This is an ode/ warning to all of you wanting to travel to Sydney over the summer season. I am here as an an ambassador of RAID, and unfortunate real life character of Joe's apartment: Cockroaches are the true owners of this land. I have already detailed the amazing number of species, natural occurrences that can take your life away here in Australia, but one fact they don't mention is the cockroaches. I am not suggesting that I have lived in decadence, so some of the blame to why they appeared at my flat is not entirely Sydney's fault. However, it is a known fact that they rule the cracks, spaces and floors of your flat, especially living in Bondi. Now, please return to reading this, I realize you probably recoiled in disgust, just wanted you to know. They all come out at night, in your home, on the streets, and at the bar parked in the stool next to you downing a whiskey on the rocks (hey if these guys are supposedly going to survive a nuclear holocaust, this is what I envision them drinking.) Cockroaches, in most cases, and many times pertaining to my old flat, represent filth, grime and general apathy towards basic tenants of hygiene and cleanliness. But, Sydney has allowed me to justify not spending money on a cleaner. No matter how clean, how sparkly your place is they will always, I repeat, always be there. Fact of life here in the crazy place.
My other warning to you all, is next to that bikini or pair of board shorts, you might want to place a beekeeper suit. This is the only apparel that will safegaurd you from thr onslaught of the flies. Flies in Sydney do not just pester and casually annoy you at the beach or in the streets of Downtown Sydney (CBD), they make it their jihad, crusade, manifest destiny to enter every orifice on your head. Back at home a simple, lugubrious swat would send a fly packing its bags for the nearest available pile of dog present. Here, the flies only show more determination to become part of your left eye, become a new winged ear plug, or a delightful mid afternoon snack. I mean I have seen people walking around swatting at least three flies while another five more hitching a ride (got the title of the blog in, score one for me) on the person's back like an aircraft carrier with parked kamikaze planes waiting for the air raid siren.
After two years I can deal with this. I have devised a technique, almost a wary truce with the flies: I am now USS Hitch, with flies ready to invade and inflict damage on anyone in my path. With the cochroaches, I have resigned myself as a tributary state. My payment consisting of only flushing three down the toilet a week. I am delighted by this new position in life. I'll tell you one thing, at least it is not loose kangaroos with a penchant for crotch kicking. Although with this country, you better pack a cup.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saddling up to the Economic Crisis
The last few weeks have been full on for me. Work has really been overwhelming as groups keep booking and filling up all the space on the greens. I have been just named manager at work, which basically means get a dollar pay rise. Champagne baths, here I am come. Even with the advent of more hours (and I guess, more responsibilities), I have been able to fit in some me time or stop masquerading as a worker and get back to my roots as a traveler. I needed to experience a real Australian past time: Old Fashioned Gambling. Last week, Sam and I went down to Melbourne for a couple of reasons: she wanted to see her parents; my mom is teaching at a University in Melbourne so I had the chance to see her in working/living environment; the parents could meet each other; but more importantly, the Horse Races in Melbourne. It seems only fitting that in this times of financial crisis and recession, my primary objective in flying to Melbourne is to carelessly throw my money away at the horses races. This feels like the prudent action for a struggling writer and part time bartender. Recession does not affect this breed of canned soup eating, and water drinking folk.
We left at the eye blurring time of 5 15 in morning on Friday and I spent the day writing and carousing around my mom's apartment. I had an early night in anticipation of having a long hot day at the races on Saturday.
A little history, Caulfield Cup is one of the major races in the time known as Spring Carnival. Spring Carnival is held in Melbourne and is pretty much an institution in Melbourne. The carnival is not what we imagine a carnival is: carnies (well, the jockeys come close), hoop tosses, bad corn dogs, and a queasy feeling from the rides that may or may not fall apart after each go around. The Carnival represents horse racing at its finest. It takes its roots all the back to 1890's where, in the old English tradition, high society would come out to parade around in the latest styles. It runs from October 1st until November 19th and is highlighted by major races, Caulfield Cup, Oaks Day, Darby Days and finally the big cahuna, Melbourne Cup. The races are similar to The Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes, but people actually care what happens. Melbourne Cup is equivalent to the Super Bowl except that it is a public holiday in Victoria ( it might as well be in New South Wales, NSW, as no work is accomplished in Sydney) and betting is more than encouraged, it is forced upon you.
For all races, men and women dress in their Sunday best. Men wearing the latest suit fashion, women the latest designer dresses. The best part is the hats that the women wear. Like rappers, the hats are an extension of their attire and usually attract more attention than the dress itself. Racing and fashion are inexorably tied to these events which is a far cry from our sense of dress at the Preakness (Just Youtube Preakness, you'll understand). The hats are an amalgam of weeding veils, top hats, yamikas, beanies, yet some of them are actually tasteful. Most of the time, I had to stifle my laughter, but my mouth was curled with a incredulous smile as a woman struts by with a hat that even at a costume party is ridiculous.
As for the racing, betting is intertwined with Australian culture. It comes from the British/convict personality. Gambling is a huge problem in Australia, especially in NSW, and one can see why with such an emphasis on racing. This is not a charge against Australian culture at all. I believe that it is different, it seems more out in the open as betting here is one the more old fashioned events: racing, sporting events, cards and slot machines. There is not the crazy online betting schemes that we have in the states , like who will score first? How many times an announcer will cough during the Super Bowl? Or how many times will McCain change the direction of his campaign etc.
I had to go see this event first hand as working in the Bowling club, I am familiar with the betting culture and Melbourne cup. Sam and I decided to go to the Caulfield Cup. There are about 15 races during the day, with the Caulfield Cup being the top billed race. I dressed up in a shirt and tie (pretty sure for the first time in 10 years). Sam had a great veil/hat configuration (not that I am biased) and we went off to Caulfield Racing Track. There I was overwhelmed with all the young people who dressed up. This was not your typical college age gathering. Aside from the people stumbling around from the heat and alcohol, the ambiance was rich with classiness. I made sure to cap my betting to 50 dollars and kept that promise as the day wore on. As any event with a mass of people, the racing takes a backseat. What is more important is judging, critiquing, drinking and betting with all the other people in your area. We bought general admission tickets, but there is the option of going to a tent. Tickets are 200 dollars and I pretty sure, women are required to wear more outlandish hats (for Melbourne Cup prices sky rocket to 1000.) Food and Drink are included along with a better seat to laugh at all the poor losers in General Admission. I loved being in General Admission, bookies on the grass, guys and girls dressed to the nines, betting booths in the clubhouse, long queues for food and alcohol and not a single person paying attention to the races.
By the end of the day, I was down 150 (including drinks) which in the betting world is a smashing success. More importantly I was happy to envelope myself in something that is Aussie. Also, I needed a practice run in actually wearing, you know "real world clothes."
Melbourne Cup is next week on our Tuesday so I am encouraging you to go online and take a look at all the pictures of the fashionable people. Oh, by the way, there is a race as well.
We left at the eye blurring time of 5 15 in morning on Friday and I spent the day writing and carousing around my mom's apartment. I had an early night in anticipation of having a long hot day at the races on Saturday.
A little history, Caulfield Cup is one of the major races in the time known as Spring Carnival. Spring Carnival is held in Melbourne and is pretty much an institution in Melbourne. The carnival is not what we imagine a carnival is: carnies (well, the jockeys come close), hoop tosses, bad corn dogs, and a queasy feeling from the rides that may or may not fall apart after each go around. The Carnival represents horse racing at its finest. It takes its roots all the back to 1890's where, in the old English tradition, high society would come out to parade around in the latest styles. It runs from October 1st until November 19th and is highlighted by major races, Caulfield Cup, Oaks Day, Darby Days and finally the big cahuna, Melbourne Cup. The races are similar to The Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes, but people actually care what happens. Melbourne Cup is equivalent to the Super Bowl except that it is a public holiday in Victoria ( it might as well be in New South Wales, NSW, as no work is accomplished in Sydney) and betting is more than encouraged, it is forced upon you.
For all races, men and women dress in their Sunday best. Men wearing the latest suit fashion, women the latest designer dresses. The best part is the hats that the women wear. Like rappers, the hats are an extension of their attire and usually attract more attention than the dress itself. Racing and fashion are inexorably tied to these events which is a far cry from our sense of dress at the Preakness (Just Youtube Preakness, you'll understand). The hats are an amalgam of weeding veils, top hats, yamikas, beanies, yet some of them are actually tasteful. Most of the time, I had to stifle my laughter, but my mouth was curled with a incredulous smile as a woman struts by with a hat that even at a costume party is ridiculous.
As for the racing, betting is intertwined with Australian culture. It comes from the British/convict personality. Gambling is a huge problem in Australia, especially in NSW, and one can see why with such an emphasis on racing. This is not a charge against Australian culture at all. I believe that it is different, it seems more out in the open as betting here is one the more old fashioned events: racing, sporting events, cards and slot machines. There is not the crazy online betting schemes that we have in the states , like who will score first? How many times an announcer will cough during the Super Bowl? Or how many times will McCain change the direction of his campaign etc.
I had to go see this event first hand as working in the Bowling club, I am familiar with the betting culture and Melbourne cup. Sam and I decided to go to the Caulfield Cup. There are about 15 races during the day, with the Caulfield Cup being the top billed race. I dressed up in a shirt and tie (pretty sure for the first time in 10 years). Sam had a great veil/hat configuration (not that I am biased) and we went off to Caulfield Racing Track. There I was overwhelmed with all the young people who dressed up. This was not your typical college age gathering. Aside from the people stumbling around from the heat and alcohol, the ambiance was rich with classiness. I made sure to cap my betting to 50 dollars and kept that promise as the day wore on. As any event with a mass of people, the racing takes a backseat. What is more important is judging, critiquing, drinking and betting with all the other people in your area. We bought general admission tickets, but there is the option of going to a tent. Tickets are 200 dollars and I pretty sure, women are required to wear more outlandish hats (for Melbourne Cup prices sky rocket to 1000.) Food and Drink are included along with a better seat to laugh at all the poor losers in General Admission. I loved being in General Admission, bookies on the grass, guys and girls dressed to the nines, betting booths in the clubhouse, long queues for food and alcohol and not a single person paying attention to the races.
By the end of the day, I was down 150 (including drinks) which in the betting world is a smashing success. More importantly I was happy to envelope myself in something that is Aussie. Also, I needed a practice run in actually wearing, you know "real world clothes."
Melbourne Cup is next week on our Tuesday so I am encouraging you to go online and take a look at all the pictures of the fashionable people. Oh, by the way, there is a race as well.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
OZ inspiring
This is a segment from my other writing blog on Sydney and Melbourne. I am only allowed 700 words so my whole thoughts, like how damn cold Melbourne is are absent:
Quick name the capital of Australia. Bet Sydney flew out of your mouth. This is the common misconception not unlike New York City. Canberra is the capital of Australia, and if you have traveled to here, inspiring, exciting are never adjectives to describe the country’s governmental dwelling- adjectives that come to mind range from dull, insipid to the ever popular, soul crushing. No, Canberra’s existence was attributed to the massive rivalry that resonates between Sydney and Melbourne-present even today. Canberra was constructed to appease the bigwigs in each state government- New South Wales (Sydney) and Victoria for (Melbourne). The respective party leaders balked in the past at permitting the other city to enjoy the advantage of being the heralded city in this growing nation within the international community.
A rivalry generally is born from commonalties within two entities who are vying to reach the top position. However today, these two cities offer a completely unique Australian experience that would appear to diffuse a rivalry, but it continues to smolder. Each city endeavors to claim the cultural and spiritual crown of Australia.
As a traveler, the rivalry seems peculiar as the two cities are like apples and oranges offering a wide range of sights, sounds and activities, which capture the attention of any open minded traveler and makes it difficult to arguably state that one city is superior.
Melbourne’s layout would no doubt please any directionally challenged person. The city’s layout is a network of streets that form an easy to navigate grid and a distinguishable downtown. Tram tracks (street trains) reinforce the grid with their cross-crossed railways. Sydney does not have this simplistic layout, as it is a chaotic intersection of numerous streets. Its main street, George St, cuts through the heart of downtown and straight to the harbor. Although Melbourne is the champion of perpendicular street corners, Sydney’s trademark design is no less unmistakable: the Harbor and the ocean. Everything seems to gravitate towards this natural beauty. Streets seem to bend to give a motorist or pedestrian a glimpse of its beauty before in moments there rests the Opera House, Bridge, beach and bays.
The main transit of the two cities differs greatly as well. Trams, antiquated and sleek new versions, dominate the roadways. They slowly glide forward swallowing up passengers from street corners as they move straight over the hills into the distance. In Sydney, big blue and white busses groan and push their way through traffic to reach some unattainable purpose. The style of old and new of the trams embodies the spirit of Melbourne as outdated buildings from the British and new high-rise architecture form a symbiosis of style and grace. It has a European medieval ambiance and one would expect to run into a person speaking like Hugh Grant around every corner. Sydney exudes more of a young child proudly displaying his or her new clothes. There are old buildings, but they quietly lurch in the corners- or belong to the first established part of Sydney, the Rocks area.
Culturally, there are small caveats that differentiate the people between the cities. The simplistic way can be described through the significance of numbers in conversations for a Melbournite or a Sydneysider. In Melbourne, the numbers most important are what tram you will take to the jazz show. Numbers within the address of the bar are tantamount. Melbourne, even with its perfect grid, is a maze of back street cafes and bars; they spring from nowhere and a regular door in alley can lead into a swank popular after hours club. Sydney, important numbers revolve around the height of your surfboard and the size of the wave at 6 a.m. or how many bars you partied at in Kings Cross.
The rivalry seems unfounded as the two cities offer such a unique experience that the other lacks. In truth, the two cities are becoming more homogenous as Melbourne is taking a page from Sydney trying to draw tourists to their habor and river within the city. Sydney, on the other hand, is steering tourist to places like Paddington with its terraces houses and small pubs in an attempt to recapture that lost European character.
They present opportunities for any traveler and even with this rivalry, the two cities can probably agree on one thing: They are wholly Australian.
Quick name the capital of Australia. Bet Sydney flew out of your mouth. This is the common misconception not unlike New York City. Canberra is the capital of Australia, and if you have traveled to here, inspiring, exciting are never adjectives to describe the country’s governmental dwelling- adjectives that come to mind range from dull, insipid to the ever popular, soul crushing. No, Canberra’s existence was attributed to the massive rivalry that resonates between Sydney and Melbourne-present even today. Canberra was constructed to appease the bigwigs in each state government- New South Wales (Sydney) and Victoria for (Melbourne). The respective party leaders balked in the past at permitting the other city to enjoy the advantage of being the heralded city in this growing nation within the international community.
A rivalry generally is born from commonalties within two entities who are vying to reach the top position. However today, these two cities offer a completely unique Australian experience that would appear to diffuse a rivalry, but it continues to smolder. Each city endeavors to claim the cultural and spiritual crown of Australia.
As a traveler, the rivalry seems peculiar as the two cities are like apples and oranges offering a wide range of sights, sounds and activities, which capture the attention of any open minded traveler and makes it difficult to arguably state that one city is superior.
Melbourne’s layout would no doubt please any directionally challenged person. The city’s layout is a network of streets that form an easy to navigate grid and a distinguishable downtown. Tram tracks (street trains) reinforce the grid with their cross-crossed railways. Sydney does not have this simplistic layout, as it is a chaotic intersection of numerous streets. Its main street, George St, cuts through the heart of downtown and straight to the harbor. Although Melbourne is the champion of perpendicular street corners, Sydney’s trademark design is no less unmistakable: the Harbor and the ocean. Everything seems to gravitate towards this natural beauty. Streets seem to bend to give a motorist or pedestrian a glimpse of its beauty before in moments there rests the Opera House, Bridge, beach and bays.
The main transit of the two cities differs greatly as well. Trams, antiquated and sleek new versions, dominate the roadways. They slowly glide forward swallowing up passengers from street corners as they move straight over the hills into the distance. In Sydney, big blue and white busses groan and push their way through traffic to reach some unattainable purpose. The style of old and new of the trams embodies the spirit of Melbourne as outdated buildings from the British and new high-rise architecture form a symbiosis of style and grace. It has a European medieval ambiance and one would expect to run into a person speaking like Hugh Grant around every corner. Sydney exudes more of a young child proudly displaying his or her new clothes. There are old buildings, but they quietly lurch in the corners- or belong to the first established part of Sydney, the Rocks area.
Culturally, there are small caveats that differentiate the people between the cities. The simplistic way can be described through the significance of numbers in conversations for a Melbournite or a Sydneysider. In Melbourne, the numbers most important are what tram you will take to the jazz show. Numbers within the address of the bar are tantamount. Melbourne, even with its perfect grid, is a maze of back street cafes and bars; they spring from nowhere and a regular door in alley can lead into a swank popular after hours club. Sydney, important numbers revolve around the height of your surfboard and the size of the wave at 6 a.m. or how many bars you partied at in Kings Cross.
The rivalry seems unfounded as the two cities offer such a unique experience that the other lacks. In truth, the two cities are becoming more homogenous as Melbourne is taking a page from Sydney trying to draw tourists to their habor and river within the city. Sydney, on the other hand, is steering tourist to places like Paddington with its terraces houses and small pubs in an attempt to recapture that lost European character.
They present opportunities for any traveler and even with this rivalry, the two cities can probably agree on one thing: They are wholly Australian.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Thought I would be looking after kids, and in a way I am
I have been at Paddington Bowling Club for basically two years now. I know, right!? Disclaimer, shameless plug alert: http://www.paddobowls.com.au/
It has had the desired effect of paying my bills, making friends, opening my eyes to the good and bad side of Australians, and I have added to my repertoire of games I am most surely going to play when my back decides to finally give out. ( This could be tomorrow at the rate I am going at.) For those of you still confused about what the particulars of my job are, I will indulge you right now. This place is amalgamation of drinking, lawn bowling, and betting. PBC or as the Aussies call it, the Bowlo, is settled in the back streets of Woolarha and Paddington. This area has an English Charm with two-storied terraced houses that seem tiny from the front, but extend way back. There are a myriad of coffee shops/cafes as well as small boutique stores with their own flavor unlike anything in downtown Sydney. Among these shops and cafes are small pubs that fill up with young 20 somethings looking to have a schooner (type of glass, smaller than a pint) and revel in a more relaxed atmosphere than other areas to drink and hobnob ( I just looked up the origin of hobnob and derivation of the word comes from the 19th where two people drank to each other's health..I guess Paddington is pretty healthy with amount people drink a night.)
I applied for this job when I first came over in October 2006. I found it through the search website seek.com.au under the title "Sports Instructor". Believing that my many years of coaching and teaching kids would be more than enough credentials, I applied. I thought I would be in charge of kid groups and odd games. Sports instruction was probably the greatest misnomer/euphemism in all of the English Language, as I am doing anything but instruction or arguably Sporting. My role is to cater to corporate groups during the week ranging in size from 15 up to 150 people sometimes. I am their fearless leader in the abyss known of lawn bowling. The sport is played outside on an enormous green (there are two at PBC) which is divided into individual lanes. I teach these groups how to bowl. Without getting pedantic, it is extremely similar to Bocce Ball, except a person rolls a small bowling ball that is weighted on side, thereby making it turn as it rolls. I am providing a link for those of you who are still confounded. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawn_bowls
The club is very popular as companies come under the auspice of team building, but in truth, just come to get smashed. We are completely booked out for the month of December and January is already filling up. On a given weekday, there might be a total of 700 or more bowling in all the sessions combined. The time slots are as followed: 11-2, 2-5, 5-8
I explain the rules to which giving a speech that is about 5 minutes long to a large group of inebriated people, is an incredible feat. If I get 20 percent compliance on the house rules (no loud noises, no drinks on the green, one bowler at a time on the green, everyone else needs to be up on the concrete) and how to play, I deem this a smashing success. At this point, I am waiter, barman, score taker, babysitter, funny guy with an accent and looks at little old compared to the other staff. I am usually with my group for about 2 hours or a little more, guiding them through a round robin tournament and eventual final as well as getting them drinks. I also have the enviable role of being tormentor as after about 4-5 drinks and being in the sun, people start forgetting to be quiet and walking on the green with their drinks, at this point I am sternly talking to a lawyer or accountant 10 years my senior to not forget the rules. I always give the disclaimer in my presentation that I am cool guy, but this seems to be lost after the fifth time a rule has been broken. When given a free tab, we all know how some people get at these type of events. The mild manner person at the beginning of the session is now running around the green shirtless and screaming. The secretary is spilling her drinks on you for the fifth time. The list goes on and on; furthermore, drinking really brings out the competitive spirit. I have had some groups that groaned when first bowling, but by the end are arguing with me about which bowl is closer and/or are endlessly hugging and pointing to the heavens when they have won their group's championship. A lady last night, told me she was so nervous in the championship game that she wanted to throw up. Point of reference, she was the director of an advertisement company.
People look to me for answers on how to bowl and what to do, in most cases, I give a serious look and then make up whatever I feel is the best answer on strategy. If I don't know, still got to play the part.
As you can tell, I love it there. It is outside, I am able to talk for two hours and do minimal work, not including set up of the green which takes over an hour. I get to tell and perfect the same stories, which makes me look like a funny guy. Things are going to pick up as I said, so it is going to be full on for me, sometimes instructing 3 groups a day in the blazing sun.
In a way, as I just flushed out one of my responsibilities at PBC, I am instructing kids. I always thought that we should protect kids from drinking at an early age, I do agree with this notion, but I am adding an amendment to this notion: Save the 23- 50 yr old corporate person. My god, the childish stuff they do sometimes is unfathomable. The amount of cajoling I have to do not to break the rules is unreal. It is like Bill Cosby once stated about Parenthood, I am constantly repeating myself where to my chagirn, I think people believe I have a stutter. No No No No, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt. The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside. Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable.
Throughout my summer here, I am going to include more stories about PBC, explain my other roles there (bartender, physical laborer and possible manager), so get ready to be bowled over. Had to do it, sorry.
It has had the desired effect of paying my bills, making friends, opening my eyes to the good and bad side of Australians, and I have added to my repertoire of games I am most surely going to play when my back decides to finally give out. ( This could be tomorrow at the rate I am going at.) For those of you still confused about what the particulars of my job are, I will indulge you right now. This place is amalgamation of drinking, lawn bowling, and betting. PBC or as the Aussies call it, the Bowlo, is settled in the back streets of Woolarha and Paddington. This area has an English Charm with two-storied terraced houses that seem tiny from the front, but extend way back. There are a myriad of coffee shops/cafes as well as small boutique stores with their own flavor unlike anything in downtown Sydney. Among these shops and cafes are small pubs that fill up with young 20 somethings looking to have a schooner (type of glass, smaller than a pint) and revel in a more relaxed atmosphere than other areas to drink and hobnob ( I just looked up the origin of hobnob and derivation of the word comes from the 19th where two people drank to each other's health..I guess Paddington is pretty healthy with amount people drink a night.)
I applied for this job when I first came over in October 2006. I found it through the search website seek.com.au under the title "Sports Instructor". Believing that my many years of coaching and teaching kids would be more than enough credentials, I applied. I thought I would be in charge of kid groups and odd games. Sports instruction was probably the greatest misnomer/euphemism in all of the English Language, as I am doing anything but instruction or arguably Sporting. My role is to cater to corporate groups during the week ranging in size from 15 up to 150 people sometimes. I am their fearless leader in the abyss known of lawn bowling. The sport is played outside on an enormous green (there are two at PBC) which is divided into individual lanes. I teach these groups how to bowl. Without getting pedantic, it is extremely similar to Bocce Ball, except a person rolls a small bowling ball that is weighted on side, thereby making it turn as it rolls. I am providing a link for those of you who are still confounded. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawn_bowls
The club is very popular as companies come under the auspice of team building, but in truth, just come to get smashed. We are completely booked out for the month of December and January is already filling up. On a given weekday, there might be a total of 700 or more bowling in all the sessions combined. The time slots are as followed: 11-2, 2-5, 5-8
I explain the rules to which giving a speech that is about 5 minutes long to a large group of inebriated people, is an incredible feat. If I get 20 percent compliance on the house rules (no loud noises, no drinks on the green, one bowler at a time on the green, everyone else needs to be up on the concrete) and how to play, I deem this a smashing success. At this point, I am waiter, barman, score taker, babysitter, funny guy with an accent and looks at little old compared to the other staff. I am usually with my group for about 2 hours or a little more, guiding them through a round robin tournament and eventual final as well as getting them drinks. I also have the enviable role of being tormentor as after about 4-5 drinks and being in the sun, people start forgetting to be quiet and walking on the green with their drinks, at this point I am sternly talking to a lawyer or accountant 10 years my senior to not forget the rules. I always give the disclaimer in my presentation that I am cool guy, but this seems to be lost after the fifth time a rule has been broken. When given a free tab, we all know how some people get at these type of events. The mild manner person at the beginning of the session is now running around the green shirtless and screaming. The secretary is spilling her drinks on you for the fifth time. The list goes on and on; furthermore, drinking really brings out the competitive spirit. I have had some groups that groaned when first bowling, but by the end are arguing with me about which bowl is closer and/or are endlessly hugging and pointing to the heavens when they have won their group's championship. A lady last night, told me she was so nervous in the championship game that she wanted to throw up. Point of reference, she was the director of an advertisement company.
People look to me for answers on how to bowl and what to do, in most cases, I give a serious look and then make up whatever I feel is the best answer on strategy. If I don't know, still got to play the part.
As you can tell, I love it there. It is outside, I am able to talk for two hours and do minimal work, not including set up of the green which takes over an hour. I get to tell and perfect the same stories, which makes me look like a funny guy. Things are going to pick up as I said, so it is going to be full on for me, sometimes instructing 3 groups a day in the blazing sun.
In a way, as I just flushed out one of my responsibilities at PBC, I am instructing kids. I always thought that we should protect kids from drinking at an early age, I do agree with this notion, but I am adding an amendment to this notion: Save the 23- 50 yr old corporate person. My god, the childish stuff they do sometimes is unfathomable. The amount of cajoling I have to do not to break the rules is unreal. It is like Bill Cosby once stated about Parenthood, I am constantly repeating myself where to my chagirn, I think people believe I have a stutter. No No No No, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, take the drink off green, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, please put your pants on, you can't streak here, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt, Don't throw the bowl at your mate, it will hurt. The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside, The bathroom is inside not outside. Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable, Putting the Jack in your mouth is dirty and unacceptable.
Throughout my summer here, I am going to include more stories about PBC, explain my other roles there (bartender, physical laborer and possible manager), so get ready to be bowled over. Had to do it, sorry.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Taking Australian history a little too seriously
It is just great to be back in Sydney amid all the sunshine, the Australian people and the beach. I have settled into my old job at the Paddington Bowling Club and this summer/Christmas season is already shaping up to be incredible hours of work. The best part of it all is that I have oodles of time to do nothing in particular until November. To put it bluntly, since returning here, I have played Home Run Derby at a cricket oval for three hours and today I played a mutant form of baseball at Bondi Beach for two unbelievable hours. I would also like to tell you that I am 26 years old. Surreal does not even begin to explain my life over here.
However, this weekend I was schooled on Australian history/ life experiences 1o1 and I didn't even sign up for the classes. This weekend was a public holiday weekend meaning most people in NSW (New South Wales) had Monday off. I had to work a short shift at the bar on Sunday, but around 4pm, Sam and I went to Darling Harbour for a Latin American festival. There was music, dancing, Spanish speakers, basically heaven for me. We stayed at the festival and the Darling Harbour area until around 7 pm when we decided that we wanted to enjoy some wine and beer at Sam's place. Our regular bottle shop (or Botttleo, Australians have this curious and hilarious linguistic characteristic in which they shorten a lot of nouns and sometimes names and then either put an "O", "Y" or "IE" at the end of the words: Bottle Shop= BottleO; Jonathan= Jono; Registration for the car= Rego; Football= Footy; Sunglasses= sunnies; Person from the States= Sepo or short for Septic tank, which is derived from the word Yank....I am not that naive. ... you get the idea.) was closed so we had to go to one that was up the street. The area where this bottle shop is located is in a posh section of Sydney called Wollahra where coincidently, I work. To paint the picture for you, this is the place where dogs being walked are, in actuality, carried by their owners since a live thing is such a cool accessory. Sunglasses cover 3/4 of the people's faces and wearing a T-shirt and Jeans basically means you have come from the Twist genealogy.
I wanted to buy some beers and Sam wanted a crisp white wine for a relaxing night. Sydney was awash with excitement as people had Monday off, there was a huge music festival about 2km away from Woolahra, and a huge Rugby final was being played involving a team from Sydney. I selected my beers, and went to pay the shop keeper as Sam still was undecided about what wine to buy. We were the only patrons in this small shop, and as I finished my transaction, Sam questioned the shop keeper for suggestions on a good wine. At this point, class was in session. As we all know, Australia was founded by the English by transplanting criminals to the continent, I never thought I would get a live and updated tutorial on this historical fact.
I looked left and a short, stocky man entered wearing a mask. I paid no attention to this guy as he probably had been celebrating Sydney's win in the Rugby final, or had come from a costume party and was that guy with the lame idea. I turned away from him, only to see out of the corner of my eye, a very large knife. Again, Sydney slashed Melbourne in the Rugby final, but this physical pun was a step too far. It was not until he demanded money from the cash register that I realized this guy was serious. He came within a couple of feet of me, and pounded the knife on the counter top. Again, not to harp on the stereotypes, but all I was thinking was Paul Hogan's line "that's not a knoife, this is knoife." I stepped back to place myself in the path between him and Sam. He demanded money from the register, but did not focus his attention on us. I turned to Sam and she was rummaging through her bag to get her wallet, to which I quietly motioned for her to stop. The walking Australian stereotype took the money and to my absolute disbelief, walked out. I have no other verb to really describe how he exited, but I am pretty sure that a sloth would have beat him out the door. He gingerly got into his car and left.
Sam and I were shaken, but fine as was the shop keeper. As a hilarious statistic for you at home, this is the third time this shop keeper has been robbed at this store in the last 4 years....and he only works on Sunday and Monday!
The police arrived shortly after the robber left. Now as I described, there was a lot of events in Sydney this night, so one would surmise that the police force would be stretched out, incorrect. One car arrived , then another, then another and for posterity a paddy wagon arrived. For those scoring at home and this might be a little off, 7 witnesses (some 16 year boys caught a glimpse of the license plate number) to 79837 police officers. For about 30 minutes, the crime scene turned into a police officer chat session. Sam kept muttering within earshot of the police slumber party, that she is not going to pay taxes anymore if this is how it is spent on officers.
To end, police investigators took our statements and we ended the night at 10:45pm .
This event shed a lot of light on the notion of traveling to foreign countries; Australia is deemed a safe place to travel (except for the killer spiders, sharks, crocodiles, snakes, rips, sun, surfboards, koalas, on second thought, why would you come here?). From experience, people have been nervous with traveling through South America, Asia etc. However I am here to tell you that it doesn't matter, in Sydney my house has been broken into, I have had an ipod stolen and my girlfriend has stolen my heart. It really doesn't matter where you are, things are going to happen, you just have to chalk up to life experiences and learn from it.
I am extremely relieved nothing happened to Sam or the shop keeper, and my love for this city has not wavered. Just another crazy day here in Sydney.
Class over.
However, this weekend I was schooled on Australian history/ life experiences 1o1 and I didn't even sign up for the classes. This weekend was a public holiday weekend meaning most people in NSW (New South Wales) had Monday off. I had to work a short shift at the bar on Sunday, but around 4pm, Sam and I went to Darling Harbour for a Latin American festival. There was music, dancing, Spanish speakers, basically heaven for me. We stayed at the festival and the Darling Harbour area until around 7 pm when we decided that we wanted to enjoy some wine and beer at Sam's place. Our regular bottle shop (or Botttleo, Australians have this curious and hilarious linguistic characteristic in which they shorten a lot of nouns and sometimes names and then either put an "O", "Y" or "IE" at the end of the words: Bottle Shop= BottleO; Jonathan= Jono; Registration for the car= Rego; Football= Footy; Sunglasses= sunnies; Person from the States= Sepo or short for Septic tank, which is derived from the word Yank....I am not that naive. ... you get the idea.) was closed so we had to go to one that was up the street. The area where this bottle shop is located is in a posh section of Sydney called Wollahra where coincidently, I work. To paint the picture for you, this is the place where dogs being walked are, in actuality, carried by their owners since a live thing is such a cool accessory. Sunglasses cover 3/4 of the people's faces and wearing a T-shirt and Jeans basically means you have come from the Twist genealogy.
I wanted to buy some beers and Sam wanted a crisp white wine for a relaxing night. Sydney was awash with excitement as people had Monday off, there was a huge music festival about 2km away from Woolahra, and a huge Rugby final was being played involving a team from Sydney. I selected my beers, and went to pay the shop keeper as Sam still was undecided about what wine to buy. We were the only patrons in this small shop, and as I finished my transaction, Sam questioned the shop keeper for suggestions on a good wine. At this point, class was in session. As we all know, Australia was founded by the English by transplanting criminals to the continent, I never thought I would get a live and updated tutorial on this historical fact.
I looked left and a short, stocky man entered wearing a mask. I paid no attention to this guy as he probably had been celebrating Sydney's win in the Rugby final, or had come from a costume party and was that guy with the lame idea. I turned away from him, only to see out of the corner of my eye, a very large knife. Again, Sydney slashed Melbourne in the Rugby final, but this physical pun was a step too far. It was not until he demanded money from the cash register that I realized this guy was serious. He came within a couple of feet of me, and pounded the knife on the counter top. Again, not to harp on the stereotypes, but all I was thinking was Paul Hogan's line "that's not a knoife, this is knoife." I stepped back to place myself in the path between him and Sam. He demanded money from the register, but did not focus his attention on us. I turned to Sam and she was rummaging through her bag to get her wallet, to which I quietly motioned for her to stop. The walking Australian stereotype took the money and to my absolute disbelief, walked out. I have no other verb to really describe how he exited, but I am pretty sure that a sloth would have beat him out the door. He gingerly got into his car and left.
Sam and I were shaken, but fine as was the shop keeper. As a hilarious statistic for you at home, this is the third time this shop keeper has been robbed at this store in the last 4 years....and he only works on Sunday and Monday!
The police arrived shortly after the robber left. Now as I described, there was a lot of events in Sydney this night, so one would surmise that the police force would be stretched out, incorrect. One car arrived , then another, then another and for posterity a paddy wagon arrived. For those scoring at home and this might be a little off, 7 witnesses (some 16 year boys caught a glimpse of the license plate number) to 79837 police officers. For about 30 minutes, the crime scene turned into a police officer chat session. Sam kept muttering within earshot of the police slumber party, that she is not going to pay taxes anymore if this is how it is spent on officers.
To end, police investigators took our statements and we ended the night at 10:45pm .
This event shed a lot of light on the notion of traveling to foreign countries; Australia is deemed a safe place to travel (except for the killer spiders, sharks, crocodiles, snakes, rips, sun, surfboards, koalas, on second thought, why would you come here?). From experience, people have been nervous with traveling through South America, Asia etc. However I am here to tell you that it doesn't matter, in Sydney my house has been broken into, I have had an ipod stolen and my girlfriend has stolen my heart. It really doesn't matter where you are, things are going to happen, you just have to chalk up to life experiences and learn from it.
I am extremely relieved nothing happened to Sam or the shop keeper, and my love for this city has not wavered. Just another crazy day here in Sydney.
Class over.
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