A Land Down Under

Being in quite the lesuirely state of mind in the last few days, I decided to do what any able-minded and educated person would do on a holiday in another country; I read a book. What was the subject of the book, I hear you ask? It was a book about Australia. Called In A Sunburnt Country by Bill Bryson

That's right, I travelled to the other side of the world and spent a substantial amount of time sitting on my bed reading a book about the place where I live. In my defense, it is by an American, which is what made it so interesting. See, this fellow Bryson has an amusing writing style and an unusual affection for that place that many of you readers call home. The guy had a rather quaint preoccupation with all the murderous flora and fauna we have, but apart from that, I learnt a whole lot more about Australia than I probably have ever.

See, the furtherest north I've been in Australia is the Big Pineapple and the furtherest West I've been is Echuca; so it was nice to hear about cool places I've never really been interested in like Macksville, Tanunda, Kalbarri, Daly Waters, Dongara and Adelaide. Bryson even went to Young. Plus, he rattled off all these names of quite significant Australians who no one has ever heard of; like Stan Awramik, Ernest Giles and Thomas Austin.

The moral of the story is that it was a good, informative and entertaining read.

Come and See...

So, the government sector of Washington DC was treated to the Sambo Show today. It was a marvellous occasion. Check it.

Phew! For A Minute There I Lost Myself

I had a really cool idea today.

That's not entirely a rare occasion, even if I do say so myself. I had this one idea while I was on the Gold Coast a couple of weeks ago; well, it wasn't so much an idea as a thought. I was thinking about Waltzing Matilda, and how it's the unofficial national anthem of our fine nation Australia. I realised I have a big problem with it. Now, I wasn't thinking the obvious thing, how it's about a suicidal sheep stealer. No, I suddenly realised my big issue was with the integrity of the narrator. See, the first line goes a little like this:

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong

We know it well, in fact I challenge you to not start humming it in your head this very moment. My problem is with the third word there: jolly. As the narrative arc sets about its discourse it is quite evident that the protagonist is not at all jolly. Considering he's just squatting on someone elses property, he steals a sheep, keeps said sheep in a tucker bag, is apprehended by police, and finally escapes to a fatal end in the billabong jolly is about the last word I would use to describe this swagman. Maybe I wouldn't call him amphibious either, but you get the point.

Incidentally, I discovered today that the original poem goes like this:

Well, there once was a swagman camped in a billabong

There the swagman takes on a much more honest guise. I'm not so sure about camping in the billabong though. Especially in light of the whole drowning thing.

But I digress.

I had an idea today.

I thought I've done far too much of nothing in the last few days and ought to get some excercise. Unfortunately the temperature was spot on zero degrees today, and the wind chill was somewhere in the minus two hundreds. So it was to the basement dwelling excercise bike I went. I decided 15 minutes of some solid riding would be a good amount of time.

At the end of it all, as I lay prostrate on the floor, the words 'no pain, no gain' lost all meaning. I also managed to break the bike.

I might actually sleep tonight. That's all I've got for now.

May your coke be not diluted by the ice.

Sam <>< <>< ><> <>< <><

In Return For Grace...

For your general entertainment, this is Beautiful Day from the U2 concert i was at in Melbourne. I was standing just to the right of where the spotlight shines on the crowd for most of the song.

Still So Young To Travel So Far

I realise that I am probably updating this blog far more frequently than anyone is reading, with the exception of Adam. The fact is, when one keeps in mind the desire for something to write about, everything takes on a new light and there is a lot to work with. So, bear with me, read what you can and enjoy.

I mentioned in a previous post the size of coffees at Starbucks. It appears that this penchant for large things carries on into most aspects of American life. I don't pretend that this is much of a secret, nonetheless, I submit as evidence for your consideration the following:




These are condiments and associated products I found throughout the family home; note the Lego Jedi I strategically placed stage right to give you a sense of scale.

Now, this picture truly does beg the question: WHO NEEDS THAT MUCH PARMESAN CHEESE? That, at least, was the first thing I thought of. The next thing was the terribly impractical lid size atop the tomato sauce tub; then there is the apple sauce jar. It's breadth is almost the same as the tomato sauce tub, but it's lid is normal sized. Not to mention that it's apple sauce. Lego Jedi could have a nice picnic under the shade of that tower of Ranch dressing; my suspicion is that these crazy American's must use that stuff on their breakfast cereal or something.

Where does one go from there?

I was watching a TV show today about the greatest songs of the 80's, it was about as entertaining as it sounds; the highlight, though, was the following statement made about a rap artist who:

"Had beats so slick it was almost criminal"

That is one of the most amazing descriptions of I've ever heard of anything. Ever. I laughed out loud when I heard it, my mother did not find it nearly as amusing as I did.

I never ended up getting to sleep after the previous post. This means I am awfully tired now. And that's all I've got for now.

Keep doing stuff good.

Sam <>< ><> <>< <><

Nightswimming Deserves A Quiet Night

Freakin' jetlag.

It's 4am, i've been awake for an hour and a half.

This makes me angry.

Good Love Is On The Way

I went to mass this morning. It was the same as it is in Australia, and being the universal Church, one would expect that. The weird thing, though, was the accents. Obviously, I mean, the first thing anyone notices in another English speaking country is the accents, and it's not like I expected any different, but that's the thing; being so used to hearing American accents in movies and the like, then hearing Australian accents in normal life I couldn't shake the feeling during mass that everyone would let out a laugh and say, with broad Australian accents "the jokes on you" (along with a few gratuitous references to me as 'mate' and 'champ') and normality would return.

It never happened of course, for here I am, Vienna, Virginia; part of the greater DC area.

Speaking of accents, at LA Airport I thought it might be nice to have a coffee. So I went along to Starbucks. Looking at the menu, there were three coffee sizes: Tall, Grande and Liquid Heart Palpitation (I make no claims on the accuracy of the name of that last size). Who seriously wants a coffee the size of a McDonalds large coke? At least the cardboard is recyclable.

I thought I'd go with a Grande Cafe Latte, and heard the fellow in front of me order one as well with the emphasis on the e in the word Grande. The fine lady behind the counter called me sir and asked what I wanted. I, wanting to sound at least somewhat like I knew how to pronounce "Grande", in my most natural Australian accent, said something that must have sounded like "I'll have a Grundy Lattay thanks". She nodded and asked for a name, I say "Mullins", since that's my name and all and she wrote it on the side of the cup.

Quicker than a good coffee should, my hot beverage came and I looked at the side of my cup. Apparently I'd recieved the Grundy Lattay that belonged to a bloke called "Mellons".

Despite the size of the mid-range coffee, I still fell asleep in the depature lounge. Luckily, I had one of those half-awake dreams about tripping over and woke myself up with an involuntry spasm. It's amazing how acute embarrassment fast-tracks lucidity.

Right now, I'm sitting and chillaxing; watching a squirrel fart about in the backyard (I meant to write 'dart about' there, but decided that was a typo worth keeping). That seems like the plan for the rest of the day.

Until our paths cross once more, keep trucking.

Sam <>< ><> <>< <>< <><