I Can Throw A Boomerang Like A True Bloke, But I Still Throw A Frisbee Like A Girl…

Chris bought a Frisbee to fling around.  He bought the best one that he could, which still wasn’t saying much since they tend to only sell those light, thin, touristy ones around such public scenic areas.  We threw it back and forth for a while.  And when I say “throw,” I mean that I enjoyed my catching completion percentage while he was often chasing my tosses into the ground.  He kept blaming the wind.  I kept knowing he was just being nice.  I just can’t get the damn technique down.  At least I can throw a boomerang like a true bloke, so that will have to be enough in my book.

Bondi Beach Or Bust!

A brand new day to be spent at Bondi Beach!  I knew I’d like the place the moment I saw the main mural: The back of Mickey Mouse surfing.  I saw the sign.  It opened up my eyes.  I saw the sign.  This beach would RULE!  It wasn’t necessarily a big beach, in that you could see each end easily with your eyes, and I was rather surprised that it wasn’t too crowded. 

DAY 3

Making Buttermilk Into Gold

On a side note, Chris stuck to his Toohey’s New, and he suggested a drink called “XXXX Gold.”  In my world of everything XXX, wouldn’t the beer Four-X Gold be the evolution to all alcohol delicious and HARDCORE (like the second coming of Icehouse)?  Drinks went up every hour at this place, so I kept drinking this beer, but I barely had a buzz.  I had not drank excessively leading up to Australia, so I wanted to deny any acknowledgement that I might’ve built up a tolerance. About the fourth time I went to the bar, however, the bartender volunteered to inform me that Four-X Gold had a very low alcohol content.  …I feel as if I wasted so much money for the sake of the awesome letter of “X.”  Never again will I be spurned by anything more or less that XXX (with the exception of Dos Equis [XX], I suppose).

See No Evil, Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil

Finally… a night out!  Allie had suggested a place called Scruffy Murphy’s for a Tuesday night, but we also heard from our local front desk fern Omar (that two single girls in the group were constantly flirting with) that Three Monkeys was close and the place to go.  And so, we went.  Only one member of the group stayed behind.  The moment we walked in—two guys and nine girls—the women got absolutely swarmed with free drinks IMMEDIATELY.  It was impressive.  It also instantly revealed the absolute aggressiveness of Australian men that has continued through the trip thus far (I am in the Sydney airport waiting for our flight to Cairnes as I write this).  We eventually all congregated on the second floor, while Chris and I completely people watched.  I’ve heard it said many times, many different ways: Australians have a weird style of dancing.  But there is no explaining it until you actually see it.  Not quite in full rave mode, they do dance with some small pod shield surrounding them, hopping in place a bit and cocking and angling their joints in frantic, quick positions.  Like “the robot” on a sugar high.  The saving grace was a band (the house band?) that played American music.  During their set, they even called out to ask for all the Georgia girls to shout out.  To paraphrase Greer, “You know that they’ve made a splash when the band is calling them out in the entire bar.”  I did get out and move to the beat a bit, but I honestly didn’t know where to begin with any moves.  

The Wary Waiter

You know how on certain cartoons, characters will be in a restaurant and the waiter is real fidgety, scrambling all over the place always in a rush, with plates stacked high in one hand with the constant movement always giving that threatening crash of falling dishware?  Yeah, well that was our waiter at this Italian place we went to.  I kept it simple by ordering pepperoni, and it ended up being surprisingly spicy.  In Australia, they put tap water in these large glass bottles.  It’s kinda cool.  No ice, though.  I did my fair share of pouring and chugging to keep the mouth from flaming.

Cruisin’ AUS

The bus stopped at Sydney Olympic Park, from the 2000 Olympic Games, and after bidding adieu to our dear friend Mark (until Friday), we hopped onto a boat that cruised the harbor back to our destination.  The wind was incredibly cold, but I grinned and bared it with Greer, Garrett, and a few others as we admired the insane houses on the edge of the harbor.  Pictures were difficult to snap due to the steadiness required for nightshots with no flash, but I believe I managed to capture a couple of decent ones.  Of special note was the Sydney KPMG building, which made me think of my mom and my sister.

“How Do You Think I Got This 12 Inch Pianist?”

Oh, man!  It was tempting not to spoil this joke as Mark told it on the bus.  Good to know that classics never die, and that some jokes are absolutely international.

1300 Steps/The Virgin Joke

Scenic Railway was the next stop.  By this point on the bus, Mark was enlightening us with several key words and phrases from Australia that one might be hard pressed to discover on their own.  I reveal some of them on the next post.  The Scenic Railway involved going down 1300 steps, and we stopped at several outlooks to snag pictures.  A contest of sorts of dirty jokes was created between Mark and Erin Bailey, and with a “virgin” joke spoken by Erin, she managed to cause the few of us within the joke-hearing range to burst out with laughter.  Greer gawked so hard at the joke, that he somehow managed to twist his ankle!  You can find the joke, with the now infamous punchline, in one of my photo albums if you are following both this blog and my photo albums on Facebook in sequence.  After descending the 1300 steps that ranged from steep to shallow, we rode a railway that brought us back up.  I was expecting it to be more fast and thrilling, but perhaps prolonged exposure to Disney and roller coasters in general has totally desensitized me.

High Noon On Sunset Rock

Blue Mountains or bust!  There was a place in the Blue Mountains called Sunset Rock.  The scope was breathtaking and incredibly impossible to capture accurately on camera.  If anyone ever had a fear of heights, this was the true test.  I feel as if I personally passed, for I had never been this high up without any safety railing or anything.  Simply put, the scope was EPIC.  There were many groovy optical illusions one could take with the camera to make it look like someone was about to fall or was climbing the rock.  However, I shattered the perception with a reality picture of my own that revealed how the climbing pictures were done.

Boomerang Park

Mark then took us to an open park/field to show off his supreme boomerang skills.  He gave us a brief introduction and instruction which I am sure will be injected into somebodies project.  We then took turns throwing the boomerang, and I was the third one to volunteer.  I wasn’t exactly nervous, but when you are in front of ten other girls—without sounding too sexist—there is a certain expectation for a guy to at least throw better than them.  I’m miserable with a Frisbee, so I didn’t know if my general lack of skill applied here.  To my own immense surprise… it seriously launched and came back!  It didn’t come back close to me, but both times I threw it, the boomerang certainly soared to restore a confidence in boomerang tossing that I didn’t even know I had!  After we all gave our fair share of throwing it in the air, some for better and some for worse, we went back to the bus as Mark revealed that he had boomerangs to sell.  Demonstrate the product.  Put it in their hands.  Make them feel in control. And then… sell it to ‘em!  Mark was a perfect salesman… and I almost bought two!

The Hand That Feeds…

The first stop on the tour was at the Featherdale Wildlife Park.  Besides the dude that is hired to hold a baby kangaroo (a joey) when people get off the bus, the first creature encountered is the koala bear.  They are very “cute” and cool and all that, but were also sleepy and very lazy.  Greer explained from the very beginning about the stoner-like properties of the eucalyptus leaf, and the koalas were so entirely mellow that it proved to be true.  Next area, we were given a cake cone full of feed for the kangaroos and emus wandering about the property.  There was a small thrill in being able to guide and influence the pathways of the kangaroos with the influence of the food.  I forget who it was, but one girl in our group almost got punched in the face for creeping behind one and sinking too closely too quickly to it.  Yes, they definitely do box.  As the group moved on, quotable Kristen and I went around a partially hidden corner to where a set of kangaroos were behind a wooden post.  One of the kangaroos had a joey in its pouch, and I managed to lure the mom beyond the post to us with baby in tow.  Using our feeding skills, Kristen completed her quest to touch the kangaroos pouch unharmed as we fed the joey!  It was awesome.  We finally finished and chose a path since the group was nowhere in sight, and we ran into Carrie who had just finished washing her hands.  The three of us continued to explore the rest of the park as I snagged pictures of penguins, dingoes, Tasmanian devils, and other assorted creatures.

Hi, My Name Is Mark!

Meet Mark Perry.  He was the tour guide that Greer used for last year’s crew, and he made his triumphant return this year.  To say that this dude is awesome is an absolute understatement.  Right from the very beginning, he was very cordial and casual.  Despite being in Australia for 24 hours now, I had yet to have my ears influenced by more than three sentences of an Australian accent.  It quickly became clear to me that Mark would become the local go-to guy about everything Australia that you might not find in a Frommer’s.

Sydney Day 2

“That is a BIG piece of meat!” and “I just wasn’t into this meat pancake.”

Kristen Garrett has to be the single most quotable gal that I have ever met in recent memory.  Se was a certain energetic innocence about her that makes her honest lines as entertaining and amusing as they are sincere.  The above quotes come from her before and after dinner reaction to the restaurant we went to named Bill & Toni’s.  The place was Italian-esque, but they didn’t serve pizza to the dismay to a couple of group members.  Their specialty was schnitzel, which was a thin veal.  The majority on my side of the table ordered the cheese schnitzel, which was the thin piece of veal covered in a blanket of cheese.  It looks more appetizing than the picture actually reveals, trust me.  I liked it, but I guess Kristen just wasn’t into the meat pancake.

A Masculine Happy Hour

The ladies hust didn’t have it in them, so it was just Greer and I for happy hour.  He bought both “shouts” (Australian for rounds of drinks, per Mark Perry whom we’ll be introduced in a future post) in a truly generous gesture.  My first beer in Australia was a Tuey’s New, and my second was a Pure Blonde.  Mellow.  Insightful.  Memorable.  It was a most excellent masculine happy hour.

 

The Cockatoo Flu

The Royal Botanical Gardens was our next stop after a very brief and jolly jaunt to this park area full of all things wonderful when it came to plants and animals.  We gathered around in a circle to unwind and reflect.  Y’know, beyond the harbor and the airport endurance, it was this moment that was my favorite on the entire trip thus far.  It was as necessary as it was significant for me, signifying that we truly were a group, solidifying that this group should get along great, and encouraging in all the many adventures we had to look forward to together.  There was a totally climbable tree that someone (Morgan, maybe?) suggested that we take a group picture.  And so, we did.  Another stellar shot seen on Chris’ side of the internet.  We all huffed it once more as we rounded the corner and came across an area full of wild cockatoos.  There was one Hispanic lady surrounded by the birds, and a young Indian girl overheard me asking the secret to getting the birds to climb on you.  This ten-ish year old girl was kind in telling me the secret to it—which undoubtedly involved food.  Borrowing a few pieces of Sam and Rachel’s sandwich, I sat down and tried to make a trail towards me for the white birds to follow.  It didn’t work very well, until one bird finally spotted some crumbs on my arm and hopped up onto my leg and clawed on me a bit.  Morgan put a piece of bread directly on my head, and a bird cawed as it gave its might swoop to snatch the edible item—all without losing a single hair.  Impressive.  Too bad no one was around to catch that bird of wonder in action!  I managed to snag a couple of self-portraits that are already on Facebook as we speak.  After seeing an absolute army of Werewolf Bats just hanging in an area of trees, we strolled into St. Mary’s church.  I was truly awestruck and impressed, and the lighting of my camera fortunately agreed to be cooperative.  That concluded Day 1’s official events, dinner excluded, and we all talked about indulging in a happy hour after a brief break for a good shower.

Allie The Reporter

Blonde.  Plenty attractive.  And, randomly American.  This stranger approached our group as she must’ve overheard our natural aww of the area.  She introduced herself as a student that was living in Sydney for a year, where she attended “uni” (University) here, which was about half an hour from our location.  She was involved in journalism, and she was doing a report-esque piece on what people thought about the Sydney Opera House after seeing it in the paint for the very first time.  Always one for classic quotes, I was quick to spit a few sincere lines about my lasting impressions.  One of my personal quotes is buried in another entry back there somewhere, but I promised to get to it, and so here is the connection.  After gathering a few lines from us, she explained how she was a student from San Francisco State and gave us a few nightlife recommendations.  Her mission accomplished, we moved on… physically, anyway, as I mentally decided that I should’ve seized that opportunity to at least find a friend or fern (a term for “a local that guides a foreigner around” that I learned from The Amazing Race) in her, but there was no real opportunity without coming off as forced or awkward.  We moved closer to the building, when we burdened Greer with taking another group photo in front of it.  After that was finished, the San Fran blonde suddenly beckoned us again: “Hey!  Can I take a photo of everyone together?”  Of course we all said yes, and as soon as it was snapped, I asked her for her name. It took all but half a second before the entire group knew where this was going.  The fact that her first name was “Allie” was no more help than her being named “Kristen” or “Lindsay,”—a name that could have multiple spellings and variations.  The group began to disperse and I asked her on a more personal note her last name, which wasn’t one that was obvious or easy to spell.  However, when I mentioned Facebook, she went ahead and wrote down her name, and as an added bonus, took it upon herself to add her e-mail address and Australian phone number.  Nice.  As of writing this, I do have one new Facebook friend, a first from Australia, and with any luck, an evening outing to the local Sydney scene is in order.  After we parted ways and I joined the group, where more photo ops were created and enjoyed by various members among various cameras.

Hyde Park Hoppin’

We’ll shower when we’re dead!  …Or something like that.  Who needs a shower when you have Sydney to conquer? We checked into the Y Hotel in the Hyde Park area of Sydney, and two rooms weren’t ready yet, one of them being my single bedroom.  Since it was about 7 AM and all, it could easily be forgiven!  People changed and we met in the lobby, with the timing of the ladies being a little off, giving strong indications that this group may not be entirely punctual, but… we’ll just adjust!  We went to a tiny shop around the corner from the hotel to eat lunch at a breakfast hour, and I had a beef burger.  I told them to hold the beetroot (Australian’s put beets on their burgers), but it was on there anyway.  I took half off and ate the entire thing.  Beets aren’t bad!  We spent the day walking around Sydney, starting with Hyde Park which had a few rad statues and a reflection pond.  We then ventured into the harbor area, of Sydney Opera House harbor fame, and much like America, there were aborigines playing their dijeri-do’s on the streets with suitcase trunks open ready for money and CD’s with their recordings ready to sell.  Soon enough, the Opera House revealed itself from a distance, and we were all instantly enamoured.  Greer continuing to be great with all things Australia, he soon escorted us through an area known as The Rocks in a path towards a pylon that was a part of a massive bridge.  This pylon had 900 steps, but were interrupted with a gift shop area and a place where you pay admission to see a small museum behind the history of the bridge, as well as paying the fee to scale to the top to see our promise picturesque view.  So worth it.  You could see the entire Sydney skyline and a breathtaking view of the Sydney Opera House.  There were a few different Asian couples, and I took their pictures to get the bridge and the Opera House in the background by putting one foot on the bench and my other foot against the wall in an awkward split.  I was proud of the shots I took for them, and it certainly harkened back to my halcyon days as a Walt Disney World photographer, pre-manager era.   Now that we were able to get every angle of the national icon from a distance, it was time to dominate the structure up close and personal.  Back to the harbor area for that scenic walk, and just when we arrived and began to do the visitor thing of taking turns with taking pictures of each other, our group was suddenly approached by a stranger.  (To Be Continued!)

The HARDCORE Method To My HARDCORE Madness

I am starting to write about the first day in Sydney while I am still in the trenches of the third day in Sydney, if that is any early indication about how little time has been spent in the hotel room.  Time has been maximized to perfection, and for that I am thankful.  To give you an idea of the method behind the HARDCORE madness, I am simply typing a few potential subtitles into Microsoft Word on this MacBook as a mental bookmark as to what to type about.  I know that some memories will still fail me, but the pictures will make up for it.  In fact, uploading my first five albums that composed the first day in Australia definitely ate up both my paid internet time and my bandwith.  Posting and tagging photos has always been a labor of love.  It just so happens that now it is a labor of love that I have to actually pay for!  Regardless, most subtitles should be making the cut, and make sure to check my Facebook, Twitter, this blog, and Chris Greer’s Australia page (which is the most consistently updated item) which can all be found as links beneath my Facebook profile picture.

“You’ve Made A Lasting Impression…”

After the coloring chaos from the two girls sitting in front of me, the plane landed, and not a single piece of luggage was lost.  That’s always a good thing.  During the thirty minute taxi cab ride to our hotel, I kept on seeking that “absolutely awesome national icon that you can actually interact with” (more on such a direct quote later) that is the Sydney Opera House.  Well, it was nowhere to be seen, but the moment we stepped out of that airport and out of that taxi, one thing was clear—the air was far more crisp, clear, and refreshing than anywhere I have ever been to in my entire life.  No exaggeration.  The buildings were tall.  The roads were spacious.  And I took way too many pictures of the buildings and skylines than I ever anticipated.

Jody Knows Best!

With the plane about to land, I personally predict that the group might be slightly divided by the “haves” and the have-nots.”  The “haves” being those that have taken Tylenol PM to zonk out into a near permanent dream-like state and the “have-nots” being those, like myself, that attempted to take the natural sleeping approach.  As soon as the plane hits the ground, we are all expected to hit the ground running ourselves… well… or at least hit the ground casually strolling ourselves… to see the sights and sounds that the town of Sydney has to offer.  I am sure vacation adrenaline will kick in soon.  At least, I hope so, anyway.  I’ve been fortunate enough to get my favorite plane seat—the window—on both flights to the big Downunder.  Vanessa was sitting in the middle seat down to Sydney, and she is a self-admitted squirmer, so every tickle of her blanket against my elbow or readjustment of her arm on the shared armrest rightfully stirred me awake for a few moments.  Oh, and for the record, I’m a light sleeper.   I’ve explained it to others in the group already, but for some reason if I am surrounded by people, my body hesitates to fall asleep due to me thinking that I’m going to be missing out on something.  I’ve wired myself to try and maximize every opportunity in life, and the flip side to that coin is that even when the plane is dark and the mouths are silent, I still have this subtle feeling that something else is going on that I might be interested in observing or at least snapping a picture of at the very least.  Or, maybe my body is just trained to not fall asleep easily amongst throngs of people due to witnessing so many punishments to other people for being the first ones to pass out at plenty of parties over the years!  Regardless, a part of me thinks that I should’ve taken the advice of one wise and truly lovely woman named Jody…

Is That All?

I feel as if there was far more I wanted to write about right now.  Fear not, photo fans, for I have taken an albums worth from the journey from Milledgeville to the plane going to Sydney, so those shall be posted as soon as I am able.  They may be available for public viewing by the time you read this, actually.  So, make sure to heck it and check it out!  I could go on about our first dinner together as a group in the LAX airport (an airport that was hardly as glitzy or as glamorous as I’d expect from such an immensely trendy city) and there is the small story of Erin Bailey’s illegal passport and the description of the largest plane I’ve ever seen and all the cozy comforts that even Economy class provides, but maybe I will get to those simple stories another time.  For now, I’m going to just sit back, relax, and enjoy this half hour left before the men in the hazmat suits take me away…

!!! Oh, and Amey just colored in a picture of Minnie Mouse with stars all over it with Minnie stating, “I’m starry eyed” at the very bottom!  What an amusing and kind gesture from that gal!  To paraphrase my former boss Mickey Mouse about my friend Amey: “Oh boy! Ain’t she swell?"

And Now For Something Completely Different...

“Gooood morning!  Ian here.  We have just under one hour to go before our land in Sydney.”  Australian accents are awesome.  Now he’s telling us quarantine officers will be boarding the aircraft for a thorough check once we land?!  I better see hazmat suits.  That’d be legit.

“Yeah, I’m the house mom.”

Let me flashforward to a friendly American woman that was recently married to her Australian boyfriend after dating for 26 years.  Our wait within the gigantor Qantas plane was rather lengthy, and she was giving us the insider tip to remove the headphones as soon as the PA began to be unleashed, for the volume is cruel and unkind to the eardrums, and can be downright startling.  She continued to have conversation carried on with the other girls surrounding me (we were all sitting together on the same side of the plane), and she initially inquired about our Australian purpose with, “Are you part of a girls volleyball team?”  Where that came from… I have not a clue.  Everyone mildy chuckled and then she then asked, “Oh, are you all part of a sorority?”  in which I had to smugly interject with a “Yeah, I’m the house mom.”  And all laughed and all was well and good… and despite my gender, perhaps when it comes to my role or purpose in this trip, that’s not too far from the truth.  I am the only male on this excursion, with the exception of our instructor Chris Greer, but as absolutely laid back and incredible as he is, there is a fine, fine line where he is that “authoritative professional,” where as I am not and I do not have that direct responsibility.  While I truly believe I can speak for the group that we view Greer in a very well-respected and mature way, he is ultimately accountable for everyone and their actions, so I have slightly more liberty and freedom in my interactions with others.  Where am I going with this?  I have no clue.  Hell, this isn’t even a rant.  Maybe I’m just high off of atmospheric fumes for being in the sky so long, and my rambling words aren’t helping any.  Bottom line, Greer is great, as our my fellow female traveling companions, and I intend to look after all of them, being the only male student on the trip and the unofficial “house mom”… or something like that.  Call me what you will.  Besides, I made a promise to both Carrie and Amey’s parents that I would look after the girls, and I always strive to keep my promises and hold my integrity for all it’s worth.

“I meant what I said, and I said what I meant, an elephant’s faithful one hundred percent!”

--Horton from Dr. Suess’ “Horton Hatches An Egg”

“Just type in the numbers every 108 minutes.”

Any avid LOST fans out there?  While Flight 815 disappeared going from Sydney to LA, of course I was still eager for any signs of symbolism that I could relate to the TV show LOST.  And while my Qantas flight number was not the infamous 815 of Jack, Kate, Sawyer, and the rest of the passengers, anyone want to guess what my flight number was?  Okay, I’m sure you don’t, so here it is anyway: 108.  And to me, if you are in the know with the show (at least through Season 2, anyway), that’s the next closest numeric pattern you can get that relates to the show!  Still waiting for the sky to turn purple and for the plane to rip in half.  If we go missing and the plane is later recovered in the Sundra Trench, then do know that I am still out there, perhaps trying to prove that “whatever happened, happened” does not exist…

“Keep Your Receipt!”

Please forgive my lack of continuity in advance.  There was not nearly as much downtime in the airport as was expected, and so I am simply clumping these tiny chapters leading up to the end of this 14 hour flight as a series of small vignettes.

Curse you, Angela!  I have always had some serious fortune the few times I’ve hobbled around the hubs of airports.  People have been friendly. Luggage has truly never been lost.  And I have yet to miss a flight.  Oh yeah, and my plane has never gone down in flames, either.  So for all things flight related, that ain’t bad.  However, leave it to Angela at the Delta International terminal to not keep the streak alive!  As soon as my loving and generous mother dropped me off and my eyes were cast to the crowd, somewhere towards the middle-front of the rather long line for bag check-in were two of my future travel mates—Whitney and Carrie.  Carrie was there with her family, and in a truly kind gesture, they were absolutely insistent in those silent shouts across the terminal that they wanted me to cut in line to join them as soon as they were close to the corner.  To add to the amusement, Carrie’s mother Theresa decided to put on a fauz pomp and circumstance by suddenly claiming me to be her son.  Of course, playing my part, I easily embraced seeing her as if it was a meeting long overdue.  So I’m still feeling lucky, right?  I’m welcomed to the rest of the family and it is time to be called out in line… and I get Angela.  She didn’t seem to be all there to begin with, somehow overwhelmed but just shuffling people through, never making eye contact… especially when she ended up giving me Chris Greer’s boarding pass.  Yes, she gave me my own instructor’s boarding pass that was already well beyond the gate.  Of course security would never clear me due to the misnomer, so I sneaked back up to the very front, back to Angela.  Of course I had to wait on her to try and deal with a foreign family with massive amounts of luggage, where she even through out the nonchalant rude line, “You just need to figure it out because I have a long line and I don’t need you here that long.”

Erin Bailey likes coloring cats brown that wear shades and a hula skirt in her coloring book.  True story.

Once the friendly foreign family finally figured things out and abandoned the rude woman to continue their travels, I showed Angela her error and she promptly gave me a new boarding pass.  No big deal, right?

…Well, Angela’s cursed carried me to the LA airport when we were all checking in to get a new boarding pass to Sydney.  I was the second one in our group to go, and when I stepped up to the counter, the nice Asian lady asked for my receipt.  My luggage receipt.  Thanks to the quick super sleuthing skills of Erin Bailey, it was realized that it was stapled to the back of my boarding pass.  And by “my boarding pass,” I mean Chris Greer’s that I was falsely given.  Poor gal had to make many phone calls to discover that it was recorded that I had no luggage to check-in… but Chris Greer now had two.  A major malfunction?  No.  Not so far, anyway, as long as “both” of Chris Greer’s bags are waiting in Australia.  Still, things were not as slick and smooth as they could’ve been, but the curse of Angela shall crush me no more.

And Now, I Blog...

I’ve never written a true blog before.  Not in the modern sense, anyway.  And as I begin to type on this jumbo Qantas jet with a little more than an hour left to touchdown into Sydney, I wonder just how much should be filtered.  Once upon a time, I did have LiveJournal, but the hipster trend of “blogging” seems to be far more professional and appropriate for this advanced adventure.  And so while I don’t think I’ll change the names to protect the not-so-innocent, at least I know better than to make this some smear page or burn blog torching any good, bad, or ugly events around me.  I wonder who will read this, if anyone at all… Family?  Facebook folk?  Neil Patrick Harris? Alas, there is a tiny tragedy in that the Doogie Houser blog music isn’t infiltrating my eardrums as I officially begin this.  That would be really, really rad…

A Prologue To This Pilgrimage

“Brevity is the soul of wit.”

--Polonius from William Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”

I’m a wordy guy.  A wordy guy that firmly feels that actions truly do speak louder than words.  So therein lies the challenge of transforming all our actions on this absolutely amazing adventure in Australia into words.  I am sure some side-stories will be skipped, and I can’t guarantee entries will be consistent in posting length or timing, so please endure and indulge me with your understanding in advance.  Perhaps the most important fact that should creep and be kept in each cranium of those that read an entry, is that while the events will be sprinkled with plenty of fact, they also might be layered with an onslaught of opinion.  This is my view.  This is my story.  This is my perception and my reality.  I can only hope that others on my trip will record their own tales of travel somehow.

There are two sides to every story.  This one can have up to twelve.  And so, without further ado, here is MY story…

XXX vs. Alexxx's Absolutely Awesome And Amazing Adventures In Australia

Begin reading below for all the HARDCORE blogging updates!

XXX vs. The Dr. Pepper Bottle

Let's rewind all the way back to the middle of October, 2005. A Wednesday, to be exact. So the battle plan was to go to Halloween Horror Nights (HHN) at Universal Studios in Orlando. Now, being a HHN veteran, the urge to drink is near impossible to resist due to the all too extreme convenience of alcoholic bars and vendors in the park that are all too eager to take a dollar tip and shove a plastic bottle of Bud Light down your throat with every twist and turn.

Needless to say, I went the smarter and far more cost-efficient route of at least pre-gaming it in the form of one intoxicatingly uneven mix of Maker's Mark into a 24 fluid ounce bottle of Dr. Pepper. I arrived at David and Thom's house (two former Ringling Bros. Circus clowns and two current best friends) and as we awaited David's arrival from church, I twisted off the plastic white cap which was the only thing that stood between me, the delightfully dark substance, and my lips, as I finally poured the liquid to quench my thirst for theme park drunken fury as I took a few slow, evenly paced sips in preparation at their house. David arrives and then the three of us proceed to Universal itself as I sit in the back, taking a few hearty, chest warming swigs every now and then as we finally park. Now, the bottle is down to approximately a promising 14 fluid ounces as we step out of the car and begin to walk to the conveyor belted people movers when all of a sudden an older gentleman comes easing by on a bicycle. Enter: The Cop.

So the Cop extends his arm, palm upturned in the universal "talk to the hand" symbol, though I took it to mean "stop," which I did.

"Excuse me, may I see that bottle?" He said routinely.

"Sure thing, Officer." I said politely.

"Is there alcohol in this bottle?" He asked suspiciously as he cocked one inquistive brown brow.

"Absolutely!" I enthusiastically gushed, as honest and direct as possible.

It was then that he proceeded to twist off the cap and began to take it to his nose before his face instantly cringed and his head instantly craned as far away from the top of the bottle as possible, as if a single sniff of the substance within would cause him instant death.

"You ain't kiddin'!" He confirmed with the slightest shake of his head from the permeating strength. "What's in this thing?"

"Maker's Mark." I pronounced proudly, never being able to resist or declare a fine whiskey, my ultimately preferred poison. Meanwhile, David and Thom are just kinda smiling and finding the small situation largely amusing. I couldn't blame them. At this point I had to show him a form of ID, two in fact, to prove I was of age and wasn't simply a bold idiot with brazen balls of steel.

"I'm going to have to ask of you to dispose of that bottle immediately in that trashcan right over there." He instructed as he indicated the open bin located near the escalators.

"Aww, man..." I thought to myself, disappointingly defeated as I sealed the distance to the trash can, and with a silent, unspoken tear in my eye, I bid it adieu and dropped it inside.

The buzz was still in my favor all through City Walk and the park itself, and I succumbed to refueling myself in the form of a couple of Coors along the way, Thom and I trading off buying drinks as we'd chug and pound and pound and chug before each haunted house. Several hours later, and eventually the night drew to a close as we trekked the never short distance from the theme park to the parking garage, saying farewell to our other tag-along Travis (certified illusionist and magician). The power of the alcohol was certainly beginning to ebb and flow and wane in my veins and while the night was drawing to a close, I wasn't fully prepared for my buzz to suffer a similar fate.

It was then, as if a late night neon bar sign suddenly flickered on above my head that I soon asked David and Thom as we were almost near the car, "Exactly which trash can did I throw away my bottle in...?"

"Umm... That one. I think. Why?" Thom asked as my face lit up like a kid in the candy store.

So, without further ado, I dashed to the trash can and peered inside, and low and behold, totally uncovered, totally sealed, and totally at the top of all the older trash was my beloved plastic Dr. Pepper bottle! Not hesitating nor flinching for even the slightest of seconds, I reached my hand down there and scooped it up, finding it pleasantly unscathed and still seeking a home inside my stomach, I beamed proudly, not being above snatching what was rightfully mine and finishing the rest of the drink off during the entire ride home!

So, the big and real question is... What's the moral of this story? Simple!

"One man's trash... can still be the same man's treasure!"