Day Of The Dude is my favourite day of the whole year. More than Christmas, New Years and Talk Like A Pirate Day combined. D.O.T.D. started as a bit of a joke when our friend went to Australia in 2000 and missed his birthday. Being the good friends that are, we called a bunch of people and proceeded to go on an epic drinking spree. It was (and still is) the best party that I have ever been to where the person whose birthday it was, wasn't even there. Our friends name is Dude, hence, Day Of The Dude.

A normal Tuesday night May 30, 2000 started a course of events that would lead a group of friends together on the same day every year for parties of varying sizes. We have had small "let's get drunk and tell a few stories" parties to larger "get those horses away from the band and the hot tub" parties. Admittedly, the first time that I ever rode a horse was in a tuxedo on Champagne Dude 2005 (30 years old on the 30th). I have never worked on the day and always booked it off even when it falls on the dreaded Tuesday (2000 and 2006).

One of the ongoing themes has always been Labatt 50. It is a wretched, old man beer but Dude likes it and insists on drinking it. For the inaugural DOTD we dumped that sludge down our throats and regretted every gag inducing sip...and later every gut wrenching vomit. It really is the only time that I can tolerate a beer that awful. Since I am obviously away for DOTD this year, I had my parents smuggle a can of 50 into Australia so that I had one to reminisce about old times. I'm drinking it as I'm typing this. It has been unrefrigerated while traveling around the world, repeatedly shaken by baggage handlers and is several months past its "best before" date. However, I can honestly state that it tastes exactly like I remember: like a arthritic plow horse chugged a bottle of a mediocre ale and then barfed it back up into a bottle with a red "50" on it.

Happy Day Of The Dude everyone! I'm sad (I actually am) that I can't be there and I miss you all but we'll be making up for lost time soon enough. No 50 though.

Below is a long lost video from 2005 that I forgot even existed.

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I returned to Sydney on Sunday as a shell of the man I once was. I was a limping, reeking, grumpy man. As I hobbled on the tarmac after leaving the plane I realized that I had forgotten my book in the seat pocket. My heel still throbbed so I was willing to sacrifice "Journey To The Centre Of The Earth" and hopped a few more steps when I realized that I also had left my IPod on the plane.

By the time I was standing in line waiting for a taxi, listening to Rage Against The Machine on my bloody IPod, I was ready to go to the hospital. The only reason that I didn't was because the thought of waiting in line was more than I could handle without slipping into a one-footed, violent frenzy (which would be uncomfortably similar to my dancing performance in Melbourne). So my primary form of rehabilitation to this point has been to bitch and moan about it. It's called venting therapy. It seems to be working. My foot doesn't look like an eggplant anymore and is more the colour of jaundice. My limping however has gotten worse. On the weekend, my limping was an obvious Terry Fox limp but because the pain isn't as stabbing as before, I am now sporting a Keyser Soze gait. I'm getting significantly less sympathy because people aren't certain if I'm in pain or my mother was into the sauce when she was pregnant with me.

I'm religiously sticking with my venting therapy so everything should be right as rain in a few days. If not, I'll have to accessorize with a fashionable cane.

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My first trip to Melbourne (Mel-bin) started with the 6:15am red-eye which will always put someone in the best of moods. Then I was greeted by the coldest day in May since 1981….It was 4C. People were running at full stride with scarves whipping behind them as if the polar bears were catching up on them. Shivering/convulsing, runny nose, thigh rubbing and disbelieving people yelling "Look at my breath" could be seen everywhere. Admittedly, I felt a little homesick and specifically left my jacket undone to accentuate Canadians immunity to cold.

The conference was your typical boardroom setting with catered food and coffee aplenty with hugely qualified people trying desperately to transplant their decades of experience directly into my cerebellum. By 5pm, the day's assimilation was complete so we checked into the hotel which provided yet another surprise as my room was bigger than most Sydney apartments. It had a kitchen, washer/dryer, lounge, spa, balcony….etc but after drinking coffee all day long, I was thirsty so I headed down to the hotel bar.

I was impressed with the amount of people boozing from the conference. About half the people were from out of state and I figured that they would show up in force but the other half was from Melbin and I expected them to pull the chute. I, yet again, underestimated the power of the free alcohol and peer pressure as 14 of us strolled down to a really nice restaurant that none of us can remember. It was the kind of restaurant where you order a very expensive cut of meat and that is the only thing that shows up on your plate. No greenery or mashed potatoes were required or requested and I was content using my beer as a side dish.

Slowly but surely the group thinned out and a select few of us navigated over some bridge to the Crown Casino for a few more. I didn't gamble a penny but the people watching was fantastic. Around 2:00am we got back to the hotel and around 2:03am we decided to go back out (It's still a little grey as to how that happened).

Somewhere in that 3 minute window I managed to leap down a flight of hotel stairs and severely bruise my heel so that for the remainder of the night every second sentence was "No seriously, it really hurts". By this point, it was down to three of us drunkenly roaming the streets of Melbourne when a stranger came up to me and said "Hey Craig, what are you doing here?" I was instantly overwhelmed by guilt as I recognized Aiva's cousin whom I have met only a handful of times. "I'm at a work conference" is pretty light when it comes to excuses at 2:04am so I hoped to spread some of the guilt around by saying "The 3 of us are the remaining survivors" only to look over my shoulder to see that my male work colleague had recently disappeared and I was standing next to my female work colleague. It didn't help at all when she piped up "I don't know where he went". It would have been funny if it was someone else but it wasn't so therefore it wasn't funny at all.

As we mysteriously stumbled into an all night dance club across the street, it was comforting to know that a serious heel injury would in no way affect my dancing ability. In the spirit of finding a pain suppressant, I accepted a vodka cranberry, mentally calculating that I did indeed have every colour of the rainbow in my stomach (it was proven later). Somewhere around 4am our better judgement kicked in and we made our way back to the hotel.

This is when experience kicks in. Passing out is not helpful to being productive the following morning so I called the front desk and ordered a wake up call every hour until 8am. I went to my kitchen and poured 6 glasses of water and settled in on the couch to watch some uncomfortably entertaining infomercials. I embraced the idea that it would be better to be tired than hungover but it appeared from looking around the boardroom the next morning that my colleagues had tried a variety of options.

I was fine until about noon when I had to beg the receptionist for some pain medication on account that I was limping around like an idiot (not my headache obviously) and thankfully she had some in her purse. She probably thought that I had gangrene but the smell may have actually been my breath (for better or worse).

All in all, a great work conference but seriously, my heel really hurts.

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Vindaloo
Etymology: Konkani vindalu, from Indo-Portuguese (Portuguese creole of India)
1. A blend of red chilis, tamarind, and other spices, such as ginger, cumin, and mustard seeds.
2. Any of various dishes of southern and central India made with this spice blend.

Diarrhea
Etymology: Greek "diarrhoia" meaning "a flowing through."
1. A familiar phenomenon with unusually frequent or unusually liquid bowel movements, excessive watery evacuations of fecal material.
2. A common occurrence that takes place after the following sentence "How hot can it be?"

A group of us got together Sunday night for dinner at a great Indian Restaurant called Delhi o Delhi. I'm quite conservative when it comes to spicy food but Aiva is quite the opposite. She has been trying to expand my spice tolerance to acceptable levels. I would imagine that her definition of "acceptable levels" would not involved sprinting to the fridge and attempting to drown oneself in milk. Her attempts to expand my horizons have largely failed despite my reassurances that I like it and it's fine...really, I'm fine. My blood shot eyes and uncontrolled perspiration are dead giveaways and if I do manage to pull it off, it sure as hell won't go unnoticed when I yell "Can you chuck me another roll of toilet paper?" some time later.

Back to Sunday. I was doing fine with my butter chicken (delicious) and poppadoms so I was starting to get a little cocky (doesn't sound like me). I "broadened my horizons" with some mild chicken curry and I seemed to be okay still. Everyone was passing dishes around saying how great each one was so I thought that I would try a bite of the Beef Vindaloo. Admittedly, I should have been more worried when our friend who is a lesbian yelled "That blew my nuts off" after having a bite. I had some of the beef and sauce with a chunk of naan to act as a buffer.

At 10:07 Monday morning while sitting in the staff bathroom I decided that perhaps I should stick with butter chicken from now on.

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I'm happy to report that Aiva and I have booked our tickets to Thunder Bay. We will be back July 17th and jetlagged all to hell but ready to go. We have a list of things to do that is constantly growing and Aiva has been searching the information superhighway for things to do in Thunder Bay. It's funny how the movie theatre is listed in the entertainment section on the local website. Either way, I have never had trouble finding great things to do there and we are looking forward to catching up with everyone and telling stories that we have all heard before. It's been a whole year since I've heard them so they have likely improved somewhat (at least 10%). The catching up plans will involve a lot of sitting in Starbucks, The Madhouse or Caribou and perhaps all 3 in the same day if things go well.

I have some concerns about coming back home after living in Sydney for a year. Will I think "home sweet home" or will I miss the constant activity of big city life? Will my pristine view of Thunder Bay be ruined or will I get a slap in the face ache telling me to stay and not go back to Sydney? I'm looking forward to walking on grass and looking out over fresh water. There is a time and place for concrete and salt water but Thunder Bay just isn't it. Aiva is skeptical that the weather will be warmer in TBay than in Sydney in July so hopefully the weather doesn't turn me into a liar. The weather competition will be steep though because its 22C and sunny today and Australia is a baby step away from winter.

I'll be posting our Thunder Bay To-Do List later on so if anyone wants to join in any events, more the merrier.

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Bob Marley was mandatory listening every morning this week. Buffalo Soldier on the way to the station and by the time that I was hitting 29 in the elevator I was fully belting out “I hope you like jammin’ too” to well dressed strangers. I noticed that not only do I select music to fit my mood but also my mood will morph to fit whatever music is playing. That is why I won’t listen to the radio. I can’t be bothered to hit every emotional high and low from Mariah Carey to Silverchair otherwise I would end up with some vicious schizophrenia. Bob Marley forced me to be in a good mood at 9am when I would normally be feeling a little more Slipknot.

When I need to write a scathing letter to Rogers Wireless (the devil), I listen to Rage Against The Machine to get in the right mood. When I’m trying to be happy in a dire situation (cleaning the bathroom), I listen to Michael Jackson (Thriller is still damn good). When I’m thinking about Canada I listen to the Hip. Sad people listen to sad music when they should be having a coffee and listening to Bob Marley in the morning instead of Portishead. Even November Rain would get someone out of their funk after 8 minutes and 57 seconds.

Without a little “No Woman No Cry” this week I probably wouldn’t have gotten through my 31 unignorable work related emails today. I received an average of 24.2 per day this week with a high on Thursday of 37, which would explain all the slacking off on Wednesday (9). That’s not even including any auto responses, personal emails, Air Miles notifications, replica watch sales and penis enhancing medication breakthrough announcements. I haven’t tested it but I have a feeling that listening to Britney Spears would put me in the frame of mind to sort through my spam mailbox.

I suggest you try some Bob Marley. I know that it has been awhile but it's just as good as ever.

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Our house has those old school stove elements that require you to turn the gas on and hit the “spark” button to produce constant flame for cooking. It’s pretty much a glorified Bunsen Burner. When I first got here I remember thinking “I didn’t know they still made those….Is that even safe?”.

You can imagine my surprise when Aiva asked me if I had a history of sleepwalking (how does one know?). I don’t ever recall waking up standing in the towel closet or lying on the neighbours trampoline so I convincingly stated “Ummm no. Not that I know of. Ahh why?” Apparently, in the night Aiva heard me get out of bed and go downstairs. I was down there for quite some time, long enough that she knew that I just didn’t get up to whiz. I later came back upstairs and sat on her side of the bed and loudly stated “I can’t seem to turn the gas on”.

Upon hearing this part of the story I hoped that Aiva had raced downstairs like a jammie-clad Olympic sprinter to check all the oven knobs and the BBQ gas tank to make sure that the house wasn’t about turn into several million splinters. Then I hoped that she would officially wake me up and ask me what I was doing and we would have a little 3am laugh. This was perhaps setting the bar too high because you see, after Aiva heard me say “I can’t seem to turn the gas on” she said “Go to bed” and went back to sleep.

She justifies this by saying that I didn’t get the gas working anyway so no harm done and if I had said anything about using the gas she would have gotten out of bed. Therefore, in light of my need for propane in the middle of the night and Aiva’s disinterest in getting out of bed, I have taken an extremely drastic step to promote safety in the house. I closed the bedroom door. I think that this will be sufficient. In Canada, I didn’t even have a door to my bedroom so the telltale sign that I’m sleep walking should be the loud crunch as my nose makes first contact with the door.

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Sunday night we went to see Jason Alexander's Comedy Spectacular. Admittedly, I was curious to see Alexander as a stand up comedian after seeing him for so long as George Costanza. I was worried that it would be one self deprecating Seinfeld reference after another with bland filler in between. We were surprised to find that Alexander was unlike his Seinfeld alter ego and very much a confident performer who told stories and jokes, worked the crowd, did improv sketches and even belted out a broadway musical medley. He mentioned a few Seinfeld catch phrases but they were fitting and "Not that there's anything wrong with that" went over really well considering that they were at the Enmore Theatre (for those non-Sydney readers, the burbs surrounding the theatre is notoriously super gay). There was also a Seinfeld question and answer period that was not really comedy but just interesting and it really made you think about what you would do after having your dream job for 10 years. Alexander was obviously asked "What was your favourite thing about doing Seinfeld?" and he quickly jested "You mean other than the $25 million?" I wanted to hear about Vandalay Industries and how that started but he didn't mention it. I later read that it was just one of those catch phrases that wasn't meant to be funny but caught like wild fire which was pretty much like the entire show.

There were other acts that were apparently well known but I had only seen Mick Molloy beforehand from Crackerjack. The Umbilical Brothers did a weird set involving a mime and a bear handpuppet fighting to the death. It was a good mix with the sketches keeping to 15 minutes with Alexander doing 15 minutes in between each.

This was a long awaited Christmas present but it was worth the wait.

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I love Sunday mornings. The first time that I met Aiva in Sydney we talked about the perfect Sunday morning. Eggs Benedict (surprise surprise), coffee, orange juice, newspaper and lounging around until mid afternoon when perhaps a nap would be in order.

Not dissimilar to most Sundays, I went into the bath to watch TV on my laptop as the basic cable package in Australia has left me wanting. As usual I watched Sports Tonight and episodes of Top Gear. This is when things broke from the norm. Rewind a few months, Aiva came home from work one day and I was vacuuming and had just finished cleaning the bathrooms when she said "What did you do?" with a skeptical eye. She eyeballed me so hard that I actually felt guilty and like I was cleaning as a peace offering of sorts. I just felt like doing something nice that's all.

Back to me sitting in the tub when Aiva poked her head in the door and nonchalantly placed a massive breakfast beside me. We're not talking a muffin and a coffee folks, we're talking 2 eggs, 2 sausages, baked beans, toast and orange juice with the utensils carefully wrapped up like they do for hotel room service. Admittedly, my first thought was "What did you do to my bike?" but at least I didn't say it out loud. Turns out, she was just being nice and was thinking "Who wouldn't enjoy a massive breakfast while watching Top Gear and sitting in the tub?" I would have taken a picture of it but I didn't have my camera handy and didn't think that I could use Photo Booth until I was well and truly into the eggs. It was everything that I hoped it would be, if not better. There was even be some sort of organ buoyancy issue too because I didn't even feel full after shoveling the plate into my mouth. That may require more research because a quick look on the Internet and I couldn't find any studies about people consuming full meals while they are submerged in water.

Now, if you are thinking that a 30 year old man sitting in the bath is "a little fruity" I simply ask you to try it before you knock it. Recently, I have also watched Alien Vs Predator: Requiem in tub with headphones on with the lights off. That was weird. Bad movie too but I digress.

I guess the point is that I love Sunday mornings.

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