and have not voted for Liberal ever since. Funnily enough, from what I hear from back home, the Iraq war hasn't featured heavily in the election campaign. Guess people got bored with that too.
Voting is compulsory for Australians over 18 years old, and a couple of weeks ago I registered as an overseas voter, but my voter forms have yet to reach me. Obviously my vote isn't going to affect the outcome so no big deal. However, there's a $20 fine for not voting. Crap. Well, it's better than a kick in the ass.
27 October 2007
iRun
If you're a health conscious, body mass index inspecting type of person (e.g gay), there's a good chance that you have an established workout regime that keeps things taut and trim. Maybe part of that regime is pounding away on the treadmill watching the 'Calories burned' counter painfully ticking up as you repeat your prayers for the 30 min run-time to be over already. The grating whine of the machine's rubber conveyer, the uninspiring gym interior, the person sweating and panting away next to you, not the most appealing way to burn off that afternoon chocolate is it?
I used to be a treadmill guy but am now totally converted to running outside. Try it and you just may find it more invigorating and satisfying than gym-running. Despite having to negotiate oblivious drivers and the occasional dog turd, going for a 'real' run sure as hell beats the dreaded treadmill grind. When I was doing my PhD, myself and a few other workmates used to go for runs during lunchtimes twice a week. We used to run along Rushcutters Bay, or through the Botanic gardens, along the beautiful waterfront of Sydney harbour, around Mrs. Macquaries chair and the Opera house.
Despite burning calves and desperate breaths, running on a clear spring day with the Sydney Harbour bridge in sight, and with the mesmerising ocean backdrop, was bloody awesome. With the endorphins pumping it was bliss.
As a reward to myself for submitting my PhD thesis I bought an 8 GB iPod nano (2nd generation) which I love. Purchase of the Nike+ running kit quickly followed. The kit consists of a sensor that is placed in your shoe, which measures distance travelled and the data is transmitted real-time to a receiver that plugs into the bottom of the iPod. Over at the Nike site they have a nice video illustrating how the kit works, but the kit basically makes your iPod into a fancy pedometer with audio feedback that tracks your progress ("5 minutes to go!") and of course provides a playlist to run to. Once your iPod is synced with your computer after a run your data is transmitted to the Nike+ site where your data is stored, runs graphed, and you can set goals and see how your runs fare against all the other Nike+ users around the globe. This global comparison/rank thing is actually pretty cool.
Nike insist that use of the kit requires purchase of their shoes, which have a section in the sole to hold the sensor. You don't need to buy those shoes. I just put the sensor in a small plastic bag for protection against the elements and use packing tape to attach it to the tongue of my shoe, underneath the laces. It works fine and the distances are amazingly accurate when compared to Gmaps Pedometer, a very handy tool to calculate the distance of your runs. More do-it-yourself tips on how to attach the Nike+ sensor to your shoe can be found at Podophile.
As part of the Nike+ kit, you can program a 'Powersong' to play when you hold down the centre button of your iPod. It's supposed to psyche you up and encourage you to work through the burn man. Mine's Champion by the Australian band, Grinspoon. It's a bristling, amped rock tune that is great to run to, hear for yourself!.
I miss the harbour runs in Sydney, but one extra incentive for running in Boston occurs after my run. It's when I arrive back at my apartment, panting, sweating and revelling in the sports-induced endorphins bouncing around in my brain. In this slightly joy-frenzied state I plop down on the stairs leading into my building, stretch out my legs and look. On my stoop I see branches of the tree in front of me, hypnotically swaying in the breeze, leaves rustling. Lazy clouds stream by in the overhead twilight sky. There's always a background hum of light traffic passing by. A pair of old ladies clutching grocery bags amble home. Several college girls pass, their conversation punctuated with delighted squeals and smiles. Cyclists, dogwalkers, individuals of all dispositions go by. It's people-watching at its best.
Of course the cute boys cruising past automatically capture my attention. Some are running, others have their girlfriends in tow, sometimes they pass by ensconced in their personal iPod world. It never ceases to amaze me how effortlessly hot some guys are and how they continue to stream past. Not all pass by however. Today I spied a hot, young professional looking guy, black collared shirt, black pants, sandy hair messed up in that careful kinda way walking down the street. Way out of my league. Still, I watched with interest as he turned and entered my building. Sweat drippng down my face, lounging on the steps, iPod blasting, I looked up and gave a small smile and nod of the head. Not flirting exactly, more of a polite acknowledgment to a fellow tenant. A polite return smile and nod from cute guy. No Sydney harbour views today, but there, sitting in the evening Fall twilight, I'm content.
I used to be a treadmill guy but am now totally converted to running outside. Try it and you just may find it more invigorating and satisfying than gym-running. Despite having to negotiate oblivious drivers and the occasional dog turd, going for a 'real' run sure as hell beats the dreaded treadmill grind. When I was doing my PhD, myself and a few other workmates used to go for runs during lunchtimes twice a week. We used to run along Rushcutters Bay, or through the Botanic gardens, along the beautiful waterfront of Sydney harbour, around Mrs. Macquaries chair and the Opera house.
Sydney Harbour run loop. It’s about a 7 km (4.3 mi) run.
Despite burning calves and desperate breaths, running on a clear spring day with the Sydney Harbour bridge in sight, and with the mesmerising ocean backdrop, was bloody awesome. With the endorphins pumping it was bliss.
As a reward to myself for submitting my PhD thesis I bought an 8 GB iPod nano (2nd generation) which I love. Purchase of the Nike+ running kit quickly followed. The kit consists of a sensor that is placed in your shoe, which measures distance travelled and the data is transmitted real-time to a receiver that plugs into the bottom of the iPod. Over at the Nike site they have a nice video illustrating how the kit works, but the kit basically makes your iPod into a fancy pedometer with audio feedback that tracks your progress ("5 minutes to go!") and of course provides a playlist to run to. Once your iPod is synced with your computer after a run your data is transmitted to the Nike+ site where your data is stored, runs graphed, and you can set goals and see how your runs fare against all the other Nike+ users around the globe. This global comparison/rank thing is actually pretty cool.
Nike insist that use of the kit requires purchase of their shoes, which have a section in the sole to hold the sensor. You don't need to buy those shoes. I just put the sensor in a small plastic bag for protection against the elements and use packing tape to attach it to the tongue of my shoe, underneath the laces. It works fine and the distances are amazingly accurate when compared to Gmaps Pedometer, a very handy tool to calculate the distance of your runs. More do-it-yourself tips on how to attach the Nike+ sensor to your shoe can be found at Podophile.
As part of the Nike+ kit, you can program a 'Powersong' to play when you hold down the centre button of your iPod. It's supposed to psyche you up and encourage you to work through the burn man. Mine's Champion by the Australian band, Grinspoon. It's a bristling, amped rock tune that is great to run to, hear for yourself!.
I miss the harbour runs in Sydney, but one extra incentive for running in Boston occurs after my run. It's when I arrive back at my apartment, panting, sweating and revelling in the sports-induced endorphins bouncing around in my brain. In this slightly joy-frenzied state I plop down on the stairs leading into my building, stretch out my legs and look. On my stoop I see branches of the tree in front of me, hypnotically swaying in the breeze, leaves rustling. Lazy clouds stream by in the overhead twilight sky. There's always a background hum of light traffic passing by. A pair of old ladies clutching grocery bags amble home. Several college girls pass, their conversation punctuated with delighted squeals and smiles. Cyclists, dogwalkers, individuals of all dispositions go by. It's people-watching at its best.
Of course the cute boys cruising past automatically capture my attention. Some are running, others have their girlfriends in tow, sometimes they pass by ensconced in their personal iPod world. It never ceases to amaze me how effortlessly hot some guys are and how they continue to stream past. Not all pass by however. Today I spied a hot, young professional looking guy, black collared shirt, black pants, sandy hair messed up in that careful kinda way walking down the street. Way out of my league. Still, I watched with interest as he turned and entered my building. Sweat drippng down my face, lounging on the steps, iPod blasting, I looked up and gave a small smile and nod of the head. Not flirting exactly, more of a polite acknowledgment to a fellow tenant. A polite return smile and nod from cute guy. No Sydney harbour views today, but there, sitting in the evening Fall twilight, I'm content.
18 May 2007
Priceless fun, episode 2
For episode 1, click here.
The 'interview' turned out to be a few questions over the counter with the Consul official behind some impressively thick (bullet proof?) glass and with the rest of the masses sitting 3 metres listening behind me. I was expecting a full on grilling-type interview where you had to convince them that you weren't actually trying to immigrate to the US, so it was a shock that the interview was so casual. Casual in a stern, no-nonsense, official way.
For some reason the presence of the crowd (aka other people sitting there waiting) at my back made me nervous answering the questions about the purpose and duration of my stay, and the few other standard queries, that were asked by the youngish American guy behind the glass. My nerves didn't affect my application luckily and soon my application was being given the OK. Time taken: 3 mins, max. Then it was back waiting (of course) before I was called to pay my issuance fee at the adjacent counter. It turned out that the cashier had overlooked my payment however and after 30 mins diligently listening for my number (which was never called) I went up and got it all sorted out. Given the very regimental and intimidating feel of all the proceedings, it took me about 10 mins to decide it was worth going up to ask what was going on. Wuss! I know. Soon however, I was struggling to pull open the metal door on my way out, I was weak with hunger, ahem, and escorted out of the building.
I was impressed at how efficient the Consulate were in issuing the visa after the interview process. After a Thursday morning interview I had my passport delivered on Monday by Platinum Express post. Time taken: 3 days or so, impressive, most impressive. That Monday morning when the delivery guy knocked on the door I was still in bed. The knocking instantly woke me up and I immediately knew it was my passport being delivered. I leaped out of bed, signed for the delivery, excitedly ripped open the satchel and gazed at the visa that covered an entire page of my passport.
It had all the usual stuff you'd expect on a visa, place of issue, my name and passport number but what immediately caught my eye was the heading 'Control number' with a list of digits underneath.
Control number, huh?
Two lines of thought ran through my head;
1. Does this mean I unwittingly received a brain-controlling implant during my visit to the US Consulate? o.O *adjusts tin-foil hat*
2. Being the nerd that I am, I thought Control, cool, Get Smart and Agent 86. I checked my delivery satchel for the Control Agent standard-issue shoe phone, but alas, there was none. You know, the hilarious 80's spy comedy TV show Get Smart? The Cone-of-silence? 99, the Chief and ...oh, nevermind...
Yeah, dunno what was going through my brain that morning but I had just gotten up if that's any defense.
I've always had the impression that a passport could not be damaged/modified in any way whatsoever, so it was strange to see a business sized envelope attached to the back cover of my passport with big-ass staples that defaced the distinctive and previously unblemished material of the passport cover. I forget what was printed on the envelope, but it had words to the effect of 'Do not open, US customs only' on the front, and at San Francisco airport I saw that only my visa forms were inside.
Five days after I received my visa, I was in Boston starting a new chapter of my life.
So that was my visa process, and in a nutshell;
Visa fees: $433
Train ticket to consulate: $3.60
Time spent completing the entire Visa process: Pricel.....oh shit, that's for Mastercard....
OK there's no excuse for that lame 'joke' *hangs head and shuffles away in shame to a dark corner*.
Here's an infinitely more amusing joke that is somewhat predictable but remains, priceless.
The 'interview' turned out to be a few questions over the counter with the Consul official behind some impressively thick (bullet proof?) glass and with the rest of the masses sitting 3 metres listening behind me. I was expecting a full on grilling-type interview where you had to convince them that you weren't actually trying to immigrate to the US, so it was a shock that the interview was so casual. Casual in a stern, no-nonsense, official way.
For some reason the presence of the crowd (aka other people sitting there waiting) at my back made me nervous answering the questions about the purpose and duration of my stay, and the few other standard queries, that were asked by the youngish American guy behind the glass. My nerves didn't affect my application luckily and soon my application was being given the OK. Time taken: 3 mins, max. Then it was back waiting (of course) before I was called to pay my issuance fee at the adjacent counter. It turned out that the cashier had overlooked my payment however and after 30 mins diligently listening for my number (which was never called) I went up and got it all sorted out. Given the very regimental and intimidating feel of all the proceedings, it took me about 10 mins to decide it was worth going up to ask what was going on. Wuss! I know. Soon however, I was struggling to pull open the metal door on my way out, I was weak with hunger, ahem, and escorted out of the building.
I was impressed at how efficient the Consulate were in issuing the visa after the interview process. After a Thursday morning interview I had my passport delivered on Monday by Platinum Express post. Time taken: 3 days or so, impressive, most impressive. That Monday morning when the delivery guy knocked on the door I was still in bed. The knocking instantly woke me up and I immediately knew it was my passport being delivered. I leaped out of bed, signed for the delivery, excitedly ripped open the satchel and gazed at the visa that covered an entire page of my passport.
It had all the usual stuff you'd expect on a visa, place of issue, my name and passport number but what immediately caught my eye was the heading 'Control number' with a list of digits underneath.
Control number, huh?
Two lines of thought ran through my head;
1. Does this mean I unwittingly received a brain-controlling implant during my visit to the US Consulate? o.O *adjusts tin-foil hat*
2. Being the nerd that I am, I thought Control, cool, Get Smart and Agent 86. I checked my delivery satchel for the Control Agent standard-issue shoe phone, but alas, there was none. You know, the hilarious 80's spy comedy TV show Get Smart? The Cone-of-silence? 99, the Chief and ...oh, nevermind...
Agent's 86 and 99. The old phone in the shoe trick. Gotta love that stunned-mullet look they both have.
Yeah, dunno what was going through my brain that morning but I had just gotten up if that's any defense.
I've always had the impression that a passport could not be damaged/modified in any way whatsoever, so it was strange to see a business sized envelope attached to the back cover of my passport with big-ass staples that defaced the distinctive and previously unblemished material of the passport cover. I forget what was printed on the envelope, but it had words to the effect of 'Do not open, US customs only' on the front, and at San Francisco airport I saw that only my visa forms were inside.
Five days after I received my visa, I was in Boston starting a new chapter of my life.
So that was my visa process, and in a nutshell;
Visa fees: $433
Train ticket to consulate: $3.60
Time spent completing the entire Visa process: Pricel.....oh shit, that's for Mastercard....
OK there's no excuse for that lame 'joke' *hangs head and shuffles away in shame to a dark corner*.
Here's an infinitely more amusing joke that is somewhat predictable but remains, priceless.
14 May 2007
Priceless fun, episode 1
Following from my dream about visa stress that I posted the other day, here's a recount about my real-life visa experience.
Getting a visa to the US can be a confusing experience. There are a plethora of forms and procedures that must be followed rigorously, and that have to be coordinated with the immigration specialist who is overseeing your application. The specialist in my case was from my current workplace.
There are two major classes of visas that can be applied for. An immigrant visa which means you want to live in the US permanently (think Green card), or a non-immigrant visa which is for a temporary stay. Within those two major categories, there are a number of different visa types that you apply for, depending on your profession, length of stay in the US and other factors. My visa is a non-immigrant J-1 visa, which is a type of foreign exchange visa, and is valid for 3 years.
The visa application forms all have official sounding names, like DS-2019, and on each document is information on how long it should take you to complete the form. How nice. For example, the 'estimated burden' noted at the top of DS-158 is one hour. Although it didn't take me an hour, that form was particularly annoying, as it required digging up long forgotten dates, phone numbers etc., in order to complete the work/education history questions in the form.
Aside from the forms there are the inevitable fees to pay in the visa process. Many fees to pay.
For a J-1 visa there's (in $AUD):
$ 126 SEVIS fee paid online.
$ 130 application fee paid at the post office
$ 136 issuance fee paid at the consulate
$ 14 Visapoint fee paid online
and an appropriate self addressed envelope (Express post, courier satchel for example, ~$ 12) for them to return your passport.
Plus in Australia, our passport photo size is not suitable for the application so I had to go get a US passport sized photo (5 cm squared) from a list of suggested places on their website, for ~$ 15.
For a student, all these fees add up to a severe dent in the monthly beer budget. $433 worth of beer to be more precise. Do you accept cash? Cha-ching!
After the application is in order you go for an interview at the Consulate, which you book using their online system called Visapoint ($14 fee thanks very much). The waiting time for an interview varies for each visa (up to 3-4 weeks); the US Department of State website lists current waiting times. I noticed that for a J-1 visa the Sydney Consulate only offered interviews once a week. Additionally, I found out the hard way that the Consulate is prone to shutting down for "routine maintenance" with very little notice, so if you need a visa, plan well ahead.
The US Consulate General in Sydney is high up in the MLC centre in the heart of the city, and not surprisingly, there is some serious security before you step a foot into the embassy. First off, the interview confirmation email tells you to not take any laptops, cell phones (that's mobiles in Aussie-speak) or any electronic equipment. Kinda strict huh?
No iPod for the inevitable waiting periods, how cruel.
Plus, before you go into the Consulate proper, which is high up in the tower, you go to a lower level for initial processing. It's there that you go through the first of two security checkpoints and where all bags get left with security (sheesh, don't people read instructions? I was a bit peeved that I actually could have taken a bag and iPod, which would have made the train journey into the city more bearable). 10 mins after walking into the 'pre-Consulate' I had my first wait. Time taken: 5 mins, not bad. It was for a brief interaction with someone who checked I had all the appropriate paperwork/fees paid, after which it was another wait for a security guard to escort me to the lift and send me up to the Consulate proper. Time taken: 5 mins, tolerable.
Another identification and security check, and then through a massively heavy metal door to grab a ticket and wait. A US flag flanked the heavy door, and the largish room was semi-divided into two similar looking waiting areas. Everyones attention was divided between the large LED screens lit with ticket numbers, and the people walking to the bank of counters along one wall. So I obediently took a number, and with gritted teeth I sat zombified under the harsh office lights with 30-40 other people, all perched on uniform gray plastic chairs, and watched the staff conscientiously stamping documents behind the counter. You could almost smell the ink-pads and copy-paper bureaucracy in the air. There was a large window with a fabulous view of the sunny cityscape near me, but due to the chairs orientation, only the back of my head enjoyed the view. Go figure.
Yes! My number flashes on the LED screens. Time taken: 10 mins, OK, considering all the people I see. I walked to the counter, handed over my documents which were whisked away and then told to rejoin the masses until I was called up for the interview. Again I wait.
The other people waiting look as bored as I do. There's a little quiet chatter and a surprising number of people are quite young. From what I gather, they are also exchange visa applicants for US summer camp leaders and the like, which explained why so many of them looked fairly sporty, tanned and pleasing to the eye. My number gets called again. Time taken: 45 mins, even with the nice scenery, not happy. Thinking how much I missed my iPod and getting hungry, very not happy.
I walk up to the counter, aware of the entire room watching my every step.
To be continued...
For episode 2, click here.
Getting a visa to the US can be a confusing experience. There are a plethora of forms and procedures that must be followed rigorously, and that have to be coordinated with the immigration specialist who is overseeing your application. The specialist in my case was from my current workplace.
There are two major classes of visas that can be applied for. An immigrant visa which means you want to live in the US permanently (think Green card), or a non-immigrant visa which is for a temporary stay. Within those two major categories, there are a number of different visa types that you apply for, depending on your profession, length of stay in the US and other factors. My visa is a non-immigrant J-1 visa, which is a type of foreign exchange visa, and is valid for 3 years.
The visa application forms all have official sounding names, like DS-2019, and on each document is information on how long it should take you to complete the form. How nice. For example, the 'estimated burden' noted at the top of DS-158 is one hour. Although it didn't take me an hour, that form was particularly annoying, as it required digging up long forgotten dates, phone numbers etc., in order to complete the work/education history questions in the form.
Aside from the forms there are the inevitable fees to pay in the visa process. Many fees to pay.
For a J-1 visa there's (in $AUD):
$ 126 SEVIS fee paid online.
$ 130 application fee paid at the post office
$ 136 issuance fee paid at the consulate
$ 14 Visapoint fee paid online
and an appropriate self addressed envelope (Express post, courier satchel for example, ~$ 12) for them to return your passport.
Plus in Australia, our passport photo size is not suitable for the application so I had to go get a US passport sized photo (5 cm squared) from a list of suggested places on their website, for ~$ 15.
For a student, all these fees add up to a severe dent in the monthly beer budget. $433 worth of beer to be more precise. Do you accept cash? Cha-ching!
After the application is in order you go for an interview at the Consulate, which you book using their online system called Visapoint ($14 fee thanks very much). The waiting time for an interview varies for each visa (up to 3-4 weeks); the US Department of State website lists current waiting times. I noticed that for a J-1 visa the Sydney Consulate only offered interviews once a week. Additionally, I found out the hard way that the Consulate is prone to shutting down for "routine maintenance" with very little notice, so if you need a visa, plan well ahead.
The US Consulate General in Sydney is high up in the MLC centre in the heart of the city, and not surprisingly, there is some serious security before you step a foot into the embassy. First off, the interview confirmation email tells you to not take any laptops, cell phones (that's mobiles in Aussie-speak) or any electronic equipment. Kinda strict huh?
No iPod for the inevitable waiting periods, how cruel.
Plus, before you go into the Consulate proper, which is high up in the tower, you go to a lower level for initial processing. It's there that you go through the first of two security checkpoints and where all bags get left with security (sheesh, don't people read instructions? I was a bit peeved that I actually could have taken a bag and iPod, which would have made the train journey into the city more bearable). 10 mins after walking into the 'pre-Consulate' I had my first wait. Time taken: 5 mins, not bad. It was for a brief interaction with someone who checked I had all the appropriate paperwork/fees paid, after which it was another wait for a security guard to escort me to the lift and send me up to the Consulate proper. Time taken: 5 mins, tolerable.
Another identification and security check, and then through a massively heavy metal door to grab a ticket and wait. A US flag flanked the heavy door, and the largish room was semi-divided into two similar looking waiting areas. Everyones attention was divided between the large LED screens lit with ticket numbers, and the people walking to the bank of counters along one wall. So I obediently took a number, and with gritted teeth I sat zombified under the harsh office lights with 30-40 other people, all perched on uniform gray plastic chairs, and watched the staff conscientiously stamping documents behind the counter. You could almost smell the ink-pads and copy-paper bureaucracy in the air. There was a large window with a fabulous view of the sunny cityscape near me, but due to the chairs orientation, only the back of my head enjoyed the view. Go figure.
Symbols of American immigration. The grainy photo of the Statue of liberty was snapped by yours truly from the Staten Island ferry, New York, 2005, while the superbly focused photo of the flag was lifted off the net, shhh.
Yes! My number flashes on the LED screens. Time taken: 10 mins, OK, considering all the people I see. I walked to the counter, handed over my documents which were whisked away and then told to rejoin the masses until I was called up for the interview. Again I wait.
The other people waiting look as bored as I do. There's a little quiet chatter and a surprising number of people are quite young. From what I gather, they are also exchange visa applicants for US summer camp leaders and the like, which explained why so many of them looked fairly sporty, tanned and pleasing to the eye. My number gets called again. Time taken: 45 mins, even with the nice scenery, not happy. Thinking how much I missed my iPod and getting hungry, very not happy.
I walk up to the counter, aware of the entire room watching my every step.
To be continued...
For episode 2, click here.
5 May 2007
Not the usual mail
I find it amazing when you see a couple and you just know that they will be happy being together, forever. Lulu and Bing are like that and so is Surfermate and his fiancee, Jules. Although I won't be able to make their wedding later this year, Surfermate was kind enough to send me an invitation anyway, which I was excited to receive the other day. Looking at the pleasant colour co-ordinated envelope and stylish invite, I suspect that Jules must have had a significant part in sending the invites. If it was up to Surfermate to send them, I would have expected a half-scrawled note on a piece of cardboard ripped from the closest VB carton stuffed in my mailbox (VB is an Aussie beer).
Many people in the US see marriage as a holy union between a man and a woman. That's why gay marriage is banned in all states except Massachusetts, although legislation is being pushed forward by right-wing religious groups to re-instate the ban on same-sex marriages in this state. I don't have any particularly strong views on gay marriage except to say that on an equality issue, it seems absurd to not let gays be married. Gay rights has come a long way since the Stonewall riots in 1969 but marriage seems to be a very contentious issue considering its religious origins, and I doubt gay marriage will be widely accepted for many years yet.
Surfermate is the first of our group to get married and it's another reality check that we are all moving to the next stage of life. Thinking about it, and surprising myself, I don't bemoan the transition from youth to maturity that we are/have been going through these past years. It's an exciting new time and I'm glad to leave behind a lot of bullshit that plagued my younger years.
From what I gather, Surfermate's wedding is going to be fairly relaxed and casual, in a style fitting for him, and although I'm disappointed that I won't be able to make it I'm looking forward to hearing about it.
Surfermate's wedding invite. A nice change from the "Jesus loves you" junk/chain mail letter I received last week.
Many people in the US see marriage as a holy union between a man and a woman. That's why gay marriage is banned in all states except Massachusetts, although legislation is being pushed forward by right-wing religious groups to re-instate the ban on same-sex marriages in this state. I don't have any particularly strong views on gay marriage except to say that on an equality issue, it seems absurd to not let gays be married. Gay rights has come a long way since the Stonewall riots in 1969 but marriage seems to be a very contentious issue considering its religious origins, and I doubt gay marriage will be widely accepted for many years yet.
Surfermate is the first of our group to get married and it's another reality check that we are all moving to the next stage of life. Thinking about it, and surprising myself, I don't bemoan the transition from youth to maturity that we are/have been going through these past years. It's an exciting new time and I'm glad to leave behind a lot of bullshit that plagued my younger years.
From what I gather, Surfermate's wedding is going to be fairly relaxed and casual, in a style fitting for him, and although I'm disappointed that I won't be able to make it I'm looking forward to hearing about it.
29 April 2007
Gillie the legend
Had a great time on Saturday watching the Aussies convincingly beat the Sri Lankans to once again be the champions of the Cricket World Cup. I had no trouble waking up early on Saturday thanks to a crazy neighbour who was up at 5.30 am making a racket and playing music loud enough to wake me. Grrr.
Anyway I made it to the venue, a pub near Harvard square around 9.15 am, ready for the 9.30 start. When I rocked up I was dismayed to learn that rain had delayed play and it was looking shady as to whether the game would be played at all. There were a handful of Aussies sitting around chatting who I didn't know so I grabbed a seat alone, watched the rain fall on the big screen and boringly waited. Bay-buddy soon rocked up, so taking advantage of time to kill, we grabbed a coffee and breakfast.
The room showing the cricket in the pub started to fill pretty quickly and soon enough all you could hear were Aussie accents, and the few American accents suddenly seemed foreign. It was a bit weird. Bay-buddy and I soon started chatting to a young married couple who had driven a few hours from Vermont to watch the cricket. The guy was from Melbourne and worked in finance while his wife was an American nurse. They were pretty friendly and we got along quickly. The bloke started getting stuck into the beers pretty early on and by the end of the day he was well and truly smashed and raucous, much to the embarrassment of his wife who tried to keep him tow. Having little success at subduing her husband she decided the only way to deal with the situation was to be drunk (pissed in Aussie-speak) herself. She was "battling beer with wine" in her words. Thankfully they weren't planning on driving anywhere that night and were staying in Boston for the night.
Everyone in the room was nervous of the game not starting, but when we finally saw the covers come off the pitch there was a huge cheer, even though the match was being shortened to 38 overs. Before the game I was telling Bay-buddy how much I wanted to see Gilchrist smash a hundred since his batting had been sketchy throughout the tournament. I was bloody ecstatic as we watched Gillie slog 149 in quick time and with the beer flowing, I was having a bloody awesome time. There was a significant Indian contingent in the crowd, my Bay-buddy being one of them, who were barracking for the Sri Lankans and I enjoyed sticking it to Bay-buddy everytime Gillie smashed a 6 or sent the ball flying into the boundary.
By this time, the room was packed to the rafters and it felt like it could have been any pub in Australia. Put on some cricket, supply some beer and it's amazing how the Aussies came out of the Boston wood-work.
Even though I was going (rooting in US-speak, root means to have a shag in Aussie-speak) for Australia I wanted to see a good tussle between the two teams and with Jayasuria taking it to the Aussie bowlers it looked like the Sri Lankans were in with a slim chance of running down the massive Aussie total. It was not to be however and the game ended somewhat anti-climatically after a bizarro stuff up of ending play early due to bad light and declaring Australia the champions, only to change the declaration and forcing play of the remaining overs so the Australians could win (again).
So 6 hours after arriving at the pub, with a satisfying outcome and a few tasty ales later, I stumbled out of the pub with Bay-buddy and a few other American work colleagues who came to check out this strange sport called 'cricket'. We tried to explain the rules to them without much success, even when we related everything back to baseball, but nonetheless they seemed to enjoy the game atmosphere and were amused at all the drunk Aussies:
Me: "If the bowlers 'pitch' the ball and the 'hitter' hits the ball to the boundary, it's like a home-run worth four points. Get it?"
Americans: *blank stare* " Why are there two people holding bats again?"
Me: *leaves to get another beer*
Oh yeah, mercifully, no-one did the 3 x Aussie/3 x Oi barrack over the entire day.
Anyway I made it to the venue, a pub near Harvard square around 9.15 am, ready for the 9.30 start. When I rocked up I was dismayed to learn that rain had delayed play and it was looking shady as to whether the game would be played at all. There were a handful of Aussies sitting around chatting who I didn't know so I grabbed a seat alone, watched the rain fall on the big screen and boringly waited. Bay-buddy soon rocked up, so taking advantage of time to kill, we grabbed a coffee and breakfast.
The room showing the cricket in the pub started to fill pretty quickly and soon enough all you could hear were Aussie accents, and the few American accents suddenly seemed foreign. It was a bit weird. Bay-buddy and I soon started chatting to a young married couple who had driven a few hours from Vermont to watch the cricket. The guy was from Melbourne and worked in finance while his wife was an American nurse. They were pretty friendly and we got along quickly. The bloke started getting stuck into the beers pretty early on and by the end of the day he was well and truly smashed and raucous, much to the embarrassment of his wife who tried to keep him tow. Having little success at subduing her husband she decided the only way to deal with the situation was to be drunk (pissed in Aussie-speak) herself. She was "battling beer with wine" in her words. Thankfully they weren't planning on driving anywhere that night and were staying in Boston for the night.
Everyone in the room was nervous of the game not starting, but when we finally saw the covers come off the pitch there was a huge cheer, even though the match was being shortened to 38 overs. Before the game I was telling Bay-buddy how much I wanted to see Gilchrist smash a hundred since his batting had been sketchy throughout the tournament. I was bloody ecstatic as we watched Gillie slog 149 in quick time and with the beer flowing, I was having a bloody awesome time. There was a significant Indian contingent in the crowd, my Bay-buddy being one of them, who were barracking for the Sri Lankans and I enjoyed sticking it to Bay-buddy everytime Gillie smashed a 6 or sent the ball flying into the boundary.
By this time, the room was packed to the rafters and it felt like it could have been any pub in Australia. Put on some cricket, supply some beer and it's amazing how the Aussies came out of the Boston wood-work.
Even though I was going (rooting in US-speak, root means to have a shag in Aussie-speak) for Australia I wanted to see a good tussle between the two teams and with Jayasuria taking it to the Aussie bowlers it looked like the Sri Lankans were in with a slim chance of running down the massive Aussie total. It was not to be however and the game ended somewhat anti-climatically after a bizarro stuff up of ending play early due to bad light and declaring Australia the champions, only to change the declaration and forcing play of the remaining overs so the Australians could win (again).
Boonie would definitely approve of the Aussie win, as long as he had a slab of VB to celebrate with of course
So 6 hours after arriving at the pub, with a satisfying outcome and a few tasty ales later, I stumbled out of the pub with Bay-buddy and a few other American work colleagues who came to check out this strange sport called 'cricket'. We tried to explain the rules to them without much success, even when we related everything back to baseball, but nonetheless they seemed to enjoy the game atmosphere and were amused at all the drunk Aussies:
Me: "If the bowlers 'pitch' the ball and the 'hitter' hits the ball to the boundary, it's like a home-run worth four points. Get it?"
Americans: *blank stare* " Why are there two people holding bats again?"
Me: *leaves to get another beer*
Oh yeah, mercifully, no-one did the 3 x Aussie/3 x Oi barrack over the entire day.
27 April 2007
Aussies FTW!
Tomorrow 9.30 am Boston time is the Cricket World Cup final between Australia and those dodgy Sri Lankans *cough*Murali*cough*chucker.
Saturday 9.30 am is mighty early for a late-riser like me, nonetheless, being the loyal Aussie I'm heading off to Tommy Doyle's, an Irish/semi-Aussie pub near Harvard square to watch the game. Bay-buddy and another work colleague invited me which was nice of them and I also know that a significant contingent of Aussie postdocs will be there (of course).
Having no TV, I haven't really been following the cricket very intensely, and although I'm confident the Aussies will win, I'd like to see a hotly contested final tomorrow. The only question I have is, when will the drinking begin?
Go Aussies. Ponting's men FTW!
Saturday 9.30 am is mighty early for a late-riser like me, nonetheless, being the loyal Aussie I'm heading off to Tommy Doyle's, an Irish/semi-Aussie pub near Harvard square to watch the game. Bay-buddy and another work colleague invited me which was nice of them and I also know that a significant contingent of Aussie postdocs will be there (of course).
Having no TV, I haven't really been following the cricket very intensely, and although I'm confident the Aussies will win, I'd like to see a hotly contested final tomorrow. The only question I have is, when will the drinking begin?
Go Aussies. Ponting's men FTW!
20 April 2007
Happy Birthday Ex-flatmate
Today is Ex-flatmates birthday, so happy b'day mate! Well technically it's tomorrow, but with the 14 hour time difference, I gave him a ring today and said g'day/wished him well using Skype. With free Skype to Skype calls and really cheap international calls, it's an awesome program for calling overseas, especially in my situation of only having the opportunity to call from a cell phone with expensive international rates. Wow, that reads as a cheesy ad for Skype, but you get the gist that I'm a fan. Even though it's only been a month, it was cool to chat to Ex-flatmate and catch-up on recent happenings, plus it's always nice to hear a familiar accent via +61.
I've known Ex-flatmate since high school (as with most of my close friends). We shared an apartment for around 2 years and have had countless adventures through our friendship. Ex-flatmate is one of those high-achievers who works unnaturally long hours in the ruthless corporate world, yet manages to be positive, cheerful and modest, plus he still manages to take time out from his commitments to hang out with his mates for a beer or a rock concert. A more decent, likeable bloke I couldn't imagine. Over the years, me, Ex-flatmate and The Scotsman have made a tradition of being the rock gig/music festival-attending trio, and some of the highlights of my last few months in Australia was moshing out to Tool and at the Big Day Out festival (where Tool was also headlining) on consecutive days at the end of January.
The lineup at Big Day Out this year was stupendously superb and Tool and Muse rocked out completely, while Aussie bands like John Butler Trio, Expatriate and the few songs we caught from The Vines were also top notch. A significant number of young, shirtless, amazingly hot guys were a fitting accompaniment to the superb music; especially in tight, crowded situations, as in the mosh pit. I mean let's not beat around the bush, a music festival is 80% music, 20% pervfest, well for me it is. If you are a tourist in Sydney around late January and want to visually sample the most gorgeous guys (or girls) Australia has to offer, I strongly suggest trying to snag a ticket to the Big Day Out. A diverse range of music, a hedonistic mass of shirtless guys, beers, good mates and a sunny clear blue sky, need I say more?
But I digress, back to the birthday message, I hope the golf God's favour Ex-flatemate for his birthday round and that he has an overall awesome weekend off, despite being another year grayer :-). I know Ex-flatmate is a Star Wars fan and although it's not sold anymore, if I could mate, I would have sent this to you:
More vintage Star Wars stuff and the above image can be found here.
I've known Ex-flatmate since high school (as with most of my close friends). We shared an apartment for around 2 years and have had countless adventures through our friendship. Ex-flatmate is one of those high-achievers who works unnaturally long hours in the ruthless corporate world, yet manages to be positive, cheerful and modest, plus he still manages to take time out from his commitments to hang out with his mates for a beer or a rock concert. A more decent, likeable bloke I couldn't imagine. Over the years, me, Ex-flatmate and The Scotsman have made a tradition of being the rock gig/music festival-attending trio, and some of the highlights of my last few months in Australia was moshing out to Tool and at the Big Day Out festival (where Tool was also headlining) on consecutive days at the end of January.
Big Day Out crowd 2007, by Matt Booy
The lineup at Big Day Out this year was stupendously superb and Tool and Muse rocked out completely, while Aussie bands like John Butler Trio, Expatriate and the few songs we caught from The Vines were also top notch. A significant number of young, shirtless, amazingly hot guys were a fitting accompaniment to the superb music; especially in tight, crowded situations, as in the mosh pit. I mean let's not beat around the bush, a music festival is 80% music, 20% pervfest, well for me it is. If you are a tourist in Sydney around late January and want to visually sample the most gorgeous guys (or girls) Australia has to offer, I strongly suggest trying to snag a ticket to the Big Day Out. A diverse range of music, a hedonistic mass of shirtless guys, beers, good mates and a sunny clear blue sky, need I say more?
But I digress, back to the birthday message, I hope the golf God's favour Ex-flatemate for his birthday round and that he has an overall awesome weekend off, despite being another year grayer :-). I know Ex-flatmate is a Star Wars fan and although it's not sold anymore, if I could mate, I would have sent this to you:
More vintage Star Wars stuff and the above image can be found here.
29 March 2007
Living +61
It's strange to think that one can identify with a number, especially one as innocuous as 61. Yet as an Aussie, 61 has significance to me as this is
Now that I’ve moved from
Furthermore, my interpretation of +61 has evolved by the view that the web has largely superseded the phone as the primary form of long distance communication. This blog is my new +61.
Therefore in many aspects, living +61 seems an appropriate theme for this blog. Who knows how it’ll turn out, but I plan the blog to be an eclectic documentation of how one relocates their life to the other side of the world, random day to day observations of adjusting to a foreign city, the odd rant, and if I’m brave enough, an occasional intimate insight as I continue the philosophical journey to know myself.
I guess it comes down to necessity, but it’s still intriguing to think that the convention of an international calling code is something that the entire world agrees on. Even though it's ridiculous to think of the international calling code as some sort of a global ranking of a country, it still kinda feels that way to me. It's stupid I know, and I'm not even exactly sure what I perceive the code to rank. Liveability, economic clout, political stability and global influence maybe. I'm not saying that the
Having relocated to the east coast of the
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